Naxid homeworld of Naxas, produced a list of ships to which he might appeal.
He’d tell them when the time came. And he still had ground-line communication to other ships berthed in the Fleet dockyard. He might be able to save some of them yet.
Another of Martinez’s displays shifted through a succession of other security monitors, particularly those on the Naxid stretch of the ring station. The Fleet enclave was nearly deserted: everyone, even the civilian workers, had been given tickets to the Festival of Sport and a day off. The only living presence in the Fleet areas were the two guards posted by every airlock.
A third display showed the football match between the Coronas and the Beijings. Tarafah’s offensive strategy had thus far scored two goals and held the opposition scoreless. Martinez had to admire his captain’s ability as a strategist—he was truly a superb and inspiring sports tactician.
A fourth, smaller display scrolled slowly between the other games being played at the same time. His friend Aragon of theDeclaration had won his wushu match with a joint lock in the second round, but Aidepone’s team from theUtgu wasn’t faring very well in fatugui, a game involving a large ovoid ball being flung across a field by what looked like giant teaspoons held in the matchstick arms of the Daimong players. Two of Aidepone’s side had been declared dead, in fatugui a temporary condition, but their opponents now had the advantage of numbers and had scored several points, and their own team kept stumbling over them.
Senior Fleet Commander Fanaghee was enthroned, with Kulukraf and others of her senior staff, in the stadium where two champion Naxid teams were deeply involved in lighumane, a game of position and movement that seemed like an unlikely combination of chess and rugby football—at one moment players carrying large white or black placards were participating in diabolically subtle maneuvers on a green field, and then all periodically dissolved into riot and violence. The camera frequently returned to Fanaghee, as if to demonstrate to everyone that she was here watching sport instead of, say, conspiring at mutiny aboard theMajesty.
All these displays, however, were little more than a distraction to Martinez. A fifth, central display was open to a navigation plot. He had been trying to find an escape route forCorona once he got her out of dock, and the possibilities weren’t promising. The direct wormhole route to Zanshaa was blocked by the cruiserJudge Kybiq, which had departed the station en route to Zanshaa three days earlier.
Other than Zanshaa, the nearest Fleet concentration was the Fourth Fleet headquarters at Felarus, but Fanaghee had cleverly blocked that as well, with the heavy cruiserBombardment of Turmag, shaking down after a period of refit. The refit, Martinez suspected, had been timed precisely, in order to provide Fanaghee an excuse to order the cruiser out of dock.
Coronawould have to return to Zanshaa the long way around, through Magaria Wormhole 4, then through a series of three other wormholes leading through uninhabitable or sparsely inhabited systems. It would add twenty to forty days toCorona’s journey, depending on how hard Martinez wanted to push the acceleration.
And then he had to cope with the possibility that once he arrived at Zanshaa, he would find that the capital itself might have fallen to the rebels. In that case, he could launch whatever missiles he had at Zanshaa’s ring station, he supposed, try to kill whatever enemy ships were there before he was destroyed himself, then go down marked in history as Nature’s very own fool.
His navigation plot was complicated by the fact that he hadn’t any real-world experience as a navigator, only basic training, and that long ago. Martinez double- and triple-checked everything, and leaned heavily on the computer for assistance. He realized he had been staring at his navigation plot for some time without thought, and reached for the communications button to call to the officer’s galley for a flask of coffee when a movement caught his eye, and a cold chill eddied along his flesh. His second display was automatically flicking through a series of security camera shots from the Naxid part of the ring, and quite suddenly there was movement.
A lot of movement, and onevery camera.
Naxids were pouring off their ships. Whole long columns of them, swarming out of the airlocks four abreast.
He scrambled upright on his seat and only caught the yell of alarm that rose in his throat just in time to keep it from breaking out.It’s really happening, he thought.
“Damn! Damn-damn-damn!” It was Mabumba cursing, and it took Martinez a staggered second to realize that he was lamenting the fact that the Beijings had just scored a goal.
Martinez stabbed at the alarm pad and missed—his overexcited thumb overshot the target and skiddered along the smooth metal console surface—and then he swiped at the switch with his entire hand and managed to shove it over. Furious, urgent bells blared throughout the ship. Mabumba almost jumped out of his chair, and stared at Martinez with wild, disbelieving eyes.
Martinez reached for the headset with its earphones, built-in microphones, and virtual reality projectors, put it on his head, and snapped the chin strap shut. He took a moment to get ahold of his leaping nerves, then spoke into the microphone.
“Communications,” he prefaced to the computer. “General announcement to ship’s company.”
He waited a half second or so, then spoke again.
“General quarters,” he said. “This is the officer of the watch. Everyone to their action stations.”
He thought about adding the wordsThis is not a drill, but decided that this was not a time to strain the crew’s credulity.
He repeated the announcement twice, then shut off the blaring alarm that was only serving to make him more nervous.
“End announcement,” he said, and then, “Communications. Page crewman Alikhan.”
Alikhan’s miniature face appeared in the display. “My lord.”
“I need you at the airlock. There may be a Buena Vista situation coming up.”
“Very good, my lord.”
“End transmission.”
Martinez began reconfiguring his displays to employ more security cameras and see what the Naxids were up to. Hundreds were on the concourse, martialing under their officers and crowding toward the electric Fleet trains that carried personnel and equipment through the Fleet areas of the ring station.
The first of the trains began moving as the door to Command rolled open and Navigator Trainee Diem entered along with Pilot Second Class Eruken. They looked at Martinez with expressions that appeared to combine annoyance with concern for his mental health.
“May I ask what’s happening, my lord?” Eruken ventured.
“Not yet, Pilot. Take your seat.”
Martinez considered alerting the other ships. This would warn the Naxids of his suspicions, but it was too late for them to change their plans now.
“Comm,” Martinez told Vonderheydte. “Get me the all-ships channel.”
“Yes, my lord.”
There was a moment’s pause, then the shrieks of a huge crowd and the shouts of an overexcited announcer filled the room. Martinez gathered that Goalie Koslowski had just made a brilliant save.
The lanky Cadet Kelly, entering at that moment to take her place at the weapons board, gave a cheer.
“Not the game, Vonderheydte!” Martinez shouted. “Get me the fucking—”
“Sorry, my lord!” Vonderheydte had to shout over the cries of the announcer. “Someone’s broadcasting the game on the all-ships channel.”
“Emergency channel, then!”
There was a brief susurrus as the channels were switched, and then the game blared on again.
“Sorry, my lord! It’s on the emergency channel too!”
Martinez clenched his fists. “Anychannel.”
But he knew by now that Vonderheydte would find the games on every channel. He could try to shout a warning to the other ships over the crowd and the announcer, but who knew if anyone would be listening?
“Ground line, Comm,” he said. Cable data connections to the ring station were still in place.
From behind he heard the soft sound of Vonderheydte’s fingertips touching pads on his console. “Ground lines are down, my lord.”
“What’s goingon? ” Mabumba murmured, just loud enough for everyone to hear.
“Our communications have been cut,” Martinez told him. “Let’s just think for a minute about who might have done that and why.”
