Conventions of War

FIVE

“Ihave always found tragedy to be the most human of the arts,” said Senior Captain Lord Gomberg Fletcher. “Other species simply don’t have a feeling for it.”

“There’s Lakaj Trallin’sThe Messenger, ” said Fulvia Kazakov, the first lieutenant.

“The choral parts are magnificent, as one might expect with the Daimong,” the captain admitted, “but I find the psychology of Lord Ganmir and Lady Oppoda underdeveloped.”

Captain Fletcher’s dinner stretched the length of the ship’s long afternoon. Every plate, saucer, cup, goblet, and salt cellar on the long table was blazoned with the captain’s crest, and the table itself sat in the midst of painted revelry. The walls were covered with murals of banquets and banqueters: ancient Terrans wearing sheets and eating on couches; humanoid creatures with horns and hairy, cloven-hoofed legs roistering with wine cups and bunches of grapes; a tall, commanding youth, crowned with leaves, surrounded by women carrying phallic staves. Statues stood in the corners, graceful seminude women bearing cups. A solid gold centerpiece crowned the table, armored warriors mysteriously standing guard over piles of brilliant metal fruits and nuts.

The captain was a renowned patron of the arts, and as an offspring of the eminent and preposterously rich Gomberg and Fletcher clans, he had the money to indulge himself. He had ornamentedIllustrious with a lavish hand, sparing no expense to create a masterpiece that would be the envy of the Fleet. The hull had been painted in a complex geometric pattern of brilliant white, pale green, and pink. The interior was filled with more geometric patterns broken by fantastic landscapes, trompes l’oeil, scenes of hunting and dancing, forests and vines, whimsical architecture and wind-tossed seascapes. Most of these works had been created in a graphics program, run off on long sheets, then mounted like wallpaper, but in the captain’s own quarters the murals had been painted on, and were subsequently maintained, by a pudgy, graying, rather disheveled artist named Montemar Jukes, who Fletcher had brought aboard as a servant and promptly rated Rigger First Class.

Jukes dined in the petty officers’ lounge: no one present at the captain’s dinner was anything less than an officer and a Peer. All glittered in their full dress uniforms, as the captain’s long-established custom was that all meals aboardIllustrious be formal, whether they were a special occasion or not.

He had established his rule before Martinez joined the ship, but Martinez had added his own unexpected contribution to the ritual. Since the dinners were, after all, full dress, he had worn his decorations-or, in the case of one particular decoration, carried it.

The award in question was the Golden Orb, a baton on which was mounted a transparent globe filled with swirling gold liquid. It happened to be the highest award in the empire, given Martinez for stealing theCorona from under Naxid noses at Magaria, and every officer and crew, every lord convocate or government employee, was required to salute it.

So the first time Martinez had arrived for one of the captain’s dinners, Captain Lord Gomberg Fletcher was obliged to jump up and salute him; and this had happened on every occasion since. The captain had been gracious about it-he was never less than gracious-but there was something in the set of the long, handsome face that suggested he had discovered a flaw in the arrangement of the universe. No Fletcher had ever before in history saluted a Martinez, and he resented the fact that he should be the first.

Tonight, Lady Michi, the guest of honor, sat at the head of the table, with the rest below in order of precedence. Fletcher and Martinez sat beneath Lady Michi, and below Fletcher was the first lieutenant, Fulvia Kazakov, her dark hair braided and tied into an elaborate knot behind her head, then transfixed with a pair of gold-embroidered chopsticks of camphor wood.

On Martinez’s elbow was Chandra Prasad, her knee pressed familiarly to his. Below them were ranked the other four lieutenants, the ship’s doctor, and the cadets. At the far end of the table was the one non-Terran aboardIllustrious, a Daimong cadet who had commanded a pinnace at the Battle of Protipanu and been absent from his ship, the frigateBeacon, when it was destroyed with all aboard.

Like the other cadets, the Daimong maintained an intimidated silence in the presence of his superiors, so his views on the psychology of Lord Ganmir and Lady Oppoda went unrecorded.

“There’s Go-tul’sNew Dynasty, ” Michi said. “A very moving tragedy, I’ve always thought.”

“I consider it flawed,” said Captain Fletcher. He was a thin-faced man with ice-blue eyes that glittered from deep sockets, and silvery hair set in unnaturally perfect waves. His manner combined the Fleet’s assumption of unquestioned authority with the flawless ease of the high-caste Peer.

He was a complete autocrat, but perfectly relaxed about it.

“New Dynastyconcerns a provincial Peer who travels to Zanshaa and comes within an ace of taking her place in elite society,” Fletcher continued. “But she fails, and in the end has to return home. She ends the story in her proper place.” He gave Lady Michi a questioning look. “How is that tragic? Genuine tragedy is the fall of someone born into the highest place and then falling from it.”

Chandra’s hand, under the table, dropped onto Martinez’s thigh and gave it a ferocious squeeze. Martinez tried not to jump.

“Which is more tragic, Lord Captain,” Chandra asked, her voice a little high. “A provincial who rises above her station and fails, or a provincial who rises andsucceeds?”

Fletcher gave her a sharp look, and then his expression regained its accustomed poise. “The latter, I think,” he said.

Chandra dug her claws once more into Martinez’s thigh. Anger vibrated in her. The other officers stiffened, their eyes on the drama being played out between Chandra and the captain. They were all aware that she and Fletcher were lovers, and they all could see that the relationship might explode right at this moment, in front of them all.

The moment appalling, Martinez thought. It was like watching an accident: you couldn’t stop it, but you couldn’t turn away.

“So provincials shouldn’t try to rise in the world?” Chandra asked. “Provincials should stay on their home worlds and let the High City families deal with affairs? The same families that nearly lost the empire to the rebels?” She looked at Martinez. “Where would the Fleet be if Captain Martinez had followed that advice?”

Though Martinez had to agree that the Fleet was improved by his presence, he preferred not to be used as an example. He knew that despite his success, the captain considered him a freak of nature, something on a par with a bearded lady or a talking dog.

He knew, but he didn’t particularly feel like rehashing it all at Michi Chen’s birthday dinner, particularly since nothing he said or did would ever alter the captain’s mind.

“How much worse would our situation be without Captain Martinez, I’d like to know,” Chandra insisted.

“Captain Martinez,” said Fletcher easily, “isn’t a tragic hero, so far as I know. We’re discussing theater, not real life.” He gave a graceful inclination of his head toward Martinez. “Were a figure like Captain Martinez to appear onstage, it would be a tale of high adventure, surely, not the fall of the great.”

Chandra gave Fletcher a smoldering glare. “The great have abandoned Zanshaa and are running like hell from the enemy right now,” she said. “Do you think there’ll ever be a tragedy about that?” Her lip curled. “Or will it be afarce?”

“I think-” Michi began firmly, with the obvious intention of ending the discussion, when a chime from her sleeve display interrupted her. The officers fell silent as she answered: they knew no one would have interrupted the squadron commander’s dinner without good reason.

From his position at Michi’s elbow, Martinez saw the chameleon-weave fabric on her left forearm resolve itself into the image of the warrant officer who guidedIllustrious from Command.

“My lady, I have received a reply from the governor of Termaine,” she said.

“I’ll see it,” Michi said.

“It’s text only. It reads: ‘In view of the local superiority of your pirate forces, and the millions murdered at Bai-do by your command, I have no option but to comply with your unjust and tyrannical demands.’ Signed, Fleet Commander Jakseth, Military Governor.”

Michi listened to the insults with a wry smile, and when the governor’s name was spoken, burst into a delighted laugh. “So Jakseth’s aFleet Commander now?” she said. “He’s been on the captain’s list since I was at the academy!”

Martinez sensed the tension drain from the company, and felt a burst of gratitude for the war that had distracted them from the combat between Chandra and the captain.

“Reply to the governor,” Michi said. “In text, since that’s how he wants it. ‘Congratulations to the Fleet Commander on his promotion. May he have all the success he enjoyed as captain of theChampion.’”

There was laughter from Fletcher at this. Martinez waited for Michi to end her communication, and then spoke.

“I’m sorry, Lady Squadcom, but I don’t understand your answer.”

“Championwas Jakseth’s last command,” she said. “He managed to cause a collision when he docked at Comador-millions in damage, and all his fault. Family influence helped him evade a court-martial, but he hasn’t been allowed to fly so much as a pinnace since.” She looked pleased. “And now he has a whole planet! The rebels were his only hope for promotion.”

Fletcher lifted a hand to signal his wine steward. “Perhaps we should toast the fleetcom’s good luck.”

Wineglasses were recharged and raised in facetious toast to the captain of theChampion. Servants cleared plates and brought another course, mayfish in some kind of sweet berry sauce, with a seaweed garnish.

There was a respectful knock on the door. Martinez looked to see a detachment of the cruiser’s senior petty officers clustered in the doorway.

“We beg your pardon, my Lady Squadcom,” said Master Weaponer Gulik. “We would like to make a presentation on the occasion of your birthday, if we may.”

“I would be honored, Master Weaponer,” Michi said.

Gulik-a small, dour, rat-faced man-squeezed into the room past one of the cup-bearing statues and approached Michi’s seat. He was followed by Master Engineer Thuc, a massive, muscled, slab-sided Terran with the goatee and curling mustachios worn by many senior petty officers. Behind these came the senior machinist, electrician, signaler, and the other petty officers in charge of the ship’s departments.

“We wish to present you with this memento of your time aboardIllustrious, my lady,” Gulik said.

The memento was a scale model of theIllustrious, with the green, pink, and white of Fletcher’s paint scheme minutely and exactly detailed. The model was mounted on a brass base built in the cruiser’s workshop.

Michi thanked the deputation, and led the officers in a toast to the department heads. The deputation left, and the dinner resumed, one course after another, each reflecting the genius of Fletcher’s personal chef, each course marked by toasts and compliments.

Martinez was aware of Chandra smoldering next to him, her leg jigging up and down with impatience.

“You might have stood up for yourself,” she told Martinez as he walked to his cabin after the feast.

“No one was attacking me,” Martinez said. “The worst anyone said was that I wasn’t a tragic hero, and I hope to hell that’s true.”

“Fletcher’s said alot of things about you,” Chandra said.

“Yes,” Martinez said. He opened his cabin door, then turned to her. “But I’m not supposed to know that, am I? Because I’m not supposed to be on intimate terms with the captain’s girlfriend, am I?”

He closed the door on Chandra’s mask of thwarted fury, made his way to his desk and sat down. He put the Golden Orb down on the desk’s deep black surface and then opened the buttons on his dress tunic.

After the four-hour formal meal, he felt like a bird stuffed and trussed for roasting.

The winged children on the walls looked at him hungrily.

Next day, Martinez was in the Flag Officer Station briefly asIllustrious launched a pair of pinnaces, one of them piloted by the lone Daimong survivor of theBeacon. These would race past Termaine, their powerful cameras and other sensors trained on the Termaine ring to make certain that Lady Michi’s orders were obeyed, that all docking and construction bays were open to the vacuum and that all ships, including those under construction, had been cast off.Illustrious would recover the pinnaces on the far side of the system.

At Bai-do, the Naxids had opened fire on the pinnaces as they passed, killing the cadets who flew them, and Lady Michi had retaliated for this defiance by destroying the ring. Billions died in exchange for two cadets, making a point that it was hoped the Naxid high command would respect.

This time the pinnaces would have an escort. Each pinnace would fly surrounded by a cloud of twenty-four antimatter missiles, all under command of the pinnace pilots themselves. The missiles could either be used offensively or to counter missiles launched from the ring. The missiles, like the pinnaces, could be recovered after the completion of their mission, or diverted to other targets, like the merchant vessels that were accelerating madly in an effort to clear the system before Chenforce destroyed them.

Martinez watched as the missiles were flung from the tubes, as chemical rockets ignited to carry them a safe distance from the cruiser before the antihydrogen engines started. The pinnaces followed shortly thereafter, engines firing to take them on a long curve that would carry them on either side of Termaine.

The Flag Officer Station stood down once the pinnaces and the missile barrages were on their way, and Martinez tucked his helmet under his arm and made his way to his cabin, where his orderly, Khalid Alikhan, helped him out of his vac suit.

Alikhan was a thirty-year veteran of the Fleet who had retired with the rank of Master Weaponer, and who still proudly wore the goatee and curling mustachios of the senior petty officer. Alikhan was a fountain of vivid anecdotes, technical arcana, and knowledge of the devious paths one might take to circumvent the formalities and custom of the Fleet, and Martinez had employed him with the intention of taking advantage of those thirty years’ experience in the weapons bays.

Alikhan hung the vac suit in its locker and served Martinez coffee from the vacuum pot that waited on a sideboard in the office.

“I was wondering, my lord, if I might trouble you for an advance on my pay,” he said as he placed the cup on Martinez’s desk.

Martinez paused in surprise, the cup halfway to his lips. Alikhan had never before asked for an advance.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, of course.” He rose from his chair, opened his office safe, and handed Alikhan five zeniths. “Will that be enough?”

“That’s more than sufficient, my lord. Thank you.”

Martinez closed the safe. “Is the petty officers’ club doing something special?” he asked. He couldn’t think what it could be. With the ship’s canteen running low after months away from port, the nearest place to spend money was Termaine.

“No, my lord,” Alikhan said. His stern face hardened into an expression of vexation. “I was unlucky at cards.”

Martinez looked at him, surprised again. “I didn’t know you gambled,” he said.

“I venture now and again, my lord.”

Alikhan braced, which indicated that he hoped the conversation was over. Martinez decided it might well be.

“Carry on, then,” he said, and Alikhan made his way out.

Martinez sat at his desk and sipped his coffee, then checked the tactical display.

The rebels at Termaine were obeying orders, so far as he could tell. Termaine was now surrounded by a small cloud of vessels that had been cast adrift, ready to be destroyed by Chenforce as it swept past.

Martinez didn’t find the sight completely assuring.

Bai-do too had complied with Michi’s demands, right up to the point where they opened fire.