Well,this is cheerful, he thought in the deep silence that followed. He had better strew a bit of hope in the crew’s path before they all committed suicide or vowed to join the mutineers.
“There are only a few of us left on the ship,” Martinez said. “We are going into extreme danger. We’re going to have to stand extra watches and work extra hard for the long days it will take us to get to Zanshaa, but I want you to understand that the captain and the other captives will be cheering for us to succeed. Becausewe’re theCorona’s team now—we’rethe Coronas. And it’s up to us to play hard and score the winning goal. End transmission.”
He wanted to cringe into his seat as he brought the transmission to an end, and he felt his skin flush with mortification. Whatever had possessed him to end with that ghastly sports metaphor? This wasn’t eloquence, this was some kind of hideous, hackneyed cant that deserved nothing from the crouchbacks but derision. He should have made his announcement about the rebellion and then just shut up.
But as he looked around the control room, he saw that it seemed to have gone all right. Mabumba was looking at his displays with what seemed genuine resolve instead of casting covert glances at Martinez’s gun. Eruken had straightened in his chair and was holding the thruster controls with determination. Even Tracy and Clarke—who had little to do, really, but gaze at their radar plots—seemed more intent on their work, and Kelly, who as weapons officer had even less to do, looked positively cheerful.
Only Diem was unhappy, but then, Diem was probably transfixed by horror at the navigation plot Martinez had given him and hadn’t heard a word.
Perhaps the crew had lower standards for oratory than the Master of Rhetoric at Martinez’s old academy.
His sleeve display chimed and he answered.
“Alikhan, my lord. I’ve completed that little errand you sent me on.”
The display didn’t show Alikhan’s face, but instead the gaping front of Koslowski’s safe, with the door removed.
“Yes, Alikhan?” Martinez said.
“Nothing, my lord. Negative.”
Panic began to stroke Martinez’s nerves with feathery fingers. The Fleet had wisely made it impossible for a junior lieutenant such as himself to dischargeCorona’s awesome weaponry on his own initiative. The captain and each of the lieutenants carried keys with codes to unlock the frigate’s weapons, but no less than three of the four keys had to be turned at the same moment in order for the weapons to be fired.
Even the defensive weapons, the point-defense lasers, were useless without the three keys. And the odds were, the Naxid ships were going to be firing at him very soon.
“Have you checked everywhere else?” Martinez asked. “The drawers? Under the mattress?”
“Yes, my lord. Still negative. I can go to the captain’s office and repeat the procedure.”
“No, I’ve got to accelerate.”
“If you can give me two minutes, I can at least get the equipment there. When acceleration starts, I can jump in the captain’s rack. It won’t be as comfortable as a proper acceleration couch, but it’ll serve.”
For the couple hours of life that remains to us, Martinez thought.
“Very good,” he said. “You’ve got two minutes.” And broke transmission.
“We’ve cleared the ring,” Eruken reported.
“Pilot, zero our momentum.”
“Zero our momentum, my lord.”
“Two minutes to acceleration. Mark.”
“Mark two minutes to acceleration,” Mabumba said, but Diem raised a hand, like a boy at school asking permission to leave the classroom.
“My lord?” he said. “I’ve been looking at your plot and, ah…” An exaggerated grimace distorted his thin, pale face, as if he were anticipating being whacked on the head for his presumption. “It’s illegal,” he said. “You’re—We’re—flying far too close to the ring for safety.”
Martinez looked at him and tried to don his omnipotent face. “But am I actually going tohit anything?”
“Ah…” In confusion, Diem stared at the plot. “Not…not as such, no. No collisions. Just all sort of…of proximity problems.”
“Then we’ll stick to the plan, Diem.” He turned to the engineer’s station. “Mabumba, give the crew a one-minute warning.”
“Very good, my lord.” Again the warning wailed, and Mabumba’s voice boomed through the ship. “One minute to acceleration. One minute.”
In one minute, Martinez thought, I am either going to be a hero or the greatest criminal in the Fleet since Taggart of theVerity.
“Everyone take their meds.”
He reached for the med injector stowed in a holster below his chair arm, and shot into his carotid a drug that would keep his blood vessels supple and help prevent stroke during high gees. The others in Command did the same.
“Eruken, withdraw radar reflectors.”
“Radar reflectors withdrawn.” The composite, resinous hull ofCorona wasn’t a natural radar reflector, and in order to make navigation and traffic control easier, the frigate carried several radar reflectors. Martinez figured there was no point in making a target out of himself.
“Twenty seconds to ignition,” said Mabumba.
“Engines, fire on the navplot’s mark,” Martinez said.
“Firing on the navplot’s mark, my lord.”
“Ten-second warning, pilot.”
Again the warning screeched up and down the scale. Martinez could feel his blood thunder in answer.
“By the way, Navigator,” he shouted over the alarm, “you might as well kill that proximity alarmnow. ”
Then a giant boot kicked him in the spine as the engines fired, andCorona was on its way.
ELEVEN
An officer may order the immediate death of a subordinate under which circumstances?
1. On recommendation of a duly appointed Court of Inquiry.
2. When the subordinate is found in arms against the lawful government.
3. When the officer possesses evidence that the subordinate is guilty of a capital crime.
4. Under any circumstances.
Sula touched her writing wand to the fourth and correct answer, then touched the icon that called for the next question. She knew that military law was so draconian, there was little room for error or laxity of interpretation.
She also knew that military law was a lot less draconian in practice than in theory. There were relatively few captains who went around offhandedly whacking the heads off their subordinates, because in theory every citizen was the client of a patron Peer whose duty it was to supervise their welfare. While from experience Sula knew that many Peers couldn’t be bothered with such duties, it nevertheless remained a possibility that if a Peer felt that one of his clients had been treated unjustly, he could make inquiries and cause trouble, and the result could be a suit in civil law that might drag on for decades. Captains who wanted to punish a subordinate severely would cover their backs by appointing a Court of Inquiry, and though they were not obliged to follow a court’s recommendations, they usually did if they wanted to avoid problems later on.
Sula sped through the next few questions secure in the knowledge that she was doing extremely well on the exams. Military law was her weakest subject barring interpretation of the Praxis, and so far the questions weren’t difficult.
A first definitely seemed within her grasp.
She tapped the butt end of her wand on the screen as she contemplated the next problem, which had to do with jurisdiction among the various military and paramilitary organizations on a ring station outside the military base proper, and then the door to the exam room banged open.
“Scuuuuum!”
Sula could thank years of conditioning for the fact that her mind continued to gnaw on the problem even as she leaped to her feet, chin high, throat bared.
“My lord?” The Daimong proctor seemed more flustered than the cadets. “Why are you—”