First Command Read Free

3

    THERE WAS AN ODD, nagging suspicion at the back of Brasidus’ mind as he walked slowly through the almost deserted streets to the police barracks. Normally he would have been attracted by the sounds of revelry that still roared from the occasional Club—but the mood that had descended upon him earlier still had not left him, and to it was added this new fretting surmise. Crime was not rare on Sparta, but it was usually of a violent nature and to cope with it required little in the way of detective ability. However, crime against the state was not unknown—and the criminals were, more often than not, highly placed officials, better educated and more intelligent than the commonalty. There was a certain smell about such malefactors—slight, subtle, but evident to the trained nose.
    Brasidus possessed such an organ, and it had twitched at the odor that lingered about Doctor Heraklion.
    Drugs? Could be—although the man himself did not appear to be an addict. But, in his position, he would have access to narcotics, and the peddlers had to get their supplies from somebody.
    Even so, Brasidus was reluctant to pass his suspicions on to his superiors. To begin with, there was no proof. Secondly—and this was more important—he had witnessed what had happened, more than once, to overzealous officers who had contrived to trample on the toes of the influential. To present his captain with a fait accompli , with all the evidence (but of what?) against Heraklion neatly compiled, would be one thing, would almost certainly lead to promotion. To run to him with no more than the vaguest of suspicions, no more than a hunch, actually, could well result in permanent banishment to some dead-end hamlet in the bush.
    Nonetheless, an investigation could bring rewards and, if carried out discreetly and on his own time, would not be too risky. After all, there was no law or regulation to debar any citizen from entry to the créche. Now and again, at the instigation of members like Telemachus, the Council had attempted to encourage visits, although with little success. Perhaps a sudden access of parental feeling would look suspicious—but calling to see a friend, one of the children’s nurses, would not. Too, Achron himself might have noticed something odd, might even be induced to remember and to talk about it.
    “What’s biting you, Sergeant?” asked the bored sentry on duty at the barracks gate.
    Brasidus started. “Nothing,” he said.
    “Oh, come off it!” The man who had served with Brasidus for years and was shortly due for promotion himself, could be permitted liberties. “Anybody’d think you had a solid week’s guard duty ahead of you, instead of your free day.” The sentry yawned widely. “How was the dance, by the way? It’s unlike you to be back so early, especially when you’ve a morning’s lay-in for recuperation.”
    “So-so.”
    “Any good fights?”
    “I don’t know. There seemed to be one starting just as I left.”
    “And you didn’t join in? You must be sickening for something. You’d better see a doctor.”
    “Maybe I’d better. Good night, Leonidas—or should it be good morning?”
    “What does it matter to you? You’ll soon be in your scratcher.”
    On his way to his sleeping quarters Brasidus had to pass the duty sergeant’s desk. That official looked up as he approached. “Oh, Brasidus . . .”
    “I’m off duty, Lysander.”
    “A policeman is never off duty—especially one who is familiar with the routine for spaceport guard duties.” He consulted a pad on his desk. “You, with six constables, are to present yourself at the port at 0600 hours. The men have already been checked off for the duty, and arrangements have been made to have you all called. You’d better get some sleep.”
    “But there’s no ship due. Not for months.”
    “Sergeant Brasidus, you and I are policemen. Neither of us is an expert on astronautical matters. If the Latterhaveneers decide to send an unscheduled