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Chin said nothing for a moment. Then, her eyes became sheer slits and Ogilve held his breath. He almost shouted at her. For God's sake, Genevieve—shut up! This maniac would arrest a cat for yawning!
Too late. Genevieve Chin didn't often lose her temper. Nor was it volcanic when she did. But the low, snarling words which came out now contained all of the biting sarcasm of which she was capable.
"You arrogant jackass. Leave it to a desk man to think that in combat you can keep all the rules and regulations in tidy order. Let me explain to you, snotnose, that when you put people together in hard circumstances—for years we've been out here on our own, damn you, and done one hell of a good job—"
The State Security officers enjoying the privilege of being seated in the Special Investigator's presence began spluttering outrage. Two of the StateSec officers standing against the wall stepped forward, as if to seize Chin. The admiral herself, despite her age, slid easily into a martial artist's semi-crouch.
It's all going to blow! Ogilve thought frantically, trying to find some way to—
Wham!
He jumped. So did everyone in the room. The palm of Cachat's hand, slamming the desk, had sounded like a small explosion. Jean-Pierre Ogilve studied the Special Investigator's hand. It was not particularly large. But, like the shoulders, it was sinewy and square and looked . . . very, very hard.
For the first time, also, there was an actual expression on Cachat's face. A tight-eyed, tight-jawed, glare of cold fury. But, oddly enough, it was not aimed at Admiral Chin but at the two StateSec officers stepping forward.
"Were you given any instructions?" Cachat demanded harshly.
The two officers froze in mid-step.
"Were you?"
Hastily, they shook their heads. Then, just as hastily, stepped back and resumed their position against the wall. Standing at rigid attention, now.
Cachat's hard eyes moved to the StateSec officers seated on the couch and two armchairs.
"And you. In case you have difficulty with simple geometry, it should be obvious that the proper relations between StateSec and Navy could not have collapsed in this sector without the participation of both parties involved."
One of the two StateSec officers granted an armchair in what Ogilve was coming to think of as The Fanatic's Presence began to protest. Jean-Pierre knew her name—Citizen Captain Jillian Gallanti, the senior of the two captains in command of the superdreadnoughts Hector Van Dragen and Joseph Tilden —but nothing else about her.
Cachat gave her as short a shrift as he was giving everyone else.
"Silence. Whether or not you can handle geometry, your grasp of simple arithmetic leaves much to be desired. Since when do two SDs need to keep their impellers up to handle a task force of battleships and cruisers? Leaving aside the useless wear and tear on the people's equipment"—the words somehow came out in capital letters, People's Equipment—"you've also kept the People's Navy paralyzed for weeks. Weeks, Citizen Captain Gallanti– thereby giving the Manticoran elitists free rein to wreak havoc on the commerce in this sector. All this, mind you, in the midst of the Republic's most desperate hour, when the blueblood Earl of White Haven and his Cossacks are ravening at our door."
Cachat's eyes narrowed a bit. "Whether your actions are the product of incompetence, cowardice—or something darker—remains to be determined."
Gallanti shrunk down in her chair like a mouse under a cat's regard. All the StateSec officers in the compartment now looked like furtive mice. Their eyes moving, if nothing else; desperately trying to avoid the cat's notice.
Cachat studied them for a moment, like a cat selecting its lunch. "I can assure all of you that Citizen Chairman Saint-Just is no more pleased with the state of StateSec-Navy relations in this sector than I am. And I can also assure you that the man who created our organization understands better than anyone that it is ultimately State Security which is responsible for maintaining those proper relations."
After a moment, he looked back at Yuri Radamacher. "Name another replacement."
Yuri's lips twisted slightly. "Since Citizen Captain Justice didn't suit you, I'd recommend Citizen Captain James Keppler."
Cachat's fingers worked at the keyboard again. When the appropriate screen came up, he spent perhaps two minutes studying the information. Then:
"I will warn you only once, Citizen Commissioner Radamacher. Trifle with me again and I will have you shipped back immediately to Nouveau Paris and let you face the investigation in the Institute instead."
Mention of the Institute brought a chill to the compartment. Before the Harris assassination, the Institute had been the headquarters of the Mental Hygiene Police, and its reputation had become only more sinister since the change in management.
Cachat allowed the chill to settle in before continuing.
He pointed a finger at the screen. "Citizen Captain Keppler is an obvious incompetent. It's a mystery to me why he wasn't relieved of his duties months ago."
Like the admiral, Yuri seemed to have decided that he was damned anyway. "That's because he was one of Jamka's toadies," he snarled.
"I'll have Keppler assigned to escort my first set of dispatches to Nouveau Paris. Presumably the man can handle a briefcase shackled to his wrist. Which means I still want your recommendation for a replacement, Citizen Commissioner Radamacher. Your opinions on any other subject are not required at this time."
"What's the use? Whoever I recommend—"
"A name, Citizen Commissioner."
Yuri's shoulders slumped. "Fine. If you won't trust Captain Justice, the next best would be Citizen Commander Howard Wilkins."
A couple of minutes passed while the Special Investigator brought up another screen and studied it.
"Give me your assessment," he commanded.
By now, it was clear to Ogilve that Cachat had hammered Yuri into . . . not submission, exactly, so much as simple resignation. "Take my word for it or don't. Howard's a hard-working and conscientious officer. Quite a capable one, too, if you overlook his occasional fussiness and his tendency to get obsessed with charts and records."
The last was said with another little twist of the lips. Not sarcastic, this time—or, at least, with the sarcasm aimed elsewhere.
Cachat didn't miss it. "If that jibe is aimed at me, Citizen Commissioner, I am indifferent. Charts and records are not infallible, but they are nevertheless useful. Very well. I can see nothing in Citizen Captain Wilkins' record to disqualify him. Your recommendation is accepted. Now report yourself under arrest."
After Yuri was gone, Cachat turned to Genevieve. "I'll overlook your personal outburst, Citizen Admiral Chin. Frankly, I am indifferent to the opinion anyone has of me other than the people of the Republic"—again, it came out in capital letters: The People Of The Republic—"and their authorized leaders."
Cachat gestured to the screen. "I spent a portion of my time on the voyage here studying your own records, and those of La Martine since you assumed command of naval forces here six years ago. It's an impressive record. You've succeeded in suppressing all piracy in the sector and even managed to keep Manticoran commerce raiding severely under check. In addition, the civilian authorities in the sector have nothing but praise for the way you've coordinated with them smoothly. Over the past six years, La Martine Sector has become one of the most important economic strongholds for the Republic—and the civilian authorities unanimously credit you for a large part of that accomplishment."
The Special Investigator glanced at Jean-Pierre. "Citizen Commodore Ogilve also seems to have excelled in his duties. I gather he's the one you normally assign to leading the actual patrols."