Deputy Officer Iklix Varn (Human)

The answer to whose question is it came back on the twelfth day, and it was not an answer. It was a referral with a raven in it.

The Certification Office had not known whose question it was. The clerk had said so, courteously, and had done the one thing a clerk can do with a question that is not theirs, which is pass it up. Up from the office was the habitat; up from the habitat was the Compact; and at the Compact there was a desk where the five habitats' paperwork was laid side by side once a quarter to see whether it agreed with itself. That desk had passed it sideways. The notification arrived at the watch addressed to Field Officer Smith and copied to Eden's Commissioner, with a reference number: the Deputy who had fetched the contractor's log was asked to attend Orbital Five-O at the room the Compact lent it, bringing both copies. The last line gave the Field Observer's name and band number, so that nobody would be surprised by a bird.

Smith read it and said, "Go. Say nothing you cannot show them on paper."

The room was on the Compact side, past the Certification Office, in a corridor where Varn's collar meant exactly what it had meant the first time, which was courtesy. The door was open. There was a desk with two documents already on it, a man behind the desk who stood up, and on a bracket by the window a raven, banded, who did not.

Commander Larsen did not shake hands and did not explain himself, which Varn had been told about and found, in the event, restful. He said the watch's question had reached him the way his cases always reached him, as a referral nobody was worried about, and that he had read the contractor's note and the office's n/a and had a file of his own, and that he would like the Deputy to put the log beside it and tell him what they saw. Not what they thought. What they saw.

The file was a reconciliation. Five habitats, one line of structure each, three years of inspection dates for the understructure under their dock rings. Four of the five had kept to the interval. Eden had extended it twice, each time within the rules, each time with an initial beside it and a budget line beside the initial. Under that, in a separate hand, a berth strike at approach mount three, logged in 2825, the understructure inspection it should have triggered marked deferred under extended interval, and no later entry saying it had been done.

"That is the Compact's," Larsen said. "The schedule, the deferral, the budget line. Somebody held a date. I started by thinking they struck your crew's note to keep holding it." He turned the certification copy round so the n/a faced Varn. "I still half think so. The half I have stopped thinking is that anyone meant it. Nobody in this file wanted anything to go wrong. They wanted a date to stay where it was."

The raven shifted on her bracket and settled. Varn had the sense, not for the first time since the ninth day, of standing in a room where everyone present was competent and nobody could act.

So Varn did what a Deputy can do, which is read. They laid the log between the reconciliation and the certification, three documents in a row, and read each for what the other two were about, the way Smith read a trace. The reconciliation was about an inspection that did not happen. The certification was about a run of members, within tolerance, and an approach monitoring that read normal. The log was about mount three, ringing under load.

Mount three.

Varn put a finger on the certification's line about the monitoring, and said, before deciding to, "The instruments hang from it."

Larsen waited.

"The six instruments. The fold-approach monitoring. They are bolted through the understructure at mount three; that is why the watch countersigns at all. The certification says the monitoring read normal, and the monitoring is on the mount the crew says is carrying more than it was left to carry. And the baseline" — Varn found the line, because it was a thing that could be shown — "was re-zeroed on the certification date. Standard practice. So it read normal against itself, while it was already carrying it."

The raven made a small sound that was not a word.

"Three documents," Varn said, "and they are all about the same member. One of them was written by it."

Larsen looked at the row for a while. Then he said that this was not his jurisdiction, in the voice of a man naming a fact he had resigned a commission over once already. The structure was the habitat's. The instrument was the Corps'. The schedule was the Compact's, and that part he would file, in the open, with letters to both Commissioners, as a deferral that should not have been deferred. He could not make a mount sound or an instrument read. And the crew who had heard it had no standing to be asked, by him or by anyone, which Varn already knew.

"You carried it across once," Larsen said. "Carry it back. Tell your officer what it hangs from."

Varn gathered the three copies. At the door, the raven turned her head and watched them go, which was the whole of what she did, and was, Varn understood later, her job.