An hour before the scheduled dinner, permission was given to Martinez to secure from quarters. He walked to his quarters, was assisted out of his vac suit by Alikhan, and showered to remove the scent of the suit seals.
The damage control exercise had cheered him, but now that he had time to think, he grew somber again, remembering the result of Chandra’s experiment, the shock he’d felt as he watched all Chenforce die. He tried to work out ways to prevent the catastrophe happening in reality, and couldn’t think of much.
The mood at dinner was even more sober. The officers looked as if they’d been beaten flat by hours of high-gravity acceleration.
The meals that had been prepared in the wardroom and in the captain’s and squadcom’s kitchens were combined—casseroles mostly, which could cook quietly away in the ovens while everyone was at quarters. Michi had several bottles of wine opened and shoved them across the table at her guests, as if she expected the company simply to swill them down.
“I should like the tactical officer to comment on this morning’s experiment,” she said.
The tactical officer.Triumph glimmered in Chandra’s long eyes as she rose.
“The attack was something I’d been worried about all along. I know that we were following standard Fleet doctrine for a squadron in enemy territory, but I wondered how useful that doctrine was in reality.” She shrugged. “I guess we found out.”
She turned on the wall display and revealed that in her simulation she’d launched thirty missiles from Arkhan-Dohg, the next system after Osser.
“It was possible to make a reasonable calculation of when we’d enter the Osser system. Since our course would be straight from Wormhole One to Wormhole Two, the missiles’ track was obvious. Our course and acceleration could be checked by wormhole relay stations, and any necessary corrections sent to the missiles en route. All the Naxids would need would be a targeting laser or a radar signal to give the missiles’ own guidance systems last-second course corrections.” She shrugged. “And if our course and speed are very predictable, they won’t need even that.”
“Obviously,” Michi said, “we need to make our course and acceleration less predictable.” She looked at the assembled officers. “My lords, if you have any other suggestions, please offer them now.”
“Keep the antimissile defenses powered at all times,” Husayn said. His voice betrayed a degree of embarrassment. The tactic hadn’t worked well in simulation.
“My lady,” Chandra said, “I had thought we might keep our own targeting lasers sweeping dead ahead and between the squadron and any wormholes. If they pick up anything incoming, we might gain a few extra seconds.”
“Decoys,” Martinez said. “Have a squadron of decoys flying ahead of us. The missiles might target them instead of us, particularly since they’ll have only a few seconds to pick their targets.”
Decoys were missiles that could be fired from the squadron’s ordinary missile tubes, but were configured to give as large a radar signature as a warship. They were less convincing whom as an observer had more time to view them, but with a relativistic missile having only a second or two to decide, that was hardly a problem.
Michi seemed dubious. “How large a cloud of decoys are we going to need?”
Martinez tried to make a mental calculation and failed. “As many as it takes,” he said finally.
Michi turned to Chandra. “I want you to try all these tactics in simulation.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Give me regular reports.”
“Of course, my lady.” Chandra turned to the others. “The danger signal will be entering a system where the radars are still operating, or where we’re painted by a targeting laser from what will probably be a distant source.”
Ever since Chenforce had plunged into enemy space, the Naxids had been turning off all radars and other navigation aids in any system the loyalists had entered, so Chandra was right to say that radar would be a danger signal.
Michi poured a glass of amber wine and contemplated it while she tapped her fingers on the tabletop. “The best way to prevent this kind of attack is to blow up every wormhole station we come across,” she said. “That way they can’t relay course corrections to any incoming missiles. I’d hate to blow those stations; it’s uncivilized. But to preserve my command I’ll kill anything on the enemy side of the line if I have to.”
Martinez thought of the Bai-do ring burning as it fell into the planet’s atmosphere.
Michi reached out a hand and picked up her glass of wine. “Isn’t anyone drinking but me?” she asked.
Martinez poured himself a glass of wine and raised it in silent toast to Chandra. She had just made herself too valuable to be blamed for Fletcher’s death.
Chandra and Martinez finally had their long-postponed dinner the following day. Martinez thought it was probably no longer necessary to Chandra’s plans, but in any case he instructed Alikhan not to leave them alone together for too long.
Chandra entered the dining room looking splendid in her full dress uniform, the silver braid glowing softly on the dark green tunic and trousers. Her auburn hair brushed the tall collar that now bore the red triangular tabs worn by Michi’s staff.
“Congratulations, Lieutenant,” Martinez said.
“Thank you, Captain,” Chandra said. “And my congratulations onyour new appointment as well.” She smiled. “Your luck is surprisingly consistent, you know. People get killed, and you do well out of it.”
A number of replies floated uneasily in Martinez’s mind.Only lately was one of them. The last thing he wanted was to work out exactly how many people had to die in order for him to become captain of theIllustrious.
“Here we are then,” he said. “A couple of suspects.”
“That’s right,” Chandra said, then brightened. “Let’s conspire!”
The conspiracy was low-key. Martinez sat at the head of the table, with Chandra on his right. While Alikhan poured wine and delivered plates of nuts and pickled vegetables, they discussed which cadet could best be promoted to take Chandra’s place. While they spoke, Martinez debated whether to tell Chandra how close she had come to being sacrificed to Michi’s search for a killer, and decided against it.
“How are you faring with the 77-12s?” Chandra asked. “Other than scaring the hell out of the department heads, that is.”
“The revised logs were delivered this morning,” Martinez said. “I’ve been going over them ever since. Some are even complete.”
At least the department heads had learned not to yarn the logs: when they didn’t have the information, they admitted it. “Data pending” was the phrase they’d all decided to put in the blank spaces, probably because it looked better than nothing at all.
“Signaler Nyamugali sent a complete log, didn’t she?” Chandra said.
“Yes.” Martinez smiled. “Your former division did well.” He signaled to Alikhan for the first course. “Of course I’ll still have to check the log to confirm it hasn’t been yarned.”
“You won’t find any mistakes,” Chandra said. “I kept the signalers on their toes.”
“Nyamugali had an easier job than most of the others. Francis is going to have to account for every air pump, ventilation fan, and heat exchange system on the ship.”
Chandra was skeptical. “You’re feeling sorry for them now?”
“No, not very.”
Alikhan arrived with a warm, creamy pumpkin soup, fragrant with the scent of cinnamon. Chandra tasted it and said, “Your cook has it all over the wardroom chef, good as he is.”