Conventions of War (65 page)

Missiles were already being launched by the enemy squadron and by the remains of Squadron 20. It was very close range, and soon the space between them was filled with detonations.

Another squadron flung itself around Magaria's sun, on track for Wormhole 5. They were already shedding missiles aimed at Cruiser Squadron 20.

“Turn to course zero-six-zero by zero-zero-one relative,” Chandra said. “Accelerate to six gravities, beginning at sixteen forty-one and one.”

“Engines, cut engines,” Martinez told Mersenne. “Pilot, do you have the new heading?”

“Yes, my lord.”

The loyalists began their pursuit of the fleeing enemy, gravity piling on their bones. The next two formations to pass the sun were loyalist, already engaged with the Naxid squadron astern of them. Antimatter burned and boiled in the space between ships.

Not all of the ships passed the sun intact. Two flew off on the trail of
Judge Urhug,
unable to make use of their engines. It was unclear whether they were friendly or Naxid. Others fell into the wake of the loyalist squadrons, but reported too much damage to continue the engagement with the enemy.

If the Naxids had similar problems, they were silent about it.

More ships were flung out of the sun's gravity well. Enemy squadrons vanished behind clouds of raging plasma. The radiation detector spiked as missiles reached fuel stores. The Naxids increased acceleration, and Michi did as well.
Illustrious
groaned to the increase in gravities. Martinez panted for breath against the leaden giant that squatted on his chest. Michi's ships fired one salvo after another. Ships reported that their magazines were beginning to run low.

Eventually Michi called off the pursuit. The opposing forces had become too separated in their slingshot around the sun—those extra four minutes of thrust had thrown the loyalists too far away. The Naxids could keep their distance by matching Michi's acceleration.

“Is Lady Michi the senior officer surviving?” Martinez asked Chandra.

“She must be,” Chandra answered. “Everyone's following her orders.”

Martinez scanned the display, adding up the ships. The Orthodox Fleet had come into the battle with eighty-seven ships, and something like forty had survived—the exact number depended on how many of the three silent, uncontrolled ships now drifting for the void belonged to the loyalist fleet.

The Naxids had started with seventy-two warships, and thirty were now making their escape.

Ships on both sides were damaged, but at the moment it was impossible to say how many, or how badly.

What seemed clear was that combat had taken a heavy toll of flag officers. Tork's ship was silent and drifting. Kringan's
Judge Kasapa
hadn't survived, unless it was another one of the ship-sized flotsam on course for nowhere. The third in command, Acting Junior Fleet Commander Laswip, had died with his ship.

That put Michi very definitely in charge.

“Captain Martinez.” Michi's brusque voice rang in his head. “I'll need you in my quarters at once.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Martinez let the virtual display fade and blinked as the control room swam into his vision for the first time in hours. Ancient Terran officers on horseback gazed sternly at him from the walls, and below the feet of their horses the displays glowed in colors that seemed dull compared to the brilliance of the virtual world.

“Comm,” Martinez said, “get me the premiere.”

When Kazakov answered, Martinez told her she was in command of
Illustrious
while he was in conference.

“Yes, my lord.” She hesitated. “Congratulations, my lord.”

“Thank you.”

He unwebbed and swung forward to plant his feet on the deck, then wrenched off his helmet for a breath of somewhat freer air. While he still had the microphone on, he addressed the crew in Command.

“Well done, people. Take a breather and a stretch, but don't go far. I'll try to have food brought to you.”

As he stood, they turned to him, wheeling around in their acceleration cages. Mersenne raised his gloved hands and began to applaud. The others echoed him, the sound muffled by the vac suit fabric. Martinez grinned.

He
had
done rather well, he thought, considering his superiors' mistakes.

He thanked them, then stripped off the cap that held his headphones, microphone, virtual projection net, and the diagnostic sensors that read his vital signs.

Michi had said
at once
. He supposed he didn't have time to change out of his suit.

Helmet under his arm, he left Command and trudged down the companionway to officers' quarters. Michi, Chandra, Li, and Coen were grouped around Michi's dining room, all bulky in their vac suits. Michi and Chandra were gazing at a wall display, the aides at datapads. Martinez entered and braced.

“Come in,” Michi said, her eyes intent on the wall display, and then she turned to him.

“I intend to pursue the enemy,” she said, “and finish them off once and for all.”

“Yes, my lady,” Martinez said.

Good idea,
he thought.

“I
've ordered all squadron commanders to give a complete report on the status of their ships,” Michi said. “If we can build a large enough force, I'm going to swing around the far side of Magaria and head right for Wormhole Five on the tail of the enemy.”

A sense of pure satisfaction sang like a Daimong chorus in Martinez's head.

“Yes, my lady,” he said.

“You were right when you told Chandra that the Naxid fleet
is
the rebellion,” Michi said. “Kill their ships, and the war dies.” She returned her attention to the screen. “Yes, my lord,” she said. “Continue.”

“
Compliance
has frames broken, two bulkheads breached, and two missile batteries severely damaged by heat,” reported the captain of the
Conformance
. “I doubt it'll be able to pull heavy gravities, and though a well-equipped dock might save her, it might be easier in the end to scrap the ship and build a new one.
Submission
has suffered hull breach in two places and the death of sixty-odd crew, but reports the hull damage is repairable and that repairs are ongoing. The captain reports the ship as ready for battle, though half of one missile battery has been permanently slagged.
Conformance
has suffered superficial damage, and is ready to continue the fight now, though our magazines are at two-fifths full strength.”

“Don't worry about missiles,” Michi said. “We'll get you more. Thank you, Lord Captain.”

Don't worry about missiles
. That was interesting. Perhaps Michi intended the damaged ships to donate their unfired missiles to those about to go in pursuit of the Naxids.

Chandra made notes on her sleeve display, which were reflected in another one of the wall displays that showed a list of ships, with tick marks in one of three columns.

“Sit down, Captain,” Michi said. “There'll be food and coffee in a minute.”

Martinez found a seat and listened to another report. More ticks went into different columns.

The next report was from Sula. Her silver-gilt hair was pinned back and revealed her delicate ears. A flush floated in the translucence of her cheeks, and defiance glittered in her green eyes. She wasn't wearing a vac suit, but wore instead her undress tunic. Martinez figured she had showered and changed before reporting.

“Light Squadron Seventeen reports the loss of
Councillor
and
Eager,
” she said. “All other ships are undamaged and prepared to engage the enemy.”

Martinez stared. He didn't think he'd ever seen her so arrogant.

“Missile stores?” Michi asked.

Sula gave her precise numbers for each of her ships. She hadn't fired so prodigiously as other ships, and she'd preserved nearly half the missiles in her magazines.

“Thank you, Captain Sula,” Michi said. “You've done an outstanding job.”

“Yes, my lady,” Sula said, and blanked the screen.

Yes,
she had said. Not
Thank you
.

No humility here,
Martinez thought.

Two of Michi's servants arrived with plates, silverware, and a casserole that had been quietly baking while the missiles were slashing between ships. Coffee and water arrived shortly after. The mingled scent of tomatoes and garlic rose gently into the air as dinner was dished out, and everyone began eating and working with the figures in the wall displays.

All squadrons reported in. Twenty-eight ships were capable of action. The rest would be left behind to guard Magaria's system from any Naxid counterattack—and at least some of them could receive repair at Magaria's ring, assuming that Magaria surrendered.

“Twenty-eight against thirty,” Michi said thoughtfully.

“The Naxids will have a high percentage of damaged ships,” Martinez said. “Ours was nearly a third, and theirs might well be higher.”

“I'm worried less about that,” Michi said, “than why they're retreating.”

“Panic?” Martinez suggested. “Terror?”

Grim amusement glittered beneath Michi's dark bangs. “Possibly. But it bothers me that they stopped fighting when they did. I'm wondering what they're running
to
.”

“Reinforcements?” Martinez said. “But wouldn't they have sent reinforcements
here
? To Magaria?”

“I'm sure they would have if it were possible. But possibly they still have ships guarding Naxas, or they have ships under construction or undergoing trials.”

“There can't be that many. And if any are new construction, they'll have inexperienced crews and maybe they won't have even shaken down. We'll blow them to bits.”

Michi allowed herself a smile. “I suspect you're right, Lord Captain.”

“Momentum's on our side, my lady. We can finish them quickly if we don't give them a chance to catch their breath.”

Michi's smile broadened. “Please remember,” she said, “that this pursuit is my idea. You don't have to talk me into it.”

Chandra snickered. Martinez decided this was a good moment to change the subject.

“We can have the damaged ships donate their missiles to the pursuit force,” he said. “That'll help fill our magazines.”

“Not necessary.” Michi turned to her casserole.

“My lady?”

“Tork's insurance policy.” Michi spoke around a mouthful of food. “In four days, something like two thousand missiles are going to rip into the system at relativistic speeds.”

Martinez stared. Michi swallowed, then took a drink of water.

“Unless they get the right code,” Michi said, “they're going to hit every ship they can find.”

Insurance policy,
Martinez thought.

“So just in case the Naxids won another victory here,” he said, “Tork was going to do his best to destroy any Naxids remaining.”

“And the Magaria ring,” Michi added, “so the Naxids couldn't repair.” She took another sip of water.

“He called us pirates for Bai-do,” Martinez said. “Now he's going to blow up the Magaria ring?”

“Pirate is the nicest thing Tork would have been called if he'd lost this battle,” Michi said. “I'm sure he knew that.”

“I suppose you have the code to control the missiles,” Martinez said, “otherwise we'd be piling on the gravities to escape the system by whatever wormhole is nearest.”

“That's right. The right code, and all those missiles turn into our resupply. We're going to have to decelerate enough to stay in the system and recover at least some of the missiles before we go on to Wormhole Five.”

“How many people know this code?”

“It was given to all flag officers.”

“Three of whom seem to be dead. If you'd all been killed, it would have been hard on any survivors.”

“Lucky that Altasz and I survived,” Michi said equably. “Which brings me to my next point. I'm going to have to leave Altasz here to command the remnant we're leaving behind—which is easy, because his ship is damaged too. The twenty-eight ships of the attack force will divide neatly into three squadrons. I'll take one, and Sula will have another.” Michi looked at him, eyebrows raised. “I don't suppose you'd care to command the third?”

Martinez took at least two seconds to bask in the radiant joy that suddenly filled him—and then the joy came to an abrupt end as Li bent to a communication flashing on her sleeve display.

“Communication, my lady,” she said, “from Lord Tork.”

A sudden dark pall fell on the room like a cloud across the sun.

“Put it on the wall,” Michi said, and straightened in her chair as she looked at the wall and its camera pickup. One of the wall screens filled with Tork's wide-eyed, gray, expressionless face.

“Yes, Lord Commander,” Michi said. “I rejoice to see you alive.”

Martinez, for his part, could barely keep from snarling. His squadron was now surely a lost cause.

“Please report, Lady Michi,” Tork said.

“We have thirty-nine confirmed survivors, and two silent ships we're not sure about. I was in the process of assembling a force of our twenty-eight effectives for an immediate pursuit of the enemy.”

Due to the growing distance between
Illustrious
and
Judge Urhug,
there was a pause of several seconds before Tork responded. Martinez studied his image, and saw that the Supreme Commander wasn't wearing a vac suit. His torso was encased in puffy bright orange plastic—he was wearing one of the inflatable body casts used by Fleet medics. He was a more leaden color than Martinez had ever seen him. His face was free of strips of dead skin, which argued that some medic had just cleaned him up.

“Very good, Lady Michi,” Tork said. “Your pursuit is authorized.”

Martinez was surprised. He'd been expecting Tork to want to orbit Magaria for another three or four months before his next advance.

“Kindly send me all information on the status of the fleet and your proposed dispositions,” Tork said.

Michi did so. There was another pause while they watched Tork's wide, round eyes absorb the data. If he felt any regret at losing over half his command while winning his victory, he failed to show it.

“Acting Squadron Commander Altasz shall remain in the Magaria system to command the stay-behind force,” Tork said. “You may take all the remaining heavy cruisers into Squadron Nine—no, all but
Splendid,
which will join Squadron Seventeen, and its captain will replace Lady Sula as its squadron commander. The remaining vessels may form a light squadron under…would it be Captain Tantu?”

Misery at losing his squadron warred in Martinez with rage on behalf of Sula. She might be murderous, insolent, and insane, but she and her squadron had performed brilliantly, losing fewer ships than any other formation and inflicting far greater harm on the enemy.

“I believe Tantu is senior, my lord,” Michi said. “But wouldn't
Splendid
make a more logical member of the heavy squadron?”

“I desire that Captain Sula be superseded,” Tork said. “She disobeyed my express orders and starburst early during the battle. She refused to reform when ordered to do so. I want a loyal captain in charge who will bring her to proper obedience.”

Martinez could see that Michi was on the verge of offering further comment, but then decided against it.

“Yes, my lord,” she said. “Do you need help? Shall I send a vessel to bring you off the
Urhug
?”

“That won't be necessary,” Tork said. “I've suffered spinal damage and the doctor says I shouldn't be subjected to high accelerations. I am told that
Judge Urhug
will have one engine repaired within twenty-nine hours, and that should provide a slow deceleration that will put me on the Magaria ring station about the time that the fast-healer hormones have repaired my injuries. Now that communication has been restored, my staff and I can continue to run the Righteous and Orthodox Fleet of Vengeance from the
Urhug,
at least for the present.”

Would Tork never give up? Martinez wondered. Would he never die, retire, check himself into the Fleet hospital, blow his brains out?

Would Tork never get out of Martinez's way?

“I wish you to demand the surrender of Magaria and the enemy fleet,” Tork said. “Though I very much derire to issue the ultimatum myself, the fact of its coming from a near-derelict ship might reduce its impact.”

Not to mention attract enemy missiles.

Martinez was cast in gloom for the rest of the conversation, and then the planning session that followed. Finally Michi dropped her coffee cup into its saucer and gave him a severe look.

“Cheer up, will you?” she said. “We're alive, we've won the battle, we'll win the next.”

“Yes, my lady,” Martinez agreed.

“And Tork's arrangements will last only until we pass through Wormhole Five. After that, I can arrange the fleet to my liking, and you're just the acting squadron commander who can whip our provisional light squadron into shape and teach it the tactics that will win us a victory at Naxas.”

Martinez paused a moment while a carillon rang changes of joy through his head. Michi grinned.

“That's better,” she said.

 

S
ula took her supersession with equanimity. She had defied Tork, flouted his death sentence, then rubbed salt into his wounds by blowing up sixteen enemy ships at the cost of two of her own. There wasn't an officer in the fleet who hadn't seen the superiority of Ghost Tactics demonstrated on their very own tactics displays.

She hoped Tork was furious. She hoped he was raving. She hoped that every time he thought of her, he sprayed angry spittle over everyone in the Flag Officer Station.

All Tork could do in response to her defiance was put a nobody like Carmody of the
Splendid
over her. If an officer of hers had defied her the way she'd defied Tork, she would have thought of something much more interesting to do with him.

Splendid
shouldered its way into Squadron 17 like a prizefighter moving through a crowd of schoolchildren. Sula was having tea in her little bare-walled office when the new squadcom called.

Or rather, his communications officer. Sula looked at the wall display and saw the handsome face of Jeremy Foote.

“Hello, Foote,” she said. “How's the formula?”

He flushed. “Captain Carmody to speak with you.”

Carmody appeared, a blocky-looking man with ginger whiskers. Behind him Sula saw rich arculé paneling. He was presumably calling from his quarters, which would allow her to be frank.

“Yes, my lord,” Sula said. “How may I help you?”

“I wanted to speak with you personally,” Carmody said. “I want you to know that I did not seek this appointment, and in fact was rather surprised by it.”