Conventions of War (39 page)

Martinez turned to look down the line of petty officers. “In order to work this scheme,” he said, “you'd need that storage room. You'd also need the services of a first-rate machinist, with access to a complete machine shop, so that the old equipment could be rehabilitated before it was reinstalled.”

Strode turned to look thoughtfully at the master machinist. Gawbyan's lips had thinned to a tight line across his fleshy face. His mustachios were brandished like tusks. One large, fat-fingered hand had closed into a fist around the stem of his wineglass.

“So far, so good,” Martinez said. “Our happy band of felons were making a profit. But then they took on some partners. And the partners were Naxids.”

That surprised some of them. Yau and Cho stared. Strode's mouth dropped open.

“Specifically,” Martinez said, “the Naxid frigate
Quest,
which was berthed next to
Illustrious
on the ring station. I expect the gang knew the Naxid petty officers informally before anyone mentioned the possibilities of mutual profit. And then they began using one another's facilities and swapping parts with one another, which is how equipment from the
Quest
ended up aboard
Illustrious
.

“Now in order to exchange parts, the codes for the storage areas had to be exchanged as well. And that didn't work out so well, because the Naxids involved somehow got the
extra
codes for the antiproton storage areas—maybe they came up with a plausible story of needing to exchange antiproton bottles, or maybe they just hid a camera where they could get a view of the lock so they could record the combination—but the result was that shortly before the Naxid rebellion, all of our antiproton bottles were exchanged for empty ones.”

The
our
was deliberate, even though Martinez hadn't been there. In war there was us and them, and Martinez wanted to make it clear who was which.

“The result was that
Illustrious
was helpless to defend itself in the battle, and unable to aid our comrades. I'm sure you all remember what that was like.”

They did. He watched as they relived their helplessness, as anger blotched their faces, as jaw muscles clenched at the memory of humiliation.

“The bastards,” Nyamugali said. Hatred burned in her eyes. “The bastards,” she repeated.

Us
and
them,
Martinez thought. Very good, signaler.

“
Illustrious
survived the battle,” Martinez said, “no thanks to the thieves. But the Naxid rebellion left them with a problem. Before the war, they were felons; but once shots were fired, they were
traitors
. And while the penalty for theft from the state can be dire under the Praxis, the cost of being found a traitor is much, much worse.

“The thieves' problems increased,” Martinez said, “when an officer launched his own, personal investigation of how the antiproton bottles turned up empty. Maybe his injuries had turned him into an obsessive, or maybe when he was running into the storage area to fetch the bottles, he'd seen something that made him suspicious. But once Kosinic started conducting his own equipment inspections—lifting access plates and checking the machine spaces—it was clear that he was going to find the evidence that would condemn our ship's clique. So Kosinic had to die.”

“It was Thuc.” Gawbyan's voice came out in a half-strangled croak. “Thuc killed Kosinic because of the cult. You said so yourself.”

“I was both right and wrong,” Martinez said. “Thuc
did
kill Kosinic. But not because Thuc was a cultist. Kosinic was killed because Thuc was a thief, and Thuc may not have acted alone.”

There was a moment of silence. Somewhere down the table, Master Data Specialist Zhang tossed back her glass of wine, then reached for a bottle and refilled it.

“Kosinic's death was ruled accidental, as it was meant to be,” Martinez continued. “All continued well for the conspirators, until the worst possible thing happened. Captain Fletcher himself grew suspicious. Maybe it was his turn to wonder how only
his
antiproton bottles, of all those in the Fourth Fleet, had turned up empty; or maybe he began to realize the weakness in his own system of inspections; or maybe he grew offended when he discovered that a gambling ring composed of high-ranking petty officers was skinning a group of recruits in the mess hall every single night.”

That accusation struck home, Martinez saw. Even those who weren't a part of the gambling had to know about it, and most of them had the decency to look embarrassed.

“Captain Fletcher was a proud man,” Martinez said. “His pride had already been offended when his ship was disarmed in a crucial battle. That was the sort of thing that would have launched an official investigation if
Illustrious
hadn't been so badly needed in the emergency—and maybe there would have been an investigation anyway if Fletcher hadn't been so well connected, I don't know.

“That his ship had not only been humiliated at Harzapid, but was also home to a gang of traitorous thieves, was a further blow to the captain's pride. Any kind of official investigation would reveal how badly Captain Fletcher had let things get out of hand.
That
would be a black mark that neither his career or his pride would survive.

“So Captain Fletcher decided to handle the situation on his own. He executed Thuc and claimed captain's privilege. No doubt he intended to execute the rest as well.”

“I wasn't a part of any ring,” Gulik said suddenly. “Fletcher had the chance to execute me, and he didn't.”

Martinez looked at the weaponer and slowly shook his head. “Fletcher looked at your current bank account and saw that you were broke. He didn't think you were a thief because he couldn't find the profits. But when I looked at a running total of your bank account, I saw that you were very clearly a member of the ring, but that you're also a compulsive gambler. Your money slips through your fingers almost as soon as you earn it.”

Desperation shone in Gulik's eyes. There was a strange odor coming off of him, sweat and fear and alcohol ghosting out of his pores. “I never killed anybody,” he said. “I didn't have anything to do with that.”

“But you know who did,” Martinez said.

“I—” Gulik began.

“Quiet!”
Francis barked. She glared down the table at Gulik. “Don't you see what he's doing? He's trying to get us to turn on each other.” Her fierce gaze looked at each of the petty officers in turn. “He's trying to divide us! He's trying to get us so frightened that we start making accusations against each other!” She looked at Martinez, and her lip curled. “We know who
really
killed Fletcher, don't we? The man who stepped into his place!”

She looked at the other department heads and snarled. “We all know how Martinez got to be captain! Married the squadcom's homely niece, then bashed Fletcher's head in so he could have the ship. And when Phillips found out, he had Phillips arrested and murdered so Phillips wouldn't talk.”

Martinez fought to control the adrenaline that surged into his veins. He pressed his hands carefully to the tabletop to control any trembling. With deliberation, he looked at Francis and gave her a sweet smile.

“Nice try, Rigger Francis,” he said. “You're at liberty to file that accusation if you wish. But you'd better have evidence. And you'd better have an explanation for how air blowers from the
Quest
ended up on Deck Eight, Access Four.”

She stared at him for a moment, hate-filled eyes locking his, and then she turned away. “Fucking officers!” she said. “Fucking Peers!”

Martinez spoke into the ringing silence and tried to keep his voice level.

“So Fletcher had to die. And once the killers disposed of him, they must have again congratulated themselves on a narrow escape. Except that then I stepped into Fletcher's place, and I insisted on every department completing its 77-12.”

Martinez permitted himself a thin smile. “The conspirators must have had a debate among themselves as how best to handle the new requirement. If the 77-12s had accurate information, it would point to obsolete equipment and the
Quest
. But if the logs were yarned, an inspection could reveal the deception.”

He looked at Francis. “Rigger Francis's misadventures with the turbopump demonstrated the folly of yarning the log. So the others gave correct information and hoped that no one ever checked the hardware's history.” He shrugged. “It took me a while, but I checked.”

He swept the others with his eyes. “I'm going to assume that any department with equipment from the
Quest
is run by someone who's guilty. I've checked enough to see that there's machinery from the
Quest
in Thuc's old department, and in Gulik's, and in Francis's.”

Francis made a contemptuous sound with her tongue and turned her head away. Gulik looked as if someone had just thrown a poisonous snake in his lap.

Martinez turned to Gawbyan. “They couldn't have done any of it without you. So you're guilty too.”

Gawbyan's lips emerged from the thin line into which he'd pressed them. “Naxids,” he said. “Naxid engineers could have done that work.”

Martinez considered this idea and conceded that it was possible, if unlikely.

“Your account at the commissary will be examined closely,” he said, “and we'll see if you share any mysterious payments with your mates. That'll be proof enough as far as I'm concerned.”

A contemptuous look entered Gawbyan's eyes.

“I didn't kill anyone,” Gulik said rapidly. “I didn't want to be a part of any of it but they talked me into it. They said I could earn back some of the money I'd lost at cards.”

“Shut up, you rat-faced little coward,” Francis said, but she said it without concern, as if she'd already lost interest in the proceedings.

“Gawbyan and Francis killed the captain!” Gulik cried. “Fletcher had already shown he wasn't going to kill me, I had no reason to want him dead!”

Francis flashed the weaponer a look of perfect disdain but said nothing. Martinez saw Gawbyan's big hands closing into fists.

If this were one of the Dr. An-ku dramas that Michi enjoyed, Martinez thought, it would have been the moment at which the killers produced weapons and made a murderous lunge for him, or taken hostages and tried to bargain their way out. But that didn't happen.

Instead Martinez called for Alikhan, and Alikhan entered from the kitchen with Garcia and four constables, including Martinez's servants Ayutano and Espinosa. All, even Alikhan, were armed with stun batons and sidearms.

“Gawbyan, Gulik, and Francis,” Martinez said. “Lock them up.”

All three were cuffed from behind. There was no resistance, though Francis gave Alikhan a scornful look.

“Wait, Captain!” Gulik said as he was manhandled out the door. “This isn't fair! They
made
me!”

Alikhan remained behind, hovering behind Martinez, who felt a great tension begin to ebb. He picked up his wineglass, took a long drink and put the glass back on the table.

It wasn't as if he didn't deserve a drink right now.

He looked at the remaining petty officers. “There were lines crossed on this ship,” Martinez said. “Four senior petty officers conspired to rob recruits of their pay, and no one complained, no one talked, and no one did anything about it. Those same petty officers branched out into sale of Fleet property, and they put the ship in danger over and over. People died at Harzapid because of those four.

“And it wasn't just the petty officers,” Martinez said. “Captain Fletcher crossed some lines too, and maybe that made others think it was acceptable.”

He looked at his remaining guests and saw them staring at nothing, or perhaps looking inward. Cho and Zhang seemed angry. Nyamugali looked as if he were ready to weep.

“If any of you were involved with any of these schemes,” Martinez said, “I need to know
now
. I need to know what you know. Believe me, it will go better with you if you turn yourselves in than if I find it out on my own. Right now I haven't done anything more than spot-check the logs, and I haven't looked at financial records in any kind of detailed way. But I
will
. Now that I know what to look for, I'll have that information very soon.”

There was silence, and then Amelia Zhang turned to Martinez and said, “You won't find anything wrong in my department, my lord. And you can look at my finances and see I live on my pay and that most of it goes to my kids' school fees.”

“My department's clean,” said Strode. He brushed one of his mustachios with a knuckle. “I yarned my log, I admit that, but I didn't like those others, Thuc and Francis particularly, and whenever they talked to me about ways of making money I wouldn't listen.”

Martinez nodded.

“
Illustrious
depends on you all,” he said. “You're more important to this ship than the officers. You're all professionals and you're all good at what you do, and I know that's the case because Captain Fletcher wouldn't have had you aboard otherwise. But those others—they're the
enemy
. Understand?”

He had a feeling he'd made better speeches in his career. But he hoped he'd succeeded in creating a dividing line, the kind that was necessary in war, between us and them. Those he'd just labeled as
us
were people he needed very badly.
Illustrious
had been scarred, not in combat but in its heart, and the remaining petty officers were going to be a vital part in any healing. He could have had the killers arrested in their beds and dragged to the brig, but that wouldn't have had the same effect on their peers. It could have been put down to arbitrary action on the part of an officer, and that wasn't what Martinez wanted. He wanted to demonstrate in front of their peers how guilty the killers were, and exactly how long and detailed their treachery was, and how badly it had put the ship in danger. He had wanted to separate
them
from
us
.