Coran was hustled roughly to the lower part of the ship and flung into the cramped quarters of the transport's brig. He settled back on the bunk and tried to straighten things out in his mind.
"At least I got a room to myself," he mused grimly. This was going to complicate things.
His wrist-chron had stopped, so he had no way of telling time, but they fed him four times and he slept twice before they came for him. Two crew men waited in the passage while Hamlin came in and sat down.
"You're in a bad spot, Coran. It's customary in cases of civilian infractions of ship's rules to appoint an officer as counsel for their defense. I'm yours. Sorry you got pushed around, but you were lucky at that. Harriman's a pretty tough character. You'd have got worse if Nalson and I hadn't been there. He's been disciplined for brutality before now. They're giving you a hearing in the wardroom. I'd suggest you co-operate with me by telling me anything that will help with your case. I don't mind telling you your story's too weak to hold up. I'll do all I can for you, but you'll have to help."
"What am I supposed to do?" Coran grunted.
"You might tell me the truth. We know the captain must have been killed just as the ship took off. Otherwise, someone would have heard the shot. If you could prove you were somewhere else at the time—"
"I was with my wife. She'll bear witness for me."
"It won't do, Coran. I should have told you that your wife is ill and won't be able to testify. I found her myself, strapped to the bunk in your cabin, Martian plague! I called the doctor who examined her, then quarantined the cabin. We left concentrated food and water, warned her not to leave, then locked and sealed the cabin. No one can see her."
Coran went cold with anger. "Someone must really be trying to foul me up," he raged. "She couldn't have the plague—she's never been off the earth."