The glow of pleasure that accompanied this discovery accompanied him through his first few days of command.
On the seventh day he decided the crew’s vacation was over. He kicked the acceleration up to a full gravity and started a regular series of inspections, each of the ship’s departments in turn. He assigned punishments to Zhou, Ahmet, and Knadjian, the ship’s bad lads—they were to repair all the damage that had been done to the quarters of the captain and the premier lieutenant. As the rooms had been comprehensively destroyed during the search for the command keys, the repairs would take at least till the end of the voyage—and of course he made them stand regular watches as well, so the repair jobs came out of what otherwise would have been their free time. He put Saavedra, the captain’s secretary, in charge of the three for this act of rehabilitation, because he knew that the precise and exacting Saavedra was exactly the sort of person whose fastidious ways would most annoy the malefactors.
A few days into the new regime, he was informed that the Convocation had awarded him the Golden Orb. Alikhan and Maheshwari slipped away for a few hours to the frigate’s machine shop, and at dinner that afternoon made Martinez a presentation.
Martinez had seen a Golden Orb in the Hall of Honor of the Fleet Museum in Zanshaa’s Lower Town: an ornate baton on top of which was mounted a transparent sphere filled with a dense golden liquid that swirled and eddied in reaction to motion, even the motion of a cadet walking past the display. The patterns inside the sphere were fascinating, intricate, the cloud swirls of a gas giant in miniature, patterns wrapped inside patterns clothed inside patterns, an infinite regression of fractals.
The thing about the orb that had most impressed Martinez, however, was that superior officers—even convocates—had to brace and salute a Golden Orb when its recipient walked past. That was the sort of power he suspected he could use, abuse, and enjoy.
“We wished to present this to you, in thanks for saving us and for saving the ship.” So said Maheshwari, offering their homemade orb on an overstuffed pillow. This wasn’t the ornate, magical orb that Martinez had seen in the Fleet museum, but a plain plated sphere atop a plated stick, but even so, he felt a surge of delight as the crew stood and broke into applause.
“I believe it is customary to make a speech on such an occasion, my lord,” Alikhan said, with a disturbingly serene smile that Martinez suspected hid the sadistic impulse beneath.
So Martinez stood and made a speech, at first barely knowing what he was saying. He expressed thanks to the crew for their generous and thoughtful presentation. He told them that even if the genuine article were presented to him by the Convocation in full assembly, it wouldn’t mean as much as this. He thanked them also for following his orders when he, a rational being, might have concluded he was mad.
“We did think you were mad, my lord,” called out Dietrich. “But then you had that great big pistol, didn’t you?”
There was laughter at that. “Well,” Martinez said lamely, “if you can’t respect the officer, at least respect his gun.”
More laughter. It was an easy audience, fortunately.
Martinez decided it was time for the compliment direct. He spoke more largely on the qualities of a fighting crew, of which his experience was no less theoretical than his audience, but which he made out to be courage, talent, perseverance, and determination in the face of overwhelming odds and near certain death. He implied that the crew of Corona possessed these qualities in abundance. He said that he could never have achieved anything without the crew’s support, that he would never forget any of them, and that he was proud to call them all his shipmates. “Even you,” he told Ahmet, to general laughter.
He finished by saying that he hoped Corona’s crew could stay together long enough to see the end of the war together, that he hoped they would all return to Magaria, drive the Naxid rebels from the station, and liberate their captain and the other Coronas.
There was more applause as he returned to his seat, and then turned to Alikhan and ordered the spirit locker store opened again, so everyone could toast the return to Magaria.
The next day, Martinez received word that he had been promoted to lieutenant captain and given Corona. Alikhan acquired shoulder boards from Tarafah’s spare uniforms and put them on one of Martinez’s uniform jackets, which he presented at dinner.
“I believe a speech is customary on these occasions, my lord,” he said, again with his serene, sinister smile.
I’ve already said everything, Martinez thought, but he had no choice but to stand and say it again. He made Corona’s crew even more valorous and brilliant than he had the previous afternoon, their dangers more perilous, and the return to Magaria even more glorious. And then, exhausted, he ordered the spirit locker opened.
The next day came word that the Fleet Control Board had awarded him the Medal of Merit, First Class, for his part in the rescue of Captain Blitsharts and Midnight Runner. “It is not customary to make a speech on these occasions,” he told Alikhan firmly, then ordered the spirit locker opened anyway, to general applause.
Lest anyone feel he was turning Corona into a den of inebriates and slackers, he turned out the whole crew next morning for a muster, inspected their personal quarters, and awarded demerits with a free hand.
Congratulations poured in from family and friends, all relayed by communications laser from the capital. There was a dignified message from Lord Pierre Ngeni, familial greetings from Vipsania, Walpurga, and his brother Roland, a silly video from PJ, and a somewhat warmer greeting from Amanda Taen. Sempronia’s video letter had a different tone. “I was thinking of forgiving you since you turned out to be such a hero,” she said, “but then I had to spend an hour with PJ and I decided against it.” She raised a hand and waved the tips of her fingers. “Good-bye!”
Nothing from Caroline Sula. When no message came he realized that he’d been expecting one, and felt its absence with an impact that surprised him.
As a tonic, Martinez turned his thoughts to patronage. A lieutenant captain was allowed to promote one cadet or warrant officer each year to the rank of sublieutenant. He considered Vonderheydte and Kelly, and realized he didn’t know either one of them well enough to promote them, despite having worked alongside one of them for two months and having been to bed with the other.
Kelly, he realized from a glance at her records, was unsuitable for a lieutenancy. Though she’d shown unexpected talent as a weapons officer, Corona was her first posting, and she needed another year or two of seasoning before she’d be able to handle a lieutenant’s duties.
Vonderheydte was more qualified. He had served as a pilot/navigator and in the engineering division before taking his turn as Martinez’s second in the communications division. When Martinez had been his supervisor, he’d had no complaints against Vonderheydte, and apparently none of his other officers had either. He was eligible to stand for his exams, and was qualified to stand a watch.
Vonderheydte’s only drawback was that he came from a provincial clan, like Martinez, and one from Comador, so it was unlikely that Clan Vonderheydte would ever be able to repay Clan Martinez for the favor done their offspring.
And Kelly might resent Vonderheydte’s promotion. She might believe he owed her some special consideration on account of their having been to bed, for sentimental reasons or on account of ambition or…
Things had changed so much. When he and Kelly had their recreational, they were outlaws on the run from pursuing annihilation. Now he was a captain and she was his most junior officer.
Martinez’s mind was spinning through all these considerations when he realized who he should have been considering all along. He summoned Alikhan to his cabin and offered him the lieutenancy.
“I’m retired, my lord,” Alikhan pointed out. “I’m a thirty-year man. I’m only acting as your orderly to earn some extra money, and for something to do.”
“My guess is that any retired holejumper without a disability is being called back to the se
rvice. So it’s not a question of whether or not to serve, but where and at what rank. If you take the lieutenancy, you can really whip Corona into shape, and when you decide to retire once and for all, you’ll be at a higher pay grade.”
For a moment, Alikhan seemed to consider the offer, but then he shook his head. “With all respect, Lord Elcap, I can’t see myself at a wardroom table with all those young officers. I wouldn’t be comfortable, and neither would they.”
“Corona also needs a master weaponer.”
“No, my lord.” Alikhan spoke more firmly this time. “I spent thirty years in the weapons bays. I’m retired.”
“Well,” Martinez rose, “I hope at least you’ll be staying on in your present capacity.”
“Of course, Lord Elcap.” A ghost of a smile passed beneath Alikhan’s mustachios. “What would I do without my hobbies?”
Martinez, uncertain what to make of being Alikhan’s hobby, next offered the lieutenancy to Maheshwari, but the engineer turned down the offer with even less consideration than Alikhan. “Officers have to put up with too much crap,” he said, his even white teeth biting decisively on the last word.
Which left Martinez with Vonderheydte, assuming of course he was going to promote anyone at all. He called the cadet into his cabin for a talk about Vonderheydte’s expectations and abilities. Vonderheydte was expecting to take his exams in the near future, exigencies of the service permitting, and until the rebellion had been studying the subjects in which he was weak. Since then he’d been too busy.
“Do you think there will be exams at all, my lord?” he asked.
“I don’t know. But perhaps we’d better assume there will be.”
Martinez offered to help Vonderheydte set up a program of study and assist him in any subject in which he felt weak, then dismissed him without having made up his mind about the promotion. Instead he summoned Kelly for much the same conversation, and suggested that she and Vonderheydte try to find time to study together.
Her blinding grin flashed out. “When? We’re standing watches back-to-back.”
“That’s true,” Martinez admitted, and added, “I’ll help when I can.” He hesitated, then said, “It’s unfortunate that with so many vacancies, I can’t promote you to sublieutenant, but you just don’t have enough experience.”
“Oh well.” She shrugged. “Too bad the rebels didn’t wait another year.” She looked up at him. “Are you thinking of giving Vonderheydte a step?”
“I’m not sure I know him well enough. What’s your opinion?” She’d been aboard Corona since her graduation, and she knew Vonderheydte better than he did.
“Von would make a good lieutenant,” she said. “He’s conscientious enough, and he admires you.”
“Does he?” Martinez felt vanity give a little jerk to his head. Then he thought about Vonderheydte’s two ex-wives, and said, “Do you know anything about his personal life? His marriages?”
“More than one?” Kelly was surprised. “He only talks about the latest, I guess.” She began to speak, then hesitated. “I’d rather not repeat anything he told me in confidence,” she said.
“I wouldn’t ask you to break a trust,” Martinez said. “But nothing he’s told you would mitigate against his promotion?”
She seemed relieved not to be pressed on the matter. “No, Lord Elcap,” she said.
“Right,” Martinez said. “Thank you.” And before he could think too much about it, he added, “We should probably talk. About the recreational we had some days ago.”
She smiled with her lips pressed together, as if to herself. “I was wondering if you were—well, go ahead.”
“If I was what?”
Kelly shook her head. “You start, my lord.”
He looked at her. “Well,” he said, “you want to do it again?”
This time the grin burst out, along with the incredulous bark of a laugh he’d heard when he asked her the first time. Then she composed her face into a solemn expression. “Well, Lord Elcap,” she said. “As I think I’ve mentioned, I have a guy on Zanshaa. And we’re getting closer to him.”
“We are.”
“And you’re the captain now, and…” She bit her lip. “That’s different, isn’t it?”
“It is.”
There was a space of silence. “Believe me, I’m tempted,” she said. “But we’d better not.”
Wounded vainglory warred in Martinez’s heart with relief. He preferred to think himself irresistible, and disliked evidence to the contrary. He enjoyed Kelly, but having a lover on board was likely to be more complication than he really wanted. “You win on maturity points, I think,” he said.
Displays great maturity, Martinez wrote later in her file. Exercising his powers of patronage for the first time, he also sent a recommendation to the Fleet that Kelly be decorated for coolness and gallantry in shooting down incoming missiles, and suggested the Award of Valor.
He still made no decision about the lieutenancy. Caroline Sula hovered in his thoughts. She needed promotion and a patron in the service, and her record was exemplary.
But it was hard to promote someone who wouldn’t talk to you. He considered sending her the offer, but dreaded her refusal or, worse, her silence.
Eventually the Fleet forced his hand. He received word that they had assigned him a full complement, mainly old hardshells called out of retirement and new drafts fresh from the training schools, most of whom had not yet actually graduated. All were assembling now at Zanshaa and would come aboard as soon as he docked. Martinez knew nothing of two of the three lieutenants assigned to him, but he knew the third, Sibbaldo, with whom he had served as a cadet. He knew him to be a friendless, sarcastic, bullying man, ignorant of his duties and with a talent for making mistakes and then successfully laying the blame on others.
Martinez sent word to the Fleet that he had just promoted Cadet Vonderheydte into a lieutenancy, and though he would be happy to accept his new first and second officers, he regretted that he would have no place for Lieutenant Sibbaldo. Then he walked to Command to inform Vonderheydte of his new status.
That afternoon it was Vonderheydte who had to make a speech. Martinez enjoyed it immensely. He didn’t open the spirit locker, but it turned out not to matter.
“I believe Zhou and Ahmet are operating a still, my lord.” Alikhan’s report came the next morning, as he was folding Martinez’s linen. “They’re buying scraps and leftovers from the cooks and fermenting them.”
“Using the profits from their dice game.” Martinez had already been told about that venture.
“No doubt, my lord.”
“I wonder when they sleep.”
Martinez considered Corona’s troublemakers for a moment. “Unless drunkenness becomes a problem, I’d suggest we don’t find the still till near the end of the voyage. Then we mete out punishments and fines with a heavy hand, and the dice game’s profits become part of the recreation fund.”
Alikhan’s smile seemed approving. “Very good, my lord.”
“If you find a way to relieve the cooks of their illicit earnings, let me know.”
The smile broadened. “I shall, my lord.”
It was twenty-one days before the sphere of Paswal Wormhole 2 engulfed the Corona, and the latter part of the trip was spent in deceleration. Martinez was planning a much gentler return to Zanshaa than the departure he’d been forced to make from Magaria, and unless the Fleet ordered otherwise, he was going to make a pleasant one-gee deceleration the whole way.
From Paswal, Corona passed to Loatyn, an inhabited system with eight billion citizens spread out among two planets and three moons. Corona was in the system for only the eight days it took to cross between Wormholes 2 and 3, and for that brief moment was the only loyalist armed force in the system, since the frigate Mentor had left for Zanshaa at the beginning of the emergency.
During the last hour of the transit to Wormhole 2, Corona witnessed the enemy invasion, when eight warships appeared from Wormhole 1. The s
hips had actually arrived fourteen hours earlier—the distance from Wormhole 1 to 2 was slightly in excess of fourteen light-hours—and they were coming on fast, nearly forty percent the speed of light. A glance at a wormhole map showed that the newcomers must be the Naxid squadron from Felarus, the headquarters of the Third Fleet.
Censors had prevented news of what had happened to the Third Fleet from spreading, but now that Martinez saw the Naxid squadron, he felt he could guess.
Their arrival was a nasty shock, but he calculated that they could not catch him, not unless they followed him all the way to Zanshaa, in which case they’d find themselves in a fight with the Home Fleet, now building its velocity in frantic burns around the system. Through the wormhole relay stations he sent word of the Felarus squadron’s arrival to Zanshaa.
Corona dived into Wormhole 2 and found itself in Protipanu, another uninhabited system. Protipanu was a brown dwarf barely detectible in the visible spectrum. In its earlier, bloated, red giant stage it had gobbled its inner planets, turned the middle planets to rubble through gravitational stress, and boiled the frozen atmosphere off the outer four planets, leaving barren rocks. The result was an absolutely bare inner system, and scattered rings of rocks and ice in the far reaches.
The most impressive thing about Protipanu, however, was the brilliant red cloud, shading into purples and blues, that occupied fully a third of the sky. This was a supernova remnant expanding toward Protipanu and scheduled to arrive in another eight thousand years. The cloud formed a giant flaming hoop in the sky, like a mouth opening to consume the brown dwarf, and had been named the Maw.
Corona was only in the Protipanu system for four hours, the brief time it took to transit the two wormholes. The personnel on the two wormhole relay stations were warned that the Naxids were coming, though only those at Wormhole 2, at the far end, would have a chance to get out of the system before the Naxids overran them. Martinez didn’t know what the Naxids were doing with the relay stations, but he presumed they were occupying them when possible, to make use of the communications system that kept the empire together.
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