“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 summary, if you please.”

The state ofIllustrious, 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.”

Being chosen by Fletcher wasn’t necessarily a recommendation in Martinez’s opinion, but he nodded. “And the one who wasn’t chosen?” he asked.

Kazakov thought a moment before she replied. “There’s no problem with the way she performs her duties,” she said. “She’s very efficient.”

Martinez gave no indication that he understood this as a less than wholehearted endorsement. He liked the fact that Kazakov felt sufficient loyalty to the other officers not to put a knife into Chandra’s back when she had the chance.

“Let’s take the lieutenants one by one,” he said.

From Kazakov’s report, Martinez gathered that three of the lieutenants were Gomberg or Fletcher clients, following in their patron’s wake up the ladder of Fleet hierarchy. Two, Husayn and Kazakov herself, had benefited from those complex trades of favor and patronage so common among the Peers: Fletcher had agreed to look after their interests in exchange for their own families aiding some of Fletcher’s friends or dependents.

It occurred to Martinez that perhaps Kazakov thought that this genealogy of relationships and obligations was all that was required to explain the lieutenants to her new captain, or perhaps she was looking into the future and letting him know that her relations were ready to assist his friends in the same sort of arrangement they’d had with Fletcher. He was gratified, but insisted on knowing how well the officers did their jobs.

According to Kazakov, they did their jobs very well. Lord Phillips and Corbigny, the two most junior, were inexperienced but promising; and the others were all talented. Martinez had no reason to doubt her judgments.

“It’s a happy wardroom?” Martinez asked.

“Yes.” Kazakov’s answer came without hesitation. “Unusually so.”

“Lady Michi’s lieutenants are fitting in? Coen and Li?”

“Yes. They’re amiable people.”

“How about Kosinic? Was he a happy member of the wardroom mess?”

Kazakov blinked in surprise. “Kosinic? He wasn’t aboard for very long and—I suppose he agreed well enough with the others, given the circumstances.”

Martinez raised his eyebrows. “Circumstances?”

“Well, he was a commoner. Not,” Kazakov was quick to add, aware perhaps that she’d put a foot wrong, “not that being a commoner was a problem, I don’t say anything againstthat, but his family had no money, and he had to live off his pay. So Kosinic had to take an advance on his pay in order to pay his wardroom dues, and he really couldn’t afford to club together with the other lieutenants to buy food stores and liquor and so on. The rest of us were perfectly happy to pay his allotment, but I think he was perhaps a little sensitive about it, and he severely limited his wine and liquor consumption, and avoided eating some of the more expensive food items. And he couldn’t afford to gamble—not,” she added, catching herself again, “that there’s high play in the wardroom—nothing like it—but there’s often a friendly game going on, for what we’d consider pocket money, and Kosinic couldn’t afford a place at the table.”

Kazakov reached for her wine and took a sip. “And then of course the mutiny happened, and Kosinic got wounded. I think perhaps the head injury changed his personality a little, because he became sullen and angry. Sometimes he’d just be sitting in a chair and you’d look up and see him in a complete fury—his jaw would be working and his neck muscles all taut like cables and his eyes on fire. It was a little frightening. This is extremely good wine, my lord.”

“I’m glad you like it. Do you have any idea what made Kosinic angry?”

“No, my lord. I don’t think the wardroom conversation was any more inane than usual.” She smiled at her own joke, and then the smile faded. “I always thought getting blown up by the Naxids was reason enough for anger. But whatever the cause, Kosinic became a lot less sociable after he was wounded, and he spent most of his time in his cabin or in the Flag Officer Station, working.”

Martinez sipped his own wine. He thought he understood Kosinic fairly well.

He himself was a Peer, and blessed with a large allowance from his wealthy family. But he was a provincial, and marked as a provincial by his accent. He knew very well the way high-caste Peers could condescend to their inferiors, or deliberately humiliate them, or treat them as servants, or simply ignore them. Even if the other officers intended no disparagement, a sensitive, intelligent commoner might well detect slights where none existed.

“Do you happen to know how Lady Michi came to take Kosinic on her staff?” Martinez asked.

“I believe Kosinic served as a cadet in a previous command. He impressed her and she took him along when he passed his lieutenant exams.”

Which was unusually broad-minded of Michi, Martinez thought. She could as easily have associated herself only with her own clients and the clients of powerful families with whom she wished to curry favor, as had Fletcher. Instead, though she came from a clan at least as ancient and noble as the Gombergs or Fletchers, she’d chosen to give one of her valuable staff jobs to a poor commoner.

Though it had to be admitted, in retrospect, that Michi’s experiment in social mobility hadn’t been very successful.

“Was Kosinic a good tactical officer?” Martinez asked.

“Yes. Absolutely. Of course, he didn’t bring in a new tactical system, the way you did.”

Martinez sipped his wine again. In spite of Kazakov’s praise, it still tasted vinegary to him. “And the warrant officers?” he asked.

Kazakov explained that Fletcher had his pick of warrant and petty officers, and had chosen only the most experienced. The number of trainees was kept to a minimum, and the result was a hard core of professionals in charge of all the ship’s departments, all of whom were of exemplary efficiency.

“But Captain Fletcher,” Martinez said, “chose to execute one of those professionals he had personally chosen.”

Kazakov’s expression turned guarded. “Yes, my lord.”

“Do you have any idea why?”

Kazakov shook her head. “No, my lord. Engineer Thuc was one of the most efficient department heads on the ship.”

“Captain Fletcher had never in your hearing expressed any…violent intentions?”