Not that she expected to spend much time enjoying the yacht’s comforts. She would be enduring long periods of high gee asSivetta caught up withConfidence, which was orbiting the Zanshaa system with the rest of the Orthodox Fleet.
Among the information sent her by Tork’s staff was an order of battle for the Orthodox Fleet. Scanning it, her eye immediately lit on the flagship of Michi Chen’s Cruiser Squadron 9-Illustrious,Captain Lord Gareth Martinez.
At the name, her heart gave a surge.
The last she’d heard of Martinez, he had become Michi Chen’s tactical officer. Now he actually commanded the flagship.
She wondered how many ofIllustrious ‘s people had to die or be captured by the enemy in order to accomplish that. It was how Martinez seemed to get his promotions.
Her own ship,Confidence, was probably the smallest vessel that Tork could have offered her, a frigate with fourteen missile launchers, and it was normally an elcap’s command. Possibly, Tork had hoped she would refuse the appointment as beneath her dignity. If so, he would now be thumping the walls in chagrin.
Confidencewas a part of Light Squadron 17, a formation made up of five Terran frigates and four Torminel light cruisers, all of them commanded by lieutenant captains-which meant that as a full captain, she was now senior officer of the squadron and its commander, so long as Tork made no other dispositions.
Tork, she realized, had decided not to offer a heavy cruiser, normally the province of a captain, but instead given her an entire squadron. This act of unexpected generosity struck her at first as a trap of some kind, though she couldn’t imagine what it would be. Did Tork expect that she’d fail in a squadron command, when she’d been mistress of an entire world? And then it occurred to her that the assignment might simply be an oversight. Tork had a lot on his mind: maybe it had slipped his mind that he’d handed her nine ships.
But on further thought, that didn’t seem likely. A master of detail like Tork would not have made such a mistake.
Maybe Lord Eldey’s support, complete with the loan of his yacht, had made Tork cautious about offending any of her powerful supporters, and therefore made him generous. Or perhaps he’d simply decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. Clan Sula was one of the oldest and-at least until recently-most distinguished families of Peers. Maybe Tork assumed that her genes would bring her into line.
She gained a better idea of Tork’s motivations once she contacted her new command. FromSivetta she sent messages to each ship, requesting a full report on their status plus the data on the latest squadron maneuvers.
The ships were in good order and, according to their officers, in an excellent state of training. Sula hadn’t expected the officers to say anything else, and assumed the data from the maneuvers would give her an idea of the real situation.
The maneuvers showed ships moving in close formation, each move scripted well in advance. The side declared the victor of the maneuver had known it would win before the maneuver even started. Some of the squadron’s ships were a bit late or awkward in their course changes, but there was nothing very wrong with their performance.
What was wrong was the sort of thing they had to perform in the first place.
Now she knew why Tork had given her command of a squadron. Shackled to the old tactical system, her presence as squadron commander would make little difference. The worse she could do was bungle the maneuvers of her own ship, since the rest would be locked in their standard formations.
Martinez, she thought,can’t you do anythingright? You’d think he would have sold at least a few people on their new tactical system by now.
She sighed. Clearly she had to do it herself.
She took a long deep breath against the two-gravity acceleration, raised her heavy hands to the display attached to her deluxe, luxurious acceleration couch, and busied herself withSivetta ‘s tactical computer. It was a machine as sophisticated as those used in Fleet warships, though without the proper database: she had to program in the characteristics of missiles from memory.
She contacted Lord Alan Haz,Confidence ‘s first lieutenant. “I’d like the squadron to undertake an experiment,” she said. “What I intend is a free-form type of maneuver with no fixed outcome. Just do your best against the threat I’ve programmed into the scenario. In order to run it, you’ll have to add a patch to your tactical program-I’ll be sending that.”
The first time Martinez had tried to run the new system inCorona ‘s computer, the tactical program had crashed. One of his officers-the one who had run off with PJ’s fiancee, she recalled-had created a software patch that solved the problem.
“You’ll be commanding the squadron fromConfidence, ” Sula went on. “I’ll expect a report when you’re done, as well as the raw data. Good luck.”
After sending the message, the scenario, and the software patch, she tried, in the heavy gravity, to relax onto the acceleration couch. It sent miniwaves pulsing along her back, massaging sore muscles and preventing blood from pooling.
Her reply came some hours later. Lieutenant Haz was a well-scrubbed, square-shouldered man with the look of a person who had been a popular athlete in school. He had a deep, impressive voice and a tailored uniform that looked soft and rich even on video.
“Thank you for the scenario, my lady. Lord Tork has scheduled no maneuvers for tomorrow, so we’ll be able to implement it then.” His look turned earnest. “I also appreciate your confidence in placing me in charge of the squadron. Thank you, my lady.”
He ended the communication. Sula figured that Haz would be less thankful the next time she heard from him.
She looked at the chronometer over her head and saw that it was over an hour before the ship’s acceleration decreased to one gravity.
Over an hour till the next pee break.
She would try to endure.
“It was…well, frankly, it was a disaster.” Chagrin drew Haz’s mouth into a tight line. “We were wiped out. The enemy used tactics that we didn’t understand. We ran the scenario three times. The best results came when we starburst early-at least we took a few of the enemy with us that time.”
Haz’s distress was so evident that Sula felt something like sympathy for how she’d tricked him. She had created a computer-controlled opposition force to battle Squadron 17, and though the enemy was equal in force, she’d programmed them with the new tactics. She’d just sent her own Squadron 17 into an ambush.
“My condolences on the results of the experiment,” she sent in reply. “I have another experiment I would like you to undertake as soon as your other duties permit. I will broadcast the scenario at once.”
The new scenario was similar, except the enemy was approaching head-on instead of converging at an angle. The next day, Haz reported similar results, though at least Squadron 17 had succeeded at destroying half the enemy before being annihilated.
Sula had her next scenario ready, this time with Squadron 17 attempting to overtake an enemy. The enemy destroyed them.
After the third virtual catastrophe, Sula scheduled a conference with Haz and all eight of the other captains. The conversation was almost normal, as the Orthodox Fleet on its circuit about Shaamah was racing pastSivetta at several times its rate of speed.
Sula wore her decorations, having decided it might help to remind her underlings that she’d won battles and killed Naxids. She used a virtual reality rig to look at all her officers at once: she had their faces tiled in rows, three by three, in order of seniority, each labeled with their name and ship so she wouldn’t confuse them. An anxious expression spoiled Haz’s good looks. Perhaps he thought he was going to be blamed for three failures in succession.
“My lords,” she began. “You’ve now seen what can happen when unconventional tactics are used against standard Fleet formations. My question to you is this: would you rather be on the winning side, or the other?”
There was a half-second delay in the reply.
“We desire victory, my lady, of course.” This c
ame from one of the Torminel captains.
“Do you all agree?” Sula asked.
They all murmured assent.
“The squadron can conduct experiments based on these tactics,” Sula said. “But I don’t want anyone to feel that I’m imposing unwanted drills, and I don’t want to deal with resentment on that or any other account. If we’re to conduct these new experiments, I want you all to agree that this is desirable.”
There was a hesitation. Some, Sula thought, were nonplused-they were used to giving or taking orders, and hadn’t encountered a situation in which they were required to express an opinion. Others seemed to be rapidly calculating the odds of their careers being sidetracked.
It was Haz, after a moment’s pause, who clarified the situation.
“My lady,” he said, “the Supreme Commander has forbidden us to practice unconventional tactics.”
Ah. Hah.Perhaps the inadequacy of the Orthodox Fleet wasn’t Martinez’s fault after all.
Though, truthfully, she preferred to believe otherwise.
“Well,” Sula said, as her lips drew back in a snarl, “he hasn’t forbiddenme from doing anything. I have received no orders on the subject whatsoever.” She glanced over the nine heads in the virtual array before her. “I still want agreement, however. Shall we conduct these exercises or not?”
“I believe we should.” The statement came from one of the Torminel, labeled in Sula’s display as Captain Ayas of the light cruiserChallenger. “We worked with this system whenChallenger was assigned to Chenforce, and it contributed to our victory at Protipanu.”
“I agree with Captain Ayas,” Haz said stoutly.
With two officers leading the way, the others fell in line, though some with hesitation. It wasn’t quite the same feeling as her army chanting her name, but it would do. Sula smiled.
“Thank you, my lords,” she said. “We’ll begin with a security exercise. I will now censor all officers’ mail, which will be sent through me for forwarding to any appropriate address. All daily situation and activity reports will be passed through me. Neither officer nor enlisted shall refer to our private exercises in any conversation or mail with any other member of the Fleet.”
She saw surprise and consternation among her officers.
“It is my intention,” she explained virtuously, “to avoid anything that might leave the Supreme Commander’s mind anything less than easy. He has many responsibilities, and he has far more important affairs than whether or not one of his squadrons is conducting experiments.”
She smiled again, and saw a few hesitant, answering smiles among the Terrans.
“Forgive me for what follows,” Sula said. “I don’t know you well, and I apologize in advance if you feel slighted, but I think this should be said.”
She took a deep breath against the heavy gravities that pressed upon her. “Some officers may think that informing Lord Tork of our activities will be a road to his favor. Allow me to assure you that, whatever basis the Supreme Commander uses to determine promotion, performance isn’t one of them.”
While they chewed that over, Sula continued.
“Another consideration is that anyone unsettling the lord commander’s mind is unlikely to survive. First, if the performance of this squadron is not improved, the Naxids are likely to kill that person, along with the rest of you. And second, if the Naxids don’t kill you-” She took another long breath. “-rest assured that I will.I’ll cut off your damn head and claim captain’s privilege.”
She took a few panting breaths while reaction rippled across the faces in her display. Shock, mostly-Peers weren’t used to people talking to them this way.
“Later today I will send you a mathematical formula that is the basis behind the new tactics,” she said. “I will also record a lecture concerning the formula’s application.”
“My lady,” Ayas said, “I have a record of exercises conducted by Chenforce.”
“Very good. Please forward these to me at your convenience, and to the others as well.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“My lords,” Sula said, again looking over the faces in her display, “are there any questions?”
“Yes.” One of the Terrans raised a hand, as if she were in school. “Is this the Foote Formula, or something else?”
“Thewhat formula?” Sula cried.
The Terran explained, and Sula treated her officers to a display of invective so prolonged and inventive that when she finally ran out of breath, a long, stunned silence followed.
“Well,” said the same hapless officer, “if itisn’t the Foote Formula, what do we call it?”
We can callyoua useless cretin, Sula wanted to reply, but managed to stop her tongue in time.
On reflection, she decided, the Terran captain had a point. The new tactics had no name other than “new tactics,” and they needed something better. “Foote Formula” had the advantage of being brief, descriptive, memorable, but offered credit to someone who did not deserve it. A situation, she thought, that should be rectified.
“Call them Ghost Tactics,” she said. “I will send the formula and its exegesis within a few hours.”
That was one in the eye for Martinez, she thought, and ended the transmission with a modest glow of triumph.
Sula handedSivetta ‘s crew generous tips for their service, then stepped through the airlock and aboardConfidence, followed by her servants. A recording of “Defenders of the Empire” blared out, deafening in the small space. Her lieutenants saluted; an honor guard presented arms. Sula shook Haz’s hand, then was introduced-with a shout, over the crashing music-to the other two lieutenants, Lady Rebecca Giove and Lord Pavel Ikuhara.
There was no room available on the small ship for the entire crew to be assembled, so half the crouchbacks crowded into the mess and the others stood braced in the corridors and crew quarters spaces while Sula formally read her commission over the frigate’s public address system.
“‘Lord Tork, Supreme Commander, Righteous and Orthodox Fleet of Vengeance,’” she said, reading the signature, and then added, with a grin, “Signed in his absence by Lieutenant Lord Eldir Mogna.”
No sense in not being thorough, she thought.
She looked at the stolid faces before her, the mixture of raw recruits and gray-haired veterans called to service in the emergency. She decided they might as well get a look at her, so she stepped onto one of the mess tables. The low ceiling brushed her hair as she looked down and told them to stand at ease.
“Some of you,” she said, “may wonder how someone my age is qualified to run a squadron. I’m taking this command for a very simple reason…” She gestured broadly with one arm.“I know how to kill Naxids!”
Bright surprise glittered in the eyes of the crew. She grinned at them.
“I plan to teach you everything I know about killing the enemy,” she continued. “You’ll be pulling a lot of extra duty, and I don’t plan to be easy on any of you, but if you work with me, you’ll survive the war, and we’ll get along.”
She paused, searching her mind for anything more profound to say, and decided there was little point in being profound. She nodded. “That’s all.”
She jumped off the table in the slight, surprised silence that followed, and then the officers were calling the crew to attention. Haz introduced her to the warrant and senior petty officers before Sula conducted her first inspection.
Confidencehad been damaged severely in the rebellion at Harzapid, and it showed. The officers’ mess and the lieutenants’ quarters were dark-paneled luxury, with softly gleaming brass and the faint scent of lemon polish. The parts of the ship that had been damaged or replaced were paneled in alloy or resinous sheeting and painted gray or pale green. Wires and conduits were in plain sight rather than hidden behind discreet access doors. Supplies and equipment were stored anywhere, lashed down in gravity-resistant containers.
Sula found nothing very wrong in her inspection. She had studied plans of the ship ahead of tim
e, and was able to impress the division heads by knowing where odd lockers or control consoles had been tucked away. She asked no questions she didn’t know the answers to in advance, and trusted this would impress everyone with her intelligence.
She ended the inspection in her own quarters, a coffinsized sleeping cabin and a small office with walls, ceiling, and floors entirely of metal sheeting painted a uniform, dismal gray.
She wasted no time mourning the beautiful paneling and splendid fixtures that had been destroyed or irradiated at Harzapid, and immediately sat down at her desk and inserted her captain’s key. Haz gave her the codes that provided full access to all the ship’s systems, from its planet-shattering weapons to the waste recyclers.
“Very good,” she said. “Thank you.”
On the wall behind her, Macnamara hung PJ Ngeni’s rifle, along with the very first model of the Sidney Mark One. Then he and Spence began the considerable task of stowing her personal possessions, the uniforms and vac suit, the food and liquor.
Sula paid no attention. She was already working on a plan for the next day’s maneuver.
Martinez watched Sula’s ascension with considerable interest and a modest amount of envy. First she commanded the High City of Zanshaa, then the entire planet. Then there was another governor for two days, and then Sula was back, this time with a promotion. Martinez had to wonder how she’d done it.
Then, lastly, Sula was given a squadron, which to Martinez’s mind was better than a planet any day. When he heard the news, he recalled with nostalgia the days he’d spent commanding Light Squadron 14, and the glory of his position of honor and prominence on Michi Chen’s flagship seemed to dim.
He dreamed of her almost every night, lurid blood-burning fantasies from which he woke with a mixture of relief and regret. He called images of Terza onto the display above his bed and watched her walk gracefully through her pregnancy while his nerves cried out for another woman.
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