“Thanks,” Matt said, reading further. “I’m sure she is.” His expression had changed. “Icarus will be much appreciated,” he murmured, then he began to read aloud again. The next part seemed to have been composed in a hurry.
ADDENDUMM X A MAJOR REPEAT MAJR VOLCAANIC EVENT OBSRVED SSE SOUTHERNMOST FIL-PIN SETLE-MENT MIN-DAAN-AO VICINITY TALAUD X ALL CO-MUNICATIONS USS TOOLBOX LAUMER EXPEDISION LOST X HEVY SEA SURGE SOUTH ISLANDS X MUCH DAMAGE X FEAR WIRST NOT YET HAPPEN X SAD CON-DOLINCES ALL OUR PEEPLE X WILL UPDATE X MESSGE END XXX
“Good God!” Jenks exclaimed, stunned.
“Yes, sir,” Gray agreed somberly. “God help ’em.”
“Commodore Jenks, please arrange a meeting with Governor Radcliff,” Matt said woodenly. “We have a few things left to sort out before we take off, and the date for that’s finally near. If our replenishment vessels arrive in four days, I want to be underway in six.” He shook the note in his hand and looked at the men around him. “We’re running out of time, gentlemen, I feel it. We may not be trying to refloat a submarine on top of a volcano, but events might still overwhelm us while we sit here goofing off. Before much longer, Billingsley’ll be arriving in Imperial waters. It stands to reason that with the princess captive, whatever scheme the Company’s cooking up will likely hatch shortly after that.” He looked at Jenks. “I’m sorry, Commodore, I wish you could be with us, but we’re going to have to sprint for it. Fine a ship as Achilles is, she just can’t keep up when Walker stretches her legs.”
Jenks nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “Very well, Captain Reddy,” he said and sighed, looking out at his ship in the harbor. “I will arrange the meeting, but if you mean to move that swiftly—something I cannot debate, since I too feel a growing sense of urgency—I must leave my ship in the hands of Lieutenant Grimsley and accompany you. Walker might be able to sink half the Imperial Fleet, but she can’t sink New Britain. You simply can’t stand offshore and demand all Company officials be marched down and hanged at execution dock.” He chuckled grimly. “Again, it is amply demonstrated that neither of us can succeed alone. I can’t get there in time without you, and once there, you can’t accomplish anything without me.” He paused. “No offense meant, and I don’t mean to boast, but I do think I can secure the aid of the one other person who might be in a position to help us.” In response to Matt’s blank stare, he shrugged and elaborated. “The Governor-Emperor, of course. You see, despite everything, the Governor-Emperor and I are . . . well acquainted. He will see me if we make our presence known, and he will believe me about his child.”
The “Governor’s Palace” was an impressive edifice. It wasn’t the biggest independent dwelling on Respite—that title belonged to the Company Director’s Mansion—but completely enclosed within the formidable harbor defenses they’d seen from sea, it was the most secure and commanded the preeminent view. The structure itself was the most “familiar” Matt had yet seen on this world, in terms of architecture. It looked much like the homes dedicated to the commanding officers of any number of American military facilities back in the States and abroad. It was large, airy, comfortable, and tastefully decorated. The elevation and an unopposed breeze from almost any direction provided Matt with a tantalizing, nostalgic hint of an early fall day on the coast. Except for the plastered limestone columns supporting the seaward-facing porch roof on the ground floor, there was little ostentation. The porch also overlooked a rather radically sloping “parade ground” surrounding a flagpole resembling a topmast and ending with a line of officers’ barracks just short of the defensive wall. The grade was such that one could sit on the porch and see the harbor and the vast sea beyond with a view unobstructed by anything but the Imperial flag. It was breathtaking.
Matt and his companions stepped down from the donkey-drawn “land barge” with spoked, wooden wheels that had carried them up the impressive slope like a San Francisco streetcar. The conveyance had pleasantly surprised Matt the first time he rode it to the palace. It was a simple affair, built with a single back and two outward-facing benches. Even with six admirably teamed and amazingly dedicated donkeys pulling it, it moved at a ponderous pace, but though unsprung, it was surprisingly comfortable. On that first visit, he’d expected to have to hoof it all the way to the Governor’s Palace dressed in his deteriorating best or, worse perhaps, ride one of the ridiculous donkeys. Either eventuality might have caused an international incident. Juan Marcos had performed miracles maintaining Matt’s original “Mess Dress,” and the sweaty damage of such a trek might have driven him to fire on the palace with one of Walker’s guns. Since then, he’d enjoyed riding the land barge several times during its winding, scenic, relaxing ascent. Sitting on it, calm and still, was a little more difficult when it came down the hill, though.
Matt, Gray, Bradford, Spanky, and Chack were received at the fortress gate by an Imperial Marine, who saluted and politely escorted them across the stubbly parade ground and the palace lawn to the porch. Commodore Jenks, O’Casey, and Achilles Marine Lieutenant Blair were already seated upon colorfully cushioned wooden chairs, attending Governor Radcliff, his adjutant, the Respite militia colonel, and several diaphanously dressed ladies. Drawing closer, Matt recognized the governor’s wife and three daughters. The wife, Emelia, was a short, round, but surprisingly attractive woman who habitually wore the amused expression of one who observed but wouldn’t stoop to dabble in the affairs of men. The daughters shared the attractiveness of their mother in younger, slimmer forms, visible in the breeze despite the shapeless clothing. They shared a trace of her “look” as well. In Imperial society, Emelia’s was probably an extremely liberated life, and Matt suspected that Radcliff appreciated her opinions, in private at least. They seemed comfortable together, and the governor, as in the past, didn’t immediately shoo his women away.
The Imperial men stood as the destroyermen approached.
“Captain Reddy of the United States warship Walker, come to call with companions, Your Excellency,” barked the Marine escort. Matt saluted, as did the others except for Bradford, who swept his ridiculous hat from his head and bowed, pointing his ruddy, balding pate at their hosts.
The Imperial officers returned the salute in their slightly different fashion, but Radcliff was beckoning them forward. “Please do come aboard,” he boomed. “These militant ceremonials waste time we may later regret! Nothing against ceremonials, militant and otherwise, but everything has a season and we face a stormy one indeed.”
The ladies didn’t rise or move in any way, but all seemed intensely focused on Chack, as before. His “American” English was near perfect now, as the first Lemurian who’d ever begun to learn it, and he was the very personification of military professionalism and bearing. He’d clearly impressed the governor, but he was just as clearly aware—and mortified—that the Imperial ladies considered him exotically cute. Matt saw it too and was amused by their fascination and Chack’s discomfiture, but doubted the governor’s ladies would consider Chack so cute and cuddly if they’d ever seen him in battle.
“Please, gentle . . . ah . . . gentlemen,” Radcliff continued, suddenly a little discomfited himself, “do join us. Watch your footing on the steps there—the spacing’s all wrong. I’ve been meaning to have it fixed.... Well done! True seamen never even notice! Please be seated, everyone. We have much to discuss!”
Matt sat on one of the empty chairs and removed his hat while the others did the same. Raking his fingers through his hair to slick it back, he noticed one of the daughter had shifted her attention to him. He tried to ignore her gaze.
“Your Excellency,” Matt began, “I’m sure Commodore Jenks told you the news we received yesterday?”
“Indeed.” Radcliff’s expression turned grim. “You have my most sincere condolences. We have considerable experience with volcano-ism and the sea surges such activity can produce. I do hope the ultimate toll won’t be as high as you fear.”
“Thank you, sir. Another message today added little new information.”<
br />
Radcliff paused briefly, then shook his head. “Pardon me, Captain Reddy. Please know I sympathize with your concern, but I cannot restrain my wonder regarding your devices for communicating over such vast distances! The message Jenks conveyed to me was saddening . . . and disturbing in other ways that we must discuss, but the means of its delivery . . . I cannot comprehend it.”
Courtney Bradford leaned forward in his chair. “My dear Governor Radcliff! It’s really quite simple, once you understand some very fundamental principles—”
“Courtney,” Matt interjected, hoping the Imperials hadn’t been too offended by Bradford’s exuberant and completely unconscious condescension. O’Casey, at least, understood a few of those principles. “Later.” He looked at Radcliff. “Right now, let’s focus on the message itself. What else about it is ‘disturbing’?”
Radcliff glanced at his adjutant, his face reddening a little. “A single moment more, if you’ll indulge me. First, to complete an understanding reached between Mr. Bradford and myself, let me say that I understand that there are . . . certain aspects of our civilization you may not be comfortable with.” He sighed, and his eyes flicked toward his wife. “I might even make so bold as to propose that I . . . increasingly share a measure of discomfort regarding one issue in particular.” He spread his hands helplessly. “Sadly, momentous change often requires considerable time. In our negotiations, Mr. Bradford has proposed ways those changes might be accelerated, if not instantly achieved.” He looked at Bradford. “I believe you summed it up nicely by referring to a ‘balance of supply and demand’?”
“Indeed,” Courtney said, somewhat pleased with himself. “An end to this hideous ‘Company’ and its abhorrent trafficking in human flesh must necessarily precede any real progress, but the Alliance does offer an immediate, if modest, ‘safety valve’ to alleviate the ‘oversupply’ problem here on Respite, at least. Over time, a decreased supply of a certain . . . commodity . . . within the Empire must necessarily appreciate its value and, eventually, status.”
Radcliff nodded seriously. “Ingenious and succinct,” he said. “In that respect, on that subject, I have made my decision. With your guarantees of decent treatment and these somewhat unprecedented ‘rights’ you speak of, any Respitan woman who has completed her indenture or is otherwise free of any legal or commercial indebtedness is also free to choose for herself if she wishes to emigrate to the lands or ‘Homes’ collectively constituting these ‘Allied Powers’ of yours.” He glanced again at his wife and grimaced at her apparently . . . more satisfied amusement.
“I regret, however,” he continued, “that with the exception of a few dubious Company contracts I’m inclined to throw out, you must continue to purchase the obligations of other . . . persons so . . . encumbered. Should you choose . . .” Radcliff’s grimace grew more pronounced as he spoke. It was apparent that he’d never contemplated this aspect of his culture’s “institution” so deeply before. He cleared his throat and marched determinedly on. “Should you choose to retire a . . . debt with anyone who holds it,” he finally managed, “and they refuse to sell said . . . debt, for any reason, they shall be liable to a charge of usury.” He glanced at his wife again. “Owning debt is one thing,” he said defensively, “but owning people, quite another!”
“Thank you, Your Excellency,” Matt said simply. It was a major concession, he knew—one he’d held out for. Despite Courtney’s arguments about “commodities” and “supply and demand,” he would pay the actual value of the obligations of the women Courtney chose—but no more. There must be no “price gouging.” He’d argued that that would imply the owners of the debt truly did consider the women who “owed” it to be their property. The Respitan economy might even take a hit, particularly if a lot of “free” women actually chose to emigrate. By the look of things, they did a lot of the hard work on the island. The signs were that many would, but how would they decide when the time actually came to step aboard a ship crewed almost exclusively by another species and leave behind everything they’d ever known? For that matter, how would his own destroyermen respond if they went from famine to feast virtually overnight? He had no concern that the women would be well treated by the Lemurians, and there’d be plenty for them to do. In that respect, their lives might not even change that much. But they would be free and equal—and they would know what respect felt like.
Radcliff had extended an olive branch, but Matt could see there was a catch. He waited for the other shoe to drop and when it didn’t, he spoke. “That has nothing to do with the message we received yesterday,” he prodded. “What exactly ‘disturbs’ you about it?”
“Well . . . I mean no offense, please understand. It’s just that this apparent armada of yours, advancing toward Respite, leaves me uneasy.”
“Uneasy,” stressed the militia colonel.
“I understood you had an . . . oil collier, a ‘tanker’ squadron coming to supply your needs,” Radcliff continued, “but the message hints at a considerably larger force. Large enough to take one of our biggest ships in tow.” He held out a hand. “Don’t mis-take me, we are all very grateful for the rescue of Ulysses, but let me explain. As you know, there are elements on this island that have flirted with secession from the Empire. I am one of those ‘elements’ myself.” He became agitated and abrupt. “But, well, let it be said: we pray the Empire might be repaired, and Commodore Jenks assures me that you could be of tremendous help in that regard. I do hope and believe you are the friends you seem to be. If the effort should fail, however, if the Empire should continue its suicidal slide, we will secede. We have no choice. Even as we flirt with secession, our beloved Empire, through the Company, flirts with even darker things. We will not,” he added, suddenly forceful, “throw off one corrupted master only to be enslaved by another!”
Matt was taken aback. He looked at Jenks and knew the man must have explained, but still the governor wanted more guarantees. Upon reflection, he supposed that was reasonable, given Respite’s position. He saw Emelia staring hard at him and realized she was probably the ultimate source of the governor’s sudden apprehension. Oddly, he was pleased. If someone as powerful as Governor Radcliff would listen to a woman’s concerns in this society, even when privately expressed, there might be hope for the Empire yet. He felt another stab of anxious fear and loss. He knew that without Sandra backing him up, he never would have accomplished half of what he had.
He cleared his throat. “Governor Radcliff, you have my personal guarantee, upon my honor as an Officer and a Gentleman commissioned into the United States Navy, that my country . . . the Alliance we represent . . . has no territorial ambitions here. We’re engaged in a terrible war with an unimaginably brutal foe thousands of miles from here, and that’s where I’d be if the criminal Billingsley and the ‘Honorable’ New Britain Company hadn’t abducted . . . some of our people as well as your Imperial Princess, and perpetrated an unprovoked attack on Allied persons and property. We now know that not only Billingsley but the Company he serves was responsible for that, so we’re at least as much at war with the Company as you are. We’re natural allies in that respect, but we expect no further assistance from you than that war will require. To that end, Mr. Bradford will hopefully conclude negotiations for basing and quartering treaties to support the logistical requirements necessary for that operation.”
“As I said,” Jenks explained, “their ‘Task Force Oil Can’ will arrive, and most of its elements will move on to New Britain, escorted by Icarus and assorted Allied warships. Achilles and USS Simms will follow almost immediately in our wake with a couple of fast, ‘razeed’ oilers. All that will ultimately remain here is a communications facility—to transmit and receive the amazing messages you admired—and some support personnel to ensure a steady flow of supplies to support the campaign Captain Reddy described. It really is that simple, and that’s all there is to it. I have seen their real war and their real enemy, gentlemen, and claiming Respite for themselves is not even o
n their horizon. They don’t want to be here.”
“But what constitutes the ‘end’ of that ‘campaign’?” Emelia suddenly blurted. The men looked at her, stunned, and in the governor’s case, clearly somewhat angry. Emelia defiantly held her ground.
“The destruction of the New Britain Company, ma’am,” Matt said simply. “And frankly,” he added after an introspective pause, “getting even. Saving your country after that is up to you.”
CHAPTER 21
North of Tjilatjap (Chill-chaap)
Santa Catalina’s engine room telegraph rang up “Astern Slow,” and Dean Laney stood up from the rough box he was sitting on. (Strangely, though a few chairs had survived the “lighten ship” purge, every single chair, stool, or anything even vaguely comfortable to sit on in engineering had vanished.) Thinking dark thoughts, he winced at the resurgent piles that had begun tormenting him again. As quickly as he could, he moved to shift his own lever in response. “Astern slow!” he shouted at the ’Cat throttlemen.
The ’Cats’ll love The Thing, Laney thought. If it works. He crossed his fingers. The best ’Cat snipes understood turbines now, but they knew those were beyond their capability to build from scratch—at least in the near term. The compound engines they’d been making worked well, and so did the huge, crude, bulky, triple-expansion monsters being built for the “flattop Homes,” but this was the first “American” reciprocating engine they’d ever seen. They were familiar with the principle, but this machine represented the virtual “state of the art” of its type.
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