“End transmission.” The orangeEnd Transmission symbol appeared, and Martinez told the display to vanish.
Now we die, he thought.
But nothing happened right away.Corona’s engines burned on for another nine minutes before anything was heard from the ring station.
“Ferogashis maneuvering, my lord!” from Tracy.
“Ferogashfiring main engines!” echoed Clarke.
Martinez tried to control his suddenly leaping heart. “What course?”
“Zero-zero-one by zero-zero-one. Course due north, my lord. Two gravities and accelerating.” The 313-degree Shaa compass had no zero coordinate, but began instead with one, the odd number left over after factoring the prime number. The one, of course, stood for the One True Way of the Praxis.
Ferogashwasn’t chasing, it was heading north, the quickest way to clear the ring and open fire.
“Page crewman Saavedra,” Martinez said.
The warrant officer’s supercilious face appeared promptly.
“We’re about to be fired on by a cruiser twice our strength,” Martinez said. “If you’ve got any ideas about where the captain keeps his key, it’s time to let me know.”
“I have no idea, Lord Lieutenant,” Saavedra said. “I had no desire to know where the captain kept his key, and I paid no attention to it.”
“Missile flares!” Clarke called. “Three, five, six…eight missile tracks, my lord!”
“We’ve got eight missiles coming our way,” Martinez told Saavedra. “If you’ve got any ideas about the key, you’d better let me know.”
Saavedra stared stonily at Martinez. “You could surrender, my lord, and return to base,” he said. “I’m sure the fleetcom would order the missiles disarmed if you obeyed her command.”
The total, incorruptible bastard, Martinez snarled. Kneecapping was too good for him.
“Fourteen minutes to detonation, my lord,” Tracy said.
“You’ve got less than fourteen minutes to think of something we haven’t tried,” Martinez told Saavedra. “Then you can die with the rest of the crew.” He signed off and turned to Kelly. “Weapons. I want you to prepare to launch one of the pinnaces as a decoy.”
“Yes, my lord.” She hesitated, then turned her dark eyes to Martinez. “My lord, ah—how exactly would Ido that?”
“We fire the pinnace on the same course, but a slower speed. We hope the missiles lock onto the pinnace instead of us.”
Without the captain’s key, the two pinnaces were the only things Martinezcould launch. Unfortunately, they weren’t armed, so they were useless for offense, and the chances of one of the missiles mistaking a pinnace for the frigate were slim to none.
Kelly blinked at her console. “I think I can do that, my lord.”
“Good. Let me know when you’re ready, and I’ll check your work.”
She seemed reassured. “Very good, my lord.”
Martinez called Alikhan. “Have you tried searching Koslowski’s cabin again?”
“We have, my lord.”
“Any new ideasat all? ”
“Nothing, my lord.”
“Right then. Get your people into the officers’ racks. I’m going to kick some gees.” To Mabumba. “Acceleration warning.”
The wailed cry of the acceleration warning sounded. “Very good, my lord.”
He increasedCorona’s acceleration to six gees while he tried desperately to think of a way to escape. The heavy gravity should have wearied him but his mind blazed with ideas—radical maneuvers, imaginative improvision of decoys, suicide pinnace dives into the ring station—all of them pointless. The only thing he’d succeeded at was slowing the rate at which the missiles were closing, and buying his crew a few more minutes’ life.
“Twelve minutes, my lord.”
Martinez realized that his mind was racing too quickly to actually be of any use, and he tried to slow himself down, go through everything he knew step by step.
Garcia had told him that Koslowski never wore his lieutenant’s key while playing football. Koslowski was the only one ofCorona’s officers who Martinez definitely knew wasn’t wearing his key, so that meant he should concentrate on Koslowski.
The sensible place for Koslowski to put his key would be in the safe in his cabin, but Koslowski hadn’t been that sensible. He hadn’t put it in any other obvious place in his cabin either. So where else could he have gone?
Where else didofficers go?
The wardroom. It was where the officers ate and relaxed. There was a locked pantry where the officers kept their drinks and delicacies.
But the wardroom was an insecure place, there were people in cleaning, and the wardroom steward and cook both had keys to the pantry. The wardroom seemed highly unlikely.
Perhaps Koslowski gave the key to someone he trusted. But the only likely candidates were on the team.
“Ten minutes, my lord.”
Fine, Martinez went on, but if officers weren’t going to be wearing their keys, they were supposed to return them to their captain. So on the assumption that Koslowski did what he was supposed to do, where did Tarafah put it?
Not in either of his safes. Not in his desk. Not in his drawers. Not under his mattress or in a secret compartment in the custom mahogany paneling of his walls.
He put it…around his neck. Martinez’s heart sank. He could picture it happening, picture Tarafah looping the elastic cord around his neck and tucking the key down the front of his sweats, to join his own captain’s key nestled against his chest hairs…
No. Martinez put the image firmly from his mind. The key had to be somewhere else.
“Nine minutes, my lord.” The words were spoken over a long, groaning shudder fromCorona’s stressed frame.
WouldFanaghee acceptCorona’s surrender? Martinez wondered. He could safely assume that she would want the frigate back, certainly. But—perhaps of more vital interest—would Fanaghee acceptMartinez’s surrender?
Martinez thought not. His blood would probably still be decorating the walls of Command when Fanaghee put her new captain on board. Perhaps it would be easier on everyone if he just took his sidearm and blew out his own brains.
No.Martinez put the thought out of his mind. Where was thekey?
He pictured Koslowski’s cabin, exactly like his own…small, the narrow gimbaled bed, the washstand, the large wardrobe that contained the formidable number of uniforms required, the chests with the grand amount of gear an officer was expected to carry with him from one posting to the next. The shelves, the small desk with its computer access.
There just wasn’t any room to hide something. A cabin wassmall.
He knew that the captain’s sleeping cabin was larger, though he’d never been in it, but he couldn’t imagine it would be very different.
And then there was the captain’s office. The desk, with its computer access. The safe. The shelves, and all the football trophies.
The trophies. The glittering objects, standing in his office and braced against high gee, that meant more to Lieutenant Captain Tarafah than anything else, including probably his command. The objects that he savored every day, that he probably caressed in secret.
Martinez was so transfixed by the memory of the trophies that he failed to hear the words that were spoken to him.
“Sorry?” he said absently. “Repeat, please.”
“I think I’ve configured the pinnace as you wished,” Kelly said.
“Right. Stand by.”
He paged Alikhan. “Did you check thetrophies? ” he demanded.
“My lord?”
“Did you look in the trophies? The Home Fleet Trophies arecups, aren’t they?”
He could hear Alikhan’s chagrin even through the strain that six gravities was putting on his voice.