“I would like to further remark,” Tork continued, “that it is not the place of a junior captain to submit these kinds of memorials to the Board. It is the task of junior captains to carry out the tasks assigned them in silence, and to spare us their opinions.”
Lord Chen suspected that he was stepping into a trap, but a need for clarification demanded he speak. “I beg your pardon, lord fleetcom,” he said, “but it was not a junior captain who submitted this plan to the board. It was myself.”
Knowing there was prejudice against Martinez on the board, he had told them only that it was the product of two officers who had brought it to his attention.
Tork turned his white, round-eyed face to Lord Chen. A strip of dead flesh dangled from his chin like a large, twisted whisker as he spoke. “Squadron Commander Do-faq submitted the memorial to me this morning, and identified Captain Martinez as the author.”
“Martinez!” cried Junior Fleetcom Pezzini, as if some terrible private theory had just been confirmed, and slapped his hand on the table in annoyance.
Lord Chen would have mentioned Lady Sula as the coauthor, but he suspected he would only blacken her name.
“Captain Martinez has a habit of submitting memorials to his superiors,” Tork continued as disapproval rang in his words. “He has offered a radical tactical theory to Do-faq, and Do-faq has given it to your sister. Now they are both engaged in maneuvers that are detrimental to the traditions and practice of the service.”
“Will his interference never cease?” Pezzini said, just as Chen was about to reply. “Just a few days ago he blackened the name of a client of mine, a perfectly sound young man who revered him—revered him against my advice, I must point out.”
“I fail to see where any of this is improper,” Lord Chen said. “Captain Martinez submitted his suggestions to his superiors with proper regard for rank and with all deference. And nowyour own commanders see merit in these proposals.”
“The rot has spread far,” Tork said. “I trust that Lord Fleetcom Kangas will halt the infection and restore discipline. Only the tactics of our ancestors, adhered to with utmost inflexibility, can possibly save the capital.”
“Let Martinez rot in his damned training school,” Pezzini said. “That should cool his ambitions.”
Chen, his face expressionless, felt his insides twist with growing contempt.You people know nothing but how to lose a war, he wanted to shout.You’ve been offered a way to win, and you can’t see it.
But he kept silent. He knew that protest was useless in the face of Lord Tork’s rigidity, and his private lobbying with other board members hadn’t yet reached the stage where they would support a vote against the chairman.
He would send the Lord Senior a message requesting an immediate meeting. And then hope for the best.
Martinez, in high heart, stepped into the foyer of the Shelley Palace twirling the ribbon of the Golden Orb medal around his index finger. As he prepared to bound up the stairs to his room, he was approached by one of the maidservants—a thick-legged, homely woman, the type his sibs hired so that the Martinez sisters would always be the most beautiful women in the room.
“Captain Martinez,” the woman said. “Lord Roland asked me to tell you that he’d like to see you in his office.”
In his memory, a girl snatched flying knives from the air. Martinez caught his medal in his hand with a sigh and said, “Very well, thank you.”
He found Roland behind his desk, talking to someone—a Torminel—on his display. “We hoped you could attend,” he said, “as you’ve been so kind to us since our arrival.”
The Torminel, whomever she was, accepted the invitation, whatever it was, with pleasure. Roland signed off and looked up.
“I hope you’ll be able to take time off from your carnal adventures,” he said, “to attend your sister’s wedding tomorrow, at sixteen and one.”
Martinez dropped into a chair. “Which sister are we talking about?”
“Vipsania. After which she will be joining Lord Oda and his family on a visit to their clients on Zarafan.”
Martinez put his feet up on his brother’s desk. He was in a buoyant mood, and not simply because he’d spent the night in Sula’s arms. In the morning had come the communication from Do-faq saying that he approved Martinez’s plan and had sent it on to the Fleet Control Board. Do-faq had also sent the results of his latest series of experiments in the new tactics, and he and Sula had analyzed them over breakfast. He couldn’t help but be buoyed by physical satiation followed by useful mental exercise, and all with a partner whose imagination and wit more than matched his own.
Poor Vipsania, he thought.
“Sounds like a delightful honeymoon,” he said, “stuck on a ship with a pack of her desiccated in-laws. Will she be running her broadcasting empire from Zarafan?”
“Probably, unless Zarafan in its turn becomes unsafe.”
Roland folded his hands on his desk and looked at Martinez from over the glossy toes of the shoes. “If Sempronia tries to contact you, I’d be obliged if you don’t reply.”
Martinez only raised his eyebrows.
“She’s to be disinherited,” Roland said. “No money, no communication, no contact. When we have the time to pack them all up, her belongings will be given to charity.”
“Charity,” Martinez repeated, as if the word were a stranger.
“Walpurga insisted on banishment for Sempronia, and after the threat she made I can’t say I have any objection. Oh, did I mention this? — Sempronia agrees.” Roland gave a smile filled with grim satisfaction. “I spoke to her last night, and again this morning. She’ll be given permission to marry, but she’ll be a Shankaracharya from now on—he’ll have to support her fancies, not us.”
“I believe he’s rich,” Martinez pointed out.
“Clan Shankaracharya is heavily invested in pharmaceuticals and biochemicals.”Trust Roland to know these details. “Nothing on Zanshaa, though—we expect she’ll relocate after the war.”
“No doubt a crushing blow,” Martinez said. Roland seemed to have forgotten it was their father, he thought, who did the disinheriting—that was one task he couldn’t delegate to one of his offspring. Martinez might be able to influence that decision with a personal message, perhaps not to Lord Martinez, but to his lady, a woman to whose romantic nature an elopement might appeal…
Roland gave Martinez a curious look. “What did you do to enrage Sempronia so totally? I’ve never heard her use such language.”
Martinez was silent. Roland shrugged, then continued with his news.
“Lord Pierre and I have fixed Walpurga’s wedding with PJ for three days from now. It won’t be a very elaborate affair, but we hope you’ll be present.”
“You don’t mind if I wear mourning, do you?” Martinez barely had to search his mind for the cutting reply.
Roland’s eyes were level beneath his heavy brows. “You know the wedding’s necessary.”
“I know nothing of the sort.” Martinez tossed the Golden Orb medal into the air, then caught it. “You want the Ngenis because they give you access to the highest circles of the capital. Very well.” He drew his feet off the table and leaned forward, letting his gaze meet that of Roland. “Suppose I give you all that myself? Suppose I sacrifice myself in place of Walpurga?”
Roland’s gaze was unblinking. “You’re offering to marry?”
“Yes.” Tossing the medal again.
Roland drew back, his frown thoughtful. “I would have suggested it myself if I hadn’t known how much you enjoy being a bachelor—I assumed you’d turn me down flat.”
“Perhaps I would have. But with all this romance in the air, how can I resist?”