Rising Tides d-5

by Taylor Anderson

  “I did not! Get rid of it!”

  “No!” Jeek said, grinning.

  “Who’s in charge here, you or me?” Reynolds demanded.

  “You in charge of division,” Jeek said, “but I in charge of plane.”

  Their argument was interrupted by a volley of musket fire aft, near the fantail. Kari jumped. “What’s that?”

  “Them Marines,” Jeek said scornfully. “They shoot bullets at shields-see if bullets go through.” He shook his head. “Ever-body shootin’ holes in own stuff. Crazy.”

  “Well…” Reynolds hesitated. “What do I tell the Skipper?”

  “Give me two, three day, this Naancy fly just fine.” He peered at Reynolds. “You lucky you got me an’ this flight crew ’stead o’ those on big ship. We know shit.”

  “Yeah, lucky,” Reynolds reluctantly agreed. “Just get that stupid sign off the nose, will ya?”

  Spanky McFarlane stumped painfully down the companionway. He’d been to see Tabby several times, and each time she looked worse. He half expected to find her covered with a sheet. He met Chief Tindal in the passageway, returning from having the dressing on a badly bashed elbow changed. Both men made way for two ’Cat stretcher bearers carrying another ’Cat, swaddled in bandages, aft.

  “He okay?” Spanky asked.

  “Sure,” Miami replied. “Just a few scrapes and some singed hair. Got a free pass from the doc to goof off a couple o’ days.” He nodded at the bearers as they passed. “They’re just taking him to his rack in the ‘guinea pullman.’ ” Gingerly, the Lemurians carried the stretcher up the companionway stairs.

  “Actually, he ain’t good,” Tindal said when the patient was out of earshot. “He’ll prob’ly look like he’s got mange when his fur grows back, but he’ll make it. Selass wouldn’t have let him go otherwise. Wardroom’s only for the worst cases left. We got to clear it out.” He gestured aft. “His mates’ll take good care of him now.” Seeing Spanky’s expression, he added, “Only two borderline cases left.” He didn’t need to say that Tabby was one of them.

  Spanky sighed and nodded. “See what you can do about number three, will ya? Start tearing it down as quick as you can. I know we’re short firemen, at least for a while, but it ain’t like the old days, you know? Back then, if we had two good boilers, that meant we had a spare. Only two leaves us nothing extra anymore, ’specially with that Brit hulk in tow. Get with Bashear and shanghai some of his apes with boiler experience if you have to.”

  Tindal raised a brow. “He gonna squawk?”

  Spanky shook his head. “Nope. Besides, we got all of Chack’s Marines to help topside. Not many of them have ever even been in the fireroom.” He started to move along, but Miami put a hand on his arm.

  “Look,” he said, “for what it’s worth, everybody knows how you feel about Tabby.” Spanky started to cloud up. News of the “kiss” Tabby had laid on him was all over the ship in a matter of hours. Miami shook his head. “And I, at least, know you ain’t ‘sweet’ on her. She’s a swell dish for a ’Cat, but she’s a ’Cat, and some things just ain’t meant to be. But I also know she ain’t just a ‘fireman’ to you neither. I don’t know what she is. She ain’t nobody’s ‘pet,’ unless she’s ‘teacher’s pet’ and you’re the teacher. Maybe she’s like a kid sister or stepdaughter or somethin’. My point is, whatever she is to you, let her see it for once. So what if she’s sweet on you? God knows why she would be, but what difference does it make to you? Knowin’ you care about her, in whatever way, might make a lot of difference to her.”

  Spanky nodded. This was a side of Miami Tindal he’d never seen. Maybe it was new. It seemed like everybody revealed new sides all the time these days. “Thanks,” he said. “Now go get with Bashear.” Turning, he advanced toward the embroidered wardroom curtain.

  The next morning, Walker ’s dead went over the side in the traditional flag-draped way, with the traditional service. Tabby wasn’t among them… yet… and only time would tell if there’d be another funeral service aboard the old destroyer in the coming days. Spanky’s visit had seemed to perk Tabby up, despite the nature of their ultimate conversation. She’d been adamant that, if it came to that, she wanted whatever kind of service any other destroyerman would receive under the circumstances, and she was convinced that her Lemurian comrades who’d already perished would agree. Not for the first time, Matt wished they’d brought a Sky Priest along. He didn’t feel right leading the brief Lemurian chant of supplication after the traditional service, but Jeek, of all people, had volunteered to lead a sort of “nondenominational” version. The chant was different for land folk and sea folk. Matt still found it odd when a minority of Lemurians, including a few of the Marines-such as Corporal Koratin-participated only in the Christian service. Once an Aryaalan noble, Koratin had been a convert to Sister Audry’s teachings. The proceedings at an end, Walker increased speed, straining against the towline rigged to Achilles. During the brief pause, there’d been splashes alongside the Imperial frigate as well.

  The weather remained fine, with a steady westerly breeze. Icarus easily kept company, and slowly, as Achilles pieced new masts and yards together from her remaining stores and as much as Icarus could spare, she bent new canvas and more and more of the drag came off the towline. On Walker, carpenter’s mates built a new launch, scavenging as much of the wrecked one as they could. The little two-cycle engine seemed okay, but the propeller shaft was bent and they had to straighten it. Safety chains were rerigged and parted stays were spliced. Within a few days all the serious damage but the blown boiler had been attended to, and Gray, the ever-present, looming Super Bosun, even had details chipping and painting again. He was damned if Walker would steam into her first Imperial port with rust streaks down her sides “like wet makeup on a cheap Nor-leens whore.” Even as evidence of the beating the ships took from the Strakka disappeared, however, hope that Ulysses would turn up began to fade. She might well have been driven far off course and proceeded independently to their destination, but Jenks said her master, Achilles’ own third lieutenant, would have made every effort to rejoin them. He feared she’d been lost with all hands.

  They began to encounter land of a sort. Small, desolate, apparently lifeless atolls scoured of any vegetation were the first they saw. Wireless communications had been restored with Achilles and Jenks counseled Captain Reddy on the most beneficial bearings. Other islands began to appear, first with a few lonely trees, then with veritable jungles and even a few humps and hills that suggested more substance to their foundations. Courtney Bradford wanted to visit them, of course, but he lost considerable interest when Jenks advised that the main reason they sustained no settlements out of Respite was a lack of reliable fresh water. They’d already passed the island, far to the northwest, to which O’Casey and the princess had been bound, and Jenks, who was something of a naturalist himself, assured Bradford that it was the only place they’d neglected that might have truly interested him. The islands they steamed among did sustain life, however.

  Birds began pacing the ships, swooping among the masts and generally, as usual, defecating all over the decks. For the first time since coming to this world, real “honest” birds not only predominated but seemed almost universal. They were strange creatures, with many of the characteristics of the “lizard birds,” such as elongated, toothy mouths instead of beaks, and almost ridiculously long tail plumages like peafowl, but they were entirely feathered and had wide, broad wings. They seemed designed to soar for long distances and snatch prey from near the surface of the sea. They saw a few “regular” lizard birds like those they’d become accustomed to within the Malay Barrier, but they were oddly shaped, and ironically, some had beaks instead of teeth. They seemed more suited for stooping and diving for prey, which Courtney enthusiastically watched them do occasionally. Mostly, however, the birds they saw acted just as curious about the ships as Courtney was about them, and curses from the deck division competed with Courtney’s chortles of glee.


  One evening, Jenks suggested they anchor for the night in the lee of a low but expansive atoll. Far to the east southeast, a high, hazy shoreline could be seen. They’d raised Respite at last. Jenks said picking their way through the jumble of shoals from this direction could be hazardous in the dark, however, so Captain Reddy agreed to the pause and invited Jenks and his officers to dinner. To the frank amazement of everyone, Tabby had apparently turned the corner, and she’d finally been moved to her berth in the aft crew’s quarters. She hardly got any sleep, to hear Spanky go on about it, what with everyone “carrying on over her so,” but Spanky himself still visited her at least twice a day. In any event, the wardroom was finally clear and the ship’s officers could gather there once again.

  This was the first time there’d been a “social” meeting of the two commanders in weeks, and despite the carefully cleaned uniforms, all the Imperials looked tired and hard-used, with the possible exception of Ensign-now Lieutenant-Parr, who’d been given command of Icarus. When the Imperials were piped aboard, Matt and his side party returned their salutes with pleasure after each and every one of them first saluted Walker ’s flag. Matt reflected that they’d certainly come a long way since their first meeting. He shook Jenks’s hand, but had to raise an eyebrow at O’Casey, or “Bates,” as Jenks called him. The one-armed former “rebel” now wore the uniform of an Imperial Navy lieutenant.

  “Coming up in the world, aren’t you, Sean?” he said with a grin.

  O’Casey shrugged. “’Tis really a demotion, I fear,” he said. “From beleaguered leader o’ the resistance, to mere lieutenant…” He shook his head. “How the mighty are felled.”

  Jenks snorted. “I presume you prefer the fit of that uniform to a rope, do you not? Besides, you have converted me to your cause. At least you might still accomplish something without being shot on sight.”

  O’Casey grinned. “Aye, there’s that! I’ve often heard it said ’tis better ta serve in hell than be led ta the gallows-an’ then serve in hell!” That provoked a round of chuckles. Matt already knew there’d been some classic books aboard the ships of Jenks’s ancestors. Matt had read many such books, and his ability to swap occasional literary references reinforced the common, if distant, heritage that his human destroyermen shared with the Imperials. In this instance, the deliberate misquote and O’Casey’s and Jenks’s banter confirmed that the two men were still getting along. After having once been friends, the two had become deadly enemies. Now, with Jenks’s discovery that O’Casey’s rebellion against the Company had been justified-if possibly premature-it seemed almost as if the years of hatred had fallen away. Matt knew Jenks hadn’t needed to make O’Casey even a lieutenant. Essentially he’d evolved into Jenks’s own version of Matt’s Chief Gray-friend, discreet confidant, and personal protector.

  O’Casey might not have the widespread, generally positive reputation Gray enjoyed, but he basically filled the same niche. Both men were large and powerful, but still considerably more than they appeared at first glance. O’Casey was the younger of the two, in his mid-forties. His hair had gone salt and pepper, including the wide handlebar mustaches trimmed much like the one Jenks wore, except in O’Casey’s case the ends weren’t braided but twisted and waxed. His skin was darker too, alluding to an ancestry mixed with the original “passage era” partial Lascar crews, or transportees aboard the eighteenth-century East Indiamen the Imperials had arrived in from the same world as the destroyermen. O’Casey himself professed to know little about his early lineage. His dark skin might even have come from other sources that Matt was just beginning to learn about.

  “Well,” Matt said, “why don’t we adjourn to the wardroom? Mr. Marcos assures me that he’s managed to put something edible together.”

  “Yes, thank you, Captain Reddy,” said Jenks. He paused, glancing about at the destroyermen within earshot, the men in particular. He seemed a bit pensive when he continued. “Now that we stand on the brink of meeting more of my people… ah, civilians for the first time, there are a few things we should perhaps discuss so that there are no… misunderstandings, as it were.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me!” Matt practically exploded. He half rose from his seat, nearly overturning his coffee cup.

  Jenks made a visible effort to control his voice. “I am not. And though I do not personally approve of the… institution, I’m no crazed abolitionist either. It’s a practice that has served the Empire well for many generations-the tool that ensured our very survival! On the other hand, I do believe its time has largely passed and I admit to certain… moral objections to its continuation. It’s not a practice that can simply be ‘shut off,’ however. It’s too ingrained, too much a part of our society. Arguably, the Company is largely responsible for that, and my hope is that once we’ve dealt with it, we can begin a gradual dissolution of all the immoral institutions it supports.”

  “Holy…” Gray breathed. “They own women like pets!”

  “How do you buy one?” Campeti asked wonderingly, and Matt glared at him.

  “It’s not slavery-” Jenks insisted, but Matt interrupted.

  “The hell it’s not!”

  “It is not slavery,” Jenks continued determinedly, “and they’re NOT property… as such. They are ‘obligated,’ however, and there’s a value placed on that ‘obligation.’ ”

  Selass stood so suddenly that she upset the table again and did knock over a couple of cups. Matt was glad they’d waited until the meal was over before beginning the discussion in earnest, otherwise much of Juan’s hard work would have wound up on the green linoleum deck.

  “This is the most shocking, barbaric thing I’ve ever heard of!” she spat. “I can guarantee that my father, the Great Keje-Fris-Ar will be no party to this… abomination! There can be no ‘alliance’ with people such as you!”

  “Ah… Madam… uh…” Jenks sputtered.

  “The title’s ‘Nurse Lieutenant,’ Commodore,” Matt said icily.

  “Nurse Lieutenant… Fris-Ar,” Jenks continued. “You have my most abject apology for disturbing you, but it is not I who adopted this policy, nor, as I said, do I condone it now. That said, is it more barbaric than the Grik? You’ve heard me mention the so-called ‘Holy Dominion,’ but you don’t know Them yet. I assure you that ‘barbarous’ as the Empire may suddenly seem in your eyes, barbarity can be a very relative thing.”

  “But… to keep females in bondage…!”

  Jenks sighed. “Believe me, I sympathize with your dismay. Please try to imagine mine. I have never been witness to any civilization in which women-females-are so fully integrated into the mainstream of society. Female warriors! Doctors! Leaders! It boggles the mind! Among the various cultures I’ve met, I’ve discovered a few-similar to that from which your ‘Lawrence’ springs, I have no doubt-where there is a matriarchy, but their queen is the only female who wields great power. Otherwise, our ‘system’ would seem to reflect the norm on this world. Regardless, after long association, I have managed to grow… accustomed to the way you do things.” He turned to Matt. “Your Sandra Tucker, one of the very reasons for this expedition-you cannot imagine my surprise when I first divined that not only was she an important political figure, but you actually consulted her on matters of policy! Do you remember that day you took me on a tour of industrial works and your shipyard? That was the first time I fully realized… I was shocked and troubled, I admit, but she also made some quite excellent points about our mutual interests, if you’ll recall. They certainly made an impression on me.” He turned back to Selass, still standing before him. “Our females are not strictly in ‘bondage,’ as you say. Most are quite free. Some, such as the princess, even enjoy tremendous power. In certain circumstances, historically, her predecessors have even been the ‘matriarchal’ exception to the rule. Some females are ‘obligated,’ however, as I said, but there are strict laws concerning their treatment. They owe a debt and must ‘work it off.’”

  Matt suddenly understood a lot that h
ad remained mysterious to him before; subtle comments or turns of phrase from both Jenks and Princess Rebecca returned to the forefront of his mind. He did remember Jenks’s odd behavior whenever Sandra was around and openly voicing opinions and exercising authority in a way that he now knew Imperial females, no matter how highborn, simply didn’t do. Evidently, of all female Imperials, only Princess Rebecca, as heir to the Governor-Emperor’s throne, had real status and authority within the Empire.

  “Indentured servitude, then,” Spanky growled.

  Jenks nodded thoughtfully. “Perhaps. A far more appropriate term than ‘slavery,’ at any rate.”

  “Not much different in practice, though,” said Lieutenant Palmer. “Who do they owe their ‘debt’ to? The Company?”

  “That depends,” Jenks confessed. “Most do. Some owe it to individuals, some to industrialists, planters, and other commercial concerns. Some owe their debt to society as a whole, since in many cases it is purchased by the Imperial Government. The Company provides much of the ‘supply’ and profits in the ‘trade,’ however.”

  “The government buys them from the Company?” Matt demanded incredulously.

  “No! The government buys their debt!”

  “Same thing,” Matt insisted. He was horrified as much by what he was learning as by the sick feeling that he’d embraced such people as “friends.” Sure, women hadn’t even had the right to vote in the U.S. for long-and sometimes he honestly wondered if that had been a mistake or not-but that aside, the ideal of “gentlemanly behavior” in the world he remembered was to protect and defend the “weaker sex,” to guard their virtue and even, to a degree, place them on a pedestal of honor. Women were the guardians of civilization. They bore and raised children, made the home, and were often acknowledged as the “power behind the throne.” Some, like the late queen of England, wielded considerable power from the throne itself. At any rate, it was women who protected the foundations of humanity even while men did their best to tear them apart. In a very fundamental way, regardless of the political reasons behind any war, men forever volunteered to fight to protect their women, their families, and their homes from the very horrors they marched off to meet. It was ingrained in men, particularly officers of any service he’d ever known, to protect, defer to, and be courteous to all women-not to own them.