Around them, as the gravities pressed the crew deeper into their couches, the peace began to take shape. The Fleet and the Convocation had worked out a plan ahead of time. Non-Naxid officials who—the last anyone heard—had been on Naxas were ordered by Michi to take command of the government, provided they hadn’t accepted jobs in the rebel administration. A disturbingly large percentage of them had and were disqualified. The remainder were not always the pick of the crop, but would have to serve till new administrators were sent out from Zanshaa.
The Naxids seemed to accept the situation quietly, which was certainly lucky for those who so unexpectedly found themselves in charge. The presence of three squadrons armed with dozens of missiles seemed a good recipe for social order, and those most likely to lead a resistance had just committed suicide.
The three Naxid converted warships, traveling too fast to decelerate completely, were ordered to proceed through one of Naxas’s wormholes, dock at another system, and surrender themselves there. Michi didn’t want them in the Naxas system, where they might tempt some unreconstructed Naxid into a misadventure.
A consequence of the sudden victory was that all the wormhole stations were suddenly open. For the first time in a year and a half, nearly all parts of the empire were in communication with one another, the communication lines broken only here and there where a wormhole station had been blasted out of existence.
Michi sent a brief report to Tork through the wormhole relay, the text wrapped in the Fleet’s most elaborate code in case the Naxids were inclined to eavesdrop. It mentioned the bare facts of the battle—victory, a loss of four warships for thirty-eight enemy, a friendly government soon to be in place—but carefully avoided any details, such as the dire lack of ammunition.
A more candid report went to Tork via the more secure method of a relativistic missile, with another missile going to the Fleet Control Board. These reports featured a complete record of the fighting as well as a statement concerning the perilous state of the ammunition supply.
Because there were two reports, Michi received two replies. The first, which arrived fifty-odd hours after she flashed off the original brief report, featured equally brief congratulations. The message was in text, signed by a staff officer.
The second message, which flashed into the system on the back of a relativistic missile, was a video from Tork himself. Michi called off the squadron’s acceleration, then summoned Martinez to her office to view it.
Ligaments creaking in the reduced gravity, Martinez came to her office and braced. Michi sagged wearily in her chair, a cup of coffee before her. The half-nude bronze statues towered over her. The strain of days of high gee lined her face, and there was something else as well, sadness and a kind of defeat.
“This concerns you,” Michi said, “and in a burst of cowardice I decided that you’d better get the news from Tork and not from me.”
“You’ve seen it?”
“Yes. Sit down.”
Michi’s servant Vandervalk was already pouring coffee. Martinez thanked her, sat, and took the cup. The coffee’s sharp scent bit the back of his throat.
A pall enshrouded his mind. This wasn’t going to be good.
Michi ordered the video wall to show Tork’s message. The Supreme Commander appeared at once. He looked more healthy than Martinez had recently seen him—his skin was a healthier shade of gray, and no strips of dead flesh hung from his face. He was out of his body cast and dressed in a viridian dress uniform covered with more silver braid than Martinez had ever seen. Around Tork’s narrow throat was a ribbon on which hung a simple gold disk.
“They gave him theOrb?” Martinez blurted.
Tork gazed from the wall without expression. “To Squadron Commander Chen, greetings,” he said in bell-like tones. “Your full report has been received, along with your request for additional missiles. I can spare no missiles here, but will order as many as I can from elsewhere in the empire and inform your command when you may expect their arrival.”
Can spare no missiles,Martinez thought. Who was Tork planning on shooting his damned missilesat?
“As you can see,” Tork continued, “the Convocation has awarded me the Golden Orb for the recapture of Zanshaa and the victory at Magaria, and they have also honored me by making permanent my rank as Supreme Commander.”
Which explained where all the braid came from. Martinez suppressed an urge to spit on the floor, and sipped his coffee instead.
“As one of my first acts,” Tork said, “I will establish a Committee of Inquiry to analyze the tactical lessons of the war and to prepare a series of recommendations for the Fleet. This committee will be chaired by Fleet Commander Pezzini and will be headquartered at the Commandery in Zanshaa.”
That figured,Martinez thought. Pezzini was a retired fleetcom, a Control Board member who had never seen a missile fired in anger.
Tork continued. His voice was a melodious chime.
“I therefore order Captain Sula, Captain Martinez, and Squadron Commander Chen to report at once to Zanshaa and place themselves at the disposal of the committee.Illustrious andConfidence will go into dock at Zanshaa for routine refit. Lady Michi’s command will remain at Naxas under Captain Carmody, who is promoted Acting Squadron Leader. You will find the text of these orders in an attached file.”
Martinez stared at Tork’s image in shock.He’s taking my ship away?
Ships that went into refit were turned over to dock superintendents and lost their officers and crew.
The harmonies of Tork’s voice were implacable. “Because it would be premature to release any information regarding the battles, or the tactics employed, prior to the report of the committee, I must classify all this information as Highly Sequestered. Any publication or discussion of these matters will be deemed a violation of the Imperial Sequestration Edict and subject to prosecution.
“You will acknowledge receipt of these orders and proceed at once to Zanshaa.”
There was a highlight to Tork’s chiming voice that Martinez suspected was Daimong triumph.
It was all going to be hidden away,Martinez thought. The conclusions of the committee were foreordained. Innovations were a wrong path, and the orthodox tactics with which Tork had captured Magaria were going to be enshrined. Michi’s victories would be explained away or forgotten.
He could imagine already what the committee would say about Naxas. It wasn’t a real battle, it was fought against patched-together converted traders and warships heavily damaged at Magaria. Ofcourse it was one-sided. Under the circumstances, Michi Chen was criminally negligent for losing as many as four ships.
He turned to Michi. “What do we do?” he asked.
Michi’s look was matter-of-fact. “We obey orders.”
“And then?”
Michi considered the question for a half a second or so, then said, “We wait for Tork to die.”
“You could talk to Lord Chen. He’s on the Fleet Control Board.”
She nodded. “I’ll talk to Maurice, of course. But in order for him to reverse an order by the Supreme Commander, he’d need a majority of votes on the board, and I don’t think he’ll get them. Anything he attempts on our behalf will just look like special pleading on behalf of his relatives.” She pushed a plate toward him. “Almond cookie?”
Furious anger raged in Martinez. He put down his coffee cup before he crushed it in his hand.
“We can demand a court-martial,” he said.
“On what grounds?” Michi drummed her fingertips on the desk. “We’re not being sent to jail or ordered to cut our throats. We’re not being punished or reprimanded. That would cause a public outcry, and Tork doesn’t want that. All that’s happening is that we’re being sent to Zanshaa in order to testify before an elite commission.”