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Chapter the 8th

Establishing Routine:
To Guard from Hurt 
 . . . then dreams o'ertake
His tired-out brain, and lofty fancies blend
To one grand theme, and through all barriers break
To guard from hurt his faithful sleeping friend.

"The Battlefield"
Sydney Oswald

 

 

 

Melville completed his discussion with Fang, telling her where they were headed and why. She didn't seem in the least concerned that they would be informing the Stolsh about the approaching Guldur fleet. It was obvious that his Ship could be counted upon to be loyal and steadfast to him. And to her "pups."

Melville flipped down through the hatch, and checked on Mr. Crater as he conned the lower quarterdeck. To go through the area where gravity "flips" wasn't particularly arduous or difficult. Easier even than slipping into water, especially for someone who'd done it from his youngest days. But still he did it cautiously, protecting his injured shoulder.

Young Crater was doing fine. He'd been the 2IC, or second in command, of the quarterdeck on many a watch. He had often been left to con the deck while the duty officer went about his many responsibilities in other parts of the Ship. An experienced quartermaster with over a decade of sea duty under his belt was there to assist. Above them an experienced petty officer directed the seamen in the rigging. They seemed to take delight in breaking in their new "lootenant."

Then Melville flipped back through to the upper quarterdeck, kneeling to say a passing hello to Fang as he passed the Keel.

The rest of the shift went by in a dull blur for Melville. He had barely begun to recover from his wounds and was quickly exhausted. Hans insisted on rigging a deck chair for him to sit on, something that was unheard of in ordinary circumstances.

At six bells he went below, where McAndrews had fixed him a hot lunch. The portly steward appeared to be an unimaginative cook, but Melville wasn't a picky eater.

Hans, in his duties as sailing master, was reworking the rigging and sails to conform to Westerness standards. He bounced back and forth between the upper and lower decks, keeping a good eye out for young Lieutenant Crater on the lower quarterdeck. Hans' monkey perched on the sailing master's shoulder and seemed to delight in everything they did. The little tobacco-chewing creature was now the darling of the topmen.

Finally, his long watch was over and Melville went into his cabin. Again McAndrews prepared a meal, which he shoveled down. It was hot and it felt good, whatever it was.

They had an adequate supply of water, with resupply expected fairly soon, so he was able to grab a quick sponge bath. He stood in a wide, shallow basin designed to catch the precious water, sponging himself off while McAndrews held a pan of hot water for him. The steward had heated the water, and it felt good. The unctuous sailor was definitely beginning to grow on him. Ordinarily he didn't get hot water to bathe in, another advantage to being the captain. There was an up side to the responsibility. There wasn't enough water to wash his entire body, but he could soap and rinse his "pits." The arm pits and the whole region between the thighs and buttocks that academy cadets jokingly referred to as the "leg pit."

His monkey hopped off during this process, and watched from McAndrews' shoulder. The steward delighted in this honor, and Melville found himself feeling slightly jealous. Then he felt foolish about feeling jealous of a monkey.

Lady Elphinstone tapped at his door and stepped in at that moment, seeming to have sensed that she could find her patient naked.

How does she do that? thought Melville. Sylvan magic? Doctor's instinct?

He was slightly embarrassed to be standing naked in front of a beautiful lady, but she was also ancient, and wise, and Sylvan, and she was a doctor. Somehow this all combined to make it perfectly all right, even to a sailor who had been sailing the seas of two-space for entirely too long.

She unwound the dressing and proceeded to prod and cleanse his wound, "tutting" like some omnipresent, universal healer archetype. "Thou art healing well, Captain, but thou may not go into the rigging, and thou must continue to pace yourself. I saw thee resting on the quarterdeck. That is good."

She stood back and looked at his naked body with a clinical eye. He tried not to suck his gut in. He found himself settling on a half relaxed, half poised position, shoulders back, hands at his side, as she examined him. It wasn't much but it was all his dignity could muster, as she went on. "Healing is strange in two-space. Some fester and die who should not, and others live when they probably should not. I would guess thee to be the healing type. I'll keep an eye on thee. In a few weeks thou shouldst have thy old strength back. In a month or so thou shouldst have the full use of that arm again. If thou dost pay attention to what I say. Dost thou understand, Captain?" she asked, no, demanded, as she replaced the dressing.

"Yes, indeed I do, my lady. I'll do my best to follow your guidance." There, that was a good way to put it. Because they both knew that he would damned well do what the situation called for, even if it killed him.

"Indeed thou shalt, thou silly man," she said, not unkindly and with a slight smile. "Unless thee wants to die?"

"I do happen to be the captain, you know," said Melville, with as much dignity as a naked man could muster.

With a slight, mocking nod she corrected herself, "Thou silly captain, sir."

"Thank you."

"Very good, now go to sleep, Captain. All is well here. All is well."

All is well. Those words rang in his ears as McAndrews helped him slide into a long sleep shirt. He pulled a sleep mask over his head and stretched out on his bunk. He felt his monkey hop in next to him, and as it snuggled warmly in beside his head he drifted off to sleep.

 

The next morning, after sleeping for over ten hours, he found life felt almost worth living. He leaned back while McAndrews shaved his sparse beard. Two-space would keep a straight-razor supernaturally sharp, but proper handling of such a razor was an entirely different matter. That's why many sailors chose to wear beards. McAndrews was doing an excellent job, but it occurred to Melville to ask the steward to let the blade grow just a little bit dull.

The steward helped him dress and did his magic with tea, sugar, and lemon. His supply of tea and lemon juice was limited, but it was good while it lasted.

Then he went out on the deck of his Ship (his Ship!) with a steaming mug in his right hand. His monkey leaned out, stretching out its long, accordion neck to get sips of the tea.

It was just after eleven bells in the night watch when he walked out onto the deck. All was still and quiet. This was the most serene, peaceful time of the day on board Ship. It was almost as though the men of Westerness had recreated the sleepy hour just before dawn, here in the timeless depths of Flatland. Even the illumination from the Moss seemed subdued during this period, as though the Ship itself took on that rhythm. The day watch slept on the deck, wrapped in blankets on thin pads. A few members of the night watch worked quietly in the rigging; some were working below with the carpenter's mates.

Fielder stood on the quarterdeck. Melville nodded to him, finishing his tea in peaceful solitude, and went below to check on Lieutenant Archer.

 

Around the lower quarterdeck a few of the cook's mates quietly set up their burners and pots, preparing breakfast. Meals had been served on the upper side yesterday, so today the Ship's crew would gather on the lower side. Even with the activity of the cooks, things were quiet, still, and sleepy. The lower day watch were sleeping on the deck. Part way up the ladder, from the shadow of the hatch, Melville stopped and watched Archer standing beside the helmsman on the quarterdeck.

 

Around no fire the soldiers sleep to-night,
But lie a-wearied on the ice-bound field,
With cloaks wrapt round their sleeping forms, to shield
Them from the northern winds. Ere comes the light
Of morn brave men must arm, stern foes to fight.
The sentry stands, his limbs with cold congealed;
His head a-nod with sleep; he cannot yield,
Though sleep and snow in deadly force unite.

 

The young lieutenant's face shone by the glow of the deck. His eyes were heavy and his head was nodding. Like everyone else he was exhausted, and it was always hard getting your body adjusted to night shift. There were no winds here, and there was no ice-bound field, but as he looked at the boy standing watch over his mates, those ancient lines about the young sentry came to life.

 

Amongst the sleepers stands that Boy awake,
And wide-eyed plans brave glories that transcend
The deeds of heroes dead; then dreams o'ertake
His tired-out brain, and lofty fancies blend
To one grand theme, and through all barriers break
To guard from hurt his faithful sleeping friend.

 

Or perhaps those words applied to Melville himself. Guarding not just his "faithful sleeping friend," but his friends. To guard all his beloved crew. That was his "one grand theme."

But to truly guard them, he must form them into a fighting ship and then take them in harm's way. It was a truism of war that no one was ever really safe on the defensive. Against an aggressive, hostile enemy, if you sat and huddled on the defensive, or if you ran and hid, in the end you'd die. Only in attack, only by defeating the enemy, could you ultimately be safe.

If they'd run with their crippled Ship they would have been hunted down and killed. If they'd scuttled their Ship and tried hiding on Broadax's World, they would have been as good as dead. Several hundred men and a handful of females, marooned forever on an uncharted planet. Only by attacking their enemy were they able to survive.

In the wars of Old Earth, most of the time, it was only by attacking that the free nations could be triumphant and secure. Whether it was the twentieth-century wars against Nazi Germany and Imperial Japan, or the twenty-first-century wars against terrorism, if they'd sat and done nothing, they would have died in the end. Even in the Cold War against Soviet Russia in the late twentieth century, it could be argued that the democracies of Old Earth won by waging an economic war, and a war of ideas, while constantly preparing for real war.

You were never truly safe on the defensive. To be a great military leader you must sincerely love your men. But to keep your men safe, all too often you had to give them orders that would result in their deaths. That was the great paradox of military leadership. A paradox that destroyed many good men, and now it hung heavy upon Melville's heart.

He stood on the ladder and watched Archer for a few more minutes, then he returned to the upper quarterdeck. Fielder still stood there, looking better than he had in a very long time.

"Good morning, Daniel."

"Good morning, sir." Good. That "sir" appeared to come out completely without irony or resentment.

Melville was amazed to see the head of a tiny spider monkey peering out of the first mate's jacket. "Where did that come from," he said pointing at the little head peering at him owlishly.

Fielder seemed disconcerted, even a little embarrassed as he looked down at the little creature. "Sir, I don't have a clue. It just appeared. I took off my jacket for lunch in the area we've designated as the wardroom. When I went to put the jacket on, there it was. It must have crawled in during my meal, but no one saw it."

Melville walked back to the relative privacy at the rear of the quarterdeck, motioning Fielder to follow him. Lowering his voice he continued, "Did someone fill you in on what the surgeon and purser learned?"

"Aye, sir," Fielder answered, looking a little apprehensive. "Lady Elphinstone told me while I was down there visiting the wounded. Several more monkeys have shown up down there, and in other places. It's all very strange. But I must say, knowing about that, I'm pleased to have one. I think." Looking down with a strange mix of wonder, suspicion, and admiration in his voice, the cynical, embittered lieutenant added, "Cute little bastard, ain't he?" The monkey looked up at him and flicked its tongue out momentarily.

"Yes. Truly cute as a button. Congratulations, I give you joy of your monkey." Melville reached down and scratched behind the creature's ears. "So, can you give me a sitrep?"

"Aye, sir. We seem to be settling into a good, healthy routine." Fielder appeared to actually have some satisfaction, perhaps even pleasure, in his voice as he outlined the ongoing activities.

"The surgeon reports no deaths. They thought they might lose a few more of the severely wounded, but everything has been going very well on that front."

Melville nodded. "Excellent. We've had enough funerals for a lifetime."

"Aye. Meanwhile, the carpenter is ready to go ahead with the gun ports for the 12-pounders. I didn't want to do it during the night watch, the day watch needs their sleep too badly, but by the end of the day watch he thinks they can have it all done. I directed the marines to give all their assistance to the carpenter, all possible prep work has been done, and the project should go quickly. All but the stern guns are already in position."

The marines were the jacks-of-all-trades in the Westerness Navy. They needed time for training in their own skills, but they were also a reserve of able bodies available to assist wherever they were most needed. Over the years they'd developed many skills. They could be of assistance to the purser as stevedores and assistant cooks. They were also litter bearers and orderlies for the surgeon, and ammo bearers and gun handlers for the gunner. Even for the sailing master they could be of use in simple tasks demanding muscle power.

Now their marines' abilities were focused on helping the carpenter and his mates with their many tasks. The first priority was getting the new guns into position, then rearranging the compartments in the hold. Finally, after everything else was finished, they would set up partitions in the quarterdeck cabins, creating a decent wardroom and a suite of cabins for the officers. All sailing ships traditionally carried a good supply of spare spars, raw lumber and partitions. Since this ship was setting out on the first stage of a long war, it was particularly well equipped. Indeed, most of the partitions they needed were already there, but they'd been struck down into the hold when the Guldur cleared her for action.

"Good," Melville responded, "as soon as we get the guns in position I want the gunner to get his crews working on firing drills for the 24-pounders. We don't have much ammo for the 12-pounders, and that's okay because we know how to use them. But it's vital that we get good with those 24-pounders, asap. Anything else?"

"No, sir. That about covers our primary area of progress during the watch. I think the staff can fill you in on their areas during breakfast."

"Very well. And how has Lieutenant Archer been performing?"

Fielder's face took on his usual hard, cynical smile, but there might have been just a hint of fondness there. "He's doing well. He worked a lot during the day watch, helping to get things settled in, and by now I suspect he's ready for a good sleep. After that he should be pretty much on his way to having his body clock set for night watch. The men seem to respect him, and I've no immediate complaints."

"Good. Anything else of interest?"

"Most of the ship's boys seem to be sick. The proverbial dog's breakfast heaved over the side, most of 'em. Must be something they ate disagreeing with them. Elphinstone says they'll live and probably be the wiser for it. The damned fools."

As they were talking, the glass was trickling out the last sands of the twelfth hour of the night watch, and the Ship was coming alive. Most of the day watch was awake. They were rolling up their sleeping pads and stowing them in the netting along the Ship's sides, where they could stop a musket ball and slow a cannonball. In a green or ill-disciplined Ship the bosun's mates would have to waken them, but in this Ship they tended to get up on their own, or with a few nudges from their friends.

It was traditional to pass the con to a midshipman while the officers went to meals. Now, since there was no midshipman, the quartermaster filled in as they went below to breakfast.

Once again, Melville and his officers stood by the quarterdeck rail, eating breakfast and discussing the day's activity. This morning, though, it was the lower quarterdeck. The crew of each deck worked hard to get their area in good shape for "company" on the morning when it was their turn to host meals. With a newly captured Ship and so much to be done, getting truly shipshape wasn't possible, but the lower crew had done their best.

Everything was routine, or as routine as possible on a newly captured Ship in time of war. The mark of a professional was the ability to quickly establish routines.

Lady Elphinstone reported that she'd released a few of the injured to serve as outpatients, and could make room for two 12-pounders. Brother Petreckski had little news to report, and was ready to begin schooling the new midshipmen. The carpenter was set to cut the gun ports and put the new guns in place. Lieutenant Broadax's men were ready to help the carpenter and the gunner with their task. The two rangers, as usual, said very little. They could be counted upon to be where they could help the most.

The sailing master reported that he was about finished with his rerigging of the Ship, and was ready to tinker with putting "royals" in place. These sails, high up on the masts, above the topgallant sails, would be small but they would have tremendous leverage, and could contribute significantly to her speed. "Aye," said Hans, "we logged nigh onta eleven knots last time we 'eaved the log, an' I think 'at's about as good as we're gonna do, as she stands now. But I tell ya, sir, I ain't never seen such stout sticks on a Ship. If we can put royals on 'er, an' maybe even a sprits'l-tops'l, we might squeeze twelve knots out of 'er!"

Twelve knots was a respectable speed; the old Kestrel could maintain fifteen knots when her sails, rigging and masts were in good shape. The Guldur probably never imagined that their Ship could attain anywhere near their current eleven knots. That was what real sailors could do.

"Aye," said Hans as he and his monkey gave a synchronized spit overboard. "Ya know, the story 'as it, that royals was first proposed by King 'enry the Eighth, of old England, in the 1500s. The captains back in those days thought addin' a fourth sail high up on each mast was a silly idear, so they only put the sails up when they thought the king might be watchin'. So the sailors took to callin' 'em 'royal' sails! In the followin' years they became pop'lar. We know Captain Aubrey used 'em a lot, but ye seldom see 'em in two-space. The point bein', they ain't nothin' new. No innervation, jist reintroducin' a fine old concept, seein' as how this ship'l bear it."

This was important, since new inventions went deeply against the fundamental philosophy and the ingrained technophobia of their culture and civilization. "Good," said Melville. "Then we're not really committing an innovation. If they were good enough for Captain Aubrey, they're good enough for me."

"Aye, Cap'n. Ya know I'm dead set agin progress. Progress jist means bad things happen faster."

"And," added Melville, "I think the Ship will like it."

"Aye," said Tibbits, with a gleam in the old carpenter's eye. "She feels the speed, and she likes it. You can feel it in her bones. She's a young Ship, a wolflin' Ship, and she does like to go fast. If she wasn't happy with her lot before, she is now. I suspect those royals will tickle her pink."

Everyone grinned with pleasure at hearing this report from the carpenter. If the Ship was happy, then everyone on her was happy. "A happy Ship is a happy ship," as the saying went, "and a happy Ship is your only right hard-fighting ship." It also cheered them up to see the old carpenter taking joy in life.

"Very good, my friends. Everything is progressing well, and I thank you for all your hard work. Now, have each of you thought about nominations to fill our empty midshipman slots? I'd like to have at least four more middies, and we'll begin a selection board this morning."

Each of his officers made a few suggestions from their sections, and they were directed to have the candidates stand by to report to the upper quarterdeck at one bell into the day watch.

"Mr. Fielder, I'd like to ask you to assist me with the board."

"Aye, sir," nodded the first mate. With twelve hours in his off watch he could perform this duty and still have plenty of sleep time. It was important to have the first mate agree on the middies.

"Brother Theo," Melville continued, "I'd like for you to serve on the board as well."

"Yes, sir." As the purser, he was one officer who wasn't too deeply involved in the ongoing work on their ship, so he could be pulled off other duties without too much difficulty. He was also the primary school teacher for the middies, and a very learned and respected officer.

"One last thing," Melville added as they began to break up. "I want to invite all the officers for dinner tomorrow evening in my cabin. I fear that McAndrews, my steward, has demonstrated himself to be an uninspired cook. Does anyone have someone they'd recommend as a chef? Whoever it is will have to try to find a way to prepare our Guldur provisions into a pleasant meal. A significant challenge for any cook, I dare say."

"Yes, Captain," answered Lady Elphinstone immediately. "My lob-lolly girl, Mrs. Vodi, is an excellent chef. She seems to excel at making exotic meals. The men in our hospital have certainly been enjoying what she has prepared."

"Excellent!" replied Melville. "Do you feel like you could release her from her duties for this task?"

Elphinstone nodded agreeably. "Yes Captain, I can."

"Good, please be so kind as to ask her to report to me at her earliest convenience."

 

The morning flew by as the midshipman's board selected four individuals to serve in the wardroom. Melville was pleased that he, Fielder, and Petreckski seemed to work well together, making their decisions with relative harmony. Between these three, no one could question the judgment of his promotions. A captain could make such selections by himself, but his decisions would ultimately have to be approved by the Admiralty. It was always best to follow proper procedures whenever there was time.

During the proceedings Melville also came to know his clerk, Archibald Hargis. He was a large, introverted man of great intellect. Hargis was a veteran of many such boards, and his assistance was of significant value. Throughout the process he seemed to be distant, dreamy, and not completely present. But the report that he produced was deemed first rate by all three board members.

In the end, they selected two ship's boys and two young crewmen to be promoted. The board was looking mostly for demonstrated bravery and brains. Not only did they interview the candidates, but they interviewed the petty officers who supervised the candidates, to see how each individual fought in the recent battle and how they performed their duties during the long months on the Kestrel. Given the raw ingredients of native courage and intelligence, plus a record that was clean of lying and theft, the navy could give a young midshipman everything he needed to be a suitable officer. Many such young men existed on every ship, but promotion opportunities such as this, "opportunities" created by the deaths of so many superior officers, were rare in peacetime.

One of the ship's boys and both of the crewmen came from the sailing master's crew. This wasn't unusual, since the brightest and most ambitious crewmen were usually drawn to prove themselves high up in the rigging. If a man didn't work out there he was quickly moved to another section.

One of the two crewmen they selected was Hezikiah Jubal, an able seaman and topman who served with distinction in Hans' party in the upper rigging during the boarding action. The other was Lao Tung, an ordinary seaman who had proven himself to be a ferocious fighter in the battle line. He was also remarkably well read.

The two ship's boys were Kande Ngobe and Ellis Palmer. Ngobe was a boy, second class, and Palmer was a boy, first class. Both of them had proven themselves to be quick-witted, with above average intelligence, and they endeared themselves to the hearts of the crew by scampering among their legs during the boarding action. Working down beside the dogs, they'd killed ticks, while hamstringing and "neutering" the curs with their razor-sharp knives. Palmer had been working for the sailing master. Ngobe had been assigned to the ship's carpenter, where he showed great promise in his understanding of the Ship and her inner workings.

Westerness was colonized by the men of Old Earth over four hundred years prior, in the Earth year 2210, almost a century after Mankind's first, disastrous entry into Flatland in 2119. The computers on board that first foray into two-space brought back the Elder King's Gift, a devastating, two-dimensional virus that caused a complete and irrecoverable collapse of the world-wide Info-Net. Within two hundred years of its colonization, Westerness grew to become the dominant force in Mankind's activities in Flatland. By 2420, Westerness assumed control over the worlds of Man. For the last two centuries the Kingdom of Westerness ruled peacefully over the far-flung realm of Man.

The original colonizers of Westerness came from all corners of the Earth, but the majority of them hailed from Britain and North America. Over the centuries it became increasingly rare for anyone to carry distinctive racial characteristics. Thus Mr. Barlet's gunmetal black skin was fairly unusual, as was Lieutenant Archer's red beard. If Midshipman Ngobe was coffee colored, it was coffee with lots of cream, while Midshipman Tung had only faint traces of his oriental ancestry. What was important to the navy was not their appearance, or their ethnic background, but that they were brave and smart. With luck, brains, and lots of hard work these four young men might become commissioned officers in the Westerness Navy.

After the proceedings were closed, the board congratulated the new middies, and put them immediately to work. All of them would have four hours of schooling from Petreckski each morning, starting tomorrow. As the first mate, Fielder would also assign them on a rotating basis to the day and night shifts, with one midshipman assigned to each quarterdeck at all times except for school. Formal recognition among the officers would occur tomorrow evening, at the captain's dinner. At Sunday afternoon formation they would be formally presented to the whole crew. For now there was little more than a handshake and a pat on the back, as they moved to assume their new duties.

 

After they completed the board proceedings Melville, Fielder and Petreckski stepped out onto the deck. Melville noticed Lady Elphinstone's lob-lolly girl waiting patiently. "Mrs. Vodi! Thank you for coming. I've been informed that you're a prime chef. The men of the sick bay all speak very highly of your efforts. They say you've done wonders with the stock of Guldur and Goblan food here on the ship. So I wonder if you'd do us the honor of preparing a meal for my officers and myself tomorrow evening."

Mrs. Vodi had left her spit cup behind to come speak with the captain, but she still kept a chaw in her cheek. "Yes, Captain. I'd be glad to."

"Good! I do sincerely thank you. My steward, and any other resources you may need, are at your disposal. Is there any other way that I can assist you?"

"Yes, Captain, there is. I need a Guldur to assist me. Right now I don't have a clue what I'm working with. I test all the food items on myself first, but some of it might actually be poisonous. A native guide would be very useful. I understand several of them can speak English, and I'd like your permission to release one to be my assistant."

"Of course. I'm on my way to our little brig to check up on the prisoners. Would you like to come with me?"

"Certainly, Captain."

"Good. Brother Theo, would you come with us? I understand that you speak their language?"

"Yes, sir," responded his purser. "But it really wasn't necessary for me to tap into my limited Guldish. I found a translator early on, and used my limited skills to be sure that he was translating faithfully. Their officers all died in battle and they've been very cooperative."

 

Down in the lower hold they found the Guldur, sitting disconsolately, truly hangdog in their appearance, guarded by two marines. Melville moved among them. At first he found his heart pounding as he remembered the battle and their despicable ambush of the Kestrel.

 

When first I saw you in the curious street
Like some platoon of soldier ghosts in gray,
My mad impulse was all to smite and slay,
To spit upon you—tread you 'neath my feet.

 

Then he looked again, and the mental process he went through was one that might have been as old as warfare itself. It made him think of Lee's "German Prisoners."

 

But when I saw how each sad soul did greet
My gaze with no sign of defiant frown,
How from tired eyes looked spirits broken down,
How each face showed the pale flag of defeat,
And doubt, despair, and disillusionment,
And how were grievous wounds on many a head,
And on your garb red-faced was other red:
And how you stooped as men whose strength was spent,
I knew that we had suffered each other,
And could have grasped your hand and cried,
"My brother!"

 

Very quickly Vodi, with Petreckski's assistance, picked her assistant. He was a buff-colored Guldur who had been a purser's mate. He claimed to be familiar with the ship's comestibles, where they were stored, and how they should be prepared.

It was sad to see how eager they were to be selected for any duty that would take them away from their current, depressing conditions. All of them were willing to give their parole and serve as trustees among the ship's crew, apparently undisturbed by any sense of loyalty to their old masters. Their lives had been harsh, and they seemed truly doglike in their willingness to give their loyalty to anyone who would offer kindness, structure, and meaning to their lives.

 

Mrs. Vodi went to work exploring the foodstuffs that were stored all over the ship. She, the captain's steward, and their Guldur guide poked into every corner of the ship. Her usual entourage of cats kept their distance, looking with dismay and distrust at the Guldur. She was particularly intrigued by barrels of brains that were stored in a brine solution. "Well, Fido, what do we have here?"

"Rit's prig brains! Grrood struff!"

"Pig brains. Well, well, well, Rex. Combined with those nuts and that bottled green stuff we found, I do believe we'll treat the captain and his guests to thrice cooked javelina brain with crunchy pecan coating and sweet leek sauce. Or a reasonable facsimile thereof." She was happy to find such an excellent food source, but McAndrews didn't see it that way.

"You call that food? I wouldn't feed that to a hole in the ground!"

Vodi spat in her cup ("spputt") and eyed him at a cross angle: "Aye, that's food and some of the best at that."

"Rats right! Grroood strufff!"

McAndrews took a cautious step back. He was half convinced that the old woman must have been hit on the head in their recent battle, and was inclined to poison them all.

Vodi sneered, "You tell 'im, Spot." Stepping forward and leaning into McAndrews' face she continued with bravado. "When I set it on the board for you to feed to that noisy hole in your face, boy, I expect you to take the first bite because I said so, but the second, oh, I think the second bite you'll take on your own and with many a thought towards how much you can get before it disappears into the other holes seated around the table."

 

Their meal the next evening was a roaring success, a vital step in the process of bonding them all together as a team and establishing a new routine in their new ship. The thrice cooked javelina brains were a resounding hit, and outside the dining room McAndrews did indeed vie with Vodi's Guldur assistant to sneak in bites whenever he could. Cats also kept slipping in, mewling for tidbits of whatever it was that smelled so good. They all competed with the ever-greedy ship's boys coming in and out on errands, grabbing bites at every opportunity and constantly being whacked by Vodi's wooden spoon. "This shur beets that dam' munky meet," muttered one as he snagged a morsel while ducking a swipe from Vodi.

At the head of the table Melville sat with his monkey on his shoulder. He was dressed, like all the sailors, in his blue jacket over a white cravat and white trousers. To his right, in the place of honor, was Lady Elphinstone, in her normal yellow gown with emeralds in her hair. By tradition that seat should have gone to the first mate, but a beautiful lady of noble lineage was gladly given precedence. Her grace and charm added much to the evening as their dinner wound its pleasant course. Across from her sat Fielder and his monkey. To her right was Archer, and across from him was Crater, both with monkeys perched on their shoulders. Their two brand-new lieutenants were uneasy with their new positions, but the natural goodwill and the freely flowing Guldur beer combined with their youthful cheer to make them good guests.

To Archer's right, and considerably lower even though she sat on a thick book, was Broadax. The last of their commissioned officers, she was a splash of bright marine scarlet that balanced out Elphinstone's yellow amidst the sea of navy blue. For once Broadax left behind the obligatory helmet and omnipresent cigar. Her monkey seemed slightly bewildered as it peered out from amidst the stiff locks that splayed out in disarray from her scalp. Across from her was Hans and his monkey, both with discreet chaws of tobacco in their cheeks. Although he had the least seniority among the warrant officers, his position as sailing master gave him traditional precedence among them.

Broadax and Hans were both uncomfortable at the beginning of their first formal dinner as commissioned officers. They were more accustomed to quaffing their drinks, which they firmly held to be a lot like drinking, except that you were allowed to spill more. But, like Archer and Crater, they too quickly adjusted and, much to their surprise, were able to enjoy themselves.

To Broadax's right was Petreckski in a clean brown robe, then the gunner, followed by the carpenter. The two rangers in soft, beaded buckskins completed the party. These were all old hands at such dinners and they kept the conversation, the alcohol, and the food flowing freely.

Each of them had a servant standing behind them. The table was set with a gleaming sea of Guldur silver service that they'd found on board, all polished to a brilliant luster by Melville's steward, McAndrews, who now stood contentedly behind his captain. The service was only silver plate, of very little real value, but it added significantly to the pleasure of the evening.

It was a large party for so small a cabin, but with the table set athwartships and the two 12-pounders trundled into the captain's office and sleeping cabin, it could be done. To Melville's left were the windows looking out on the vast blue expanse of Flatland with the shimmering galaxies hanging above. On the other three sides were white, Moss-coated bulkheads. Immediately behind Melville the bulkhead was adorned with a star-shaped array of quite utilitarian pistols and swords. At the opposite end was a bookshelf. To his right was the doorway, flanked by a coat rack and a chart locker.

The meal was that odd mixture so common in military life. Elegance mixed with mundane necessity. In this case it was Vodi's gourmet thrice cooked javelina brains, "or-a-reasonable-facsimile-thereof," combined with ancient ship's provisions. The whole affair was enlivened by Vodi's amiable commentary as she brought each dish to table.

"Now, gentlefolk," she said as she brought the soup in, for once without her chaw of tobacco, "I'm not all that much of a reader, but I do read everything I can about food and cooking. Captain Aubrey's biographer once referred to a similar meal. 'This liquid is technically known as soup,' as he put it. May I ladle you out one full medical dose? 'It is pleasant enough to see the remnants of peas so aged and worn that even the weevils scorned them and died at their side, so that now we have both predator and prey to nourish us.' " This was especially humorous since it was a fairly accurate description of the daily fare provided for them by the ship's cook. However, in this case the weevils did appear to have been assiduously separated out and replaced with a most pleasant mélange of spices. "What is pleasanter still, is to see the infamous brew spooned from this gleaming great silver tureen, the gift of the previous residents of our humble abode. We are informed that 'however poor you are—and nobody could be much poorer in reality than sailors in a ship without any stores—what crusts you may scrape together eat with more relish in handsome silver.' " And indeed it was true.

"Next, gentlefolk, we have a truly villainous piece of mystery meat, that has traveled the galaxy in its time, growing steadily more horny and wooden as the years went by. But we shall eat it without concern, for we have all grown and thrived on worse."

Finally came the piéce de résistance, accompanied by Vodi's own family history. "An ancient family recipe tells us the background of this dish. Family tradition has it that one of my ancestors actually included this in a book called The Contented Poacher's Epicurean Odyssey. Great-great, many-times-great-gramma Vodi, maysherestinpeace, tells the true tale about the hunting of one particular wild pig. A very large and dangerous creature indeed, nicknamed 'Major' who was in the habit of ordering people the hell out of his domain. Apparently, the sacred honor of the Great Apes was in eternal jeopardy if they could be bested by a pig. One fine hot and misty morning five guys and seven dogs set out to bring Major down. But there's many a slip twixt dress and drawers, as Gramma used to say. Some time after the fight started in earnest, the survivors straggled out to tell their story. One man lost his leg, another his life!" Here you could see her mouth twitch as she yearned for a chaw of tobacco to spit for emphasis at this point.

"They had shot him once for each of the dogs he gutted and flung into the bushes and once again for the fella whose leg he ripped to the bone. The guy with the ripped leg and the three other survivors waited in the trees until Major bled to death on the ground. The moral of the story seems to be something along the lines of 'I am not now, nor was I ever that hungry, and if chicken's for dinner I'll take chicken and be glad of it!' Me, I'm glad to have so many excellent javelina brains provided at someone else's expense."

At the end of an excellent meal combined with quality commentary and conversation, the cloth was drawn and the wine bottle made its rounds, along with a plate of ship's biscuits. Melville automatically tapped the biscuit on the table causing a few weevils to race out and hide, peering out from under his plate. For centuries sailors have stoically put up with creatures in their biscuits, and the Ships of Flatland were no different.

Usually the weevils elicited no comment, they were just a part of shipboard life. But in this case Melville brought it to the attention of his purser and surgeon, both of whom were fairly new to navy life. "Doctor, Brother Theo," he began, catching their attention, "have either of you ever been instructed in the naval protocol for the selection of weevils?"

Both of his guests looked somewhat confused, and the other sailors sat back with anticipation and pleased smiles on their faces. "No, Captain," said the monk. "There are so many nautical concepts and rules that I have yet to learn, and I fear that this one hasn't been brought to my attention. Doctor, do you know of which our good Captain speaks?"

"Nay, sir," replied Elphinstone with an enchanting smile. "Pray, tell us."

"Well," said Melville, "of these two here, trying to hide under my plate, which would you be inclined to choose?"

"I would guess the larger," replied Brother Theo, "or perhaps the faster, or perhaps the only good one is a dead one?"

"All excellent guesses, but the truth is my friends, that in the navy you must always select the lesser of two weevils."

The guests laughed appreciatively, but the sailors laughed with even more delight. It was an old, old joke, come alive and afresh each time it was inflicted on the uninitiated, establishing the kind of heritage and tradition that they deeply valued.

Eventually their talk turned to one of the oldest of all subjects in the navy: the mystery and wonder of Flatland. Several discussions were flowing freely back and forth when a conversation between Petreckski and Valandil caught the attention of the group. Petreckski was speaking of the nature of the Keel. "A mechanism that provides entry into two-space, with a side effect of heat, that would almost be what you expect."

"Yes, and what of the gravity?" asked the Sylvan ranger as he leaned back in his chair.

"That probably comes from Flatland, representing the gravitational pull of the galaxy. Which is also what you might expect. All of this is acceptable to the rational mind. But a life-form that just happens to provide light and air? Light and air tailored precisely to our needs? It defies imagination, sir. It is just too much. So bizarre that we had to 'invent,' or anthropomorphize some godlike creature to create it. They say that Lady Elbereth gave it to us as a 'gift,' just as the ignorant Greek peasants could only understand the sun as a chariot in the sky brought to us every day by a god. No, the Elbereth Moss is too much to ask a reasonable person to accept."

"And so?" asked Elphinstone with keen interest.

"So, my lady, we've proven that it doesn't and cannot exist."

This was greeted with wry grins, groans and expressions of polite disgust.

"Or!" continued the monk with a grin on his cherubic face, "it is intentional. A symbiotic life-form. It's alive, and intentionally adapting to us, just as we adapt to it. The reason why it's exactly what we need is because that is what we need. A sentient life-form is trying to provide, to the best of its ability, just what we could have wished for."

"Now that really does defy imagination!" interjected Mr. Barlet with a raised eyebrow and a friendly grin on his ebon face.

"Does it, my worthy Master Gunner?" replied the monk, returning the smile. "Does it indeed? We live, we've found it. It lives, and it has found us. That's what life does. It finds what it requires for existence. Furthermore this theory explains one other mystery. Why is the Ship sentient? Perhaps it's a colony, a vast colony of life- forms, working together to give us what we need. When the captain or the carpenter 'talks' to the Ship, he isn't talking to a creature, he's talking to a whole vast nation. Or, perhaps, to the elected representatives of that vast nation."

"Aye," said their carpenter. This was his area of expertise, and he warmed to it. "It has been proposed before. That would explain why the larger the amount of moss the more intelligent it is . . . and the slower it is. The little bit on a rifle or pistol's Keel barely musters a purr, like a tribble. While the cannon is like a dog. The cutters are like children and the Ship, why the Ship is every bit as intelligent as us, yet slow and ponderous in her thinking."

"Could that 'life-form' be what caused the Crash?" asked Crater.

"That's the dominant theory," the monk replied. "The reason why the Elder King's Gift was able to destroy Earth's Info-Net was because the 'virus' was two dimensional. Inside the computer world it could exist, even thrive, in three-space—as a living body makes it possible for a virus to survive and thrive. It got into the computer brought into two-space by the first explorers. They brought it home and it reproduced exponentially, destroying everything in its reach. Brought into three-space, this two-space life-form became a parasite or a virus when it found a suitable environment. Like any deadly virus, as it destroyed its host, it also destroyed its habitat. In the end, both the virus and the host no longer exist."

"But," said Melville, intrigued by the direction the conversation was taking, "in nature a virus continues to exist because it can move on to other hosts. It's communicable."

"Yes, sir, but who says this virus isn't communicable? Most other civilizations that have entered two-space report having similar experiences. 'Spores' of the virus appear to be out in two-space. If you're foolish enough to bring a computer into two-space, and then bring it back home and connect it to a network, it will do what any virus does. Reproduce, live, thrive in one great blaze of glory, and then die, pulling its host down with it."

"Okay," said Melville, "back to the Elbereth Moss. What could be the purpose of the 'symbiosis' with us? What do we give to it?"

"Perhaps travel?" interjected Elphinstone. "As a cocklebur would attach itself to a dog, to be transported and planted miles away?"

With a grin Melville added, "Or a flea, or . . . maybe a bedbug. An anonymous ditty comes to mind:

 

"The June bug hath a gaudy wing,
The lightning bug a flame,
The bed bug hath no wings at all
But he gets there just the same."

 

There were appreciative grins and chuckles all around, then Elphinstone continued. "So, it could get transportation. Or, like a flea, or bedbug, it might get sustenance from us. Perhaps it gets companionship, as thou wouldst get from a dog or a cat. Maybe it gets shared information and knowledge, like a fellow sentient species might give to us. There are four viable options. Mindless transport, sustenance, friendly companionship, and equal partnership. Or possibly some combination thereof. Or something completely different."

"Indeed," said Petreckski. "On Old Earth there is something called a slime mold. It exists as individual cells when it's in a favorable environment. Yet when things start to go bad, some of them put out a chemical signal, which is picked up by the others. They group together and form a multicellular animal, a worm of sorts, which crawls out of the drying slime, up to the highest point around. It grows a stalk on top, which forms a bulb of spores that launch themselves into the wind, in search of a better home. Our 'moss' might have a similar lifestyle, traveling from planet to planet in two-space. Given enough time, it seems to have developed into an intelligent creature."

"Aye," said Melville as he handed a tidbit up to his monkey. "An intelligent creature that has become our friend and companion. If some superior alien species should ever judge us, perhaps we have this to our credit, that we could become friends with something so very strange. The bottle stands by you, Mr. Crater."

As the wine bottle came round to Melville, he made a formal cough and said, "Mr. Fielder, the Queen."

"Ladies and Gentlemen," said Fielder, "the Queen of Westerness," and they all drank deeply.

Valandil added, "Sisters, brothers, the King of Osgil," and they drank again.

"Aye," added Melville, "God bless them both. And may I propose a toast to our fallen comrades, and to the good Ship Kestrel, which although gone, still lives on.

 

"Bind her, grind her, burn her with fire,
Cast her ashes into the sea, —
She shall escape, she shall aspire,
She shall arise to make men free;
She shall arise in a sacred scorn,
Lighting lives that are yet unborn."

 

"Well said, sir," replied Lady Elphinstone, turning to Melville when she'd done her loyal duty to both rulers and Kestrel. "That was a delightful dinner, but before we go, wouldst thou permit me to give a toast? To the dear Fang, and may she long continue to bite the queen's enemies."

"Hear her, hear her," said one and all, as they drank. Then, led by Melville's spontaneous act, they all splashed a dollop of wine onto the deck of their ship. To their amazement it quickly disappeared, like blood soaked up by the Elbereth Moss.

 

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