But on further thought, that didn’t seem likely. A master of detail like Tork would not have made such a mistake.
Maybe Lord Eldey’s support, complete with the loan of his yacht, had made Tork cautious about offending any of her powerful supporters, and therefore made him generous. Or perhaps he’d simply decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. Clan Sula was one of the oldest and—at least until recently—most distinguished families of Peers. Maybe Tork assumed that her genes would bring her into line.
She gained a better idea of Tork’s motivations once she contacted her new command. FromSivetta she sent messages to each ship, requesting a full report on their status plus the data on the latest squadron maneuvers.
The ships were in good order and, according to their officers, in an excellent state of training. Sula hadn’t expected the officers to say anything else, and assumed the data from the maneuvers would give her an idea of the real situation.
The maneuvers showed ships moving in close formation, each move scripted well in advance. The side declared the victor of the maneuver had known it would win before the maneuver even started. Some of the squadron’s ships were a bit late or awkward in their course changes, but there was nothing very wrong with their performance.
What was wrong was the sort of thing they had to perform in the first place.
Now she knew why Tork had given her command of a squadron. Shackled to the old tactical system, her presence as squadron commander would make little difference. The worse she could do was bungle the maneuvers of her own ship, since the rest would be locked in their standard formations.
Martinez, she thought,can’t you do anythingright? You’d think he would have sold at least a few people on their new tactical system by now.
She sighed. Clearly she had to do it herself.
She took a long deep breath against the two-gravity acceleration, raised her heavy hands to the display attached to her deluxe, luxurious acceleration couch, and busied herself withSivetta ‘s tactical computer. It was a machine as sophisticated as those used in Fleet warships, though without the proper database: she had to program in the characteristics of missiles from memory.
She contacted Lord Alan Haz,Confidence ‘s first lieutenant. “I’d like the squadron to undertake an experiment,” she said. “What I intend is a free-form type of maneuver with no fixed outcome. Just do your best against the threat I’ve programmed into the scenario. In order to run it, you’ll have to add a patch to your tactical program—I’ll be sending that.”
The first time Martinez had tried to run the new system inCorona ‘s computer, the tactical program had crashed. One of his officers—the one who had run off with PJ’s fiancée, she recalled—had created a software patch that solved the problem.
“You’ll be commanding the squadron fromConfidence, ” Sula went on. “I’ll expect a report when you’re done, as well as the raw data. Good luck.”
After sending the message, the scenario, and the software patch, she tried, in the heavy gravity, to relax onto the acceleration couch. It sent miniwaves pulsing along her back, massaging sore muscles and preventing blood from pooling.
Her reply came some hours later. Lieutenant Haz was a well-scrubbed, square-shouldered man with the look of a person who had been a popular athlete in school. He had a deep, impressive voice and a tailored uniform that looked soft and rich even on video.
“Thank you for the scenario, my lady. Lord Tork has scheduled no maneuvers for tomorrow, so we’ll be able to implement it then.” His look turned earnest. “I also appreciate your confidence in placing me in charge of the squadron. Thank you, my lady.”
He ended the communication. Sula figured that Haz would be less thankful the next time she heard from him.
She looked at the chronometer over her head and saw that it was over an hour before the ship’s acceleration decreased to one gravity.
Over an hour till the next pee break.
She would try to endure.
“It was…well, frankly, it was a disaster.” Chagrin drew Haz’s mouth into a tight line. “We were wiped out. The enemy used tactics that we didn’t understand. We ran the scenario three times. The best results came when we starburst early—at least we took a few of the enemy with us that time.”
Haz’s distress was so evident that Sula felt something like sympathy for how she’d tricked him. She had created a computer-controlled opposition force to battle Squadron 17, and though the enemy was equal in force, she’d programmed them with the new tactics. She’d just sent her own Squadron 17 into an ambush.
“My condolences on the results of the experiment,” she sent in reply. “I have another experiment I would like you to undertake as soon as your other duties permit. I will broadcast the scenario at once.”
The new scenario was similar, except the enemy was approaching head-on instead of converging at an angle. The next day, Haz reported similar results, though at least Squadron 17 had succeeded at destroying half the enemy before being annihilated.
Sula had her next scenario ready, this time with Squadron 17 attempting to overtake an enemy. The enemy destroyed them.
After the third virtual catastrophe, Sula scheduled a conference with Haz and all eight of the other captains. The conversation was almost normal, as the Orthodox Fleet on its circuit about Shaamah was racing pastSivetta at several times its rate of speed.
Sula wore her decorations, having decided it might help to remind her underlings that she’d won battles and killed Naxids. She used a virtual reality rig to look at all her officers at once: she had their faces tiled in rows, three by three, in order of seniority, each labeled with their name and ship so she wouldn’t confuse them. An anxious expression spoiled Haz’s good looks. Perhaps he thought he was going to be blamed for three failures in succession.
“My lords,” she began. “You’ve now seen what can happen when unconventional tactics are used against standard Fleet formations. My question to you is this: would you rather be on the winning side, or the other?”
There was a half-second delay in the reply.
“We desire victory, my lady, of course.” This came from one of the Torminel captains.
“Do you all agree?” Sula asked.
They all murmured assent.
“The squadron can conduct experiments based on these tactics,” Sula said. “But I don’t want anyone to feel that I’m imposing unwanted drills, and I don’t want to deal with resentment on that or any other account. If we’re to conduct these new experiments, I want you all to agree that this is desirable.”
There was a hesitation. Some, Sula thought, were nonplused—they were used to giving or taking orders, and hadn’t encountered a situation in which they were required to express an opinion. Others seemed to be rapidly calculating the odds of their careers being sidetracked.
It was Haz, after a moment’s pause, who clarified the situation.
“My lady,” he said, “the Supreme Commander has forbidden us to practice unconventional tactics.”
Ah. Hah.Perhaps the inadequacy of the Orthodox Fleet wasn’t Martinez’s fault after all.
Though, truthfully, she preferred to believe otherwise.
“Well,” Sula said, as her lips drew back in a snarl, “he hasn’t forbiddenme from doing anything. I have received no orders on the subject whatsoever.” She glanced over the nine heads in the virtual array before her. “I still want agreement, however. Shall we conduct these exercises or not?”
“I believe we should.” The statement came from one of the Torminel, labeled in Sula’s display as Captain Ayas of the light cruiserChallenger . “We worked with this system whenChallenger was assigned to Chenforce, and it contributed to our victory at Protipanu.”
“I agree with Captain Ayas,” Haz said stoutly.
With two officers leading the way, the others fell in line, though some with hesitation. It wasn’t quite the same feeling as her army chanting her name, but it would do. Sula smiled.
“Thank you, my lords,” she said. “We’ll begin with a security exercise. I will now censor all officers’ mail, which will be sent through me for forwarding to any appropriate address. All daily situation and activity reports will be passed through me. Neither officer nor enlisted shall refer to our private exercises in any conversation or mail with any other member of the Fleet.”
She saw surprise and consternation among her officers.
“It is my intention,” she explained virtuously, “to avoid anything that might leave the Supreme Commander’s mind anything less than easy. He has many responsibilities, and he has far more important affairs than whether or not one of his squadrons is conducting experiments.”
She smiled again, and saw a few hesitant, answering smiles among the Terrans.
“Forgive me for what follows,” Sula said. “I don’t know you well, and I apologize in advance if you feel slighted, but I think this should be said.”
She took a deep breath against the heavy gravities that pressed upon her. “Some officers may think that informing Lord Tork of our activities will be a road to his favor. Allow me to assure you that, whatever basis the Supreme Commander uses to determine promotion, performance isn’t one of them.”