"So your Mrs. Vodi and Mr. Hans were the ones who set up the massacre at, what was it called, the 'shindig' then?" The admiral laughed uproariously. "Capital idea! Wonderful way to ensure payment in kind!" He threw his cards into the center of the table and said, "You know, Thomas, you just don't bluff worth a damn!"
"Your deal, Captain," said Dr. Myriad-Forsythewald, taking stock of the chips in front of him on the green baize table.
They were seated in wooden chairs in the admiral's den. No chairdogs here. These were no-nonsense chairs in a serious room dedicated to the earnest business of poker.
"Seven card stud, gentlemen, nothing wild?" Melville replied with a grin.
"Good. Only old ladies and children use wild cards," growled the admiral. "Deal 'em."
Fortune was favoring both Melville and Dr. Myriad-Forsythewald. The good doctor's style of play was solid and unimaginative but highly competent, while Melville's was flashy and unpredictable. Both, however, were doing much better than Admiral Middlemuss. Or his chief of staff, Captain George Stockard; or his aide, Lt. McKurkle; who had been dragooned into the game to round out the play.
The cigars and spirits were excellent, as was the conversation. All of the men at the table were well educated, widely experienced, and interesting conversationalists. They were all deeply interested in the Fang's experiences and battles during the Guldur attack on the Sylvan and Stolsh star kingdoms. But Melville tried hard not to monopolize the conversation, pumping his hosts for information about the Hero Cluster and the Far Rift.
Dr. Myriad-Forsythewald was currently holding forth on the mysterious Crabs. "In general, the Dwarrowdelf are only interested in tunnelics. But one of their sages, Esray Picklowmuch—an outcast from a famous family of deep miners—is well versed in monstrology and beastics. He is currently the Lecturer in Recent Runes at a Dwarrowdelf university. He gave me some insight into what we can expect from the denizens of Flatland in the Far Rift.
"It seems that the dominant species on the western edge of the rift is a crab-like, or insectoid civilization. They are considered semi-mythical. Both humans and Sylvans have had virtually no interaction with them. The Dwarrowdelf on the other side of the pole have reported some contact, though. And in recent years there have been secondhand reports of communication between the Crabs and the Guldur. Gentlemen, this must remain within this group, but I can tell you that the Sylvans and Westerness Intelligence are deeply concerned that there might be an alliance between the Guldur and the Crabs. Clearly the matter calls for more research! And thus, my visit."
"Raise you five, sir," said McKurkle.
"See you, and raise you another five," said the admiral followed by the rest of the players tossing their bets into the pot.
"From everything that Picklowmuch has been able to piece together," continued the good doctor, "they are like a cross between crabs and ants, with six legs and a hard, chitinous outer shell. Their body stays horizontal to the ground, moving on six legs, but they can raise the front of their torso up and use their forelegs or foreclaws as hands. Again, kind of like an ant, but broader and bigger, like a crab. For lack of any better term, I will refer to them as the Crabs.
"They have a fighter class, who are reportedly the size of a prone human. They fight with a kind of musket, and in close-combat they use a sword and shield in their foreclaws. Their fighters also have a formidable set of pinchers in their mouth, and a scorpion-like tail with a stinger on the end."
He broke off to glare at Melville. "Are you really planning on raising on that mess in front of you? What are they teaching young officers today?" He made a tsk-tsk sound, raised, and continued on in the face of Melville's grin. The admiral looked at his chief of staff and they both grimaced and folded their cards.
"The Crab workers are about the size of a racoon or a badger and are reported to be fairly intelligent, with softer chitin. They also have royalty, who are bigger than a human. The Crab royalty are apparently quite rare, and they are the most intelligent.
"We don't know anything about their language, what they call themselves, their politics, or their social structure. All we know is that they have a vast empire on the other side of the Far Rift. The only other thing that we know about them is that they travel in small, fast Ships—gunboats, really. Like most other species we know of, their Ships are essentially two ships connected at the Keel, with one mast and one cannon in the bow, and then duplicated on the other side of Flatland. The most notable characteristic of their Ships is the one, glowing white sail that can be spotted from a great distance. We've had many reports of those sails by traders out here, but they apparently are devilish fast Ships and they avoid all contact.
"Hm. I do believe this hand is mine, gentlemen," concluded the doctor, in a sudden change of topic. He turned over his cards to reveal a straight, ace high.
The others groaned companionably and tossed in their cards, except for Melville, who said, "Now, Doctor, let's not be hasty," and flipped over his hole cards to show a flush.
"Damn," the doctor sighed. "How do you do that?"
Melville laughed and said, "It seems as if you were talking more than watching, Doctor! It really is a good thing this is a low stakes game, or the night could become entirely too interesting!"
A laugh ran around the group and subsided quickly when Mrs. Middlemuss came into the room. The men stood quickly and politely greeted her.
The pleasant interlude of cards was brought to a reluctant end by her appearance.
"Gentlemen, dinner is served, so if you can put out those awful smoldering pieces of peat you call cigars, you are all welcome to come to the dining room!"
The evening was enjoyable, but Melville was happy to get back aboard Fang. No matter how nice the surroundings were, his Ship was his home, and he felt her welcome as his feet made contact with her deck.
His officers were pleased to hear the outcome of his meeting with the admiral. The only exception to this was Fielder's depression at learning that, in addition to being restricted in his movement and liberty privileges, he was assigned as the Officer of the Day for the fleet, starting at midnight. The admiral figured that a man of Fielder's capabilities would find it easy to deal with the, as he described it, 'disabilities of senior officers who may have overindulged.'
"Clearly, Daniel, the admiral has his eye on you," warned Melville. "So try to be good. If you can't be good, at least be careful."
"I'm always good, sir. And I'm always careful." Fielder replied sourly. "Virtuous is an entirely different matter."
For the Fangs, the walk from the military supply dock to the admiral's quarters was fairly short. The distance for the officers on the Ships at the commercial docks and the main military docks was significantly greater and necessitated the use of carriages and omnibuses.
The broad steps leading up to the main entrance of the admiral's residence gleamed under bright gaslight and the glow of two moons, and there was great color and bustle as the local gentry arrived. Small children were earning pennies by opening carriage doors, while their big brothers held the horses' reins as gentlefolk alighted, the ladies' brilliant gowns blossoming like flowers as they emerged. Many of the town's notables arrived on foot, while some chose to join the country gentry in coming by carriage, to emphasize their consequence in the community. The sound of music flowed from the huge open doors, as bright to the ears as the gaslight was to the eyes, promising gaiety, festivity and romance.
The arrival of Captain Melville and his wardroom was obscured by all the activity at the admiral's residence. Another handful of naval officers was an insignificant splash of dark blue amidst a surging tide of gaudy gentry and diplomats, their brightly accoutered carriages, and the continuous flood of caterers' carts and servants laboring to ensure that the function was supplied with the social lubricants necessary to keep everyone at their preferred level of satiation and inebriation.
The furniture had been cleared away (or led away in the case of the chairdogs) or tidily pushed a
long the walls to create a ballroom. Outside a set of open french doors a string quartet played with great skill and enthusiasm. Inside there was a jostling crowd of civilians in crisp black and white, sea officers in blue and gold, ladies in vivid gowns of every possible color, soldiers and marines in green and scarlet,and servants in red jackets bustling about with trays laden with glasses. Around the perimeter, more servants refilled glasses as quickly as they could, while the guests congregated like foam, flotsam, and lilies along the banks of a lake.
The admiral sighted Melville and his officers almost immediately. "Thomas!" he called. "Glad to see you and your wardroom here. If you would please introduce me to your fine ladies and gentlemen and their companions?"
Melville made the introductions of his officers—and their monkeys, who were apparently impressed by the admiral's courtesy. Conversation was stilted at first but had returned almost to normal when another group approached. Admiral Middlemuss stiffened almost imperceptibly as he turned to greet the new arrivals. Melville was astounded to see a Guldur admiral and his aides—thankfully minus their Goblan ticks. The Guldur was tall, grizzled, gray in the muzzle, and with a decidedly disagreeable cast to his countenance.
Perhaps the Guldur thought that his expressions would be as impenetrable to the humans as the humans were to the Guldur. But Melville and his wardroom had been eating, working, fighting, living, and dying with the Guldur in his crew ever since they had captured the Fang. Those members of his crew were what the Fang called "good pups" but this envoy (or whatever he might claim to be) was nothing but a tick-ridden cur! Even if his tick was not currently present.
"Captain Melville," said Middlemuss, "may I introduce you to Admiral Gwarlur, and I apologize if I do not pronounce it properly, Admiral. For some reason my throat seems unable to growl your name properly."
"Admiral Gwarlur," said Melville, offering his hand and saying the name with impeccable accuracy.
The Guldur admiral looked at the extended hand, wrinkled his snout, and said, "Thank you, but I'm not hungry."
Melville retrieved his hand smoothly and replied with supreme self-confidence and a gracious smile that made Middlemuss think of gold plated steel. "Well, I'd hate to be the one to give you indigestion! But, ah, silly me! I am the one that's been giving you indigestion, aren't I? So terribly sorry," he added in a wonderfully insincere voice, "I hear that you have lost some of your Ships recently. Some of your best Ships."
The Guldur admiral gave him a malevolent glare, momentarily lifting a lip off his teeth in a quickly controlled growl. "They have temporrarrily fallen into bad company," the Guldur snarled, with only the slightest accent. "It's amazing how ignorrant you humans are of properr comporrtment in dealing with morre traveled and capable rraces. Your species barrely seems to know how to trravel about the galaxy, much less how to act when faced with your betterrs!"
"We humans do live in blissful ignorance. Some are in militant ignorance. The effect is the same. And as to our betters, well, perhaps we shall learn when the time comes that we finally meet them," Melville returned blithely.
"So it's trrue that the vast majorrity of the people in yourr wrretched, pastorral empirre can't even find Guldurr on a map of the galaxy?"
"Yes, but the small majority who can find it are all in the Navy. Don't worry," said Melville with a feral grin,"the ones who need to find you won't have any difficulty."
To a certain type of officer, Melville's youth, his failure to work his way up the ranks and touch every base, his unquestionable ability, and his remarkable successes all combined to become a personal insult. Fortunately, Admiral Middlemuss was not one of those. He just seemed amused and bemused by his new captain.
On the other hand, he also didn't see a need to let Melville enrage the Guldur admiral to the point of provoking a duel. While it wouldn't bother him a bit to see the Guldur taken down a peg or two (permanently!) it also would have all the hallmarks of a true diplomatic disaster.
Worse yet, what if Melville lost? While it might make certain factions at the Admiralty very happy, it would greatly complicate matters in the Hero Cluster.
And so, somewhat reluctantly, Admiral Middlemuss broke in. "Captain Melville, I'm sorry to take you away when you're having such a wonderfully productive discussion with the admiral, but I had promised to introduce you to some of our guests. Admiral, gentlebeings, if you will excuse us?" he said as they swept away.
Sometime later, after Melville had been introduced to most of the room's inhabitants (and to some of the excellent local wines), Mrs. Middlemuss entered the ballroom and rang a small crystal bell to attract everyone's attention.
"It is time for the polonaise before supper," she announced to the room. "I must beg you all to leave your conversations and come join us."
"Mrs. Middlemuss' wish is our command," said Melville to the general agreement of the room.
"Captain Melville, I understand that you don't dance?" said Mrs. Middlemuss.
"It is painful to be reminded of what I am missing in the presence of so much beauty," said Melville with sincere regret. He loved music, and could carry a tune fairly well upon occasion (although there were times when others would disagree), but there was no denying that he was an abject failure at dancing. "In dancing I must choose my battles. Anything other than a slow box step is an invitation to social and podiatric disaster."
That was the sad truth, but it also established the opportunity for him to make some invitations when the beat and music were right. There would be a few lovelies whose company he could enjoy without inviting complete embarrassment and humiliation. And the pleasure of holding a woman close, even within the standards of propriety, was something that reminded him of what he and his men were protecting.
At least as long as he kept off her feet!
The time strolled pleasantly past, filled with beautiful women, good wine, and pleasant conversation.
"Getting about time for the supper march," announced the admiral. "Captain Melville, would you be so kind as to escort Mrs. Middlemuss?"
"Delighted, of course," he replied with a smile.
The only thing wrong with the dinner was that, as the guest of honor, Melville was seated near the head of the table. Normally this wouldn't have been too much of a trial, as the admiral and his wife were both cheerful and interesting dinner companions.
Unfortunately, protocol also dictated that the Guldur representative be seated near the admiral as well. And while Melville knew quite a few Guldur who he would cheerfully share a meal with (at least anything not cooked by Kaleb Jones!), the Guldur admiral was definitely not among them!
"Melville," lamented Admiral Middlemuss, shaking his head sadly as he ate, "one of these days I'm going to have to teach you how to play golf.
"Dear Lord! Why, sir?" said Melville with mock dismay and a disarming smile as he sipped his wine.
The admiral was struck by the sheer charisma of the slender young captain's grin. But behind that unflagging good humor, Melville's gray eyes flashed like cold steel in moonlight. Middlemuss realized that he was getting a glimpse of the personality that had forged the Fang and her crew into such a fearsome weapon.
"Because you seem too happy."
"Have mercy, sir! Anything but that, please. I promise to be good. I swear I won't sink a single Guldur Ship while under your command."
"Hmm, with the exception of Admiral Gwarlur's Ship—which is protected by diplomatic immunity—there are no other Guldur Ships in this part of the galaxy."
"Damn, did somebody beat me to all the rest of 'em?" He replied, with irrepressible deviltry dancing like quicksilver in his eyes.
"Humph," said the Guldur, who had been sitting at the table, listening, scowling, and growling. "R'all rright then, if you arre so puissant, why have you and yourr supposedly amazing Ship been wrritten off, and condemned to the deepest, darrkest depths of the frrontierr? Hmph. You arre beneath ourr notice."
Melville shrugged and smiled. "We've seen all the action anyo
ne ever needs, and all we really want now is a quiet life as free traders. But I've got one hell of a Ship and a damned fine crew, and if I was you, I'd continue to take 'notice' of me. And my Ship."
"It is trrue that we underrestimated you and yourr Ship. That won't happen again."
"I get underestimated a lot. And by better people than you."
Just then the Guldur admiral's aide came to his side and whispered in his ear. The Guldur smiled an evil, wolfish grin. "I am needed at my Ship," he said to Admiral Middlemuss. "I'm sure you will understand."
Middlemuss made agreeable noises as the Guldur stood up from the table with a brief bow that was barely more than a nod, and left.
"Well," said Dr. Myriad-Forsythewald, "I hate to cast aspersions on another guest, but I do believe that the temperature in this room has risen at least ten degrees since the Guldur gentleman's departure!"
Admiral Middlemuss made a brief grimace. "I hate to agree, but the Lord knows I am not the best diplomat when it comes to dealing with arrogant, overbearing aliens! Not, of course, that I would even dream of expressing such an opinion of our esteemed departed guest! Oh, perish the thought!" There was a general chuckle of agreement around the table.
"I can understand why he might be perturbed at my presence," said Melville, "but why is he so obviously disturbed by the Kingdom of Westerness? As he so graciously, continuously and acerbically pointed out, we are newcomers and beneath their notice!
Dr. Myriad-Forsythewald replied thoughtfully. "I believe it is that, to him, Westerness represents thumos," he said. "Thumos, an ancient Greek psychological concept, cannot be translated directlyinto English because it combines the qualities and emotions of passion, spirit,energy, and courage. Thumos has a negative side, such as the anger of Achilles. But it is also acreative force of great and positive life powers. On Old Earth, England—and then her great colonies: Canada, Australia, and especially America—represented thumos for most of their history, and they were much feared and despised for it. Today the situation is largely the same with Westerness."
The Guns of Two-Space Page 49