Conventions of War by Walter Jon Williams Read Free Book Online Page A

everything else. And Squadron Leader Chen’s own message to be broadcast regularly on all planetary media, assuring the inhabitants of the planet that the Fleet still had teeth and were still able to punish rebels…
    The demands were not negotiable. The destruction of Bai-do had made that clear.
    It would be nearly half a day before the commander of the Termaine ring received the orders, and another half day before Illustrious could expect a reply. No incoming missiles appeared on the squadron’s sensors. The only ships visible were fleeing Chenforce under as many gees as their crews could stand. It seemed that the squadron was safe for the present.
    â€œInform the squadron they may secure from general quarters,” said Squadron Commander Chen. Her fingers rapped in rhythm against the armrest of her couch. “Ships to remain on alert, and point-defense systems to be placed on automatic.”
    It was not beyond possibility that missiles were incoming at relativistic speed, and the ships’ automatic laser defenses would be the most efficient defense against such a threat.
    â€œYes, my lady,” said Lady Ida Li, one of Michi’s two aides.
    Martinez looked at his commander. “Will you be requiring anything else, my lady?” he asked.
    â€œNo. You’re at liberty, Lord Captain.”
    Martinez closed the tactical display, then pushed the display over his head until it locked. He unstrapped from his acceleration couch, grabbed one of the struts of his acceleration cage, and tilted the couch until his feet touched the deck. He stood, stretched to bring the blood tingling to his limbs, and then removed his helmet and took a grateful breath of fresh—or at any rate fresher—air.
    Michi Chen, still on her couch, removed her helmet and stowed it in the mesh bag intended for that purpose. She tilted the couch forward to get to her feet, and Martinez, like a good staff officer, stood by to offer a hand if necessary.
    She didn’t need his help. The squadron commander was a handsome, stocky woman, with graying dark hair cut in straight bangs across her forehead. She looked up at Martinez. “So far, so good,” she said. “I keep wondering if we’re going to find an enemy fleet waiting for us.”
    Martinez, who had been wondering if he was going to be obliged to kill another four billion people, nodded in tactful agreement. “I think they’re fully committed to Zanshaa. I think they’re flying over the capital waiting for us to surrender.”
    Her lips gave a twitch of amusement. “I think you’re right. But my job obliges me to worry.”
    She adjusted the collar of her vac suit to a more comfortable angle, then led the way out of the Flag Officer Station. Martinez followed, wishing that someone had invited him to dinner.
    Â 
    M artinez ate alone in his office, staring sourly at the plump buttocks and chubby faces of the naked winged children that so oddly ornamented his office walls. He was served by his cook, Perry, and he dined alone.
    It was normal for him to eat by himself. A tactical officer was typically a lieutenant, and would mess in the wardroom, a kind of club for the lieutenants. Martinez, a full captain, couldn’t take a meal in the wardroom without an invitation. Squadron Leader Chen had her own dining room, as did the Illustrious captain, Gomberg. Unless someone invited him, or unless he invited others, his unique status on the ship ensured his solitude.
    He had left the relatively carefree life of a lieutenant behind, but he missed the companionship that life had once brought him. He would have happily traded that companionship for the loneliness of command, but the fact remained that he wasn’t in command, and he had to dine alone anyway.
    Perry cleared Martinez’s plate and offered to pour more wine. Martinez placed his hand over the glass.
    â€œThank you, Perry,” he said. Perry took the glass and left in