Cho nearly ran to one of the storage lockers, returned with a cloth, and handed it with quaking fingers to the captain. Fletcher used it to clean the knife blade and mop some of the blood on his tunic, then threw the cloth to the deck.
A pale-faced young recruit swayed, then toppled to the floor in a dead faint. Fletcher ignored him, and turned again to Cho.
"Cho," he said, "I trust you will maintain Engineer Thuc's high standards." He nodded to the control room crew, then turned and made his way out.
Martinez followed, his nerves leaping. He wanted to flee Fletcher's company, to barricade himself in his quarters with a pistol and several bottles of brandy, the first for protection and the second for comfort.
He looked left and right at Marsdan and Mersenne, and saw that their expressions were mirrors of his own thoughts.
"Captain Martinez," Fletcher said. The words made Martinez start.
"Yes, lord captain?" He was moderately surprised that he managed three whole words without stumbling, screaming, or falling into dumb silence.
Fletcher reached the companionway that led to the deck above, and he turned to Martinez.
"Do you know why I invited you along this morning?"
"No, my lord."
Martinez had managed another three words. He was making real progress. Soon he might be walking on his own and tying his own shoelaces.
He found himself very aware of the captain's right hand, the hand that would reach across his body to draw the knife. He found his own hands ready to lunch forward and seize Fletcher's forearm if the hand approached the hilt.
He hoped that Fletcher was not aware that Martinez was so focused of Fletcher's right hand. He tried not to stare at it.
"I asked you along so that you could report to Squadron Commander Chen," Fletcher said, "and tell her exactly what just occurred."
"Yes, lord captain."
"I don't want her hearing a rumor, or getting a distorted version."
Distorted version. As if there was a version that would make this at all comprehensible.
Martinez searched his numbed mind and found a question, but the question required more than three words and he took a second or two to organize his thoughts.
"My lord," he asked, "do you wish me to give Lady Michi the reason for your, your action?"
The captain straightened slightly. A superior smile touched his lips.
"Only that it was my privilege," he said.
A chill shimmered up Martinez' spine.
"Very good, lord captain," he said.
Fletcher turned and led up the companionway. At the top he met the ship's doctor, Lord Yuntai Xi, who was followed by his assistant carrying his bag.
"The engine control room, lord doctor," Fletcher said. "A fatality."
The doctor gave him a curious look, and nodded.
"Thank you, lord captain. Can you tell me-?"
"Best you see for yourself, lord doctor. I won't detain you."
Xi stroked his little white beard, then nodded and began his descent of the companion. Fletcher led the party up three decks, to the deck he shared with the squadron commander, then turned to face the two lieutenants. "Thank you, my lords," he said. "I won't be needing you any farther." He turned to his secretary. "Marsden, I'll need you to enter the death in the log."
Martinez walked with Marsenne to the squadcom's door. He felt a tingling in his back, as if he were expecting the captain to draw his knife and lunge at him. He didn't quite dare to look at the other lieutenant, and he had a feeling that Marsenne wasn't looking at him, either.
He came to the squadcom's door, and without saying anything to Lieutenant Mersenne he stopped at the door and knocked.
Lady Michi's orderly, Vandervalk, opened the door, and Martinez asked to see the squadcom. Vandervalk said she'd check and left him waiting, then returned a few minutes later to say that the lady squadcom would meet Martinez in her office.
Lady Michi came into her office a few minutes later, carrying her morning tea in a delicate gold-rimmed cup on which glowed the Chen family crest.
Martinez braced. The sensation of air on his exposed throat gave him a sudden shiver.
"Have a seat," Michi said. Her tone was abstracted, her gaze focused on papers that waited on her desk. She sat in her straight-backed chair.
"How can I help you, captain?"
"Lord Captain Fletcher," Martinez began, and then his voice failed him. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Lord Captain Fletcher asked that I inform you that he's just executed Master Engineer Thuc."
Suddenly he had the squadcom's full attention. She placed her cup very carefully on a felt coaster, then looked up. "Executed? How?"
"With his top-trimmer. During an inspection. It was… very sudden."
He realized now that Fletcher must have rehearsed the move. You couldn't just cut a throat that efficiently unless you had practiced.
He imagined Fletcher alone in his cabin, drawing the knife over and over as he slashed imaginary throat. The cold blue eyes glittering, the superior smile on his lips.
Michi's gaze intensified. "Did Captain Fletcher give a reason?"
"No, my lady. He said only that it was his privilege."
Michi softly drew in her breath. "I see," she said.
Fletcher was technically correct: any officer had the authority to execute any subordinate at any time, for any reason. There were practical reasons why this didn't happen very often, including lawsuits in civil court from the victim's patron clan; and usually when such a thing happened, the officer produced an elaborate justification.
Fletcher very simply stood on his privilege. That had to be very, very rare.
Michi turned her eyes deliberately away and took a very deliberate sip of her tea.
"Do you have anything to add?" she said.
"Just that the captain planned it in advance. He wanted me there to witness it and to report to you."