"There they is!" shouted a voice. There was a period of bewilderment, followed by laughter when it became apparent that the monkeys, every single one of them, were queuing up at the end of the line, waiting patiently for their pay.
Okay, thought Melville, I can handle this. The important thing is not to lose them, to make them full-fledged members of the crew and give them an obligation to stay with us.
Melville jogged up the steps to the quarterdeck, turned and addressed his crew. "Shipmates," he began, "We've been through some hard times, and some remarkable adventures. You are all professionals. You have proven it over and over again. You have made us proud. Now isn't the time to let that professionalism lapse. Now is not the time to bring shame upon your Ship. Take your pay, go out, and have a good time. You'll find that the people of Osgil are grateful and generous. Your pay will go far. All of you," and here he made a point of pointing to the entire mass, and especially the monkeys, trying to make eye contact with them, "will be required to report for formation, here at dockside, every morning at eleven o'clock. Most of you should be able to stagger out to the ship by then." This drew appreciative laughs. "If you do not report for formation, you'll be reported AWOL. Again, you have all served us honorably and well. Do not let your Ship down now. As you take the King's coin, you accept your responsibility as servants of the crown."
Then he turned specifically to the monkeys, pointing at them as he continued, "The monkeys will be paid as ship's boys, third class. You'll be on shore leave like everyone else, and you'll be required to report for formation like everyone else. Do you understand?"
There was a brief, pregnant pause, then all the monkeys hopped up and down, screeching joyfully. This was immediately echoed by the crew's cheers. Melville stood with his hands on the quarterdeck rail and watched as his men were paid, then the boys. Finally the monkeys, with comic dignity, each took their pay as they strode down the gangplank and were unleashed upon the good citizens of Osgil.
From this point on, their experiences were a whirlwind of grand balls and parties in flets perched high up in the vast trees of Osgil. Even the three-quarters Earth gravity of the planet added to their sense of lighthearted joy.
Osgil was faced with a vast war, unlike any they'd experienced before. It was being called the Two-Space War, and it had begun with a series of unparalleled disasters and defeats for the Sylvan and Stolsh. The Sylvans had every cause to fear the future. But while they dreaded the path before them, they also found joy in the one great victory that they'd enjoyed, and the heroes who bought that victory for them.
The Sylvans knew how to greet returning heroes. It was in their heritage. It was their tradition to reward deeds of great valor. It was even in their new philosophy inspired by classic Earth science fiction. "TANSTAAFL," the Fangs were told repeatedly. " 'There ain't no such thing as a free lunch.' Aye? Well this be no free lunch, young sailor. Thou hast earned it."
A Fang's money wasn't accepted here. Night after night, every member of the crew was wined and dined somewhere. Down to the lowliest seaman, they told the tale of their battles over and over again, with bread crusts and wine stains on tabletops. They never grew weary of the tale, or the open hearts and open arms that awaited them afterwards.
Even the monkeys were accepted with open arms. Osgil was a sophisticated galactic port. Over the centuries a wide assortment of alien creatures had arrived at her docks, and Osgil took "Fang's Monkeys," as they quickly became known, in stride.
m m, m
During the whirl of balls and parties that he was invited to, Melville found himself being repeatedly paired with Princess Glaive Newra. Slender and barely five foot tall, she was strawberry blond, with the most remarkable peaches and cream complexion, and an impish sense of humor that charmed and delighted him. She was actually the granddaughter of the King of Osgil. One of many, many granddaughters, barely fitting under an extended definition of the title of princess. But she was the very personification of a princess to him. He tried hard to keep his defenses up, yet whenever he was with her he truly felt like a knight, as though he were her paladin, dedicated to protecting and serving her kingdom and her civilization.
The Westerness embassy, on the other hand, had no experience with knights or paladins, no tradition of rewarding heroes. For a week, every message to the Westerness ambassador went unanswered. The ambassador would be obligated to be present when Melville went before the king. But that was one audience that hadn't occurred yet, even though it seemed like he'd met every other member of the royalty.
His lack of contact with the embassy troubled him. There was a sense of unseen wheels spinning. Decisions were being made in hidden chambers. Battles were being fought all around him, but for once Melville had no idea what to do, how to fight, how to make a difference in this struggle. So he was resolved to make as many friends as he could, to be as polite as he could to as many people as he could, and to live for the moment. And the moment was good.
Then a marine courier arrived at his inn with a message directing him to report to the Westerness ambassador at thirteen o'clock the next day.
It was 12:30 in the afternoon when he turned off of a wide boulevard and entered into the gateway to the embassy grounds. Large portions of the planet didn't support the vast root structure for the towering forests that the Sylvan race preferred to live in. In Osgil the embassies, the Pier, the inns for visitors, many shops, taverns and the extensive "disreputable" district, were all mixed together in such an area. Off in the distance Melville could see the giant trees, rising like a wall of green skyscrapers marking the downtown district of some high-tech world. Last night he'd been dancing at a ball held high in a flet in one of those trees.
Melville missed the comforting, companionable weight of his monkey on his shoulder, but found some solace in his impeccable uniform. A marine guard stood at the open iron gate, his red uniform contrasting splendidly with the white wall and the green grass. Melville noted that he was apparently unarmed. The guard saluted him with obvious recognition and pleasure, and directed him to the main entrance of the large stone building that housed the embassy. It was most gratifying to be known, to have a good reputation among the troops.
He was striding along in the three-quarters gravity, crossing the grassy, tree covered grounds in the uniform of a lieutenant in the Westerness Navy. Black shoes with silver buckles, white pants, sword and belt chased in gold, and a blue jacket with gold plated buttons and a gold washed, brass epaulet on his left shoulder. After all the time spent barefoot aboard ship, on Broadax's World, on Pearl, and on Ambergris, his shoes still felt strange.
At the building's entrance there were two more unarmed marine guards. The sight of unarmed individuals on guard duty made him sad and uneasy. Whoever was in authority here was the kind of wretched, pathetic individual who didn't trust, respect, or appreciate the young warriors who were trained and willing to fight and die for them. Again he was saluted with apparent pleasure, then the embarrassed guards asked him to leave his sword with them. This was unusual. Armed individuals were commonplace on Westerness, at all military bases, and everywhere he'd traveled on Osgil. Yet here, in the one piece of Osgil that was actually a part of Westerness, he was immediately disarmed. The guards assured him that it was nothing personal, no one was permitted into the embassy with weapons.
He was escorted through wood-paneled hallways that were weakly illuminated by gas lights. Then he was led into a waiting room where he . . . waited. It seemed to him that he'd waited for over an hour. There was no clock or window in the waiting room and he didn't have a watch. No sailor would ever spend money on an object that would instantly become a piece of junk upon entering two-space.
Finally, a nondescript, wizened old clerk took him into the ambassador's office. No coffee, no seat offered. Just a darkened room, a wide desk, and the glowering, scowling presence of the ambassador, who possessed the unlikely appellation of Sir Percival Incessant.
If I had a name like that, thought Me
lville, I might be pissed off at the world, too.
Melville stood quietly before the desk and the ambassador shuffled papers. Everything about the diplomat communicated the fact that he was obviously a very busy man, far too busy to be troubled by this trivial occurrence. Then he looked up, and cut directly to the point.
"Lieutenant, you have caused us an enormous amount of trouble. Do you see this stack of paper? It represents the mass of complaints and charges brought against you. First we have a complaint from the Guldur embassy. They were, er, sent packing by the King of Osgil several weeks ago, but not before they had the chance to communicate to us their dismay at your unprovoked attack and seizure of one of their ships. They demand the return of the ship and all their captured sailors."
He was an odd little man. Almost as though he were trying to play some archetypal role. He was wearing a dark suit, with a pair of reading glasses perched halfway down a large nose that might have been inherited from an unhappy eagle, or perhaps a vulture, somewhere in his family lineage.
"Then we have a complaint, also from the Guldur embassy, delivered shortly before their, er, departure, demanding that you be delivered to them for the unprovoked sinking of several of their ships off of Ambergris."
He looked at each piece of paper as though it were a worm in his salad.
"Then, through diplomatic channels, we have a complaint from the King of Guldur himself, stating that you participated in hostilities on Ambergris. Apparently they hold you, and members of your crew, accountable for the deaths of what is, I must admit, an improbable number of their military leaders."
His eyes grew slightly wide and he held the next piece of paper at arm's length, as though it were going to bite him.
"And then, most remarkable of all, through diplomatic channels, we have a complaint from the Eman of Orak. It seems that they hold you and your crew accountable for the deaths of many of their soldiers during the, er, recent, unpleasant occurrences on Ambergris. We do not even have diplomatic relations with them. Their vast empire is an immeasurable distance away, and yet somehow you seem to have contrived to have personally killed one of their senior officers, a distant member of their royal family. The details are remarkably precise. Apparently you dispatched him with . . . er, two bullets in the forehead and a bullet in the mouth. They state that the precise placement of the bullets could have happened only as a result of what was clearly an execution-style slaying. Ahm."
He looked up at Melville with horror and amazement, holding another piece of paper as he continued.
"And during your return trip you seem to have threatened and gravely offended the senior surviving member of the Westerness consulate on Ambergris, who just happens to be a citizen of Earth!" The exertion of this last statement apparently left him winded, and he drew several deep breaths before he could continue.
"Lieutenant, we have spent hundreds of years building a star kingdom based on trade, and studiously avoiding any involvement in the affairs of the Elder Races. Where disharmony rules, commerce flags! Now you have created more disharmony, you have done more harm to our relations, you have caused more diplomatic emergencies in one voyage, than the rest of the history of Westerness put together! The vast empires of Guldur and Orak, and the diplomatic representatives of Earth are all very, very angry. In one . . . brief . . . period of time, you have managed to get a sizable portion of the galaxy very, very pissed off at you!"
Again he had to draw several deep breaths before he could continue, using a handkerchief to mop his brow and to wipe the fine spray of spittle from his lips and chin.
"Here is what you are going to do, Lieutenant. You will recant. You will write a personal apology in response to every single one of these letters. You will state that these were unprovoked attacks, conducted by you, without authority. You will beg for their mercy. If you do that, then we will not turn you over to them, and we will not punish your crew. Instead we will ship you to Westerness, where you will face trial and punishment by your own people. Do you understand?"
There was a roaring in Melville's ears. The dark little room seemed to close in upon him. His crew. They would punish his crew. He could save his crew, all the brave men and women who suffered and served so nobly. He could save them if he cooperated. All he had to do was to tell this little man's lies. Sacrifice himself, and his crew was safe.
It was his duty. It would be so easy to accept failure, to simply die and let it end. Here was his lawful authority telling him to surrender, and he was a good sailor, an obedient officer, a disciplined warrior. It would be so easy, but something in him couldn't give up. Something made him struggle against the fate that this little man had decreed for him. His duty was all he had. Obedience was his duty. What could be more important than duty.
But wait. The enemy was obedient. The Guldur commander who murdered his captain, he was just doing his duty. The enemy was just obeying orders. And still the enemy was evil. So what was the difference? The difference was Honor. A code of honor. Decency, nobility, gentleness . . . all of that was in the warrior's code of honor.
There was something more important than duty. It was honor. How did Shakespeare put it? "Mine honor is my life; both grow in one; Take honor from me, and my life is done."
Once to ev'ry man and nation
Comes the moment to decide,
In the strife of truth with falsehood,
For the good or evil side;
"No sir. I won't do that. You've read my report. I see them there before you. They're confirmed by all my officers, and by the two Sylvan members of my ship. Lady Elphinstone isn't a liar. Neither am I, or any of the others who signed that report."
This was easy. It was like combat. You knew you were probably going to die, but you did it anyway without a second thought. Because it needed to be done.
"A vast war is brewing. The enemy is evil. They murdered my captain, murdered our Ship, all under a flag of truce. They attacked the Stolsh without provocation, dropping onto their worlds without warning, inflicting unimaginable horrors upon innocent civilians. No one is asking you to make the decision. Just tell the truth to Westerness. Let them decide, based on the facts as sworn to by my officers, not your lies."
Some great cause, some great decision,
Off'ring each the bloom or blight,
And the choice goes by forever,
'Twixt that darkness and that light.
He looked into the eyes of the ambassador, and knew what he was seeing. He knew of senior officers who were capable of great bravery in combat, but when it came to their precious careers, they compromised and prostituted themselves and their sacred honor. They sold their souls a nickel at a time, and in the end they had nothing left. They became very small men. In the end they'd become that most wretched of creatures, politicians.
Then to side with truth is noble,
When we share her wretched crust,
Ere her cause bring fame and profit,
And 'tis prosp'rous to be just;
His voice dropped to a whisper. "Darkness falls. The shadows call. Shadow and flame. But our fight is true. Our enemy is moving. They're coming for us, Guldur and Orak. In the years to come we will have no choice but to fight them. Right now we have a chance to join in the fight for the very right to exist, for they bring genocide with them. We are on the brink of destruction. We must unite, or we will fall. While we dither, their power grows. We can fight them now, while we have allies, or we can fight them later and die alone."
Then Melville's voice grew strong and he stood tall, with a faint smile. "You can turn me over to them. And in so doing you will have handed me undying fame, glory and honor. While you will have brought eternal shame upon yourself . . . and Westerness. Our allies know the truth. It will come out. On every Sylvan and Stolsh world across the galaxy, they will know what you have done. You fear losing trade? You fear bad diplomatic relations? Doing this to me will destroy your relations with every Sylvan and Stolsh world in the galaxy. You would sacrifice me to pr
event war, yet war is inevitable. It will happen, and throughout history you'll be remembered as the man, the appeaser, the Quisling, who turned me over to our enemies."
Then it is the brave man chooses
While the coward stands aside,
Till the multitude make virtue
Of the faith they had denied.
Sir Percival Incessant sat breathing deeply through his nose. Then he picked up a small bell and rang it ("tinkle-tinkle-tink") and two marines came in. Melville noted that they, too, were unarmed. Here, indeed, was an unhappy lord who dared not carry his sword, nor trust anyone else to do so.
Incessant sat back and steepled his fingers. Always a bad sign in politicians, lawyers, diplomats and their ilk. "This man is under arrest. Place him in your jail or brig or whatever. Get him away from me." He turned to Melville and made one last parting shot, "Lieutenant, you will hang for this."
Tho' the cause of evil prosper,
Yet 'tis truth alone is strong:
Tho' her portion be the scaffold,
And upon the throne be wrong;
The young marine corporal looked at Melville with tears welling up in his eyes. "I'm sorry, sir . . ."
"Don't apologize, son. You're just doing your job." Then, looking at the ambassador he added, "Hell, someone has to."
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