"Very good, sir," said Fielder leaning back in his chair with a pleasant smile. "Then honor presents no option but a duel. As Robert Heinlein put it, 'An armed society is a polite society.' We are an armed society, and we are a polite society. You of course have choice of weapons. The mess will choose its champion to respond upon the field of honor."
"Duel!? Duel?! I have a life expectancy that's several hundred years long. You think I'm going to risk it in some primitive duel? You can all be damned!"
"Very well," Fielder replied, pointedly leaving the "sir" out this time, his lazy smile still in place. "Then you are no longer welcome in this mess. You can take your meals with the men, but I give you fair warning: try any of this insulting foolishness with them and they will simply thrash you. Now leave, or I will ask the mess steward to throw you out. You are no longer a gentleman, and it is beneath the members of the mess to lay hands upon you. But we will happily ask the steward to do so."
Cuthbert Asquith XVI looked up at the two sailors who materialized beside him, grinning eagerly, looking for any excuse to toss the boorish earthworm out on his ear.
"Yes, I'm leaving," he said, "But I'm going straight to the captain." He stormed out, just as Lady Elphinstone was coming in from making her rounds in sickbay.
"My," she said, "he didn't last long."
Melville was quietly content with his lot in the world. The promised draft of Sylvan topmen were aboard and they were performing admirably, along with the other new crew members they had picked up on Ambergris. Fang had received top priority for a full-scale refitting in a major dockyard, and she was happy. They'd turned a tidy profit in their trading. And, in spite of his sincere efforts to close with the blockading fleet, the enemy had declined his invitation to come out and play. He'd led the evacuation fleet and chased away the Guldur blockade without scraping the smallest patch of paint, or harming so much as a single hair on a single crewman's head.
Sun Tzu, around 500 b.c., said that the ultimate trick in warfare was to defeat your enemy without having to fight them. One of the commentaries several hundred years later said, 'But if you do, who will declare you valorous?' Well, at this point in his life Melville didn't feel the need for someone to declare him valorous. He'd done his best to engage the enemy, and he could find satisfaction in the fact that his crew and passengers had come out of danger without harm.
Even his passengers weren't a significant problem. The Stolsh refugees were painfully appreciative, and only too happy to oblige any request. In fact, the female members were a bit too eager to please, and Melville kept his marine guards busy keeping the crew and the refugees separated. On a long voyage this would have been awkward, but on a short trip such as this it was little more than a pleasant diversion filled with relatively harmless flirtation. A bit of a preview of what awaited the returning heroes when they finally were given shore leave on Osgil.
Another major source of pleasure for Melville, and for the entire ship, was the state of improved relations on the quarterdeck. Fielder had never shown open disrespect to Melville, but the newfound regard he demonstrated toward the captain since the battle of Ambergris, their walking together and their regular consultations hadn't gone unnoticed. Melville and his first officer also found a mutual delight in trim paintwork, perfectly drawing sails, squared yards, and flemished ropes. After their stay in the Stolsh shipyard, Fang had never in her existence looked better and the two officers took great pride in their beautiful ship. A pride that their crew shared as they sailed trimly in and out and around a vast fleet full of Stolsh and Sylvan admirers.
Of course, there was still one major area in which Fang's captain and her first officer would probably never see eye-to-eye. Melville's delight in his ship's appearance was greatly surpassed by his zeal for taking the whole beautiful, fragile edifice into righteous combat with an evil and less esthetically inclined enemy, who would do far more than just mar her paint given the opportunity. Needless to say, Fielder strongly disapproved of this sentiment, but in the end Melville was the captain.
Yes, Melville had been content with his world. Until this little roly-poly earthworm came into his office and started
"demanding" things.
He weighed his options carefully. One course of action which he considered seriously was to have Ulrich kill the little toad and have his body slipped quietly overboard. As pleasant as that prospect was, his sense of duty and his common sense both argued against it.
"Sir," he said, with careful, measured tones. "You are a diplomat, and you should understand the need to respect the cultural mores and taboos of those around you. Especially on board a ship, where men are at each other's throats for months on end, such civilities are particularly important. There are many harsh, draconian things we must do at sea, but across the centuries we've found them to be essential to survival. Do you think that you can force them, that you can browbeat them into agreeing with you? Believe me, you cannot. All you can do is to generate greater and greater degrees of animosity every day. Therefore it's a reasonable and cultured compromise simply to agree to leave disagreeable topics alone."
Melville was trying very hard to be reasonable, but he was getting the impression that it wasn't working. Still, he continued, "If you aren't willing to apologize, or to accept the offer of a duel, then your only option is to mess with the crew. Or with the rest of the refugees, who are eating with the men."
"I'm under no obligation to honor the superstitions of a primitive society. And if they don't want to listen to the truth, that's their problem. Civilized men should be able to discuss matters."
"Yes, but if you cannot agree, then civilized individuals respect each other's differences and avoid disagreeable topics. When told that this topic was disagreeable, insulting, and offensive to your messmates, you continued to pursue it. Which is a perfectly acceptable course of action, as long as you're willing to give satisfaction to any offended parties."
"Then be damned to you!" shouted Cuthbert Asquith XVI, as he stalked out of the captain's office.
The ship sailed on, riding herd on a convoy of military and civilian vessels, integrating their new crew members, and training. Always, ever training. Some captains would have their men grumbling at such incessant training drills, but not this crew, and not this captain. They'd learned to love their young captain, as they'd learned to hate their enemy, both emotions forged in the crucible of battle.
Every day they fired weapons great and small, or lowered boats, or conducted contests to set sail. This was just their captain's way, and they loved their captain. QED. The Stolsh and Sylvan warships around them watched, and began to realize that the combat achievements of Fang and her crew were not a fluke.
There was much visiting between ships. The captain's jollyboat was lowered and his coxswain, Ulrich, commanded the crew that took the Fang's officers to dinners on Stolsh and Sylvan ships. These meals were a great pleasure, but most enjoyable of all was when Fang entertained guests. The Fangs all took great pride in their Ship and they loved showing her off to visitors. They grinned in delight when their Stolsh and Sylvan guests shuddered upon feeling the faint tingle of feral energy upon touching her Moss. The crew were particularly pleased when their visitors looked up in wonder at her royals and studdingsails.
Hans saved the spritsail-topsail, royal studdingsails and moonsails for when they needed a burst of speed. Most of the time they swept back and forth, from one end to the other of their vast array of civilian cargo and passenger ships, constantly alert for Guldur attackers. Their cutters, under the command of their young lieutenants and midshipmen, were active in cross-loading medical supplies and food to refugee ships.
Their surgeon, Lady Elphinstone, was given one of the jollyboats to be used at her discretion. She used it to move about the fleet like an angel of mercy, descending upon those who needed her the most, ably assisted by Mrs. Vodi and her two corpsmen. By the time they arrived at Osgil, she had visited every single ship, some of them several times, tending
to illness and wounds.
Meanwhile their earthworm diplomat sulked and stayed out of the way. Melville worried briefly about what Asquith would say to the ambassador, then he set the matter aside. He was content to live for the moment, and the moment was good.
The young captain again had the topic of civilized behavior brought before him during a meal he was hosting for Lady Elphinstone, his two young lieutenants, the sailing master, the carpenter, the gunner, and his four midshipmen.
The purser's successful trading endeavors had generated enough discretionary cash for the wardroom and the captain to purchase food and luxury items on Ambergris. These items made it possible for the captain and the wardroom to engage in the ritual of inviting each other to meals.
In this case it was a pleasant breakfast with Melville's youngest officers, his warrant officers, and middies. Along with the always agreeable company of Lady Elphinstone, the meal made for a welcome break in the ship's routine. The middies were scrubbed pink and all the guests had their tattered, worn uniforms cleaned and pressed as neatly as possible.
Young midshipman Aquinar brought the matter up. It was pure happenstance that Fielder and Broadax were missing, which provided the opportunity for him to ask his question.
"Sir," he asked, still an innocent young boy in spite of the numerous battles he'd seen, "what is meant by the term, 'a Weber?' "
Melville sopped up the last of his egg yolk with a crust of toast, chewing it and washing it down with a drink of his tea as he thought, then he leaned back in his chair. "First I want you to understand that it's a low term, a term that's impolite to use. It denigrates one of the greatest of the classical writers. Men whose works have endured and inspired for centuries, well, such men are far greater beings than we will ever be, and you might as well use the Lord's name as an insult, as far as I am concerned."
"I meant no offense, sir," said the boy, blushing.
"I'm sure that you didn't and no offense is taken. Some people, and I emphasize some, have held that the idea of a great, giant, beautiful female warrior is an abomination. A commercial pandering to the vapid yearning of a portion of the market. A squalid bid to attract female readers. Even if this is true, and I'm not ready to concede it, to denigrate the works of a great author just because one of his most popular characters seems unrealistic, that my friend, is the real abomination. And besides, that's what fiction is all about, an outlet to fulfill your fantasies."
"But sir, is the idea of a great female warrior really so unrealistic?" asked the boy, sincerely confused. "After all, we have Lieutenant Broadax."
"Aye, indeed we do, and here's to her," Melville replied, raising his tea cup in a salute, "one of the greatest warriors I've ever had the privilege to know. The point is, I guess, that there are great female warriors out there. And they can make significant, unique contributions. But they're seldom beautiful, especially not the ones from high gravity worlds. At least they aren't beautiful in the traditional sense. Whatever youthful beauty they might have had fades quickly. Even a woman bears the scars of battle. And they are cumulative."
He grinned self-deprecatingly and continued. "Hell, for that matter, most of us are no blushing beauties. Look around you. Scrawny me with half an ear missing. Gnarly old salts, hulking marines, and awkward boys. With the singular exception of Lady Elphinstone here, most of us wouldn't win any beauty prizes." Around the table his guests grinned and raised their cups to each other in mock salutes.
He took his pistol out of his sash and carefully set it on the table, barrel pointed safely back and to his left. "Most of the great female warriors wouldn't win a beauty contest. For that matter, most warriors of either gender usually don't survive over the years just because of their looks. They're like my pistol here. This weapon has been in my family for generations, constantly at sea. It is short, squat, and deadly as hell. The uneducated eye would call this weapon ugly, but it's beautiful to me. Perhaps a little like our Broadax. She may not be a beauty in the eyes of the world, but I love her all the more for it. As the poet said, 'verily, the rose is within the thorn.' "
Chapter the 15th
Unhappy Lords, Who Dare Not
Carry Their Swords
They have given us into the hand of new
unhappy lords,
Lords without anger and honour, who dare not
carry their swords.
They fight by shuffling papers; they have bright
dead alien eyes;
They look at our labour and laughter as a tired man
looks at flies.
And the load of their loveless pity is worse than
the ancient wrongs,
Their doors are shut in the evenings;
and they know no songs.
"The Secret People"
G.K. Chesterton
"Osgil," sighed little Aquinar, who was currently serving as the signal midshipman. "At last we are among friends. Finally we are safe."
"Aye," said Lieutenant Archer, who was the officer of the watch. Then he continued, not unkindly, "Now get on with your duties, Mr. Aquinar."
" 'Governor welcomes Fang. Should be happy to see captain, wardroom, and midshipman's berth at sixteen o'clock,' " said the little signal midshipman to the officer of the watch, who relayed the message to the captain, five feet from its source.
"Very kind of him, I'm sure," replied Melville with a voice and continence that communicated dismay. "We cannot refuse. Please reply, 'Many thanks, accept with pleasure: Fang.' " They were at the main Pier of Osgil, which rose out from Flatland on the upper side. He turned to his first officer who was standing beside him. "Mr. Fielder, you know the moorings here as well as anyone, so carry on."
The officers looked at each other in consternation. They were in no condition to meet with the governor, no matter how well meaning the invitation. The only uniforms they owned were the ones they were wearing when they'd come over from Kestrel, and these had seen multiple battles since. Their tattered uniforms weren't a source of shame in the heat of battle on Ambergris. But the humiliation that awaited them here filled them with dread.
There was one possible solution. Melville moved quickly to the upper fo'c'sle where his two rangers, his purser and his surgeon stood looking at the vast Pier. Elphinstone immediately perceived that something was amiss. "Why hast thou such a long face, Captain?" she asked.
"My lady, we've been invited to dinner. The governor has kindly invited the wardroom and the midshipmen to dinner, but while our ship is fit for an admiral's inspection, our uniforms are in tatters and we aren't fit to see any decent folk. I turn to you for succor. I couldn't refuse the invitation without giving offense, but if you went immediately to the governor and explained our situation, perhaps he'd understand?"
"My captain," she replied with a sad, kind smile and just the hint of a tear, "thou are the mightiest hero to come to Osgil in many an age. The city is thine. Thou hast but to ask, and it shall be done. By dinner tonight we shall have ye all in new dress uniforms of the finest quality."
The Westerness Navy's tradition of feeding its midshipmen on ship's stores (to the extent that it fed them at all, apart from their impoverished private stocks) led to a group of young men who were eternally hungry and obsessed with food. The local time and the ship's time were out of synch, and the meal was several hours later than they were accustomed to. So it was that the captain and his officers were very hungry, and their poor midshipmen were truly famished.
Thus the Fangs approached Government House slavering with greed, groomed, shaved and shined to the highest degree, after a kaleidoscopic day of fitting and primping. True to her promise, Lady Elphinstone had turned out a small army of tailors. These professionals quickly decided that the basic Westerness naval uniform was so similar to that of His Majesty's Twenty-First Sappers as to make no difference, that the hats of the Northern Militia would do quite nicely with just a little reshaping and by changing the hat bands, and that the shoes of The King's Own Outer Guard were absol
utely identical to the Westerness standard. The advantage was that all of these local uniforms were ready made, and on the shelf, as were suitable shirts and stockings. By simply transferring the buttons and insignia from the old, tattered uniforms, they got the job done in a single afternoon, and had time to measure the rest of the crew for new uniforms as well, save for the twelve tailors and two cobblers who worked overtime to have Lieutenant Broadax's uniform done in time.
The end result was the very essence of perfection and of far better quality than most of Melville's men were accustomed to. Only the individuals going to the Governor's dinner had been taken care of today, but within a few days the entire ship would turn out in uniforms of the same quality.
Throughout that first triumphant meal, Melville tried to control his midshipmen's rapacious assault upon their food. His task was aggravated by the fact that Sylvan food wasn't completely satisfying to races whose metabolisms were designed to function in higher gravity. The midshipmen consumed great quantities of vegetables and mushrooms and whole flocks of small birds, and yet they still weren't satisfied. Melville was fearful lest their culinary covetousness should get them off on the wrong foot with their hosts, but it soon became clear that his concerns were groundless. In the eyes of the Sylvans, they could do no wrong.
* * *
The next few days were dedicated to bringing in fresh water and nonperishable stores, so that they could leave at short notice, as was expected of Her Majesty's Ships. When that was completed, Melville prepared to release his crew for shore duty. Only the barest skeleton crew would be left with the Ship. The crew lined up for a partial pay on their way down the gangplank, "So's the lads'll 'ave a li'l walkin'-around money," as Hans put it.
The crew was lining up for their pay when Melville became aware that his monkey was gone. On the few occasions that it left him it never went far, so he looked around for it. Then he realized that everyone around him was also looking for their missing monkeys. He experienced a moment of surprisingly intense fear and loss. Most of the little creatures had appeared from nowhere, and there was suddenly the fear that they could disappear just as easily. He had a sickening sense of just how much the little creatures would be missed if they were truly gone.
Two Space War Page 33