The non-com's face didn't change. "Sir, the captain's statement isn't
true."
"_What's that?_" Wayne asked angrily.
"Quiet, Captain," Petersen said. "Go ahead, Boggs."
The sergeant licked his bruised lips. "I was about to start up the rope
when, for no reason at all, he struck me in the stomach. Then he hit me
again a few more times, and I passed out."
"Did he say anything when he did this?" the Colonel asked.
"No, sir."
Wayne frowned. What was the sergeant trying to do? What the devil was he
up to?
"Corporal MacPherson," the colonel said, "Did you witness the fight?"
"Yes, sir," the small man said, stepping a pace forward.
"Describe it."
"Well, sir, we were up on top of the cliff, and we called--or rather,
_I_ called for the captain and the sergeant to come on up. Sergeant
Boggs took a hold of the rope and then the captain hit him in the belly,
sir. He hit him twice more and the sergeant fell down. Then the captain
told us to come down, which we did, sir. That was all." He gestured with
his hands to indicate he had no more to say.
Wayne could hardly believe his ears. Making an effort, he managed to
restrain himself.
"Private Manetti, do you have anything to add to that?" the colonel
asked.
"No, sir. It happened just like that, sir. We both seen the entire
thing. That's the way it happened. The captain hauled off and let him
have it."
The colonel swivelled around and let his cold eyes rest on Wayne.
"Captain, you have stated that Sergeant Boggs did not talk to either of
these two men after you struck him. That eliminates any collusion."
"Yes, sir," Wayne said stonily.
"I talked to both men separately, and they tell substantially the same
story. The records of all three of these men are excellent. The sergeant
claims he never saw any monster of the type you describe, and the group
I sent out to check says that there is no body of any alien animal
anywhere near the spot. How do you explain the discrepancies between
your story and theirs?"
* * * * *
Wayne glared angrily at the three men. "They're lying, sir," he said
evenly. "I don't know why they're doing it. The whole thing took place
exactly as I told you."
"I find that very difficult to believe, Captain."
"Is that a formal accusation, sir?"
Petersen shrugged and rubbed his hands against his iron-grey temples.
"Captain," he said finally, "you have a very fine record. You have never
before been known to strike an enlisted man for any cause whatever. I
hold that in your favor."
"Thank you, sir."
"On the other hand, the evidence here definitely indicates that your
story is not quite true. Now, we know that Lieutenant Jervis acted
peculiarly after the crew of the _Mavis_ met its mysterious end, and the
Medical Corps thinks that whatever is causing the deaths could also
cause mental confusion. Therefore, I am remanding you to the custody of
the Medical Corps for observation. You'll be kept in close confinement
until this thing is cleared up."
Wayne frowned bitterly. "Yes, sir," he said.
* * * * *
Peter Wayne sat in his cell in the hospital sector and stared at the
wall in confusion. What in blazes was going on? What possible motive
would three enlisted men have to frame him in this way? It didn't make
any sense.
Was it possible that he really _had_ gone off his rocker? Had he
imagined the little beast under the sand?
He lifted his foot and looked again at the sole. There it was: a little
pit about an eighth of an inch deep.
The colonel had explained it away easily enough, saying that he might
possibly have stepped on a sharp rock. Wayne shook his head. He knew he
wasn't nuts. But what the hell was going on?
There were no answers. But he knew that the eventual answer, when it
came, would have something to do with the mystery of the _Mavis's_ eight
corpses.
It was late that afternoon when Sherri James came storming into the
hospital sector. She was wearing a spacesuit, and she was brandishing a
pass countersigned by Colonel Petersen himself. She was determined to
enter.
"The medics didn't want to let me in," she explained. "But I told them
I'd wear a spacesuit if it would make them any happier."
"Sherri! What the devil are you doing here?"
"I just wanted to check on you," she said. Her voice sounded oddly
distorted coming over the speaker in the helmet. "You're supposed to
have blown your wig or something. Did you?"
"No. Of course not."
"I didn't think so." She unscrewed her helmet quickly. "Listen, Peter,
there's something funny going on aboard this ship."
"I've known that a long time," he said.
"I think Boggs and those other two are trying to frame you," she said,
her voice low. "Do you know of anyone aboard named Masters?"
"Masters?" Wayne repeated. "Not that I know of--why?"
"Well, I overheard Boggs talking to one of the other men. I didn't hear
very clearly, but it sounded as though he said: 'We've got to get Moore
out and turn him over to Masters.' Bill Moore is one of my
computermen--tall, skinny fellow."
Wayne nodded, frowning. "Yeah, but who is Masters? This is the queerest
thing I ever heard of."
Footsteps sounded in the corridor outside.
"Better put your helmet on," Wayne advised. "Whoever's coming might not
like to see you this way."
Quickly, she slipped the helmet back on. "I don't know what's going on,"
she said. "But I intend to find out."
* * * * *
One of the medics entered the cell without knocking and came up to
Sherri. "You'll have to go now, Lieutenant," he said. "We're going to
perform some tests on the captain now."