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Engstrom played the game to the limit, making Delgado wait for nearly half an hour. When the staffer finally ushered him into the station commander’s office, the Marine wore a smile on his face. Per protocol, he halted a pace in front of Engstrom’s desk, came to attention, and snapped off a salute that would have done Regimental Sergeant Major Augustus Vanlith proud.
“Major Delgado reporting to the Station Commanding Officer as ordered, sir.”
Engstrom returned the salute negligently, in another calculated gesture.
“Sit, Delgado. We have much to discuss.” The Marine detected an undercurrent of uncertainty in the man’s voice.
For a brief moment, Delgado wondered what Engstrom’s reaction would be if he played the recording of Sakamoto and Hallikonnoen. And if Delgado mentioned she might be a Sécurité Spéciale operative on top of that? Tyrell’s chief engineer compromised.
His amusement at the idea must have shown in his eyes because Engstrom frowned.
“Is something funny, Delgado? If so, please share your thoughts. I enjoy little enough humor around here, especially with your Marines playing cops and robbers.”
“Just remembering something I heard this morning. A man who should know better making idle boasts.”
For a moment, Delgado figured Engstrom was about to suffer from a stroke. His face turned beet red, and the veins in his temples throbbed. Robbed of speech, he could merely stare at the Marine in both wonder and horror for a few heartbeats before looking away. Clearly, a display of guilty conscience that proved he thought Delgado meant him. Interesting.
After a moment, Engstrom said in a somewhat strangled tone, “Major, I command this station and outrank you. That means you work for me and will show me the proper respect.
“Yes, sir. You outrank me, and I deserve any rebukes for failing to treat you accordingly.” Delgado wondered about mentioning that his status vis-à-vis Engstrom in policing the station wasn’t quite as clear. He wasn’t in the latter’s chain of command because he reported to Fleet HQ but thought better of it.
After taking a few breaths while his face returned to its normal color, Engstrom met Delgado’s eyes again.
“I want the truth about the Evans investigation. I also demand to know what the hell you believe you’re doing chasing fictional illicit substances across my station, throwing labor-management relations back to the dark ages. As well, I want to see any plans you’ve made about the station’s defense and security.”
“With due respect, sir, you know as much about the Evans case as I do. As for the suspected illicit substances, we collected enough evidence to investigate under the relevant Armed Forces Orders and Regulations, specifically Volume Two, Chapter One-Hundred-Six, Section One.”
Hak, the Erinyes’ disciplinarian and expert on regulations, dug up the reference, although it didn’t really apply here and wouldn’t hold up in front of a court-martial. Before Engstrom could protest, Delgado continued in a conciliatory tone.
“I’m sorry labor-management relations are affected, but that’s not my responsibility, sir. You enjoy the confidence of a shop steward who has no reason to love those dealing in illicit substances and a chief administrator who apparently has the respect of the workers. Between them, they should be able to smooth ruffled feathers, no? Besides, you’re the commanding officer and sole master of Tyrell after the Almighty. I’m merely here at the Fleet’s orders to make sure you can run Tyrell free of internal and external threats. And I will do my utmost.”
Engstrom seemed mildly flustered at Delgado’s patient, respectful reply and eyed him with suspicion for a few moments. Then he appeared to gather his courage.
“Major, I have been checking up on you and your outfit, and I don’t think you’re in any position to take this kind of lackadaisical attitude with me.”
“I’m not sure what you mean, sir?” Delgado kept a straight face even though he was smiling inside.
“You misrepresented yourself and your unit.”
“Sir?”
“Do you recall stating you were promoted to major while in command of H Company and are waiting for a suitable staff position to open in the 42nd Marines? Well, I have it on good authority you already held said staff position and were returned to command a rifle company, somewhat of a punitive step backward in my eyes. Moreover, your company was formed expressly for this assignment from those in the regiment who’ve made missteps and need a hardship tour. In other words, you and your people aren’t the best the 42nd can offer.”
A faint air of triumph crossed Engstrom’s florid face as he sat back and dared Delgado to rebut him.
“You may have been able to get away with your shenanigans before, but I remind you that Tyrell is a Class One activity of the Fleet’s Chief of Procurement. I doubt he’ll look upon your attempts to circumvent the proper chain of authority with much favor. I warn you, if you do not cease, I will ask you be relieved of command and returned home.”
“Sorry you feel that way, sir. But you misunderstand the situation. Marine regiments tasked to provide subunits as security for outposts like Tyrell generally put together ad hoc companies from carefully selected volunteers under an experienced commanding officer. My Marines and I are far from being here on a punishment tour. Quite the contrary. We were all temporarily detached from our parent units for this mission because we are the most suitable.” Delgado gave Engstrom a sad glance. “I believe you’ve either been misinformed or misinterpreted what you were told, sir.”
As Delgado watched Engstrom parse his words, he saw the naval officer’s gaze begin to waver with uncertainty. Since most of Delgado’s statement was the truth or almost the truth, he clearly sounded convincing.
“I’ll tell you what, sir. You’ll see my updated contingency plans on your desk by the end of the day. For your eyes only, of course.” Delgado paused for effect. “And if I may, there’s one thing I would like you to take into consideration. Should I be wrong about the traffic in illicit substances, you’ve lost nothing more than the workers' goodwill for a time. But if I’m right, then by letting me take action, you’ll be well-positioned to prevent incidents that can impact production or even cause fatalities.”
By now, Engstrom seemed more confused than uncertain, let alone choleric, as if he no longer knew what he should believe or accept. And that was precisely how Delgado wanted him — off balance.
“One last thing, sir. May I suggest you remind the senior staff they should take better care about what they tell individuals who do not have the need to know? I’m certain the civilian heads of department, like Chief Engineer Sakamoto, might benefit from a quick word.”
While Engstrom stared at the Marine, unable to formulate an answer that didn’t make him seem foolish, Delgado stood, saluted, and left the office.
**
“How did he react?” First Sergeant Hak looked at his commanding officer expectantly as the latter entered the command post and tossed his beret on the table before pulling out a chair.
“I don’t think he’ll be obstructing us. At least not openly. But he acted rather guilty when I hinted at senior people talking out of turn, which makes me wonder what he’s been up to that we don’t know about. Hopefully, he’ll follow my suggestion and remind his and Movane’s direct reports — I used Sakamoto’s name as an example — that discretion is a part of the job.” Delgado shook his head and exhaled. “Sergeant Testo, see that Rolf’s people keep an eye on Sakamoto as well.”
Testo nodded. “Will do.”
Delgado’s eyes narrowed as he noticed Testo’s expression. “What?”
“While you were upstairs, we received an anonymous tip fingering an illicit stash.”
“How did that happen?” Delgado asked, frowning.
“Lanny Greaves was having a beer in the Reach and went to the heads so he could vent his ballast tank,” Hak replied, beating Testo to the punch. “While he was washing his hands afterward, a miner tucked a piece of paper in his shirt pocket.”
“Did he see him?”
“No. The heads were pretty full.”
“What do you figure?”
“Not enough data, sir,” Testo made a slight grimace. “Lanny is probably known as one of our investigators by now. Rolf is already on it.”
“So, where is this supposed stash?”
“Shaft Two, Level Five, in an abandoned branch off Gallery F. Behind a small pile of tailings.”
“What do you guys think?” Delgado asked both Testo and Hak.
The former flatly said, “It’s a trap.”
“Probably, but even so,” the first sergeant replied, “We should go see. It might tell us something about the people who set it. Mind you, it could be genuine. An anonymous tip is a good way of giving us what we’re after and distracting us. I gather our increased scrutiny finally had some effect. Most miners don’t like users, anyway. Too dangerous in unpressurized environments.”
When Delgado’s eyes narrowed in thought, Testo said, “I alerted Delta Troop. Faruq has Salford Lambrix and one-four-alpha on standby.”
“Okay, send them in, fully armed. At the slightest sign of funny business, he stops and reports. We’ll take it from there. The more I mull this over, the more I figure it could be a move to keep us preoccupied just as the regular ship is due.”
“I’ll send the orders out right away.”
“And make sure they bring Delta Troop’s droid.”
About as large as a medium-sized dog, the semi-autonomous anti-grav propelled machine with four articulated arms was routinely used to replace humans in perilous situations, such as bomb disposal, and Erinye Company brought its normal one per troop allotment.
“They already liberated it from QM stores, sir.”