The Praxis (39 page)

Tork leaned toward the camera pickups, his fixed, gray expression mournful, but his voice chiming with suppressed passion.

“Hone-bar may declare for the rebels out of sheer terror, and the Reach will follow if Hone-bar defects. For pity's sake, detach a squadron to defend the Reach, or launch the attack on Magaria and trust your
Praxis
-class ships to annihilate the enemy. I would prefer the latter, but I'll leave it up to you.”

Jarlath considered this appeal as his molars crushed a particularly delectable marrow bone. The blessedly low gravity and fine meal had given him a feeling of well-being, and he thought he might as well leave Tork with the feeling he had accomplished something.

“I want to question Martinez myself about any damage he may have done,” he said. “In the meantime I'll order a harder acceleration. If I'm going to Magaria, then I'm going to go in
fast
.”

Jarlath gave the orders, unaware that he had just crossed an invisible line, the line between refusing absolutely to go to Magaria and a willingness to contemplate the attack.

Once he had crossed that line, Jarlath found it increasingly difficult to return.

M
ost of
Corona's
transit to Zanshaa was rather pleasant. There was some suspense at the start, when Martinez sent his report to the repeating signal station at the far side of the Paswal system and requested all the recent news. It was many hours before bulletins of the failed revolt at Zanshaa arrived, along with information that the Home Fleet still stood between the Naxids and the capital.

Corona
had a home to return to. Once he knew that, Martinez felt he could enjoy himself in his new command.

He set watches and kept the ship at partial gravity for the first six days, allowing everyone a chance to recover from the exhaustion of fifteen days' desperate acceleration.

Except for the lonely crews of the two wormhole maintenance and relay stations, Paswal was an uninhabited system, dead planets surrounding a bright energetic star in the midst of a globular cluster. It had never been determined exactly where Paswal was in relation to anywhere else in the empire: wormholes could lead anywhere in the universe, and to practically any time. The video views of the outside were spectacular, the cluster's million stars so closely packed that they looked like a shining wall of diamonds. Paswal didn't experience anything like true darkness, only a kind of twilight, with the near stars great fiery gems amid the background of brilliants. Martinez sometimes slept with a virtual rig projecting the exterior view into his mind, so that falling asleep and waking were both marked by the blazon of the night, and a million stars walked through his peaceful dreams.

It was three days before he succumbed to the temptation to look at his confidential records. Tarafah's key opened these, as well as those of everyone else, and it occurred to him that if he was to be the captain of
Corona,
he should be familiar with the records of his crew. So, virtuously, he began with the cadets, then worked his way through the warrant and petty officers and on to the recruits. There were few surprises, though it did startle him to discover that Cadet Vonderheydte had been married and divorced twice in his brief service career, which barely added up to three years.

After this display of rectitude, Martinez called up his own records, and discovered that Tarafah had described him as “an efficient officer, diligent in his duties, though needing more polish in social situations.” The estimate nettled him. When had he
ever
been in a social situation with the captain? he wondered. Where had Tarafah formed that judgment? He thought about erasing the last bit, then decided it was too dangerous. Someone might look at the time stamp and discover that the report had been modified on a date when Tarafah was in the hands of the enemy.

Vexed, he went on to Enderby's report, which was longer and more detailed. “An officer of exceptional talent and ability,” it concluded. “He will have an excellent career if he can restrain his ambition from scheming for awards that would fall to him naturally in the fullness of time.”

Now
that,
he had to admit, was fair.

Martinez glowed, however, when he read Enderby's final testament, in which he requested that the Fleet Control Board promote Martinez as soon as a suitable command became vacant. The old man
had
liked him, had done his best to assure that he'd be promoted…
in the fullness of
time.
Perhaps even the transfer to the Second Fleet aboard
Corona
was aimed at assisting his chances: vacancies tended to occur more often on the more remote stations. In charity with all the universe, Martinez decided this had to be true.

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 service. 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.