Conventions of War (36 page)

Husayn's mouth stretched in a taut, angry grimace beneath his little mustache. “The Fourth Fleet blew itself to bits in a few minutes of close-range fire. All the Naxids' ships were destroyed, but most of the loyalists were hurt too, and some ships completely wrecked. There were thousands of deaths. But
the Naxids didn't shoot at us!
They knew
Illustrious
was helpless.”

Frustration crackled in Husayn's voice. Martinez could imagine the scene in Command, Fletcher calling for firepower that simply wasn't there, the weapons officer—Husayn himself—pounding his console in fury. Kosinic racing along the docking tube with a party of desperate crouchbacks and the hand carts that carried the antiproton bottles. The long moments of helpless silence as the battle started and the crew waited for the fire that would rend their ship and kill them, followed by the horrid realization of the insult that the Naxids were flinging in their teeth, that the enemy
knew
that
Illustrious
could be of no assistance to their own side, and disdained so much as to target them.

The feeling of helplessness, Martinez thought, must have been at least as frustrating and terrifying as that of the captain of a ship pinned to a stair by heavy gee while his ship fought for its life without him.

“Captain Fletcher cast off from the ring, my lord,” Husayn continued, “and maneuvered as if to attack. We were hoping to draw their fire away from the others, but the Naxids still refused to respond. We hit them with our lasers, but the lasers really can't do the sort of damage antimatter can in those conditions, and…” He grimaced again. “Still they wouldn't attack us. We watched the whole battle from the sidelines. Captain Fletcher was in a perfect rage—I'd never seen him like that, never saw him show emotion before.”

“Where was Squadron Commander Chen?”

“On the planet, my lord. Dinner party.”

Martinez couldn't imagine Michi being happy about what had happened to
Illustrious
either.

“We were very glad to finally get a swat at the Naxids at Protipanu, my lord,” Husayn said. “It was good to pay them back.”

“Yes,” Martinez said. “
Illustrious
did very well at Protipanu. You all did very well.”

He looked from Husayn to Gulik, who was still standing rigid, the sweat pouring down his face, his eyes staring into some internal horror.

No wonder they hadn't talked about it, Martinez thought. He'd thought
Illustrious
had won a hard-fought victory alongside the other loyalists of the Fourth Fleet, and assumed the cruiser had just been lucky not to suffer any damage. He hadn't known that
Illustrious
and its crew hadn't been a part of the fighting at all, except for Kosinic and his little party who had been caught out of their ship.

“Very good,” Martinez said softly. “I think we might institute a series of test firings and inspections to make sure the point-defense weapons won't fail when we need them.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Carry on then.”

As he left, Martinez felt Gulik's wide-eyed stare boring into his neck, and wondered what it was that Gulik was really looking at.

His next stop was the sick bay, where he received Dr. Xi's report on the twenty-two crew with broken bones and the twenty-six more with bad sprains or concussions, all as a result of the unexpected high accelerations. The failure of engine number one had probably saved the ship from more casualties, and very possibly from fatalities.

Xi examined the back of Martinez's head and prescribed painkillers, and a muscle relaxant before bed. He scanned the wrist and found a minor fracture of the right pisiform carpal. He taped the wrist and gave Martinez a shot of fast-healer hormones, then gave him a med injector with more fast-healers.

“Three times a day till you run out,” he said. “It should be healed in a week or so.”

Martinez toured the sick bay, speaking to each of the injured crouchbacks, then returned to his office to find Jukes waiting, happy to report that the artworks had survived the accelerations without damage. Martinez sent Jukes on his way, then made official his demotion of Francis, added a furious couple of paragraphs to Francis's efficiency report, and had supper.

He remained awake for the countdown that started engine number one, and made certain that the new turbopump was performing up to specs before calling for Alikhan to bring him his nightly cocoa.

“What are they saying now, Alikhan?” Martinez asked.

Alikhan was looking with great disapproval at Martinez's shoes, spattered with engine coolant and the muck of the heat exchange room.

“Francis is furious,” he said. “She was planning on retiring after the war, and now she'll have a much smaller pension.”

Martinez held his cup of cocoa under his nose and inhaled the rich sweet scent. “So she's gathering sympathy then?” he asked.

Alikhan drew himself up with magisterial dignity and dropped the soiled shoes into their bag. “Fuck her,” he pronounced, “she put the ship in danger. You could have cut her throat, and maybe you should have. As it is, you hit her where she hurts. With Francis it's always about money.”

“Right,” Martinez said, and concealed a smile. “Thank you, Alikhan.”

He swallowed his muscle relaxant, then slid into bed and sipped his cocoa while he looked at the painting of the woman, child, and cat.

Day by day,
Illustrious
was becoming his ship, and less something that belonged to Fletcher, or the petty officers, or the Fourth Fleet. Today had been an important step in that process.

Another couple months, he thought pleasantly, and the cruiser would fit him like a glove.

 

C
henforce made a high-gravity burn around Arkhan-Dohg's sun and hurled itself for Wormhole 3, its presence marked by the radioactive dust that had been its relay station. No Naxid missiles barred their way.

On the other side of Wormhole 3 was Choiyn, a wealthy world with five billion inhabitants and considerable industry. Four uncompleted medium-sized warships, large frigates or light cruisers, were cast adrift from its ring and destroyed, along with half a dozen merchant ships that had been unable to clear the system in time.

No Naxid attack threatened, but to be safe, Michi vaporized all the wormhole stations anyway, lest they provide tracking data to the enemy.

Martinez was busy with drills, inspections, and minutiae. Rao, Francis's replacement, produced revised 77-12s that corrected Francis's elisions, and Martinez's inspections showed that Rao's data were not in error.

Cadet Ankley, who had been made Acting Lieutenant after Phillips's suicide, spectacularly lost his temper when an inspection of his division had turned up some chaotic inventory, and had to be returned to the ranks of the cadets while Cadet Qing was promoted in his place.

This failure was balanced by Chandra Prasad's success. Her exercises had Chenforce pelted by relativistic missiles from all directions, and also compelled the squadron to confront a wide variety of Naxid attacks, the enemy converging on Chenforce from various headings and with a wide variation in velocity. It was a big surprise when a virtual Naxid squadron starburst to mirror Martinez's new tactics, and Chenforce had a murderous fight on its hands that ended in mutual annihilation. The sting of this humiliation stayed with Martinez for some time, but eventually he concluded that if the war went on long enough, the Naxids were bound to adopt the new tactics or something like them, and that the Fleet should be ready with countertactics.

If only he could think of some.

After Choiyn came Kinawo, a system that featured a main-sequence yellow star orbited by a blue-white companion so furiously radioactive that the system was bereft of life except for the crews of a pair of heavily shielded wormhole stations, both of which were quickly destroyed. Chenforce would transit Kinawo in six days and then enter El-Bin, a system with two habitable planets, one heavily industrialized and the other covered with grazing, herdsmen, and their beasts.

El-Bin also had four wormholes, each of which offered a different possibility. Which meant that El-Bin was the last possible place to make a certain decision, and whatever way that decision went, it would effect the outcome of the war.

 

M
artinez invited Lady Michi to supper the night before the squadron was to transit to El-Bin. He had Perry pull out all the stops and prepare a ham, a duck that had been preserved in its own fat, and dumplings stuffed with cheese, smoked pork, and herbs. When Michi arrived, he greeted her with cocktails, pickles, and cheese huffers. She seemed undefinably different, and more attractive. Studying her, he decided the difference was the hair. She still wore it at collar length, with straight bangs across the forehead, but somehow the style suited her more now than in the past.

“You've changed your hair,” he said, “but I can't work out how.”

She smiled. “Buckle. Since he doesn't belong to Captain Fletcher anymore, I thought I'd take advantage of his availability.”

“He's done a splendid job. You're looking very well.”

She patted her hair. “Now that Buckle's on staff, I think you'll find some more attractive crew walking about the ship.”

“I'll look forward to that.”

Martinez sat Michi at the place of honor in the captain's dining room and had Alikhan open a bottle of wine. The plates arrived, each served by Narbonne in its turn, and Michi was impressed by the vast quantity of food that kept rolling out of the kitchen.

“I won't keep my good looks for long if I eat all this,” she remarked.

“I'd be alarmed for you if you ate everything,” Martinez said, “but I can have Perry prepare a package of leftovers for you. He'd love it, I'm sure—score points against
your
cook.”

“I'd rather not have my cook in a mood to poison me, thanks all the same.”

Over coffee and fried ice cream they began a discussion of that morning's exercise, in which Chandra had set a pair of converging Naxid squadrons on a virtual Chenforce.

“Prasad is proving useful,” Michi said. “I've completely changed my mind about her.”

“Yes?”

“Before I took her on staff, I thought I disliked her. Now that I've had a chance to work with her closely, I realize that I hate her guts.” She scowled, her brows meeting. “She's ambitious, she's unscrupulous, she's tactless, and she's ill-bred. But she's too good, damn it. I can't get rid of her.”

Martinez didn't disagree with this estimate, and though he was pleased at having unloaded Chandra onto his superior, he felt it would be tactless to show it.

“I'm sorry she's so turbulent,” he said.

“I have to wonder what Kosinic saw in her,” Michi muttered.

Martinez stared at her. “Kosinic and Chandra were…?”

“Yes. It began over a year ago, when Kosinic first joined my staff and Prasad had a job on Harzapid's ring. I'm not sure it continued after Kosinic was wounded, because that's when Prasad came aboard and began her relationship with the captain.” She scowled. “I suppose Kosinic lacked the strength of character to resist her.”

Martinez feigned a fascination with his coffee cup.
Is Chandra killing all her ex-lovers?
he wondered, and then wondered whether the one guard outside during the night watches was enough.

“Interesting,” he said.

Michi raised an eyebrow. “Do you think so? I think it's squalid.”

“No reason it can't be both.” Surprise about Chandra and Kosinic swam through his mind, and then he wondered about Michi's reaction to the business. Perhaps she'd had a little crush on her young protégé? With an effort he pushed speculation to the side. He had other things in mind.

He looked at Michi. “I have some ideas, my lady, of a tactical nature.”

A delicate smile touched her lips. “Yes? This supper isn't purely social then?”

“I hoped to show you a pleasant evening in exchange for having to listen to my ideas—well, idea, there's only one.”

“The dumplings have made me generous. Go on.”

Martinez took a deliberate sip of his coffee, the bitter taste welcome after the sweet dessert. He put his cup carefully in the saucer. “I'd like to make the case for an attack on Naxas.”

Michi smiled. “I was wondering when you'd suggest an attack on the enemy capital. I was making little bets with myself about it.”

“The Naxids have fifty warships in their fleet,” Martinez said, “and we know that forty-three of them were in the fleet that took Zanshaa. That leaves seven at Magaria and Naxas combined. There was a small squadron of five ships at Naxas at the beginning of the war, and I'd bet they're still there. I'd also be willing to bet they haven't been reinforced.

“Chenforce has seven ships, though admittedly
Celestial
was damaged at Protipanu and can't fight at full efficiency. Our magazines are depleted by about a third, but we have new tactics, good morale, and a tradition of victory. One attack at Naxas can overwhelm the defenders and put the enemy government at our mercy. It might be the winning stroke.”

Michi gave a long sigh. “You have no idea how tempting you make it all sound.” She placed her hands flat on the table before her, fingers extended. “But we don't know that the enemy government is still on Naxas. It might well be in transit to Zanshaa.”

“That's a risk,” Martinez admitted.

“Plus it's not as if the Naxids don't know where we are. They may have sent reinforcements to Naxas. Even if we get there first and defeat the five ships, a rescue force may still arrive, and we'd have another fight on our hands, with magazines running empty from the previous fight.”

“Yes.”

“And of course they may have completed some of their new ships and sent them to Naxas. And we might not be lucky. And of course my orders specifically order me
not
to go to Naxas.”