“There was something you wanted to tell me?” suggested the colonel.
“Yeah,” said Blick. “I figure that you figure the I.G.’s going to bail you out of this. Right?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“I would,” said Blick. “I was up snoopin’ around the armory last week. There was something there that started me doing some heavy thinking. Do you know what it was?”
“I can guess,” said the colonel.
“As I looked at it, it suddenly occurred to me what a happy coincidence it is that the Inspector General always arrives just when you happen to need him.”
“It is odd, come to think of it.”
“Something else occurred to me, too. I got to thinking that if I were CO. and I wanted to keep the troops whipped into line, the easiest way to do it would be to have a visible symbol of Imperial Headquarters appear in person once in a while.”
“That makes sense,” admitted Harris, “especially since the chaplain has started preaching that Imperial Headquarters is where good marines go when they die— If they follow regulations while they’re alive. But how would you manage it?”
“Just the way you did. I’d take one of the old battle suits, wait until it was good and dark, and then slip out the back way and climb up six or seven thousand feet. Then I’d switch on my landing lights and drift slowly down to the parade field to review the troops.” Blick grinned triumphantly.