delicacies by Perry, the recruit who had been forced to leave Ari Abacha’s service, and who had joined Martinez despite the ominous prospect of ship duty. Perry had done the cooking, and judging by the exclamations of the others had done it extremely well.
“The others” constituted Martinez’s full allotment of servants.The third, Espinosa, was a rigger, and the last, Ayutano, a machinist. Martinez hadn’t intended to use these two as servants at all, and they had been brought more or less as a gift toIllustrious’ s captain, as Martinez had observed that ships that had been away from the dockyards for a while could always do with extra machinists and riggers.
After leaving the airlock Martinez followed Kazakov up a companionway toward officers’ country. The heavy cruiserIllustrious had six times the volume of Martinez’s oldCorona, with nearly the four times the number of crew. The quarters were more spacious, with corridors broad enough for four humans to march abreast.
From the first sight ofIllustrious framed inDaffodil ‘s ports, it had been clear that the captain had spared to no expense to turn his ship into a masterpiece of style. The exterior hull had been painted with a complex geometric pattern in pink, pale green, and icing-sugar white. Inside, the corridor walls had been tiled with a distinctive, complex pattern, golden-yellow and dark red accented with white and black. Occasionally the tile pattern would open to reveal a trompe l’oeil niche or window painted with a scene from nature, a riot of greenery in which capered fanciful beasts or birds.
The rooms which Martinez passed on his way to Lady Michi’s quarters were each distinctively designed, with abstract patterns which favored turquoise and red and yellow ochre, or with more trompe l’oeil, cabins painted so that they seemed to be opening to some fantastic landscape, or to a series of elaborately decorated rooms. The style and scale of it made the aesthetics ofCorona ‘s old captain Tarafah, with his football motif, seem like those of an amateur.
All this, Martinez knew, had been created, supervised, and paid for by Lord Gomberg Fletcher, the captain ofIllustrious. Martinez had never encountered Fletcher, but he knew that this offspring of the highly-placed Gomberg and Fletcher clans was not only considered the Fleet’s leading aesthete, but was the owner of one of the empire’s greatest art collections, some elements of which were on display inIllustrious ‘s more public areas.
And furthermore it was all immaculate. Martinez’s practiced eyes saw no dust, no grime, no scars. The crew he encountered were spotlessly turned out and alert, leaping out of Martinez’s way as soon as they saw him, braced against the walls, chins high.
“As long as we’ve passing by my office,” Kazakov said, “Let me take care of your captain’s card.”
Kazakov’s office seemed to be the wardroom, the walls mellow with scenes of men and women reclining on couches while eating and drinking. One of the lieutenants and a steward leaped to the salute as Martinez entered. “As you were,” he told them.
There were computer displays along one wall, and Kazakov dropped into a chair and took Martinez’s captain’s key. Martinez wondered briefly why Kazakov was working in the wardroom, and then realized that it was because he, himself, had probably taken her actual quarters for himself.
A ship’s tactical officer was normally a lieutenant assigned the duty by the captain; but in a flagship the squadron tactical officer was appointed by the flag officer and considered a part of her staff. Such an officer was usually still a lieutenant, if a favored one, but it wasn’t completely unknown for a staff officer to have higher rank.
As a full captain, however, Martinez was the third most senior officer on the ship, and the premiere lieutenant had probably had to shift her quarters to make room for him. This would have created a cascade, with each officer bumping the one below.
There was nothing like kicking every junior officer out of bed to make a favorable impression. Martinez hoped he hadn’t made the junior lieutenant bunk with the cadets.
Kazakov handed him his captain’s card. “You’re in the ship’s computer now,” she said, “though you’ll have to get the lady squadcom to give you the passwords for the tactical computer. I’m sending a map of the ship to your mail buffer, where you’ll be able to download it to your sleeve displays.” A bit of printout whispered from a slot, and Kazakov handed it to him. “There’s the combination to your safe. I’d change it if you want to be absolutely secure, since there’s at least one officer aboard who knows it.”
“I’m sorry if I’ve taken your quarters,” Martinez said.
Kazakov smiled. “I’ll manage, my lord. Put your thumbprint here, please, and sign.”
Martinez did so, and Kazakov led him on to the squadron commander.
Lady Michi Chen’s office was a masterpiece of bronzed, fluted ornamental pillars, walls painted with a fabulous landscape through which floated classically balanced, lightly clad Terrans, and a pair of genuine bronze statues, smiling naked women holding out overflowing baskets of fruit.
Squadron Leader Chen did not greatly resemble the bronze fruit girls who flanked her desk: she was a handsome, middle-aged woman, somewhat stocky, with graying black hair cut short at the jawline and in straight bangs over the forehead. Her complexion was sallow, though that was probably a result of her spending months aboard her flagship without a jot of genuine sunlight.
Martinez braced to the salute. “Captain Martinez reporting, my lady.”
“Captain Martinez,” she said, rising. “Welcome to the family.” His spirits rose, and he took the extended hand.
“I’m very happy to be here,” he said.
“Terza and Maurice are well?”
“Yes. Both getting used to shipboard life, last I heard.”
“You can catch up shortly, I’ve been getting your messages for the last several days.” She resumed her seat. “Please take a chair, lord captain.” She glanced up at the senior lieutenant. “Thank you, Kazakov.” The premiere withdrew.
Chenforce was no longer in the Zanshaa system: once the two great transport ships carrying the Lords Convocate had vanished into Wormhole 2, the fleet guarding the system had followed, leaving the system to the mercies of the Naxids. Chen’s squadron had remained with the Convocation until their escape could be declared certain, then separated from the rest of the fleet and swung through a series of wormhole gates to arrive at its present location, the Seizho system.
Martinez’s journey had been more direct: he was able to head from Zanshaa straight to Seizho, accelerating all the while, and found Chenforce waiting for him there, and decelerating at a modest one gravity.
Given that the squadron was in Seizho, Martinez thought he could guess why Chenforce was reducing its velocity.
Time would tell if he was right.
“I imagine you’re tired,” Lady Michi said, “and that you’d like to square your gear away and get some rest, but I wanted to greet you and to invite you to join me for supper tonight.”
“I would be honored, my lady,” Martinez said.
“Why don’t you give me your captain’s card,” Lady Michi said, “and I’ll get you into the tactical computer.”
For the second time, Martinez gave up his captain’s card. Lady Michi slotted it, gazed for a moment at the display, then tapped at her display.
“Thumbprint and signature please, Captain Martinez,” she said. “Supper will be at 25:01.”
“Thank you, my lady.”
Martinez took his card, braced, walked to the door, and hesitated.
“You cabin will be to your right,” Lady Michi said. “Your name will be on plate by the door.”
Martinez thanked the squadcom and made his way out. It wasn’t difficult to find his cabin: his orderlies were still in the process of installing his baggage. Martinez supervised this task, particularly the stowing of the various wines and delicacies that had been brought across onDaffodil.
Afterward Martinez inspected his four servants’ own quarters, and made certain they had no complaints. Though it was very unusual for captains to decorate the rooms of the enlisted—usually a slap of new paint would do—the crew quarter ofIllustrious were, like the rest of the ship, a work of art. Martinez slipped Alikhan enough money to cover any dues for the petty officers’ lounge, then headed one deck forward—or “above,” in the current deceleration—to his own quarters.
At the top of the companionway he was surprised to encounter an old friend, but then he saw that Chandra Prasad was accompanied by an older man in the uniform of a senior captain, and Martinez snapped to the salute,
