Melville tuned back into Incessant's rant for a moment. " . . . Do you really think you have the right to command a frigate?" he demanded, spraying spittle and shaking a finger in Melville's face.
Did he have a right to command a frigate? Not much. Hundreds of men were senior to him. No, he didn't have a right to command Fang, no more than he had a right to capture her, or to break through the blockade of Ambergris, or to blow countless Guldur frigates out of the water, or to woo a Sylvan princess.
Yet he had done so.
All of a sudden it dawned on Melville that the little man in front of him had no power over him. Whatever harm the man could do, he would. There was nothing Melville could do that would change this man. No words, no concession, no act could ever satisfy him.
And there was freedom in that.
So Melville simply turned and walked away as Incessant shouted, "You might have your ship, but you will be sent to the other side of the galaxy, and you will never do anything but deliver mail and worthless cargoes to frontier outposts for the rest of your miserable, insolent life. I can see what has happened here. I know that I am finished, but I still have authority. I have given that order, written and sealed, and it will not be rescinded!"
As Melville strode toward the tables he was joined by Princess Glaive in a gown that was like a swirl of translucent, gauzy green grass, with patches of dandelions artfully sited in strategic locations. She studiously ignored the whole incident with Incessant and immediately, impishly brought him back into the joy of the moment. "Shouldst I be whispering in thine ear, 'Remember, O Caesar, all glory is fleeting,' hmmm?"
Melville smiled and wrapped his arm around her, causing her gown to ripple delightfully, as though a mischievous breeze was blowing across her meadow. "I think it was a slave who was assigned to that duty, not a princess."
"Mmmm," she purred, standing up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek, "wouldst thou have me for thy slave girl?"
The rest of the dinner was a perfect, flawless gem of purest joy. Melville had a habit of taking the good times and identifying them to himself. This, this is something special, something wonderful, he said to himself. I will take this day, this joy, and I will save it away. I will invest it in a mental, emotional "bank account." Some day when the years turn bad, when pain and sorrow fill my life, I will make a withdrawal from that account, and it will sustain me in my dark hours. I've known joy such as many people will never know. If the world should turn on me, as it did earlier today, may I have the decency not to moan and wail, and bear my fate with dignity and grace.
A swirling rainbow of well-wishers came past his table. Most of them were only a colorful blur in his memory, but one in particular stuck with him. A Westerness Marine officer came up to him, escorted by Lieutenant Broadax. Broadax had lit a cigar, and was beaming in a cloud of smoke as she introduced him.
"Sir, this here's Lieutenant Colonel Hayl. Ye needs ta know 'at he was o' some service to us today. The colonel's the head o' the embassy's marine detail, an' aye, he was o' service, if'n ye takes my meanin'." This last was said with a broad wink that was about as subtle as a musket volley.
Melville stood and held out his hand to the tall marine, noting from his ribbons that he'd done service as a ranger, which was impressive.
"May I introduce you to Princess Glaive Newra, and may I say that I'm obliged for any assistance that you have given to me and my ship in this hour."
Hayl bowed and kissed the princess' hand, murmuring, "Charmed, Your Highness, I'm truly charmed." Then he looked at Melville, smiled and replied, "Truly it was nothing. I did absolutely nothing."
"Well, sir," said Melville, taking his meaning and returning the smile, "then I'm sincerely obliged to you for nothing, and if there is any way I can ever repay you, please don't hesitate to let me know."
"Aye, well, there is a boon that I would beg of you."
"If it's within my power, it shall be done."
"Well, Captain, my son is twelve years old. I've taught him everything that I can across the years. He has been well schooled, and I'd be honored if you would consider interviewing him for service with you as a midshipman. I've already provided him with a sea chest, all regulation requirements, and a yearly stipend. He's followed your exploits and is an enormous fan of yours, as am I, and if you'd accept him it would be the highest honor."
"Indeed, Colonel, I do have some openings in my midshipman's berth, and I'd be honored to meet the boy. But you do understand how these openings occurred?" A flicker of anguish flashed across Melville's face, a glint of black pain amidst the rainbow joy of this evening. Beside him, Princess Glaive squeezed his hand.
"Aye. I understand, Captain, and these are the risks we take and accept as warriors. Actually, I've taken the liberty of bringing the boy with me," at which he gestured and Melville became aware of a young boy standing a few feet away.
"Come here, son," said Melville kindly.
The boy strode forward, his chin held high but quivering ever so slightly.
"Do you want to serve on my ship?"
"Aye, sir."
"You know that it's dangerous, and it may be years before you'll be back with your family?"
"Aye, sir."
"You're certain?"
"Aye, sir."
"Very well, then. You aren't committed yet, I want you to be able to spend a few days on board ship before you make a final decision. But if, after seeing the ship and spending a few days with us, you still think you want the position, then you may have it."
Melville turned to the senior Hayl and continued, "Colonel, you can have his gear sent to the ship as soon as is convenient. I understand that we are under orders to sail soon. I don't know how soon it will be, but I'd like for young Mister Hayl to get a chance to look over the ship and make a final decision."
"Aye, Captain. If we can send him off tonight I think that may be best. Heads are rolling at the embassy, and my options may be somewhat more limited in the very near future. My son is prepared to depart; he has said his goodbyes."
"Indeed. As you can see, I do have some allies. And I, too, can ask boons. If you need my help please let me know. Mister Hayl, you can wait for me outside the cloakroom. You will accompany me back to my inn tonight. I can't guarantee that any of my men will be functional tonight, but you can come over to the ship with me, first thing in the morning."
"Aye, sir," said young Hayl.
"I thank you sir," added his father.
"It's nothing, sir, truly nothing," said Melville with a smile.
Chapter the 16th
Was a Lady Such a Lady . . .
You common people of the skies;
What are you, when the Moon shall rise?
"Elizabeth of Bohemia"
Sir Henry Wotton
"Well, looky there mates," muttered Broadax through her cigar stub as they walked into their inn. "They killed the little piggy afore 'e even 'ad a chance t' finish 'is apple. Damn I'm hungry fer real food," she went on, licking her lips, "I could eat the whole piggy m'self."
Melville, his first officer, and his marine officer were just returning from the king's award banquet. Their "gongs" were still hanging from ribbons around their necks. But, as always, they'd found the Sylvan food unsatisfying.
They'd walked confidently through the dangerous late night streets of Osgil, in the certain knowledge that the darkness held nothing more terrible than themselves. Melville was keeping young Midshipman Hayl with him until he could be safely stored aboard ship. The other members of their crew were all at other inns, or had other engagements, other opportunities tonight.
To their front was the dimly lit, broad stairs up to their rooms. To their left was an alcove for coats and boots, and to the right was the entrance to a long, brightly lit banquet hall with a table full of revelers reaching down its length. The table was dominated by a whole roasted pig. One moon had set, but bright moonlight from Osgil's remaining satellite still flowed in from skylights in the steep roof far overhead.
Standing in the doorway to their right were two other customers, both of them human. The inn was on the ground, rather than up in a flet, and was commonly frequented by humans. About half the customers that could be seen sitting at the table were descendants of Old Earth, the rest were mostly Sylvan.
"Aye," responded Fielder looking to his right at the huge roasted pig that Broadax was lusting after, sitting indignantly astride the table. He and Broadax were developing a fragile truce based on mutual cynicism, distrust of the Sylvans, and dislike of their refined food, a truce that had been cultivated across countless boring banquets. "And he looks quite angry about it. That Sylvan food. You eat and eat, and an hour later you're still hungry. I wish they'd saved us some of the beefsteaks that they sent to the dogs. I'd kill for some red meat." Then the door to the inn swung shut behind them, and Fielder heard the door being braced shut from the outside.
Broadax's hearing was poor, a natural trait of her race, aggravated by too many stints in front of the firing line. Hayl was too young to know danger and Melville was enthralled by the lingering effects of some feminine Sylvan magic, temporarily oblivious to the world around him. Only Fielder realized their danger.
Melville had sat beside Princess Glaive during the dinner and his mind was still adrift in a warm buzz of love and yearning. Under the table they had held hands and he kept his calf and foot woven against her dainty leg throughout much of the dinner. He didn't remember much about the meal, it was all a dim haze to him, but later they stepped out into the gardens, the princess limping slightly, and they had a few minutes of privacy to whisper to each other.
Was a lady such a lady,
cheeks so round and lips so red,—
On her neck the small face buoyant,
like a bell flower on its bed,
O'er the breast's superb abundance
where a man might base his head?
* * *
There is a fifth sense of touch, besides pressure, pain, heat, and cold, and that's the light, warm, stroking, comforting touch of another human being. A baby will die without it. In adults it's a key ingredient in courtship, flirting and making love. That, along with a lingering sense of smell, is probably responsible for the "afterglow" feeling that lovers have after leaving their love. His palm still felt warm and smelled faintly of her subtle perfume, and his mind wandered. Her touch and smell still echoed through his mind and body.
"Danger, mates," Fielder hissed as he heard the door being braced shut behind them. He immediately understood that someone wanted to bar their exit from this room. His blue uniform jacket was already unbuttoned and he placed both hands on his hips, under the jacket, ready to draw his .45 auto from the small of his back. Then he leaned gently back against the door. If the door were opened behind them he would know the instant it moved and would be in position to respond.
That night their lives were saved by two things: Fielder's constant paranoia, and their enemy's arrogance. All three of their monkeys hunched down and pulled out short, hardwood belaying pins from where they were kept tucked under their bodies. Melville snapped out of his fog, quickly unbuttoning his jacket and placing his right hand casually back on his hip while pulling Hayl behind him with his left hand. Broadax spit out her cigar stub and disappeared into the alcove to their left. Fielder took a shuffle step in that direction, his right shoulder still in contact with the door.
"What's so dangerous here?" asked young Hayl with a squeak, looking around the moonlit room bewilderedly.
"Us!" snarled Melville.
Then, appearing legs-first down the darkened stairs in front of them, came a group of large, ugly Sylvan males dressed in some household livery of khaki pants and maroon jackets, with semi-automatic pistols held casually in their hands. Melville had heard of interbreeding between Sylvans and Ogres, and this looked like living proof to him. They looked as if they could be written off their owner's taxes as a business expense, under "misc. heavy equipment." One of them was far-and-away the biggest, ugliest Sylvan Melville had ever seen. He must have had mostly Ogre blood in him. Good, thought Melville, big guys, hopefully picked for their brawn, not their pistol skill.
They came down and spread to the left and right, four on each side. Then two Sylvan females descended down to the bottom step. The first was tall and slender in an elegant, dark maroon gown, chased in gold and cut low across her ample bosom. Long dark hair framed her face in what Melville thought of as a Cleopatra style. The elegant, long-barrelled pistol in her hand coordinated perfectly with her ensemble. She was ravishingly beautiful, but it was the kind of deliberate, calculated beauty that came from a team of expert hair stylists, make-up artists, and dressmakers. And religious attention to vigorous daily workouts. You knew immediately that she took her beauty, and herself, very seriously.
Beside her was a dour, gray-haired old Sylvan lady dressed in layers of black and dark gray clothing, with slim maroon piping around the hems. Her plain, modest dress fit her matronly appearance perfectly.
When Fielder saw them his eyes grew wide and began to dart around like trapped animals.
"They always remind me of ballerinas," whispered Melville as he watched them come down the moonlit steps. "So elegant and graceful."
"Yeah," muttered Fielder, "the nutcracker suite."
The two customers in the door to the banquet room turned to watch what was happening, and several of the goons pointed their guns at them and motioned them into the middle of the room. The revelers in the banquet room couldn't see the stairs and had no indication that there was trouble.
"Baronet Daniello Sans-Fielder. The nobleman without a 'field.' " said the elegant Sylvan lady with a nod and a pleasant smile. "And Captain Thomas Melville," she continued with a nod in his direction. "You must come with us. You are in great danger."
"Why?" said Melville, leaving the revelation of Fielder's full name and title to be considered later.
"Because we will kill you if you don't," she said, her smile suddenly turning feral. "Actually, you will die anyway, but this way you will live just a little while longer. In fact," she continued, licking her lips and picking up momentum, "I intend to kill you myself, and I intend to enjoy it. Perhaps I will toy with the boy a little first, but you are all, already, dead men. You should resign yourselves to that fact." You could tell that she was getting pleasure from this. Her eyes were sparkling and her lips began to glisten.
Fielder smiled. Threats made him feel at home. Appeals to his better nature, his duty, and his country always made him uncomfortable. But threats now, threats he could handle. She had arrogantly and foolishly stated her intent and blocked off his escape route, leaving no option but to fight and kill them. First he needed to buy time. He could hear that lunatic Broadax up to something in the cloakroom to his left, and time would only work in their favor. If he were in Broadax's position, odds were good he'd never come back out, but that demented dwarf would never run from a battle.
"Lady Madelia," Fielder replied with something between a grimace and a smile.
"You know her?" Melville asked.
"Oh, yes sir. Careful! Don't look her in the eyes. She'll steal your soul. How very good to see you again, Maddy. But, you know, that gown just isn't you. Last time I saw you, you were wearing considerably less, and you were blindfolded and tied to the bed with an assortment of vegetables to keep you company. I liked you a lot better that way. Too bad you have adult supervision now," he added with a waggle of his eyebrows. "Lose them and we could still have a lot of fun, just like last time."
Her face went slightly red and the elderly Sylvan's face went beet red. The huge guard to her right began to raise his pistol with a growl, but Fielder was betting that she couldn't let an insult go unanswered. The Sylvans' one besetting weakness was their arrogance, and he intended to work it for all he could.
She reached out and put a restraining hand on her goon's arm and replied in a syrupy voice, "Why Daniel, is that the way to talk to the only woman who ever slept with y
ou sober? Sex is only for revenge or making babies. In your case I was getting exquisite revenge on my father by having an affair with a hairy, under-evolved human. It was delightfully wicked. For me you were a pet, like a dog or a horse, only you could be publicly flaunted. But then," she went on with a pout, "my point was made and it was time to put the beast down, and you were nowhere to be found. But you couldn't stay out at sea forever, could you? Now I have you and the dog who is panting after my niece."
The matron beside her was clearly stunned by these revelations. Her face went from red to bloodless white. You could tell that she was the kind of woman who might be aware that, somewhere beneath the complex strata of her petticoats and undergarments, there was some flesh and other female accouterments, but that didn't necessarily mean she approved of it. Madelia's last comment had ensured that, whatever the old lady might have contributed to the coming battle, it wasn't going to happen now.
"Maddy," said Fielder, dragging out the "y" with an infuriating grin and a knowing cant to his head. Infuriating grins were his specialty and this was a prize winner. " 'Sex is only for babies or revenge?' You'd only eat your babies, and everyone knows all about your penchant for revenge, so how do you ever have fun? Have you considered the advantages of autocopulation?"
"Oh, Daniel, that is so low. Next you'll be making scatological culinary recommendations. How tiresome." She was back to the pout. This was a bad sign and Broadax was finished making noise to his left. That meant the demented dwarf was up to something, and Fielder had to buy her time. At least Broadax had sense enough to spit out that damned cigar first.
"A quick death is the best you could have expected, Daniel, but now perhaps something more is called for. After all, my lover, only the brave deserve the fair, and we know that you are not brave. Now don't we? You put up such a good front now, but oh my how you will whimper and beg under my knife."
Two Space War Page 36