The intruder was Terran, and wore the uniform of a full captain. “We have an emergency situation,” he said. “The exams are canceled. All Fleet personnel are to report to their stations. Those who have no current assignment are to report to Ring Command, Personnel Section.”
“But my lord—” the Daimong protested.
“Now, scum!” The captain’s order was directed toward the cadets, not the exam proctor.
The cadets crowded for the exit. The problem of jurisdiction slowly faded from Sula’s mind, and she looked about her with growing astonishment.
The proctor appeared not to know what to do. She was making attempts to contact someone on her desk comm, but seemed to be having no success.
Emergency situation, Sula thought, and then ran to the changing room to get out of her robes and into her uniform. Despite the buzzing speculation of the other cadets, her mind was still trapped in the pattern of exam questions.
Examinations for lieutenant,she thought,have been canceled for the following reasons:
1. On the whim of a superior officer.
2. Because we say so.
3. Lieutenants’exams have never been canceled.
The correct answer, of course, was the third.
Lieutenants’exams have never been canceled.
Which meant that whatever was going on, it was big.
Coronaducked and darted and sped along the southern edge of Magaria’s ring, the slim form of the frigate obscured by the brilliance of its blazing tail of annihilated matter. Martinez felt himself pressed deeper and deeper into the acceleration couch, spreading into the supportive gel like a piece of putty pressed into a mold. The weight of the pistol was a fierce pain digging into his right hip.
He may have blacked out as acceleration approached ten gravities, butCorona didn’t stay at such speed for long, just enough to achieve escape velocity once it was time to dodge out from the ring station and onto a course for Magaria Wormhole 4.
He was using Magaria’s ring for cover, knowing that the Naxids would never dare fire at him for fear of hitting the ring. And when it was time to break cover and dash for the wormhole, he kept the rim directly betweenCorona and the Naxid squadrons.
Corona’sacceleration dropped to six gravities, which was misery for the crew, not because they lost consciousness, but because they retained it, and with it the discomfort of the ship’s desperate, blazing acceleration.
Eighteen minutes intoCorona’s escape, Martinez finally heard from the Naxids.
“Urgent message via communications laser, my lord.” Vonderheydte’s words came into Martinez’s earphones. “From Ring Command.”
The comm laser was necessary to punch a signal throughCorona’s hot plasma tail. “Tell them to stand by, I’ll speak in person,” Martinez said.
“Very good, my lord.”
“Are the intership radio channels still jammed?”
“No, my lord. Jamming dropped about two minutes ago, with the Coronas ahead three to one.”
Martinez smiled, and then his smile faded as he realized why the jamming had ceased. Seizure of the non-Naxid squadrons was complete, and it was no longer necessary to prevent the target ships from signaling their distress.
Coronawas truly alone now, in a hostile system.
He counted out two minutes—two more minutes in which the inevitable was delayed—and told Vonderheydte to patch Ring Command onto his displays. He waited until the winking light on his console told him he was being recorded.
“This is Martinez,” he said.
His display showed that his interlocutor was a Naxid in the uniform of a senior captain, whose speech was delayed only slightly by the message crossing the distance between them.
“Lord Lieutenant Martinez,” the Naxid said, “I am Senior Captain Deghbal, commanding Magaria Ring. You have departed the ring without permission, and engaged in reckless maneuvers that have endangered your ship and the station. You are ordered to return at once.”
“I thought Captain An-Char commanded the ring station,” Martinez said.
“Captain An-Char is unavailable.” The words were spoken after a slight hesitation. “I am in command of the ring. You are directed to return.”
“Can you can assure me that Lord Lieutenant Ondakaal is under arrest?” Martinez said. “He opened fire on my airlock guards and wounded one of them. He said that our ship was to be boarded and we were all to be killed.”
Deghbal reared slightly at this, and Martinez knew that his barefaced lie had caught the Naxid completely by surprise.
Anything to confuse the Naxids and get Ondakaal in trouble, he thought. And more important, to delay.Delay. Delay had to be his chief object now.
“Everything is now under control,” Deghbal said finally. “There is no reason to be alarmed. You may returnCorona to her berth.”
Martinez took a deep breath against the gravities that sat on his chest. “Lord Escap,” he said, “I have been instructed by my captain not to permit anyone aboard the ship without his express order. Can you get me that order?”
Anger added force to Deghbal’s reply. “Your captain’s permission is not necessary! My order alone should be sufficient!”
Martinez did his best to look as if he was seriously considering this line of argument. He gave the camera a plaintive look. “Well, Lord Escap,” he said, “I would really like my captain’s order on this.”
“I am your superior officer! You must obey my orders! If I am not obeyed, there will be unfortunate consequences for both your ship and yourself!”
Martinez wondered if anyone had ever actually disobeyed one of Deghbal’s orders before. Probably not. He hoped he could profit by Deghbal’s unfamiliarity with disobedience, and again tried to look as if he were pondering the escap’s words. Then he hardened his face into what he hoped was a kind of dim-witted, stubborn resolve.
“I want Captain Tarafah’s order,” he said. “I trust him to know what’s actually going on.” And then he frowned at the camera. “End transmission.”
I am enjoying this too much, Martinez thought, but still he pictured Deghbal cursing at the orangeEnd Transmission symbol appearing on his displays. Then he wondered if he’d overplayed his hand, if Deghbal would be angry enough simply to order a barrage of missiles to pursueCorona until the frigate was destroyed.
He looked toward Tracy and Clarke, who were monitoring the sensor screens, and said, “Screens, if you see missile tracks, let me knowfast. ”
Pinned by acceleration on their tandem couches, they rolled their heads toward him in wide-eyed surmise—though not related, so far as he knew, they looked very much alike, being dark-haired, broad-shouldered young women—and then turned their heads quickly back to their displays.
Martinez paged Alikhan, this time using the ship’s system rather than his sleeve display, a convenience that enabled Martinez to use his headset mic rather than having to talk into his sleeve button. Alikhan’s own sleeve button showed nothing but the ceiling in Tarafah’s cabin, the only view available as Alikhan lay in the captain’s bed under six gravities.
“Did you have any luck?”
Alikhan’s voice showed the strain of the gravities he was laboring under. “I got the gear to the captain’s cabin, my lord. But all I had time to do was search his desk—no luck there.”
“If I slow our acceleration to two gravities, do you think you could handle the—the gear?”
“I could, my lord.”
“Right. End transmission.” He raised his voice to carry to Eruken. “Engines. Reduce acceleration to two gravities.”
“Very good, my lord.” Plain relief dripped from Eruken’s words. The ferocity of the acceleration eased, andCorona’s frame groaned with the release of strain.
“My lord?” Vonderheydte’s query came into Martinez’s headset. “May I have permission to use the toilet? I was drinking coffee while I was censoring the mail, and—”