He had a feeling he’d made better speeches in his career. But he hoped he’d succeeded in creating a dividing line, the kind that was necessary in war, between us and them. Those he’d just labeled asus were people he needed very badly.Illustrious had been scarred, not in combat but in its heart, and the remaining petty officers were going to be a vital part in any healing. He could have had the killers arrested in their beds and dragged to the brig, but that wouldn’t have had the same effect on their peers. It could have been put down to arbitrary action on the part of an officer, and that wasn’t what Martinez wanted. He wanted to demonstrate in front of their peers how guilty the killers were, and exactly how long and detailed their treachery was, and how badly it had put the ship in danger. He had wanted to separatethem fromus.
Martinez felt a sudden weariness. He’d done everything he’d set out to do, and said far more than he’d intended to say. He pushed back his chair and rose. Chairs scraped as they were pushed back, and the others jumped to their feet and braced.
Martinez reached for his glass and raised it. “To the Praxis,” he said, and the others echoed him.
He drained his glass, and the others drained theirs.
“I won’t keep you,” he said. “I’ll talk to the new department heads tomorrow morning.”
He watched them file out, and when they were gone, he reached for a bottle and refilled his glass. He drained half of it in one long swallow, then he turned to Alikhan.
“Tell Perry I’ll have supper in my office after I report to the squadcom.”
“Very good, my lord.”
Alikhan turned and marched, adjusting the belt with its sidearm and baton. Martinez looked at Marsden.
“Did you get all that?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Turn off your record function, please.”
Marsden did so, and stood bald and impassive, waiting for Martinez’s next order.
“I’m sorry about Phillips,” Martinez said.
Surprise fluttered in the other man’s eyes. He turned to Martinez. “My lord?”
“I know you would have saved him if you could.”
There was an instant of surprise on Marsden’s face, and then he mastered it and his face was impassive again.
“I’m sure, my lord, I don’t know what you mean.”
“You people have hand signals and so on, don’t you?” Martinez asked. “You would have given Phillips a warning if he hadn’t happened to be on watch in Command.” He took in a breath and sighed it out. “I wish you had.”
Marsden looked at him with intense brown eyes but said nothing.
“I worked out a while ago,” Martinez said, “that Thuc may have been a killer, but he wasn’t a Narayanist. The tree pendant was found in Thuc’s belongings because you put it there, Marsden, when I sent you to collect his things. You knew that I was about to launch an investigation into cult affiliations, and you wanted to get rid of the evidence. So you took the pendant from around your own neck and put it in with Thuc’s jewelry.”
Marsden’s neck muscles twitched. He looked stonily at Martinez.
“My lord,” he said, “that’s pure speculation.”
“I couldn’t work out why you were behaving so strangely,” Martinez said. “You were very angry when I first mentioned Narayanists—and then you denounced me for daring to insult the Gomberg and Fletcher clans. You forced me to search you right then and there, though of course that was after you’d ditched your pendant. I thought you were some extreme kind of snob. What I didn’t realize was that I’d just insulted your most deeply held beliefs.
“The problem is, that pendant helped to condemn Phillips. You didn’t know that one of Thuc’s fingerprints was found on Kosinic’s body. That linked murder and Narayanism in my mind, and I charged off on a campaign to find cult killers. That’s the way cultists are always portrayed in video dramas—killing people and sacrificing children to false gods. I was misled by a lifetime of watching that sort of drama. I forgot that Narayanism isn’t a killing sort of belief.”
“I wouldn’t know, my lord.” Marsden spoke with great care.
Martinez shrugged. “I wanted you to know I was sorry about the way I handled things. You won’t forgive me, I’m sure, but I hope you’ll understand.” He took a long drink of his wine. “That’s all, Marsden. If you can copy me that recording, and append a transcription as soon as you can, I’d be very much obliged.”
Marsden braced. “Yes, my lord.”
“You are dismissed.”
Marsden turned and walked away, his back straight, his head facing rigidly forward. Martinez watched the door close behind him.
Apology not accepted,he thought.
He took another long drink of his wine, and then he walked to his office, put the wineglass on his desk, and walked out into the corridor.
It was time to report to Lady Michi.
TWENTY-FOUR
Anxiety over the Naxid raid had not improved Tork’s appearance. His flesh was dying faster than ever, and dry twists of skin hung from his hands and gray, expressionless face. Decay came off him in great gusts. But however frail his body seemed, his mind remained firm and inflexible as ever.
“There is only one possible solution,” he said, “and that is for this board to appoint me commander of the Home Fleet.”
Lady Seekin’s eyes were huge beneath her dark goggles. “But aren’t you retired, my lord?”
Resignation tinged Lord Tork’s voice. “This board has the power to restore me to active service. I will accept, of course, with regret. I had hoped that those days were long past.”
Lord Chen doubted that Tork’s regret could possibly be greater than his own.
“I don’t understand, my lord,” he ventured. “You’ve been entrusted with the direction of the entire Fleet establishment, not just ships, but ring stations and everything on the ground as well. You’re crucial to our hopes of victory. Can you possibly forsake this trust for the command of only one element?”
Chen had been afraid his words might provoke another diatribe from Tork, but the chairman’s chiming voice remained level.
“There is no one else. Consider—the Home Fleet must be led by someone of suitable rank. Most of the active officers of fleet command rank died at Magaria, and the rest are too distant from the scene of action. Kringan is three months away, at Harzapid with the Fourth Fleet. Pel-to is at Felarus, with Naxid-held systems in the way. Trepatai is at Seizho, but her health broke down early in the war, and she hasn’t left her bed for months. Lord Ivan Snow has suitable rank, but has spent most of his career with the Investigative Service, has never commanded a large formation, and is in any case three months away at Laredo, where he reports to the Convocation. Whereas I…”
There was a moment of silence. Lord Chen closed his throat against the sickly waft of dying flesh that floated to his nostrils.
“I am available,” Tork said. “I will hold suitable rank once I am restored to the active list. I am a Daimong, and could join the two new Antopone cruisers, which are adapted for Daimong crews and could take me aboard without difficulty.”
“Couldn’t wepromote someone into the position?” Lady Seekin asked. “Lord Pa Do-faq is a victorious commander. We couldn’t find a more experienced officer.”
Chen closed his eyes and wished he could close his ears as well, against the sonic storm that was bound to peal from Tork at Lady Seekin’s sensible but naive sentiments. Again he was surprised, for Tork said nothing, while the question was answered by Pezzini.
“Do-faq’s an advocate of the innovations that got Kangas killed,” he said. “We can’t put the Home Fleet under him—he’d just kill more good officers, and probably lose Zanshaa all over again. The Fleet needs to be under a strong disciplinarian and an advocate of orthodox tactics.” He nodded at Tork. “The lord chairman fits the description.”