Eternal Father, strong to save,
Whose arm hath bound the restless wave,
Who biddest the mighty ocean deep
Its own appointed limits keep;
Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee,
For those in peril on the sea!
Lord, guard and guide the men who fly
Through the great spaces in the sky.
Be with them always in the air,
In darkening storms or sunlight fair;
Oh, hear us when we lift our prayer,
For those in peril in the air!The Navy Hymn or "Eternal Father"
(Various verses have different authors, and many are unknown)
There were very few truly devout men about the Fang. Even Brother Theo could not really be called pious. But there were also precious few who did not feel the tug of mortality in the midst of battle, and no sentient creature could avoid a sense of wonder and awe at the nature of
this magical realm that they traveled in.
Thus, the religious services held every Sunday morning were always well attended, and Brother Theo tried to minister to their spiritual needs without chasing anyone away. He found that the best way to do that was to keep it short, and to tap into the deep roots of their history and culture with Words and stories. And of course a few Songs of faith. The Fangs did love their singing, and the ancient old Songs touched the soul of the sailor far from home.
"Shipmates," said Theo, "we are about to enter into a new chapter in our voyage. We are far from home, and far from our loved ones. But we are off on a great adventure, and we are never far from the Almighty, even out here. So let us sing the Navy Hymn, and let this be my sermon, and may this be our prayer, dedicating our loved ones and our Ship to Him." In his strong, clear, tenor voice he led them through the first three verses. The third verse was written in the twentieth century for the early astronauts, but the sailors of two-space claimed it, happily and loudly, for themselves.
"Aloft in solitudes of space,
Uphold them with Thy saving grace.
Thou Who supports with tender might
The balanced birds in all their flight.
Lord, if the tempered winds be near,
That, having Thee, they know no fear."
"Aye," growled Broadax, in the pause between verses, "having us, 'they know no fear' out here!" That drew a cheer as the assembled Fangs continued.
"God, Who dost still the restless foam,
Protect the ones we love at home.
Provide that they should always be
By Thine own grace both safe and free.
O Father, hear us when we pray
For those we love so far away."
There were more than a few tears as they dwelt upon that verse and their loved ones far away, and there was peace and solace in entrusting them to the Almighty.
Before the final verses Brother Theo interjected, "And as we sing these last two verses, let us take this opportunity to humbly entrust and rededicate ourselves and our Ship to Him."
"O Father, King of earth and sea,
We dedicate this ship to Thee.
In faith we send her on her way;
In faith to Thee we humbly pray:
O hear from heaven our sailor's cry
And watch and guard her from on high!
"And when at length her course is run,
Her work for home and country done,
Of all the souls that in her sailed
Let not one life in Thee have failed;
But hear from heaven our sailor's cry,
And grant eternal life on high!"
"'Hear from heaven our sailor's cry, and grant eternal life on high!' What more could we ask?" concluded Brother Theo.
"Amen," said the captain. "First Officer, clear for action! All hands to battle stations, and prepare the Ship for competition between the gun crews. Mr. Hans, get my jollyboat out to position the targets!"
The problem with the enthusiastic competitions so beloved by the captain and his crew was the occasional injury. These kept Lady Elphinstone, Mrs. Vodi, and their corpsmen gainfully occupied with repairing the young sailors and marines, and castigating them for their carelessness. While the medicos complained of the extra effort these injuries caused, they took solace in the fact that the wounds were all relatively minor and the work was fairly easy.
The lack of major casualties left the medical personnel with plenty of time to deal with their one major recovering invalid, Midshipman Hayl. The sword wound itself had healed quickly, but the hand failed to reattach properly and had to be amputated. Joby DeWalt, their Celebri carpenter, had spent many days during the long voyage across the Far Rift, carefully forming a prosthesis and working with Mrs. Vodi and Hayl to ensure that the cup was a proper fit. The final product was a pleasant surprise to the boy.
"All right, young sir," said DeWalt, "let's see how the cup fits over the arm now. Make sure it isn't binding."
Hayl held his arm out and looked at the leather and wood brace which extended up the length of his forearm. "It's on like you and Mrs. Vodi showed me, sir," he replied. "It's snug but not too tight, and there's room in the straps to tighten it if I need to."
DeWalt nodded and pointed to the white wood along the length of the brace. "You can see that I used Nimbrell wood on your new arm, lad, and the Elbereth Moss took to it well. See, the braces come down to the end of the cup where there's a socket for your attachments to screw in, so you won't have just a pirate's hook!"
"Although," added Mrs. Vodi cheerfully, "if you wanted to impress the pretty girls you could always borrow Mr. Asquith's eyepatch and one of Ulrich's birds and pretend you're an old time freebooter!"
Hayl smiled dutifully, but stared despondently at the leather and wood brace on his arm.
"But, how...." he burst out, "how can I ever be a midshipman when I'm missing a hand? How can I be as good as I need to be for the captain if I can't use both hands?" He turned his head away to hide his tears.
DeWalt flushed and started to mumble, "Well, as to that..." but he was overridden by another voice.
"As to that, Mr. Hayl," said Melville as he came into the sick bay, "don't you think the captain should decide what you can and cannot do for him?"
Melville and DeWalt had talked with the medicos about Hayl. Physically, he was in excellent shape, indicating that he was one of those individuals whose healing benefited by the unpredictable environment of two-space. Mentally though, the boy was having a difficult time of it.
Hayl felt guilty about passing out after the fight, and was second-guessing himself. But Melville also felt guilty, and he saw the lad as he was: a brave young man who had done his duty to the limit of his endurance and stayed ready to fight until the moment when his abused body could stand no more and collapsed.
He thought of Words that described the young middie's spirit:
Out of the night that covers me
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
Melville smiled as he felt a surge of joy. Joy that he had the privilege to command such men (and boys!) as this. He looked at the middie with so much pleasure and affection in his eyes that Hayl felt the top layers of his sadness being swept away, and he couldn't help but grin back. If his captain could be so happy to see him, then maybe life wasn't so terrible.
"I think that perhaps the situation is not so grim as you're making it out to be," said Melville kindly. "It'll be a long while before we can get you back to Earth to have your hand cloned and attached. Until then, Mr. DeWalt has come up with some, ah, innovations, you might say, that will help you along the way. In particular, the Nimbrell wood and the Keel charge he incorporated into the brace should help."
Hayl looked at the brace, and then at the captain and the carpenter. He concentrated on the wood where it touched the skin of his forearm and felt a... well a <<purr>> was the only way he could describe it!
He looked over at DeWalt, with his eyes wide. "I feel it," he said, "I feel it in my head. It's purring! It likes me!" he said excitedly.
Hayl's monkey eeked and slid down to examine the brace closely, touching it gently. Then the little creature extended its head up and over so it was looking at Hayl eye to eye, and it eeked again excitedly.
"Yes, lad, it purrs," DeWalt replied with a gentle smile. "And it will do more as you get used to each other. Fang is fond of you. She thinks you are a 'good pup.' Which made it easier for me to work with the Ship and the wood to build a tiny mite of a Keel charge into the cup, and a bit of Nimbrell wood for the bracings.
"I tell you true, lad," the carpenter continued, "that even being of the Celebri this brace was cursed hard to make." DeWalt shook his head slowly, "If the Ship itself hadn't wanted to help, it wouldn't have worked. So what you have there is a piece of the Fang, which means that it has a bit of an ability to influence and manipulate gravitic forces, just like a pistol's Keel charge." He reached into the bag next to him and pulled out what appeared to be a simple hook, made of steel inlaid with white Nimbrell wood.
"This little jewel works with it quite well. The hook is actually split, so with practice, you can grasp things with it. The inside arc is sharp, except for the top of the curve, so you can hold something like a rope to climb without cutting it. The Keel pieces will give it the force you need to hold the two sides of the hook together, and will let go when you want them to. They're cursed rare. I've only seen a prosthetic like this once before and that when I was a lad. To make one takes not only a master Shipwright. Which you are just lucky enough to have," and he bowed with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "But you're also blessed to have a Ship that cares enough to help. Like I said, Fang thinks you're a 'good pup.'"
Hayl stared at the brace and the hook in surprise and then looked up. "The hook is sharp on the inside?" he asked.
"Two-space sharp at that," DeWalt replied. "So be careful with it. I've got a guard for the blade to use until you learn to control it."
Melville added, "And, Mr. Hayl, before you start worrying about losing your place in the Navy, I think you should consider Admiral Lord Nelson, in Hornblower and Jack Aubrey's days, who lost not only his arm, but an eye as well. It didn't seem to hurt his career much!"
"Aye, sir, that it didn't," Hayl replied thoughtfully.
"Here, now, you two, I think you've had enough time with him for today," Mrs. Vodi exclaimed as she came through the door. "Come bother the lad another time, he needs his rest, he does!"
As she ushered the two from his bunk, Hayl sat up and looked at them both and said, "Sirs?"
They stopped and looked at him.
"Thank you," he said simply.
DeWalt nodded, and Melville looked at him and said in return, "I think you have it wrong, Mr. Hayl. I thank you for saving my life by taking on those two backstabbers. Without your help I would most likely have been overwhelmed. You are a 'good pup.'"
Hayl smiled, examining his brace and hook, and then scratched his monkey's head distractedly. "Well, it looks like I have some work to do here, so I'd best get busy."
His monkey said, "Eep," and nodded, and Hayl felt the purr of his new arm nestle up against his soul.
"Good mornin', Mr. Hayl!" called Hans, standing on the upper quarterdeck observing the sails and rigging.
"Good morning, sir," replied the midshipman as he came up to the quarterdeck. "I came to see if I could get caught up on the Ship and all that's happened recently. If you don't mind, sir?" Hayl grimaced and concluded hastily, "I hate to say it, but I've been remiss in my duties and haven't been paying attention to our track. Nor much of anything else outside of sick bay, for that matter."
Hans nodded slowly and thoughtfully as he looked down at the lad. The boy looked good. Not great, mind you, but good for someone who's been through a helluva fight against overwhelming odds, lost a hand, had it reattached, and then had it removed again. Lad might jist have it in 'im to go far if 'e gets past this hump here, Hans thought to himself. Got grit, 'e does!
"Well, lad, I'd say ya had 'cause ta be a mite distracted. Ya done okay. Hell, ya done better'n most o' the gents as went ta yer last dance. After all, them vacuum-suckers di'n't make it back alive!"
Hayl surprised himself with a grin, and smothered it. Then he caught the edge of a smile on the old seadog's face. "In any case, sir, I thought that perhaps I should catch up on the Ship's status. I heard about the troubles with the water—Mrs. Vodi was heartsick at losing so many cats—but I don't even know the Ship's position. I don't know where we are!"
Hans and his monkey spit over the side. "Cats! Huh! Damned, filthy, creatures. Too uppity ta even say hello, an' always sneakin' up on yer. Give me a good faithful dog any day. At least a dog'll stand by ya when the dance starts! A dog'll protect yer loved ones from critters an' mentally deranged folk. Against a determined opponent even a medium sized dog can make a good speed bump. But a cat's barely a piece of pea gravel. Even if it was willin' to put up a fight, which it ain't. So, Vodi may be heartsick, God bless 'er, but the overall impact on the Ship is minimal."
Hayl just grinned and nodded politely. He wasn't about to take sides in the cats vs. dogs debate.
"Overall the Ship's in good order. Runnin' a mite low on potable water, but we're okay 'cause we's on track fer landin' at the Hero Cluster tomorry. We'll go straight in to Hector, 'cause 'at's the planet where the cluster capital and Navy headquarters is located."
"Tomorrow!" said Hayl, surprised that time had gone by so quickly.
"Aye. I'm a lookin' forward ta a nice long shower, an' then a bath." Hans chuckled. "'Course they prob'ly don't wants me ta use up the planet's entire water supply, so I'll try an' conserve some an' shower with a friend!"
Hayl turned red from the tips of his ears to his collar and cleared his throat. "Umm. I guess that makes sense, sir," he said feebly.
"Damn straight it do! Wait 'til yer a bit older an' you'll find out wat I mean!"
Taking mercy on the boy, Hans changed the subject. "How ya gittin' on with yer new flipper? Chips done tole me it wus special, but I can't see as it looks much different from any I've seed a'fore."
Hayl beamed widely. "It's really good, sir! It ain't like my hand, but it works great, and in some ways its better, see?"
He held up his left arm, showing off the hook on the end of the leather and Nimbrell wood brace. "Mr. DeWalt told me he used part of the Keel, so it's like I've got a little piece of the Fang with me all the time. And see, it lets me grab stuf. And it's strong! I can crack nuts with it!"
As Hans watched, the hook on the end split in two and opened and closed like a clamshell as the middie demonstrated how he could grasp with it.
"And look, the hook has an edge here and here, so it can cut stuff. And it's sharp! Sharp as my dirk!"
Hans gaped in sincere amazement and said, "Well dip me in two-space an' call me a vacuum-sucker! That does take the cake, son, currants and all!"
Hayl looked at it affectionately and said, "And it's sort of funny... When I'm using it, it kind of 'purrs' in my head, and I can sort of feel things through it. It's strange, but I can tell things are there, but it's... different from my hand."
Hans shook his head. "By the Lady, it's too much fer an old man, but I'm cursed glad it's workin' fer ya. Stick with it, an' purdy soon you'll be back up ta snuff."
"Aye, sir. Captain Melville reminded me about Admiral Lord Nelson. It didn't seem to hurt his career any!"
"Nope, it sure din't!"
"Thank you, sir, for the update. I had best be going before Mrs. Vodi finds out I'm up here. Talk to you later, sir!"
Hans nodded and watched as the boy—no, young man—walked off forward. Lad's comin' along nicely, he is. A bit more time an' seasonin', an' he'll do jist fine.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
"So what have you got planned after we arrive in the Hero Cluster, Daniel?" Asquith asked as he picked up his wineglass.
Fielder laughed. "Bert, what do you think I have planned? First, I'm going to find the hottest shower I can to get the smell of this trip off me, and then, in no particular order, a steak with all the trimmings and a decorative lass with intentions of committing bodily assault on a man in uniform!"
Asquith quirked an eyebrow and chuckled. "Another old friend like what-was-her-name, Ursula?"
Fielder paled slightly. "No, I believe I've sworn off old friends for awhile. I think I'll make some new ones."
Sitting across the wardroom table, Hans chuckled and said, "I jist gots ta be wunnerin' why ya have such luck with yer ol' girlfriends, Lieutenant? Maybe it's sumthin' in yer karma. Or mebbe it has ta do with your choice o' ladies?"
Lt. Broadax whacked him lightly on the arm—well, lightly for her. Hans grabbed his arm and gave her an aggrieved look.
"Leave 'im be, Hansie," she said. "His girlfriends always ends up being a big slice o' fun cake fer me, with blud-an'-guts icin' on top! I wish 'im well. Hopefully he'll find somebudy with a pulse, bad judgment, and no restraining orders against him. An' then she'll try ta kill 'im, an' we'll git invited to the dance!"
Fielder was still trying to digest this, in appalled bewilderment, as Broadax rolled happily along.
"Besides we got's ta make some plans fer ourselves, ye know. I think we oughta git the biggest hotel room we kin find, so long as it's got a big shower an' a tub."
Hans turned to her with a grin. "An' why's 'at, angel?"
"Well, ye knows I gots trouble reachin' 'tween my shoulder blades good, an' I gots some spots 'at need some attention."
Fielder blanched and thought feverishly, Okay, selective deafness doesn't work. Maybe if I concentrate on something I've got to do. Something... anything! His eyes closed briefly as he shook his head minutely. Lord, why me? Between this, getting beat in the pistol match, and whatever that poison was that got into our water, this has got to be the worst trip...
"Well, now, Angel, turn-about's fair play. After all we gots kinda in'erupted last stop!" Hans said, turning to look irately at Fielder.
"Now, Hansie, like I said, it all turned out fer t' best, di'n't it? We had us a nice li'l dustup, an' den we gots ta clean an' lubricate our equipment, eh? Remember?" she chuckled slyly—which sounded like a gravel crusher working on a small chunk of granite.
Oh my God! Why, me? Fielder smiled sickly, and said "Steward, why don't you bring the brandy so we can toast our upcoming port call?" I wonder how much booze it'd take to induce deafness? Maybe a touch of blindness? Memory loss? Fielder looked at the bottle and sighed. Nowhere near enough onboard. And just imagine the hangover!
Hans and Hayl sat in the crosstrees of the mainmast, keeping an eager lookout for their landfall on Hector, the base planet of the Hero Cluster and the home port of the local fleet detachment. Hayl was reveling in the opportunity to sneak out of sick bay and actually do something. As always, young Hayl found himself refreshed and invigorated by the crisp, cold air and the incredible view that came with this height. And old Hans was enjoying the chance to share his hard-earned knowledge with someone who wanted to learn.
"Yep," said Hans, "navigatin' in two-space is simple plane geometry, with the stars above ta act as guides. The stars inside our galaxy is all stationary—or at least for our lifetimes they's stationary, an' thas good enough fer me. An' the solar systems is sorta compacted. The early explorers of Earth's solar system was amazed ta find it jist took a day or so ta sail to Mars an' Venus in two-space! The suns is all stationary, but the planets do move. So, solar system's is always laid out flat, always aligned with the plane of two-space, an' slowly, over the period of a year, the port moves around the sun. But the Pier sticks out and is clearly visible ta home in on, if'n ya start at the sun and spiral out. 'Specially the major Piers that've been built up with big buildin's an' fortifications on top of 'em. Ya with me so far?"
"Aye, sir!" replied Hayl.
"So, ya see, ya gotta root around a bit fer a planet sometimes, but we know it'll be fairly close to the sun. If ya don't see the Pier stickin' out on yer way in, jist go to the sun, git in the masthead, an' look around as ya spiral out. Remember, all solar systems is smashed into a reg'lar, even, sun-with-rings-around-it shape in two-space. 'Ceptin' they's compressed. Fer example, Earth's solar system is roughly two-hundred-and-fifty nautical miles in radius, or around five-hundred miles in diameter, an' it takes us less than two days to sail through it at our top speed o' thirteen knots.
"So," Hans continued, "Sol is a big yeller disk with a radius o' fifty miles, Mercury orbits at a radius o' fifty-four miles, Earth orbits at a radius of about eighty-two miles an' is almost twenty miles across in two-space, while Pluto is a bit over two-hundred-and-fifty miles from the sun..." He paused to spit tobacco juice from his chaw and look around at their two monkeys frolicking in the reduced gravity of the crosstrees.
Hayl broke in excitedly, "...and after you clear the solar system, the reduced gravitational effect increases the distance distortion so that while our two-space speed stays at about thirteen knots, the distance covered increases from a single solar system to around a light-year or so per hour which makes interstellar travel possible! And then, in the area between the spiral arms that effect gets even greater..."
Hans broke in with a laugh, "An' if'n ya knows all o' that ya don't needs me ta act as schoolmaster, now does ya?"
Hayl smiled back, unconsciously shifting his grip with his hook as he turned to look at Hans more directly. "Sir, you know that's not true! It's just so... so neat how everything comes together so we can travel in two-space from planet to planet." He sobered for a moment and continued. "While my hand might not be as good as it was, my mind is! Which means that to be a naval officer like the captain, my mind has to be sharp enough to compensate for my hand, sir. And there's lots I don't know: like what to do if you can't find the Pier right away? And I thank you for telling me."
Hans grinned at him cheerfully. "Aye, there's lots worse models ya kin pick asides our cap'n, eh?"
Hayl's monkey came swinging through the rigging to the little middie, tapped his head, and pointed downward.
"Uh-oh! It's Mrs. Vodi! I'd better get on down, sir, before she catches me up here. She thinks I ought to stay below until Lady Elphinstone clears me for climbing in the rigging! Thanks for the lesson, sir!"
Hayl dove out into the low gravity of the upper rigging, with his monkey clinging tightly to his shoulder. Then he snagged a backstay with the smooth part of his hook, slid down the line to the deck, and walked up innocently behind Mrs. Vodi.
Hans switched the chaw around in his mouth as he watched the lad. "Ya know, my li'l friend," he said to his monkey. "I gets the feelin' 'at young feller may be as int'restin' as our captain ta be around in the years ta come."
"Eep!" agreed the monkey.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
The Fang's arrival at the Pier on Hector was a bit anticlimactic after the long journey and the joyous welcomes they had come to expect on their travels through the Smallness of Westerness. Even more than Show Low this was a bustling hub of activity, and they were just one more Ship in a port filled with military and commercial craft of every sort.
The Pier was crowded with small one- and two-masted Ships loading and off-loading cargo in the commercial docks, and several frigates were moored in the military docks. But the pilot brought them to dock at an otherwise empty, stand-alone portion of the Pier. This section of the port was within the military area, but distinctly separate, and normally used only for rewatering and revictualing military Ships.
A suspicious mind might see the influence of the Admiralty in their semi-isolation, but the simple truth was that the Fang needed to totally off-load and reload all of their water supplies, as well as replacing the water barrels. No one was taking any chances with whatever it was that got into their water. By berthing them directly at the military supply dock, the process could be completed much more efficiently.
Waiting for them on the Pier was the port admiral's messenger, a young sailor who quickly delivered an invitation to a soiree at the port admiral's residence the next evening for Captain Melville, his officers, and their guests.
And that was all! No hidden warnings, veiled threats, or social complications. Just a simple invite, and we'll see you later!
While their reception was welcome, it put pressure on the wardroom to get their official business of delivering mail, periodicals and other publications completed, and the Ship resupplied as quickly as possible so that they could attend the function. Their isolated location may have simplified the major evolution of replacing all the water casks, but it also greatly complicated most other resupply tasks!
For some strange reason, the Navy felt it was inappropriate for the officers and captain to miss a superior's social function just so they could complete Ship's business. Of course, failing to complete official Ship's business because you had to attend a social function was considered to be inexcusable as well.
So this left them with only one option: to get everything done as expeditiously as possible, so that the officers and crew might have some time before the vagaries of the Navy sent them off on their merry way again—sans liberty. Or even without the damned showers they all wanted!
And so the Fangs turned to with a will!
Oozing slowly and unsteadily down the gangplank, forming a tiny dark line in the Moss, was the traumatized remnant of the ninja slime mold that had been sent to destroy the Fang. No bigger than a teardrop, the few surviving cells had little intelligence. All memory was pared down to a few essential survival facts.
It could remember the emergency rally point where it was supposed to meet up with friendly agents on Hector in order to escape and evade out, if needed. It remembered <<horror, shudder, fear>> the enemy's most fearsome weapon: a malevolent, relentless, vicious entity called "cat."
And it remembered (oh yes, it remembered!) the formula for the biochemical toxin that brought slow, hideous, painful death to the cats! The slime mold believed deep in its soul that this vital intelligence would help them neutralize the enemy's ultimate weapon and win this war!
"Mr. Hayl," said Brother Theo quietly. "Do you discern that dapper young lieutenant headed toward us on the Pier?"
"Aye, sir...?" replied the middie, who was standing on the upper quarterdeck as the watch officer.
"And," continued the monk, "do you also perceive a yellow cord affixed to the shoulder of his uniform jacket? It is referred to as an aiguillette, which means he's a flag lieutenant."
"Aye, sir. Thank you! But... what's a flag lieutenant?"
"Hmmm. I can see that I have been remiss in my tutorial responsibilities. Your ignorance is understandable, since no such creature has ever deigned to visit the Fang before. Admirals and generals are known as 'flag officers' because they are authorized to fly their own personal flag, denoting their rank, and marking their position on the battlefield or aboard Ship. And an admiral's staff lieutenant is called a 'flag lieutenant.'"
"In other words, he's pretty important?"
"Aye, you have stated the crux of the matter in your customary, succinct fashion. And...?"
"And I should tell the captain?"
"Aye, that might be perspicacious."
"Captain Melville, there's another messenger, a flag lieutenant is here to see you, sir!" Midshipman Hayl said after knocking on the cabin door.
"Okay," replied Melville distractedly as he looked up from the lists and paperwork spread in front of him on his desk. "Send him in, please, Mr. Hayl. Well," he said to Fielder, who was going over the checklist of tasks to be accomplished after arrival at port, "it looks like we're a bit ahead of schedule so far, Daniel."
"Yes, sir. Mail's off, package transfers completed, we're working on supplies and rewatering, Brother Theo is ashore looking after cargo, and Mrs. Vodi is off to the hospital for resupply and herbal materials. All in all, we should be complete by midmorning tomorrow. Just in case we get another bum's rush off the planet," he concluded with a sardonic smile.
The marine guard outside the captain's door snapped to attention and saluted, and the messenger knocked on the hull next to the open door. Their visitor's aiguillette and his impeccable uniform indicated that he was a flag lieutenant. It was obvious he had just come from the planet since he was still wearing shoes—something naval personnel didn't do when working on Piers and Ships, to spare the wear and tear on the Moss.
"Captain Melville?" he inquired.
"Yes, how may I help you, Lieutenant?"
"Sir, I am Lt. Kit McKurkle, Rear Admiral Middlemuss' flag lieutenant. He sends his compliments, and asks if you would be so kind as to stop by his office to have a talk with him, when things are under control here. If after working hours, his home this evening would be fine."
Melville was more than a bit astonished. Admirals tended to demand your presence on the instant, not send someone to politely ask you to stop by when you have time!
"If you will give me a minute here, I will turn things over to Lt. Fielder, my first officer, and accompany you now."
Lt. McKurkle grinned and shook his head. "You really can take your time, sir. Before the mail came in this morning, we were ready to send you straight back out, and the admiral really would have wanted to see you asap. Prior to today's mail the only thing the admiral knew was that he had a loose cannon coming in and the Admiralty had requested he expedite anything necessary so you could continue your mission. Expedite as in 'get them in, and then get them out' would be the correct interpretation, I believe!"
He caught the glance between the two officers and smiled slightly. "Yes, gentlemen, I am afraid that your friends in the Admiralty haven't forgotten you yet. Before you get too wrought up about it though, the admiral asked me to share a few things with you. First off, he and Sir Geoffery Chudloss on Show Low go way back. To be honest, I'm not too sure how far back they go, but they are and remain good friends, and the morning's mail packet included some dispatches from Sir Geoffery concerning the Fang and her crew."
"Uh oh," muttered Fielder, thinking about what Sir Geoffery might have said about the Fang's first officer and his escapades ashore.
"Exactly!" replied McKurkle, looking at Fielder and confirming his worst suspicions with a grin and a nod. Looking back at Melville he continued, "It also helped explain the Fang's relationship with the Admiralty, sir. And, to put it bluntly, it has probably made your life here a lot more pleasant than it would have been otherwise!" He concluded with a chuckle, "So you see, there really is no rush now."
"Yes, I understand," Melville said slowly. "And I certainly appreciate the admiral's kindness, but I will still be returning with you, Lieutenant. My crew have fought and traded their way across half the galaxy, and my first officer is fully capable of dealing with the responsibilities on this end."
"Thank you, sir. Oh, and he also asked that I tell you that any references to invitations to your crew and wardroom definitely include your monkeys. Sir Geoffery didn't say much about them, except that they would be of extreme interest." He looked at the little monkeys with curiosity.
Melville and Fielder's monkeys both shot their heads up, looked at each other and gave a manic, "Eek, eek!" at this.
Fielder looked over at his monkey and said, "See what happens when you get a reputation? Next thing you know, they'll be inviting the monkeys and forgetting their people!"
His monkey gave a dismissive "Eep!" and snapped its head back down to its shoulders.
Melville stood and put on the uniform jacket that McAndrews held out for him. The steward's monkey gave the jacket a few last brushes as Ulrich buckled the captain's around Melville's waist.
"Well, Lieutenant, shall we be going?"
"Yes, sir. Oh, I almost forgot. Admiral Middlemuss has arranged for some temporary loans from the marine contingent for you and your crew. Prior to leaving the base of the Pier area, please have your qualified personnel visit the armory. They will be issued .45 caliber pistols and holsters. While he doesn't particularly want a repeat of your adventures on Show Low, he really would like to make sure that if anything does happen, it happens to someone else!"
Lt. Fielder smiled happily. "I like the sound of that, Mr. McKurkle."
McKurkle grimaced. "Actually, I'm not sure you will."
Melville looked concerned and said, "What do you mean? Is there some kind of problem that you haven't mentioned yet?"
McKurkle looked a bit embarrassed and said, "Well, no. It's just that after reading the report Sir Geoffery sent from Show Low, the admiral asked me to pass on that it would be considered a 'favor' if Lt. Fielder limit his movement to the naval facilities, except for official duties. Sir Geoffery believed that the attacks were focused on the captain and yourself, and the admiral hopes to minimize your exposure in order to forestall an potential problems."
Fielder paled. After his frustrating experience with Ursula he had been looking forward to a fair amount of spooning during this port call. Maybe even some forking. "Restricted to base? Official duties? Oh my god, all those wonderful erotic sights and I'm stuck here?"
Melville suppressed a laugh and said, "Now, Daniel, it's not that bad. After all, we do have a command performance at the reception tomorrow evening. I'm sure there will be plenty of women and wine for you there."
Fielder ignored him as he sat down. His monkey's head began bobbing up and down as it chuckled quietly, "Eep eep eep..."
Rear Admiral Ivar Middlemuss had a bushy mustache, a beak nose, steady eyes, and features that at first appeared to be severe, even hard. Until he smiled, and then everything changed. And the admiral smiled often.
"Captain Melville! Welcome to the Hero Cluster!" said the admiral, shaking hands with a firm, two-handed grip. "I've heard a good bit of you and your adventures, and have been eager to meet you." His grin projected a warmth that Melville was not used to seeing in a flag officer. Especially one who was speaking to him! "Although, from reading your exploits, I had expected you to be at least a foot taller, and possibly breathing fire! And this must be one of your famous spider monkeys!"
"Eep!" said the monkey, politely.
"A pleasure to meet you as well, small sir!"
Melville laughed and said, "I think you have been reading too much of Mr. Asquith's prose then, sir. I am simply an officer in Her Majesty's Navy."
Middlemuss smiled again with a slight shake of his head. "No, not simply an officer. But I won't embarrass you now—I'll save that for later when we discuss the dispatches and news at the morning briefing."
Gesturing to the other individual in the room, the admiral said, "Right now, I'd like to introduce you to Dr. Eric Myriad-Forsythewald, an expert in beastics and monstrology. He has come all the way from Westerness to learn something about the legendary 'Crab' species and their star kingdom."
Melville shook his hand and said, "The Crabs? I'm afraid that's a new one on me, sir. Who—or what—are they?"
Dr. Myriad-Forsythewald, dressed conservatively in a puce suit with coordinating cravat, was a distinguished gentleman in his late middle age. He was tanned to a deep mahogany by countless alien suns, and his dark hair was shot through with gray. He looked more like an engineer accustomed to working in the field than an eminent scholar.
"Charmed, sir, charmed!" He shot his cuffs, shook hands with Melville, and said, "Please just call me Eric."
"Gentlemen, now that we've been introduced, let's be seated," said the admiral. Their host's office was richly appointed in dark, indigenous woods, with a heavy desk, book-laden shelves all around, and three dark brown chairdogs. They settled back into the chairdogs as the admiral called out, "Simpson! Tea for three! Is tea all right with you, Melville? Or do you need coffee?"
"No sir, tea is just fine. I was really intrigued by what the admiral was saying about these Crabs, Doctor. Can you tell me more?"
As the admiral's steward served them, Dr. Myriad-Forsythewald continued. "Well, now, the Crabs are reportedly a race of creatures that resemble some sort of crustacean. Which no doubt explains the name, eh? The difference is, this Crab is not only large, but intelligent, and able to sail in two-space." He sighed and continued. "So far though, we have nothing except second-hand reports to support their existence. Thus, I, your humble servant, was sent here to determine the truth of these legends."
Rear Admiral Middlemuss mumbled, "Humble servant, my arse." In a normal voice he said, "Captain, the good doctor does himself a disservice. He is actually the chair of the department of Alien Philosophy at the King's University on Westerness." The admiral harrumphed and brushed his mustache contemplatively. "Additionally, this old reprobate and I have been friends since he came onboard the Chaucer when I was a fresh-caught lieutenant."
Dr. Myriad-Forsythewald grinned and lifted a finger in the age-old symbol for a fencer registering a touch and continued. "'Tis true that I have some small expertise in alien studies, beastics, monstrology, and such. Thus, Captain, I would very much like to have your permission to study the alien members of your crew. I have spent time with the Sylvans, but I suspect your Lady Elphinstone has much to teach me. Plus, I understand that you have a Dwarrowdelf officer and even a few Stolsh aboard! And I would dearly love to study these remarkable monkeys of yours. With your permission, of course, and I think the admiral can vouch for me when I say that I will not be disruptive or invasive in the process."
"Aye, of course, sir," replied Melville.
"Hmph!" said the admiral. "Sure, I can vouch for the fact that he is a good man to have aboard and will not be a nuisance. But be forewarned, Melville, he is no respecter of authority when it comes to cards. He will take your money without hesitation, and he runs the most shameless bluffs! So, I gather that Lt. McKurkle told you a bit about the communications I have received concerning you and your Fang?"
At Melville's nod, he continued. "Originally, all I had was the missive from the Admiralty, which hinted that you were a loose cannon, and that I would be advised to expedite any port visits and keep you well away from inhabited planets once you were attached to my group here. With not a whole lot of explanation as to what you had done to get that bunch of old ladies' panties in a bunch. So, originally I was minded to have you here at the soiree tomorrow and then send you immediately on your way!"
Then the admiral gave another one of those remarkable smiles and said, "Luckily for you, the mail you brought in from Show Low had a letter from Sir Geoffery. It explained more than a few things that he knew, and the outcome of your visit to Show Low. While I don't think we need a dose of chlorine in the gene pool here, it sounds as if it didn't do them too much harm there!"
Melville started to reply, then stopped with his mouth open, not quite sure what to say. What the hell, thought Melville with a mental shrug. Notoriety isn't as good as fame, but it beats obscurity any day.
"Never mind, Captain, never mind! Things happen, and it all turned out for the best. Although, Sir Geoffery did say he wasn't quite sure how you managed to engineer that remarkably sordid little riot that occurred just before you left. He asked me for some clarification, just for his own edification and amusement!"
Melville shook his head sharply. That's not something I thought I'd be discussing right away with my new boss!
"But why don't we take a break and get to know each other over some cards, Captain? Port, cigars, and a few hands of poker. Capital way to get to know my new officers, don't you think?" He laughed as he led the way to a study where a green felt table awaited.
"So your Mrs. Vodi and Mr. Hans were the ones who set up the massacre at, what was it called, the 'shindig' then?" The admiral laughed uproariously. "Capital idea! Wonderful way to ensure payment in kind!" He threw his cards into the center of the table and said, "You know, Thomas, you just don't bluff worth a damn!"
"Your deal, Captain," said Dr. Myriad-Forsythewald, taking stock of the chips in front of him on the green baize table.
They were seated in wooden chairs in the admiral's den. No chairdogs here. These were no-nonsense chairs in a serious room dedicated to the earnest business of poker.
"Seven card stud, gentlemen, nothing wild?" Melville replied with a grin.
"Good. Only old ladies and children use wild cards," growled the admiral. "Deal 'em."
Fortune was favoring both Melville and Dr. Myriad-Forsythewald. The good doctor's style of play was solid and unimaginative but highly competent, while Melville's was flashy and unpredictable. Both, however, were doing much better than Admiral Middlemuss. Or his chief of staff, Captain George Stockard; or his aide, Lt. McKurkle; who had been dragooned into the game to round out the play.
The cigars and spirits were excellent, as was the conversation. All of the men at the table were well educated, widely experienced, and interesting conversationalists. They were all deeply interested in the Fang's experiences and battles during the Guldur attack on the Sylvan and Stolsh star kingdoms. But Melville tried hard not to monopolize the conversation, pumping his hosts for information about the Hero Cluster and the Far Rift.
Dr. Myriad-Forsythewald was currently holding forth on the mysterious Crabs. "In general, the Dwarrowdelf are only interested in tunnelics. But one of their sages, Esray Picklowmuch—an outcast from a famous family of deep miners—is well versed in monstrology and beastics. He is currently the Lecturer in Recent Runes at a Dwarrowdelf university. He gave me some insight into what we can expect from the denizens of Flatland in the Far Rift.
"It seems that the dominant species on the western edge of the rift is a crab-like, or insectoid civilization. They are considered semi-mythical. Both humans and Sylvans have had virtually no interaction with them. The Dwarrowdelf on the other side of the pole have reported some contact, though. And in recent years there have been secondhand reports of communication between the Crabs and the Guldur. Gentlemen, this must remain within this group, but I can tell you that the Sylvans and Westerness Intelligence are deeply concerned that there might be an alliance between the Guldur and the Crabs. Clearly the matter calls for more research! And thus, my visit."
"Raise you five, sir," said McKurkle.
"See you, and raise you another five," said the admiral followed by the rest of the players tossing their bets into the pot.
"From everything that Picklowmuch has been able to piece together," continued the good doctor, "they are like a cross between crabs and ants, with six legs and a hard, chitinous outer shell. Their body stays horizontal to the ground, moving on six legs, but they can raise the front of their torso up and use their forelegs or foreclaws as hands. Again, kind of like an ant, but broader and bigger, like a crab. For lack of any better term, I will refer to them as the Crabs.
"They have a fighter class, who are reportedly the size of a prone human. They fight with a kind of musket, and in close-combat they use a sword and shield in their foreclaws. Their fighters also have a formidable set of pinchers in their mouth, and a scorpion-like tail with a stinger on the end."
He broke off to glare at Melville. "Are you really planning on raising on that mess in front of you? What are they teaching young officers today?" He made a tsk-tsk sound, raised, and continued on in the face of Melville's grin. The admiral looked at his chief of staff and they both grimaced and folded their cards.
"The Crab workers are about the size of a racoon or a badger and are reported to be fairly intelligent, with softer chitin. They also have royalty, who are bigger than a human. The Crab royalty are apparently quite rare, and they are the most intelligent.
"We don't know anything about their language, what they call themselves, their politics, or their social structure. All we know is that they have a vast empire on the other side of the Far Rift. The only other thing that we know about them is that they travel in small, fast Ships—gunboats, really. Like most other species we know of, their Ships are essentially two ships connected at the Keel, with one mast and one cannon in the bow, and then duplicated on the other side of Flatland. The most notable characteristic of their Ships is the one, glowing white sail that can be spotted from a great distance. We've had many reports of those sails by traders out here, but they apparently are devilish fast Ships and they avoid all contact.
"Hm. I do believe this hand is mine, gentlemen," concluded the doctor, in a sudden change of topic. He turned over his cards to reveal a straight, ace high.
The others groaned companionably and tossed in their cards, except for Melville, who said, "Now, Doctor, let's not be hasty," and flipped over his hole cards to show a flush.
"Damn," the doctor sighed. "How do you do that?"
Melville laughed and said, "It seems as if you were talking more than watching, Doctor! It really is a good thing this is a low stakes game, or the night could become entirely too interesting!"
A laugh ran around the group and subsided quickly when Mrs. Middlemuss came into the room. The men stood quickly and politely greeted her.
The pleasant interlude of cards was brought to a reluctant end by her appearance.
"Gentlemen, dinner is served, so if you can put out those awful smoldering pieces of peat you call cigars, you are all welcome to come to the dining room!"
The evening was enjoyable, but Melville was happy to get back aboard Fang. No matter how nice the surroundings were, his Ship was his home, and he felt her welcome as his feet made contact with her deck.
His officers were pleased to hear the outcome of his meeting with the admiral. The only exception to this was Fielder's depression at learning that, in addition to being restricted in his movement and liberty privileges, he was assigned as the Officer of the Day for the fleet, starting at midnight. The admiral figured that a man of Fielder's capabilities would find it easy to deal with the, as he described it, 'disabilities of senior officers who may have overindulged.'
"Clearly, Daniel, the admiral has his eye on you," warned Melville. "So try to be good. If you can't be good, at least be careful."
"I'm always good, sir. And I'm always careful." Fielder replied sourly. "Virtuous is an entirely different matter."
For the Fangs, the walk from the military supply dock to the admiral's quarters was fairly short. The distance for the officers on the Ships at the commercial docks and the main military docks was significantly greater and necessitated the use of carriages and omnibuses.
The broad steps leading up to the main entrance of the admiral's residence gleamed under bright gaslight and the glow of two moons, and there was great color and bustle as the local gentry arrived. Small children were earning pennies by opening carriage doors, while their big brothers held the horses' reins as gentlefolk alighted, the ladies' brilliant gowns blossoming like flowers as they emerged. Many of the town's notables arrived on foot, while some chose to join the country gentry in coming by carriage, to emphasize their consequence in the community. The sound of music flowed from the huge open doors, as bright to the ears as the gaslight was to the eyes, promising gaiety, festivity and romance.
The arrival of Captain Melville and his wardroom was obscured by all the activity at the admiral's residence. Another handful of naval officers was an insignificant splash of dark blue amidst a surging tide of gaudy gentry and diplomats, their brightly accoutered carriages, and the continuous flood of caterers' carts and servants laboring to ensure that the function was supplied with the social lubricants necessary to keep everyone at their preferred level of satiation and inebriation.
The furniture had been cleared away (or led away in the case of the chairdogs) or tidily pushed along the walls to create a ballroom. Outside a set of open french doors a string quartet played with great skill and enthusiasm. Inside there was a jostling crowd of civilians in crisp black and white, sea officers in blue and gold, ladies in vivid gowns of every possible color, soldiers and marines in green and scarlet, and servants in red jackets bustling about with trays laden with glasses. Around the perimeter, more servants refilled glasses as quickly as they could, while the guests congregated like foam, flotsam, and lilies along the banks of a lake.
The admiral sighted Melville and his officers almost immediately. "Thomas!" he called. "Glad to see you and your wardroom here. If you would please introduce me to your fine ladies and gentlemen and their companions?"
Melville made the introductions of his officers—and their monkeys, who were apparently impressed by the admiral's courtesy. Conversation was stilted at first but had returned almost to normal when another group approached. Admiral Middlemuss stiffened almost imperceptibly as he turned to greet the new arrivals. Melville was astounded to see a Guldur admiral and his aides—thankfully minus their Goblan ticks. The Guldur was tall, grizzled, gray in the muzzle, and with a decidedly disagreeable cast to his countenance.
Perhaps the Guldur thought that his expressions would be as impenetrable to the humans as the humans were to the Guldur. But Melville and his wardroom had been eating, working, fighting, living, and dying with the Guldur in his crew ever since they had captured the Fang. Those members of his crew were what the Fang called "good pups" but this envoy (or whatever he might claim to be) was nothing but a tick-ridden cur! Even if his tick was not currently present.
"Captain Melville," said Middlemuss, "may I introduce you to Admiral Gwarlur, and I apologize if I do not pronounce it properly, Admiral. For some reason my throat seems unable to growl your name properly."
"Admiral Gwarlur," said Melville, offering his hand and saying the name with impeccable accuracy.
The Guldur admiral looked at the extended hand, wrinkled his snout, and said, "Thank you, but I'm not hungry."
Melville retrieved his hand smoothly and replied with supreme self-confidence and a gracious smile that made Middlemuss think of gold plated steel. "Well, I'd hate to be the one to give you indigestion! But, ah, silly me! I am the one that's been giving you indigestion, aren't I? So terribly sorry," he added in a wonderfully insincere voice, "I hear that you have lost some of your Ships recently. Some of your best Ships."
The Guldur admiral gave him a malevolent glare, momentarily lifting a lip off his teeth in a quickly controlled growl. "They have temporrarrily fallen into bad company," the Guldur snarled, with only the slightest accent. "It's amazing how ignorrant you humans are of properr comporrtment in dealing with morre traveled and capable rraces. Your species barrely seems to know how to trravel about the galaxy, much less how to act when faced with your betterrs!"
"We humans do live in blissful ignorance. Some are in militant ignorance. The effect is the same. And as to our betters, well, perhaps we shall learn when the time comes that we finally meet them," Melville returned blithely.
"So it's trrue that the vast majorrity of the people in yourr wrretched, pastorral empirre can't even find Guldurr on a map of the galaxy?"
"Yes, but the small majority who can find it are all in the Navy. Don't worry," said Melville with a feral grin, "the ones who need to find you won't have any difficulty."
To a certain type of officer, Melville's youth, his failure to work his way up the ranks and touch every base, his unquestionable ability, and his remarkable successes all combined to become a personal insult. Fortunately, Admiral Middlemuss was not one of those. He just seemed amused and bemused by his new captain.
On the other hand, he also didn't see a need to let Melville enrage the Guldur admiral to the point of provoking a duel. While it wouldn't bother him a bit to see the Guldur taken down a peg or two (permanently!) it also would have all the hallmarks of a true diplomatic disaster.
Worse yet, what if Melville lost? While it might make certain factions at the Admiralty very happy, it would greatly complicate matters in the Hero Cluster.
And so, somewhat reluctantly, Admiral Middlemuss broke in. "Captain Melville, I'm sorry to take you away when you're having such a wonderfully productive discussion with the admiral, but I had promised to introduce you to some of our guests. Admiral, gentlebeings, if you will excuse us?" he said as they swept away.
Sometime later, after Melville had been introduced to most of the room's inhabitants (and to some of the excellent local wines), Mrs. Middlemuss entered the ballroom and rang a small crystal bell to attract everyone's attention.
"It is time for the polonaise before supper," she announced to the room. "I must beg you all to leave your conversations and come join us."
"Mrs. Middlemuss' wish is our command," said Melville to the general agreement of the room.
"Captain Melville, I understand that you don't dance?" said Mrs. Middlemuss.
"It is painful to be reminded of what I am missing in the presence of so much beauty," said Melville with sincere regret. He loved music, and could carry a tune fairly well upon occasion (although there were times when others would disagree), but there was no denying that he was an abject failure at dancing. "In dancing I must choose my battles. Anything other than a slow box step is an invitation to social and podiatric disaster."
That was the sad truth, but it also established the opportunity for him to make some invitations when the beat and music were right. There would be a few lovelies whose company he could enjoy without inviting complete embarrassment and humiliation. And the pleasure of holding a woman close, even within the standards of propriety, was something that reminded him of what he and his men were protecting.
At least as long as he kept off her feet!
The time strolled pleasantly past, filled with beautiful women, good wine, and pleasant conversation.
"Getting about time for the supper march," announced the admiral. "Captain Melville, would you be so kind as to escort Mrs. Middlemuss?"
"Delighted, of course," he replied with a smile.
The only thing wrong with the dinner was that, as the guest of honor, Melville was seated near the head of the table. Normally this wouldn't have been too much of a trial, as the admiral and his wife were both cheerful and interesting dinner companions.
Unfortunately, protocol also dictated that the Guldur representative be seated near the admiral as well. And while Melville knew quite a few Guldur who he would cheerfully share a meal with (at least anything not cooked by Kaleb Jones!), the Guldur admiral was definitely not among them!
"Melville," lamented Admiral Middlemuss, shaking his head sadly as he ate, "one of these days I'm going to have to teach you how to play golf.
"Dear Lord! Why, sir?" said Melville with mock dismay and a disarming smile as he sipped his wine.
The admiral was struck by the sheer charisma of the slender young captain's grin. But behind that unflagging good humor, Melville's gray eyes flashed like cold steel in moonlight. Middlemuss realized that he was getting a glimpse of the personality that had forged the Fang and her crew into such a fearsome weapon.
"Because you seem too happy."
"Have mercy, sir! Anything but that, please. I promise to be good. I swear I won't sink a single Guldur Ship while under your command."
"Hmm, with the exception of Admiral Gwarlur's Ship—which is protected by diplomatic immunity—there are no other Guldur Ships in this part of the galaxy."
"Damn, did somebody beat me to all the rest of 'em?" He replied, with irrepressible deviltry dancing like quicksilver in his eyes.
"Humph," said the Guldur, who had been sitting at the table, listening, scowling, and growling. "R'all rright then, if you arre so puissant, why have you and yourr supposedly amazing Ship been wrritten off, and condemned to the deepest, darrkest depths of the frrontierr? Hmph. You arre beneath ourr notice."
Melville shrugged and smiled. "We've seen all the action anyone ever needs, and all we really want now is a quiet life as free traders. But I've got one hell of a Ship and a damned fine crew, and if I was you, I'd continue to take 'notice' of me. And my Ship."
"It is trrue that we underrestimated you and yourr Ship. That won't happen again."
"I get underestimated a lot. And by better people than you."
Just then the Guldur admiral's aide came to his side and whispered in his ear. The Guldur smiled an evil, wolfish grin. "I am needed at my Ship," he said to Admiral Middlemuss. "I'm sure you will understand."
Middlemuss made agreeable noises as the Guldur stood up from the table with a brief bow that was barely more than a nod, and left.
"Well," said Dr. Myriad-Forsythewald, "I hate to cast aspersions on another guest, but I do believe that the temperature in this room has risen at least ten degrees since the Guldur gentleman's departure!"
Admiral Middlemuss made a brief grimace. "I hate to agree, but the Lord knows I am not the best diplomat when it comes to dealing with arrogant, overbearing aliens! Not, of course, that I would even dream of expressing such an opinion of our esteemed departed guest! Oh, perish the thought!" There was a general chuckle of agreement around the table.
"I can understand why he might be perturbed at my presence," said Melville, "but why is he so obviously disturbed by the Kingdom of Westerness? As he so graciously, continuously and acerbically pointed out, we are newcomers and beneath their notice!
Dr. Myriad-Forsythewald replied thoughtfully. "I believe it is that, to him, Westerness represents thumos," he said. "Thumos, an ancient Greek psychological concept, cannot be translated directly into English because it combines the qualities and emotions of passion, spirit, energy, and courage. Thumos has a negative side, such as the anger of Achilles. But it is also a creative force of great and positive life powers. On Old Earth, England—and then her great colonies: Canada, Australia, and especially America—represented thumos for most of their history, and they were much feared and despised for it. Today the situation is largely the same with Westerness."
"And," said Melville, "the one thing that the Guldur and the Goblan are not, is thumos! They are an oppressive, controlled, centrally managed empire, which refuses to delegate authority or permit any kind of freedom or independent action."
"That, I believe, is why they feel threatened by such newcomers to two-space as we," agreed Myriad-Forsythewald. "That they, long resident throughout this sphere are not, and have not ever been thumos, and are content to merely exist! While we, bumbling and rash in our youth and energy, are running hither and yon with enthusiasm, courage, joy and creativity."
"Aye!" growled the admiral.
Melville picked up his glass, stood, and smiled at the table. "Then, ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Queen, our allies, and our thumos! Long may we revel in it!"
"Hear, hear!" his companions cried as they drank deeply.
After dinner, the party moved back to the ballroom for yet more dancing. Melville and the admiral tried to slip out with Dr. Myriad-Forsythewald and a few other officers for poker, cigars and brandy. But before they could make good their escape, they were cornered by the beautiful, gracious, and quite formidable Mrs. Middlemuss.
"Captain Melville, where are you going?" she asked in full Mrs. Rear Admiral mode, just as Melville had almost made it through the door to the study where the card table awaited them. Her tone made the entire procession—august officers and academic alike—pause like guilty children.
"Uhh, ma'am, I was simply stepping aside for a few moments of gentlemanly conversation..." he began cautiously.
"Oh, piffle. You were sneaking off to join my husband and his cronies for another of his endless card games. But someone needs to think about the overall success of the party. These old fogies will not be missed," she said, gesturing dismissively at Melville's fellow escapees, "but I have quite a few young ladies who lack a dance partner, and you, sir, are most highly in demand!"
"But, ma'am, I remind you that I am a terrible dancer..." he began desperately, and was cut off by her voice and smile.
"Now, Captain, I've been watching, and you will do fine. I even had the band modify the song list for you. You will do quite nicely!" she said firmly.
The admiral looked back at his wife's face, then over at Melville and said, "Well, every once in a while someone has to make a sacrifice for the greater good. I guess tonight's your night. Have fun!" With a nod, he quickly closed the door. You could almost hear the relief as they managed to make their retreat from this most formidable opponent—the hostess determined to make a social success!
For most of the rest of the evening, Melville was forced, (not entirely against his will, mind you) to escort lovely young women to the dance floor. As always, the process reminded him of his Princess Glaive. How shallow every women seemed by comparison. Always there was the same question, "What are the fashionable ladies wearing in Westerness this season?" Always Melville assured them that they just happened to be wearing the height of fashion. And always they were delighted by his blatant, flattering lie.
Dancing with young ladies did have its occasional pleasant aspects, and it was immensely preferable to having them all cluster around him and compete for his attention between sets. At least dancing prevented them from ganging up on him!
From his vantage point on the dance floor he observed the social ecology of the Hero Cluster. The men gathered in the corners like cobwebs, spinning tall tales, business partnerships, and networks of friendship and information. The matrons moved along the edges, like a rainbow of colored mice, nibbling at reputations, assessing prospects, and plotting the future genealogical architecture of the Hero Cluster.
Melville caught occasional glimpses of his officers through the crowd and around the perimeter of the room. Brother Theo in an intense discussion with a varied group of academics and officers, with his bright-eyed monkey hovering over his head and watching with interest. The middies huddled in a corner, seeking escape. Lady Elphinstone, slim and elegant in a small cloud of naval officers vying for her attention. Hans and Broadax in a corner with a group of older officers and warrant officers as well as a few marines, producing a toxic cloud of cigar smoke that was, thankfully, pulled out through the open windows by a breeze. Fielder, assuring his dance partner that the latest fashion on Westerness was, "Very low cut and daring," and how wonderful it would look on her. And of course, Ulrich and Grenoble, always keeping a watchful eye on their captain from the sidelines—no ditching them after what happened on Show Low!
"Captain, I dare say you haven't heard a word I've said!" declared the redheaded damsel in his arms.
She had the worst case of halitosis he had encountered in any female of his experience, although he had upon occasion encountered worse in some men and especially among Guldur with whom he had crossed swords. But then he wasn't required to hold any of them close. At least not for long. Melville grinned winningly and said, "My lady, I must admit that as a dancer I am sadly lacking in grace. If I fail to concentrate on the steps, we should have to call in the surgeons for the care of your poor feet!"
She pouted momentarily and then melted in even more closely and whispered up to him, her dragon breath just inches from his face, "Well, we couldn't have that now, could we?"
Feeling her body warmth against him awoke quite a few feelings, foremost among them panic, which was made worse by the smile Mrs. Middlemuss was gifting him with from the sidelines. His monkey caught on quickly to his unease and came to his rescue by extending its neck so that its up-side-down face was, so to speak, eye to eye with her closed eyes, and said softly, "Eek?"
Her eyes popped open and she repeated the verbal sally, albeit in a much more emphatic voice. "Eeek! Ohmigod! What is that animal?" she shrieked.
Melville almost trembled with relief. "Why, uh..." what was her blasted name again? Oh, yes, June. "...pardon, June, I thought you had met my monkey."
"It's Jane!" she said frostily as she stormed off the dance floor.
"Whew!" he said as his monkey eeped quietly in agreement.
Seeing Mrs. Middlemuss coming toward the dance floor yet again, in full Mrs. Rear Admiral mode with still another young lovely in tow, Melville did what most stalwart young officers would do at that point: he beat a hasty strategic retreat to a quiet corner near the bar.
The bar happened to be adjacent to an exit, so he was in a position to see Lt. Fielder taking his leave of a lovely young lady. It was close to midnight, and the Fang's first officer was headed off to begin his shift as duty officer. They both seemed distinctly disheveled, and the lady had a faint set of grass stains on the back of her white gown. Although it was probably only noticeable to anyone who was sober—a condition Melville had reluctantly embraced due to the need to save the feet of various lovely ladies throughout the night.
"I must say good night, my dear lady," said Fielder.
"It is more like good morning now!"
He kissed her hand, bending low and eying her décolletage, "You are a delight to see at any hour, madam."
She smiled demurely and replied, "I believe you have seen enough for one day, sir!" But the wink over her shoulder as she turned took away the potential sting of her words.
Melville shook his head in wonder. What was it about Fielder that attracts the ladies so? Perhaps it's the same thing that makes women of that sort like cats...
It was well after midnight before the guests began to disperse from the party. Some of the officers were so inebriated that they had to be carried to their Ships. Others staggered out the door, glassy-eyed but unsupported, moving with the intense concentration of drunken men struggling to avoid disgracing themselves.
Others were stopping in the shadows to find their own brand of pleasure. Through a brief flicker of moonlight Melville saw a woman's body, naked to the waist, her arms wrapped around a navy officer's neck and giggling with enjoyment as he fumbled at her clothing.
It was at that moment, as officers were spread to the four winds, leaving and traveling to many destinations, with their crews mostly on shore leave, that the Crab attack hit.
Aboard the Fang Lt. Fielder had resigned himself to an evening of sorting out high-ranking drunks, ensuring the return of the command groups to the appropriate Ships, and all the other associated duties assigned to a man who had attracted the attention of the admiral in a most unfortunate way.
The Fang's first officer believed that any bad fortune should be shared with his friends. His brand of misery truly loved company. This philosophy, combined with his natural laziness and desire for assistance, had caused Fielder to coerce the wardroom into assisting him with his duties.
Normally, getting the Fang's officers to leave a party early would have been a task of Sisyphean dimensions. Luckily for Fielder, he had two things working for him.
First was the nature of an admiral's soiree. While junior officers could be made to attend, they couldn't be forced to enjoy it. And, to be honest, the Fangs were warriors, and had found themselves somewhat uncomfortable in the continued company of so many "sheepeople." Thus, the wardroom members were not entirely displeased to have an excuse to leave the party early. "Sorry, ma'am. Duty calls, don'cherknow?"
The other thing in his favor was his promise to take them out drinking the next time they were on liberty. The admiral had restricted Lt. Fielder's freedom, but there were still plenty of bars and clubs on the base where he could fulfill this promise. Knowing the capacity of his companions, he didn't think it would be cheap.
Asquith looked over at Fielder as they stared out at the spectacular panoply of two-space. The sailors and officers assigned to the shore patrol were out in force tonight. The officers and men aboard the Fang were standing in reserve, ready for any situation which needed a wise head or a firm hand to control it.
Fielder was thinking morosely about how much booze it was going to take to fill up this crew. Damn, he thought dejectedly, I expected the wardroom to help out in response to my bribe. But most of the crew too? Damn, that's a lotta beer! But that's what I make the big bucks for, isn't it? To spend on wine, women, song, and friends—and to waste the rest reluctantly?
"Daniel," Asquith asked, "is it normal practice to have the first officer of a Ship assigned to help the shore patrol after an admiral's party?"
Fielder grimaced and then chuckled ruefully. "No, Bert, not really. It's a good idea, mind you. We have a lot of Ships in port to attend the soiree. Maybe to impress that Guldur admiral. From the admiral's point of view, assigning me to this duty is making a virtue of necessity. Remember the attacks on Show Low?"
Asquith nodded silently, and his hand reached down unconsciously to caress the two-space pistol holstered at his hip. Fielder noted the gesture and echoed it with a grin. Amazing how his friend had changed during their journey!
"Well, I guess it could happen again," continued Fielder. "So, keeping me off the streets reduces the probability of another attack by my dear old friend, Princess Madelia. Although I think the admiral was more concerned for the potential innocent bystanders than he was about me!"
Asquith murmured, "I can see why, after what happened on Show Low." This was punctuated by an emphatic "Eep!" from his monkey. Asquith reached up to scratch behind its ears gently. "But what about the captain, Daniel? Isn't he a prime target as well?"
Fielder snorted derisively. "Yes, there is that, isn't there? Which might explain why Ulrich and Grenoble are always with him." He continued softly, "But, Bert, I've noticed that he seems, at times, to..." He paused and then continued "not exult in violence, but since he bonded with the Fang, he appears to be more, well, comfortable where the action is hottest. I'm not sure how to describe it, but since the bonding, it's as if he has incorporated the Ship's eagerness for battle into his personality. So, I don't see him hiding from a fight."
Asquith was looking out at the field of stars above him and asked idly, "Daniel, were there any other arrivals scheduled today or tomorrow?"
"Not that I know of Bert, why?"
"Then what are those things out there?" he asked, pointing out toward a group of specks that looked like distant sails, but glowing oddly white, like the Moss on the timbers surrounding them.
"I don't know," replied Fielder, "but I don't think they were invited to the admiral's soiree." After a brief hesitation he called out, "Battle stations! Battle stations!" Then he quietly added to Asquith, making the little earthling snort with laughter, "All hands prepare to fend off party crashers."
Better safe than sorry was the motto taught to Baronet Daniello Sans Fielder on his Grandma BenGurata's knee. In all things except women.
The rapidly approaching vessels appeared to be small, one-masted boats. He couldn't tell much else about them, except that they were all distinguished by a large, glowing white sail on the single mast.
The leading Ship was suddenly punctuated by a flash as it fired a cannon from well outside the atmosphere of the Pier. The cannonball made no noise until it pierced the air cloud around the Pier with a shrill shriek, bounced through the plane of two-space and disappeared into the depths of space.
"Damn," said Fielder quietly. "What fresh hell is this?"
Eternal Father, strong to save,
Whose arm hath bound the restless wave,
Who biddest the mighty ocean deep
Its own appointed limits keep;
Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee,
For those in peril on the sea!