them, and they acted to kill him first.”
Michi absorbed this quietly. “Do you have any idea who those other cult members might be?”
Martinez shook his head. “No, my lady. The only people I’m inclined to exempt from suspicion are Weaponer Gulik and the crew of Missile Battery Three. Fletcher inspected them on the day of his death and didn’t execute any of them.”
“That still leaves something like three hundred people.”
“Though I would start with those among the crew who are from Sandama, like the lord captain, or who are Fletcher’s clients. Dr. Xi, for example.”
“Xi?” Michi was startled. “But he’s been helpful.”
“He helpfully explained away his own fingerprints that were found in Captain Fletcher’s office.”
“But he was the one who proved that Captain Fletcher was murdered in the first place. If he’d been part of the conspiracy, he would have kept silent.”
Martinez opened his mouth, then closed it.Dr. An-ku I’m not, he thought. “Well,” he said, “let’snot start with Dr. Xi then.”
She held his eyes for a moment, then her shoulders slumped as she seemed to deflate. “We’re no better off than we were. You’ve got an interesting theory, but even if it’s true, it doesn’t help us.”
Martinez took the two pendants, Fletcher’s and Thuc’s, in one large hand and held them dangling over his desk. “We searched the ship once, but we didn’t know what we were looking for. Now we do. Now we’re looking for these. We look in lockers and we look around necks.”
“My lord.” Martinez and Michi both turned at the sound of Marsden’s flat, angry voice. “You should check me first, my lord. I’m from Sandama, and I was one of Captain Fletcher’s clients. That makes me a double suspect, apparently.”
Martinez gazed at the secretary and his annoyance flared. Marsden was offended on Fletcher’s behalf, and apparently on behalf of the crew as well. A search of the crew’s private effects was an insult to their dignity, and Marsden had taken it to heart. He was going to insist that if Martinez was going to violate his dignity, he was going to violate it personally, and right now.
“Very well,” Martinez said, having no choice. “Kindly remove your tunic, open your shirt, and empty your pockets.”
Marsden did so, a vein in his temple throbbing with suppressed fury. Martinez sorted through the contents of Marsden’s pockets while the secretary pirouetted before him, arms held out at the shoulder to show he had nothing to hide. No cult objects were detected.
Martinez clenched his teeth. He had degraded another human being, and for nothing.
And the worst part was that he felt degraded himself for doing it.
“Thank you, Marsden,” Martinez said.You bastard, he added silently.
Without a word, the ship’s secretary turned his back on him and donned his tunic. When he had buttoned it, he resumed his seat, put his datapad on his lap, and picked up his stylus.
“The last inspection was too helter-skelter,” Michi said. “And it took too long. This next has to be more efficient.”
The two of them discussed it for a while, then Michi rose. The others rose and braced. “I’m going to dinner,” she told Martinez. “After dinner we’ll confine the crew to quarters and begin the search, starting with the officers.”
“Very good, my lady.”
She looked at Marsden and Jukes, who had spent the entire meeting sipping coffee and eating one pastry after another. “You’ll have to dine with these two in your quarters. I don’t want news of this getting out over dinner conversation in the mess.”
Martinez suppressed a sigh. Marsden was not going to be the jolliest of guests.
“Yes, my lady,” he said.
Michi took a step toward the door, then hesitated. She looked at Jukes, her brows knit. “Mr. Jukes,” she said, “why exactly are you here?”
Martinez answered for him. “He happened to be in the room when I had my brainstorm.”
Michi nodded. “I understand.” She turned away for a moment, hesitated again, then returned her gaze to the artist. “There are crumbs on your front, Mr. Jukes,” she said.
Jukes blinked. “Yes, my lady,” he said.
The officers’ quarters were searched first, by Martinez, Michi, and the three lieutenants on Michi’s staff. The officers’ persons were also searched, with the exception of Lord Phillips, who was officer of the watch and in Command.
“This is what you’re looking for,” Martinez told them, showing them the two pendants. “These are cult objects, representations of ayaca trees. They need not be worn around the neck—they could be a ring or a bracelet or any kind of jewelry, or they could be on cups or plates or picture frames or practically anything.Everything needs to be examined . Do you understand?”
“Yes, my lord,” they chanted. Kazakov and Mersenne looked determined. Husayn and Mokgatle were uncertain. Corbigny seemed worried. None spoke.
“Let’s go then.”
The lieutenants, Martinez, Michi, and Michi’s staff marched off in a body to inspect the warrant officers and their quarters. No ayaca trees were found, on jewelry or anyone else. Now reinforced by the warrant officers, the party moved on to the petty officers’ quarters.
The petty officers stood braced in the corridor, out of the way, and did their best to keep their faces expressionless. Lady Juliette Corbigny held back as the other officers began going through lockers. Her white, even teeth gnawed at her lower lip. Martinez ghosted up to her shoulder.
“Is there a problem, Lieutenant?”
She gave a little jump at the question, as if he’d startled her out of deep reflection, and she turned to him with her brown eyes open very wide.
“May I speak to you privately, Lord Captain?”
“Of course.” Corbigny followed him into the corridor outside, where he turned to her. “Yes?”
She was gnawing her nether lip again. She paused in her champing to say, uncertainly, “Is this a bad cult we’re looking for?”
Martinez considered the question. “I’m not an expert on cults, good or bad. But I think the cultists are responsible for Captain Fletcher’s death.”
Corbigny began to gnaw on her lip some more. Impatience jabbed at Martinez’s nerves, but instinct told him to remain silent and let Corbigny chew on herself for as long as she needed to.
“Well,” she said finally, “I’ve seen a medallion like that on someone.”
“Yes? Someone in your division?”
“No.” Her eyes looked wide into his. “On an officer. On Lord Phillips.”
Phillips? That can’t be right. It was the first thing he thought. He couldn’t imagine little Palermo Phillips banging Fletcher’s head against his desk with his tiny hands.
His second thought was,Maybe he had help .
“Are you sure?” Martinez asked.
Corbigny gave a nervous jerk of her head. “Yes, my lord. I got a good look at it. I remember him running out of the shower that day you paged him and inspected his division. He was in a hurry to get his tunic on, and the chain of the pendant got caught on one of his buttons. I helped him untangle it.”
“Right,” Martinez said. “Thank you. You may rejoin the others.”
Martinez collected Cadet Ankley, who was qualified to stand watches, and Espinosa, his former servant who had been shifted over to the military constabulary, then walked straight to Command.
“The lord captain is in Command,” Lord Phillips called as he entered. Phillips rose from his couch to let Martinez take his place if he so desired.
Martinez marched forward until he stood before Phillips, who even fully braced failed to come up to his chin.
“My lord,” Martinez said, “I’d be obliged if you’d open your tunic.”
