“You think I care?” the boy muttered.
But he did care. He was naked and hurt, badly hurt. Kowacs was huge in his helmet and equipment belt, still black with the grime of the raid; and the marine was a certain reminder of how thorough and ruthless that raid had been.
“Tell us about Lieutenant Milius,” Sitterson said. He started to wave his shock rod before he realized that the threat of Kowacs’ presence was greater than that of temporary pain. “Where is she?”
“Dead, for God’s sake!” the boy blurted. “She was in the terminal building when everything started to go. Ask the marines we took in there. They’ll tell you!”
Sitterson slapped him with a bare hand. “You’re lying! You’re covering for a traitor who murdered a fellow officer!”
It wasn’t a powerful blow, but it knocked Andy back against the wall. He would have slumped to the floor if Kowacs hadn’t caught him and jerked him upright.
“Hesik told you that?” the boy said. His lip was bleeding. “All right, sure—she shot that bastard Bundy. They came to us, told us to back off—we were stirring up the weasels too badly.”
Kowacs released the boy when he felt him gather himself and straighten.
“Milius told ’em go fuck ’emselves,” Andy continued with real venom. “And your precious Bundy, he says, if she won’t stop for him, maybe the weasels will take care of the problem. That’s why she blew the bastard away. I just wish we’d taken out Hesik and the rest of the mothers in that cell then when we had the chance.”
“Lying little swine!” Sitterson cried. He grabbed the boy by the hair with one hand, throwing him against the wall while he poked the shock rod toward the prisoner’s eye.
The singed hair crumbled. Sitterson’s hand slipped in a gooey pad of sealant and serum from the burned skin beneath.
“Sir,” said Kowacs as he slid between the collapsing boy and the security chief who stared at his hand with an expression of horrified disgust. “We made a mistake. If these guys are the ones got the Ninety-Second into the port, then they’re straight. Even if they did shoot your o.t.s. agent.”
“If!” the security chief repeated. “He’s a dirty little liar, and he’s covering for a traitor who didn’t come near the port during the assault.”
“No sir,” Kowacs said. He was standing so close to Sitterson that he had to tilt his head down to meet the eyes of the senior officer. “Milius did lead them in. And she did buy it during the attack.”
Sitterson flung himself backward, breathing hard. “Who the hell says?” he demanded. His left hand was clenching and uncurling, but his right held the shock rod motionless so that it did not appear to threaten the marine.
“Toby English,” Kowacs said. “Lieutenant English, CO of the Ninety-Second.”
Sitterson looked at the Marine. “You’re . . .” he began, but his voice trailed off instead of breaking. He swallowed. “Oh, Christ,” he said very quietly. “Oh Christ help me if that’s true.”
“Sure, you can ask Toby,” Kowacs said. “The Haig lifted off this morning, but you can send a message torp after her for something this important.”
“He’s off-planet?” the security chief asked. His face regained the color it had lost a moment before.
“Yeah, but—”
“That’s all right,” Sitterson interrupted, fully himself again. He opened the door. “We’ll adjourn for now, Captain.”
Gesturing toward the petty officers waiting for direction, he added, “Two of you, get this one,”—Andy was on the floor, unconscious from shock or the medication—”into his cell and hold him. Just hold them all until I get back to you.”
“Sir, I—” Kowacs began.
“Return to your unit and await orders, Captain,” Sitterson said crisply. “This operation has been a success thus far, and I don’t intend to spoil it.”
Kowacs didn’t like to think about the implications of that while he and Sienkiewicz hitched a ride back to the barracks on a fuel truck going in the right direction. He didn’t like to think about Colonel Hesik’s smile, either.
But he couldn’t forget either thing.
* * *
Kowacs was typing his report, hating the job and hating worse what he was having to say, when Bradley and Sienkiewicz pushed aside the sound-absorbent curtains of his “office.”