On Martinez’s elbow was Chandra Prasad, her knee pressed familiarly to his. Below them were ranked the other four lieutenants, the ship’s doctor, and the cadets. At the far end of the table was the one non-Terran aboardIllustrious, a Daimong cadet who had commanded a pinnace at the Battle of Protipanu and been absent from his ship, the frigateBeacon, when it was destroyed with all aboard.
Like the other cadets, the Daimong maintained an intimidated silence in the presence of his superiors, so his views on the psychology of Lord Ganmir and Lady Oppoda went unrecorded.
“There’s Go-tul’sNew Dynasty, ” Michi said. “A very moving tragedy, I’ve always thought.”
“I consider it flawed,” said Captain Fletcher. He was a thin-faced man with ice-blue eyes that glittered from deep sockets, and silvery hair set in unnaturally perfect waves. His manner combined the Fleet’s assumption of unquestioned authority with the flawless ease of the high-caste Peer.
He was a complete autocrat, but perfectly relaxed about it.
“New Dynastyconcerns a provincial Peer who travels to Zanshaa and comes within an ace of taking her place in elite society,” Fletcher continued. “But she fails, and in the end has to return home. She ends the story in her proper place.” He gave Lady Michi a questioning look. “How is that tragic? Genuine tragedy is the fall of someone born into the highest place and then falling from it.”
Chandra’s hand, under the table, dropped onto Martinez’s thigh and gave it a ferocious squeeze. Martinez tried not to jump.
“Which is more tragic, Lord Captain,” Chandra asked, her voice a little high. “A provincial who rises above her station and fails, or a provincial who rises andsucceeds?”
Fletcher gave her a sharp look, and then his expression regained its accustomed poise. “The latter, I think,” he said.
Chandra dug her claws once more into Martinez’s thigh. Anger vibrated in her. The other officers stiffened, their eyes on the drama being played out between Chandra and the captain. They were all aware that she and Fletcher were lovers, and they all could see that the relationship might explode right at this moment, in front of them all.
The moment appalling, Martinez thought. It was like watching an accident: you couldn’t stop it, but you couldn’t turn away.
“So provincials shouldn’t try to rise in the world?” Chandra asked. “Provincials should stay on their home worlds and let the High City families deal with affairs? The same families that nearly lost the empire to the rebels?” She looked at Martinez. “Where would the Fleet be if Captain Martinez had followed that advice?”
Though Martinez had to agree that the Fleet was improved by his presence, he preferred not to be used as an example. He knew that despite his success, the captain considered him a freak of nature, something on a par with a bearded lady or a talking dog.
He knew, but he didn’t particularly feel like rehashing it all at Michi Chen’s birthday dinner, particularly since nothing he said or did would ever alter the captain’s mind.
“How much worse would our situation be without Captain Martinez, I’d like to know,” Chandra insisted.
“Captain Martinez,” said Fletcher easily, “isn’t a tragic hero, so far as I know. We’re discussing theater, not real life.” He gave a graceful inclination of his head toward Martinez. “Were a figure like Captain Martinez to appear onstage, it would be a tale of high adventure, surely, not the fall of the great.”
Chandra gave Fletcher a smoldering glare. “The great have abandoned Zanshaa and are running like hell from the enemy right now,” she said. “Do you think there’ll ever be a tragedy about that?” Her lip curled. “Or will it be afarce?”
“I think—” Michi began firmly, with the obvious intention of ending the discussion, when a chime from her sleeve display interrupted her. The officers fell silent as she answered: they knew no one would have interrupted the squadron commander’s dinner without good reason.
From his position at Michi’s elbow, Martinez saw the chameleon-weave fabric on her left forearm resolve itself into the image of the warrant officer who guidedIllustrious from Command.
“My lady, I have received a reply from the governor of Termaine,” she said.
“I’ll see it,” Michi said.
“It’s text only. It reads: ‘In view of the local superiority of your pirate forces, and the millions murdered at Bai-do by your command, I have no option but to comply with your unjust and tyrannical demands.’ Signed, Fleet Commander Jakseth, Military Governor.”
Michi listened to the insults with a wry smile, and when the governor’s name was spoken, burst into a delighted laugh. “So Jakseth’s aFleet Commander now?” she said. “He’s been on the captain’s list since I was at the academy!”
Martinez sensed the tension drain from the company, and felt a burst of gratitude for the war that had distracted them from the combat between Chandra and the captain.
“Reply to the governor,” Michi said. “In text, since that’s how he wants it. ‘Congratulations to the Fleet Commander on his promotion. May he have all the success he enjoyed as captain of theChampion.’”
There was laughter from Fletcher at this. Martinez waited for Michi to end her communication, and then spoke.
“I’m sorry, Lady Squadcom, but I don’t understand your answer.”
“Championwas Jakseth’s last command,” she said. “He managed to cause a collision when he docked at Comador—millions in damage, and all his fault. Family influence helped him evade a court-martial, but he hasn’t been allowed to fly so much as a pinnace since.” She looked pleased. “And now he has a whole planet! The rebels were his only hope for promotion.”
Fletcher lifted a hand to signal his wine steward. “Perhaps we should toast the fleetcom’s good luck.”
Wineglasses were recharged and raised in facetious toast to the captain of theChampion. Servants cleared plates and brought another course, mayfish in some kind of sweet berry sauce, with a seaweed garnish.
There was a respectful knock on the door. Martinez looked to see a detachment of the cruiser’s senior petty officers clustered in the doorway.
“We beg your pardon, my Lady Squadcom,” said Master Weaponer Gulik. “We would like to make a presentation on the occasion of your birthday, if we may.”
“I would be honored, Master Weaponer,” Michi said.
Gulik—a small, dour, rat-faced man—squeezed into the room past one of the cup-bearing statues and approached Michi’s seat. He was followed by Master Engineer Thuc, a massive, muscled, slab-sided Terran with the goatee and curling mustachios worn by many senior petty officers. Behind these came the senior machinist, electrician, signaler, and the other petty officers in charge of the ship’s departments.
“We wish to present you with this memento of your time aboardIllustrious, my lady,” Gulik said.
The memento was a scale model of theIllustrious, with the green, pink, and white of Fletcher’s paint scheme minutely and exactly detailed. The model was mounted on a brass base built in the cruiser’s workshop.
Michi thanked the deputation, and led the officers in a toast to the department heads. The deputation left, and the dinner resumed, one course after another, each reflecting the genius of Fletcher’s personal chef, each course marked by toasts and compliments.
Martinez was aware of Chandra smoldering next to him, her leg jigging up and down with impatience.
“You might have stood up for yourself,” she told Martinez as he walked to his cabin after the feast.