Walter Williams - Logs

Martinez felt a sudden flash of anger. All these questions had done nothing but draw him farther into the riddle that was Lord Gomberg Fletcher, and the only thing he really cared about the captain was who had killed him. He didn't even care why, he just wanted to find out who'd done it, and deal with that as efficiently as possible.

"What is that thing in Fletcher's sleeping cabin?" Martinez asked. "The man tied to the tree?"

A half-smile played on Xi's lips. "A part of his collection that could not be shown to the public. Captain Fletcher had a special license from the Office of the Censor to collect cult art."

Martinez was speechless. Cults were banned for the public good, and were defined in the Praxis as any belief or sect that made irrational or unverifiable claims about the universe. Banned as well was any art such cults had managed to inspire. Generally such work could only be seen in the Museums of Superstition that had been erected in the major cities of the empire.

Of course there were also private collectors and scholars, those considered reliable enough to deal regularly with such explosive material. That one such might be aboard Illustrious, and might have part of his collection aboard, was beyond all credence.

"Was he interested in any cult in particular?" Martinez finally asked.

"Those that produced good paintings and sculpture," Xi said. "I don't know if you know anything about ancient Terran art-"

"I don't," Martinez said shortly.

"A lot of it, particularly in the early days, was the product of one cult or another."

"Really." Martinez drummed his fingers on the table. "Do you have any idea why Captain Fletcher put that-that thing-on his wall, where it was the last thing he'd see before going to sleep?"

Xi's expression was frank. "I don't know. I'd like to know the answer myself, lord captain."

"It wasn't part of some kind of erotic game, was it?"

Xi was amused. "I doubt very much that Gomberg was interested in homoerotic flagellation fantasies." He shrugged. "But human variety is infinite, isn't it?"

Thwarted again. Martinez found his anger simmering once more.

"If you say so," he said.

Xi returned his empty glass to the tray. "I thank you for the drink, lord captain. I wish I could have been more useful."

Martinez looked pointedly at the samples. "Those are what's going to be useful, I think."

"I hope so." Xi rose and collected the little plastic boxes. "I'll get to my investigations, with your permission."

Martinez sighed. "Carry on, lord doctor."

Xi slouched out without bothering to salute. Martinez looked after him for a moment, then paged Alikhan.

"Tell Perry he can bring in supper if he's ready," Martinez said. "Also, I won't be moving into the captain's quarters till tomorrow-unpack just enough to get me through breakfast.'

"Very good, my lord." Alikhan leaned over the desk and to freshen Martinez' drink. "Anything else, my lord?"

Martinez looked at him. "What are they saying in the petty officers' lounge?"

Alikhan tone was regretful. "I've been here all day, my lord, packing and so on. I haven't had a chance to speak to anyone outside the household."

"Right," Martinez muttered. "Thanks."

Alikhan withdrew. Martinez looked through the files newly unlocked by his captain's key and thumbprint, and sent Xi access to the fingerprint file. Perry arrived a few minutes thereafter with Martinez' supper. Martinez ate left-handed, while his right hand worked with his stylus on his desk top, drawing up one list after another.

All things he needed to do or think about as he assumed command.

After Perry carried the dishes away, Martinez sent messages to all the senior petty officers, the heads of departments, ordering them to account for the movements of all their juniors for the critical hours of the morning. He thought it a job best done soon, while memories were still fresh. This done, he called Fulvia Kazakov, the first lieutenant.

"Are you on watch at the moment, lieutenant?"

"No, my lord." She seemed surprised at the question.

"I'd be obliged if you'd stop by my office, then."

"Of course, my lord." She hesitated, then said, "Which office would that be, my lord?"

Martinez smiled. "My old office. And yours, too."

When he'd come aboard, as the third-ranking officer on the ship he'd taken the third-best cabin, which had turned out to be that of the first lieutenant. Kazakov had then displaced the lieutenant next junior to her, and each lieutenant had shifted in turn, with the most junior having to bunk with the cadets. Tomorrow, he supposed, would be a relief for them all, with everyone restored to his proper place.

Except, of course, for Captain Fletcher, whose body was slowly crystallizing in one of Illustrious' freezers.

Kazakov arrived wafting a cloud of a rather metallic perfume. She wore full dress, and the tall collar emphasized the long neck below the heart-shaped face. Mother-of-pearl inlay gleamed on the handles of the chopsticks she'd thrust through the knot at the back of her head.

"Sit down, my lady," Martinez said as she braced. "Would you care for wine? Or something else, perhaps?"

"Whatever you're having, my lord, thank you."

He poured from the bottle of wine that Perry had opened for his supper. She took the glass and sipped politely, then returned the glass to the desk.

"I am a very different person from Captain Fletcher," Martinez began.

Kazakov was unsurprised by this analysis. "Yes, my lord," she said.

"But," Martinez said, "I'm going to try very hard to be Captain Fletcher, at least for a while."

Kazakov gave a thoughtful nod. "I understand, my lord."

Continuity was essential. Fletcher had commanded Illustrious for years, and his habits and idiosyncracies had become a part of the ship's routine. To change that suddenly was to risk disturbing the equilibrium of the vast organic network that was the ship's crew, and that network had been disturbed enough already by events of the last few days.

"I intend to continue Captain Fletcher's rigorous series of inspections," Martinez said. "Can you tell me if he inspected the different departments on a regular rotation, or if he chose them randomly?"

"Randomly, I think. I didn't see a pattern. But he'd call the department head before he left the office to let them know he was coming. He wanted the inspections to be reasonably spontaneous, but he didn't want to interrupt anyone in the middle of some critical work."

"I see. Thank you."

He took a sip of his wine. It tasted vinegary to him-Terza had shipped the best stuff to him from clan Chen's cellars in the High City, but he didn't see what was so special about it.

"Can you give me a report about the state of the ship?" Martinez asked. "Informally, I mean-I don't need all the figures."

Kazakov smiled and triggered her sleeve display. "I actually have the figures if you want them," she said.

"Not right now. Just a verbal summation, if you please."

The state of Illustrious, not surprisingly, was good. It had suffered no damage in the mutiny at Harzapid or the Battle of Protipanu. Food, water, and fuel stocks were more than adequate for the projected length of the voyage. Missile stocks, however, were down: between battle and the enemy shipping destroyed so far on the raid, the cruiser's magazines were depleted by two-fifths.

Which was going to be a problem if Chenforce were ever obliged to fight an enemy either more numerous or less cooperative than the Naxid squadron at Protipanu.

"Thank you, Lady Fulvia," Martinez said. "Can you give me a report on the officers? I know them socially, but I've never worked with them."

Kazakov smiled. "I'm happy to say that we have an excellent set of officers aboard. All but one of us were chosen by Captain Fletcher. Some of us were friends before this posting. We work together exceptionally well."