“On theFestival of Sport? ” Mancini repeated. “Spoil the football and disappoint the fans? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”
“It doesn’t make any sense,” Tarafah said. “Why should Fanaghee lead a rising? She’s at the top of her profession—she’s afleet commander, for all’s sake.”
“I don’t know,” Martinez said. He hesitated—he knew this might sound dangerously absurd, but it was the only argument he had left. “Maybe it’s not just Fanaghee,” he said. “Maybeall the Naxids are rising.”
The others stared at him. Then Koslowski lowered his eyes and shook his head, his lips quirked in a tight smile. “Allthe Naxids?” he murmured. “That’s too ridiculous.”
“The Naxids are the most orthodox species under the Praxis,” Tarafah said. “There’s never been a single rebellion in Naxid history.”
“They’re pack animals,” Koslowski said. “They always submit to authority.”
“They’dnever spoil the football,” Mancini proclaimed, and smacked his lips as he drank his ale.
“Then what could they possibly be doing?” Martinez asked. “I have no other explanation.”
“That doesn’t mean there isn’t one,” Koslowski said reasonably. “Maybe Fanaghee’s decided to drill her people on boarding. Maybe it’s a familiarization tour for new arrivals. Who knows?”
Tarafah seemed happy to agree with his goalkeeper. “This speculation is useless,” he said. “I’m not going to get inside Fanaghee’s mind, or Kulukraf’s either.” He turned to Martinez. “Lord Gareth, I appreciate your…diligence. But I think you’ve let your imagination run away with you.”
“Lord Elcap,” desperately, “I—”
“Perhaps we should return to tomorrow’s game,” Tarafah said. “That’s something a little more within our sphere.”
Martinez suppressed the impulse to hurl his glass at his captain’s face.
“To our winning play!” Mancini said, and raised his glass. “Sorensen to Villa to Yamana to Sorensen to Digby—andgoal! ”
Martinez drank with the others, as despairing, unvoiced shrieks echoed one after another in his skull.
He didn’t manage to eat much of his dinner. When the elcap proposed another review of the videos ofBeijing ‘s game, Martinez excused himself and made his way to his cabin. Once there, he sent messages to the other officers he knew on station, asking if they’d care to meet him in one of the bars on the station. Salzman didn’t reply, Ming sent his regrets, Aragon said that he was participating in the wushu tournament in the Festival of Sport and was making an early night of it. Aidepone was likewise preparing for tomorrow’s game of fatugui, and only Mukerji accepted. Viewing the transmission, with its sonic interference, Martinez knew that Mukerji was already in a bar.
Martinez joined him in the Murder Hole, a dark, nebulous, and noisy place, with ear-shattering music and dancing. Mukerji bought three rounds of drinks while Martinez showed Mukerji the Naxid maneuvers on his sleeve display and explained his theory.
Mukerji put a friendly arm around Martinez’s shoulders. “I always thought you were mad!” he said cheerfully. “Totally mad!”
“You can tell your captain!” Martinez shouted over the music. “I can give you the data! He might be able to save his ship!”
“Totally mad!” Mukerji repeated. He pointed to a couple of Fleet cadets standing by the bar. “If it’s my last night of freedom, I want some recreationals,” he said. “Who do you want—the redhead or the other?”
Martinez excused himself and made his way out onto the ring station with whisky fumes swirling through his head.
Perhaps hewas mad, he thought. No other officer credited his theory about the Naxids. Maybe they’d been right about the absurdity of his premise. It made no sense that the most obedient and orthodox species under the Praxis would suddenly turn rogue.
He admitted to himself that he didn’t like Naxids and never had. He likewise admitted that it was an irrational prejudice. Naxids had always made him uneasy, unlike the other species united beneath the Praxis. Perhaps he had let his bias run in advance of the facts.
He thought again of those parties marching up and down the ring station’s broad avenue, and at the thought, a chill certainty went through his frame.
No. Hewas right. The Naxids were going to board the ship. It was possible there was some rational explanation for it other than a rising, some reason that hadn’t occurred to him, but the boardingwould happen.
And if the boarding were to be prevented, Martinez would be the one to do it.
Martinez returned to his cabin aboardCorona and called Alikhan.
“My lord?”
“No good with the captain,” Martinez said. “Or with anyone else.”
Alikhan didn’t seem surprised. “I have spoken to the master engineer,” he said.
“And?”
“Maheshwari agrees with your lordship.” Spoken carefully, in case of eavesdroppers.
Martinez sighed. Maheshwari was something, at least.
“Very well,” Martinez said. “Let me know if—” He fell silent, defeated, then finished, “Let me know ifanything.”
“Very good, my lord.”
The orangeEnd Transmission symbol appeared on Martinez’s sleeve display, and he blanked it.
Fully aware that this was the last time he might ever do these things, he took off his clothes, hung them neatly in his tiny closet, and prepared for bed.
Plans for savingCorona eddied through his head, all fog and futility.
Sorensen to Villa to Yamana to Sorensen to Digby, he thought.
And goal.
Martinez, with most ofCorona’s crew, stood on the station rim outside the airlock and cheered and clapped as Tarafah ledCorona’s team out of the ship. Immaculate in white sweats, withCorona’s blazon on his chest and his lieutenant captain’s shoulder boards pinned on, Tarafah grinned and waved as if he were jogging into a stadium filled with ten thousand fans. Koslowski followed at the head of the players.
“Corona! Corona!”the crew chanted. Martinez pounded his big hands together till they were sore.
The team jogged away to the rim train station that would take them to the skyhook terminal, and were followed by the waddling figure of their trainer, Mancini. Lieutenant Garcia, in undress mourning whites, whooped and waved her cap over her head.
“Let’s go!” she shouted. “Let’s give the Coronas our support!”
Shouting, most of the crew poured after the team, leaving behind the cadets condemned to spend the day aboard, and Dietrich and his partner Hong, both looking depressed at having to play military constable while the rest of the crew was off on a lark.
Served them right for being large and handsome, Martinez thought. Since the airlock guards were the members ofCorona’s crew most often seen by outsiders, Tarafah chose them for their imposing appearance rather than for any skill at policing.
Lieutenant Garcia herself remained behind, cheering and clapping as the crew pounded after their team. Then she turned to Martinez and stepped up to him.
“Take this,” she said in a soft voice, and Martinez felt something warm and metallic pressed into his palm. “Just in case you’re right.”
Martinez glanced at his half-opened hand, saw Garcia’s second lieutenant’s key, and felt his mouth go dry. He shut his fist on the key.