might have legitimate business scooting in and out of the space harbor.
My chum Sergeant Shane, then, was the only accessible non-com member of the Space Fleet with the dope about the day-to-day changes in the protective mining of the space harbor![1]
It suddenly became very plain why such information would be extremely valuable to agents of a foreign power; especially if that power were as generally unfriendly as Mars was to the Federation. For it was positive that, if there were any power ever willing to throw the universe into a war against the Federation, that power would be Mars. Even though we weren't at war with Mars at the moment, and hadn't had actual conflict with her in over half a century, there was no mistaking her attitude in consistent interplanetary dealings.
EVERYTHING suddenly fitted in like the pieces of the ancient and occasionally revived jigsaw puzzle. The jittery attitude of Old Ironpants. The special crew of Federation Secret Service Agents working furiously on this situation coming to light on Saturn. Yes, indeed, everything suddenly arranged itself in a pattern with chilling implications.
And suddenly I thought of what Shane's stupidity might lead to. And I thought of how deeply the two of us would be involved in what might explode.
None of this made pleasant contemplation. For there was nothing which could be done to alter the mess. Shane's clumsy foot was already in the fire. Even if, somehow, we could be able to create enough doubt as to our actual complicity and guilt to save our hides from seven electron rifles in the hands of a firing squad, we'd still be washed up in the Service.
Our stripes would be sliced from us, our prestige gone; and any chance of continuing in the Space Marines without shame and humiliation would be impossible. By the very fact that we'd prove our innocence, we'd have first to prove our complete stupidity and ignorance.
A lovely kettle of grief this was.
I knew, of course, that I could clear my own tunic, keep my own stripes, by merely establishing my minor part in the affair. Shane would corroborate my story, and the disgrace would be left for him alone to bear. But, hell, something kept me from clinging to that one way out. As much as I hated that towheaded half-wit's intestines at the moment, we'd been through too much together for me to let him face the music—or the firing squad—alone.
And don't think that my realization of what a sucker I was being for that space-slappy sap didn't burn me up—it did! But it stood as it stood, and I wasn't going to climb out on him now. For if ever the ape-like ass needed me, this was the time.
Needed me—the thought was suddenly most ironic. Maybe Shane needed me, but that wasn't going to help much. I was behind a nice set of mangonic bars in a cell with a duralloy floor, walls, and ceiling. I was in no situation to get dramatic ideas about throwing my help to anyone.
I sat down heavily on a cot in the corner, just as the vibrasiren began
- ↑ Atomic mine fields—Invented in the 22nd Century, the atomic mine solved one of the greatest defensive warfare problems in space harbor protection. Quite invisible, being formed of highly explosive atomic elements, these mines can be "anchored" in space to block off any given area in need of such protection. They were also used extensively in offensive warfare from their inception, being utilized to "bottle" large flotillas of enemy spacecraft, and blockade enemy space harbors from the outer space fields.
