Martinez was killed the next morning, during Chandra's maneuver. Martinez spent the time passing command of the ship to Kazakov in Auxiliary Command, so that his crew in Command could devote themselves entirely to the maneuver.
"The experiment assumes that we are six hours into the Osser system."
Osser again, Martinez thought. It was almost as if Chandra were repeating Martinez' last maneuver, not a good sign if she wanted to impress Squadron Commander Chen.
"Chenforce has entered hot, and we've been able to search the system a little more than three light-hours out. No enemy force has been detected. Are there any questions?"
Apparently there were none, because Chandra went on. "The exercise will commence on my mark. Three, two, one, mark."
A new system blossomed on the navigation displays.
"My lord," said Warrant Officer Pan, one of the sensor operators, "we're being painted by a tracking laser."
"Where?"
"Dead ahead, more or less. A rather weak signal-I don't think it's anywhere near-My lord! Missiles!" Pan's voice jumped half an octave in pitch.
"Power all point-defense lasers!" Martinez said. "Power antiproton beams!"
But by that point they were all dead, and within seconds Chenforce was a glowing cloud of radioactive parties spreading itself into the cold infinity of space, and Martinez' heart was thumping to a belated charge of adrenaline.
Naxid missiles, Martinez realized, accelerated to relativistic velocities outside the system, then fired through the wormhole along the route they knew Chenforce had to take. The reflection of a tracking laser fired from somewhere in the system provided last-instant course corrections.
Through his shock he managed a grim laugh. Chandra had impressed the squadcom, all right.
Michi's voice came into Martinez' headphones. "I'll want all officers in my quarters for dinner at fifteen and one."
The mood at dinner was sober. The officers looked as if they'd been beaten flat by hours of high-gravity acceleration.
The meals that had been prepared in the wardroom, and in the captain's and squadcom's kitchens, were combined-casseroles mostly, that could cook quietly away in the ovens while everyone was at quarters. Michi had several bottles of wine opened and shoved them across the table at her guests, as if she expected the depressed company simply to swill them down.
"I should like the tactical officer," she said, "to comment on this morning's experiment."
The tactical officer. Triumph glimmered in Chandra's long eyes as she rose. "The attack was something I'd been worried about all along. I know that we were following standard Fleet doctrine for a squadron in enemy territory, but I wondered how useful that doctrine was in reality." She shrugged. "I guess we found out."
She turned on the wall display and revealed that in her simulation she'd launched thirty missiles from Arkhan-Dohg, the next system after Osser.
"It was possible to make a reasonable calculation of when we'd enter the Osser system. Since our course would be straight from Wormhole One to Wormhole Two, the missiles' track was obvious. Our course and acceleration could be checked by wormhole relay stations and any necessary corrections sent to the missiles en route. All the Naxids would need would be a targeting laser or a radar signal to give the missiles' own guidance systems last-second course corrections." She shrugged. "And if our course and speed are very predictable they won't need even that."
"Obviously," Michi said, "we need to make our course and acceleration less predictable." She looked at the assembled officers. "My lords, if you have any other suggestions, please offer them now."
"Keep the antimissile defenses powered at all times," Husayn said.
"My lady," Chandra said, "I had thought we might keep our own targeting lasers sweeping dead ahead and between the squadron and any wormholes. If they pick up anything incoming, we might gain a few extra seconds."
"Decoys," Martinez said. "Have a squadron of decoys flying ahead of us. The missiles might target them instead of us, particularly since they'll have only a few seconds to pick their targets."
Decoys were missiles that could be fired from the squadron's ordinary missile tubes, but were configured to give as large a radar signature as a warship. They were less convincing the longer an observer had to view them, but with a relativistic missile having only a second or two to make up its mind, that was hardly a problem.
Michi seemed dubious. "How large a cloud of decoys are we going to need?"
Martinez tried to make a mental calculation and failed. "As many as it takes," he said finally.
Michi turned to Chandra. "I want you to try all these tactics in simulation."
"Yes, my lady."
"Give me regular reports."
"Of course, my lady." Chandra turned to at the others. "The danger signal will be entering a system where the radars are still operating, or where we're painted by a targeting laser from what will probably be a distant source. That's how we'll know we're running into danger."
Ever since Chenforce had plunged into enemy space, the Naxids had been turning off all radars and other navigation aids in any system the loyalists had entered. Chandra was perfectly right to say that radar would be a danger signal.
Michi poured a glass of amber wine and contemplated it while she tapped her fingers on the tabletop. "The best way to prevent this kind of attack is to blow up every wormhole station we come across," she said. "That way they can't relay course corrections to any incoming missiles. I'd hate to blow those stations; it's uncivilized. But to preserve my command I'll kill anything on the enemy side of the line if I have to."
She reached out a hand and picked up her glass of wine.
"Isn't anyone drinking but me?" she asked.
Martinez poured himself a glass of wine and raised it in silent toast to Chandra.
He thought she had just made herself too valuable to be blamed for Fletcher's death.
Chandra and Martinez finally had their long-postponed dinner the following day. Even though Martinez thought it was probably no longer necessary, he instructed Alikhan not to leave them alone for too long a space of time.
Martinez was probably no longer necessary to Chandra's plans.
Chandra entered the dining room looking splendid in her full dress uniform, the silver braid glowing softly on the dark green tunic and trousers. Her auburn hair brushed the tall collar that now bore the red triangular tabs worn by Michi's personal staff.
"Congratulations, lieutenant," Martinez said
Alikhan arrived with a warm, creamy pumpkin soup, fragrant with the scent of cinnamon. Chandra tasted it and said, "Your cook has it all over the wardroom chef, good as he is."
"I'll tell him you said so."
"That was one of the small compensations of being with Fletcher," Chandra said. "He'd always give me a good meal before boring me to death."
Martinez considered this as he sampled the soup and decided that Chandra could at least pretend to be a little more stricken by the death of an ex-lover.
"What did he bore you with?" Martinez asked.
"Other than the sex, you mean?" When Martinez didn't smile at her joke, she shrugged and went on. "He talked about everything, really. The food we were eating, the wine we were drinking, the exciting personnel reports he'd signed that day. He talked about his art. He had a way of making everything dull." A mischievous light came into her eyes. "What did you think of what he had hanging in his sleeping cabin? Did it give you sweet dreams?"
"I got rid of it," Martinez said. "Jukes found some less depressive stuff to hang." He looked at her. "Why did Fletcher have Narayanguru there? What did he get out of it?"
Chandra gave an elaborate sigh. "You're not going to make me repeat his theories, are you?"