Authors: Taylor Anderson
Firestorm (9 page)
Eventually, amid continuous fanfare,
Ulysses
and
Icarus
were secured at the Navy dock where the survivors of the naval battle off Scapa Flow still underwent repairs. The Allied warships tied up as well, and the oilers and transports moored nearby. With agonizing care,
Salaama-Na
snugged up to what would ultimately become the Allied fueling pier, capable of handling several “normal size” ships at once. With the crowd, now largely composed of female dockworkers shouting at others to “stand clear,” gathered alongside, the various commanders and their staffs came ashore and were escorted to where Governor-Emperor Gerald McDonald lounged on the seat of a carriage, his wounded legs still immobilized. ith the awkward assistance of a muscular, one-armed, dark-skinned man named Sean (O’Casey) Bates and Gerald’s pale, slender wife, Ruth, the Governor-Emperor managed to stand.
Ulysses
and
Icarus
were secured at the Navy dock where the survivors of the naval battle off Scapa Flow still underwent repairs. The Allied warships tied up as well, and the oilers and transports moored nearby. With agonizing care,
Salaama-Na
snugged up to what would ultimately become the Allied fueling pier, capable of handling several “normal size” ships at once. With the crowd, now largely composed of female dockworkers shouting at others to “stand clear,” gathered alongside, the various commanders and their staffs came ashore and were escorted to where Governor-Emperor Gerald McDonald lounged on the seat of a carriage, his wounded legs still immobilized. ith the awkward assistance of a muscular, one-armed, dark-skinned man named Sean (O’Casey) Bates and Gerald’s pale, slender wife, Ruth, the Governor-Emperor managed to stand.
“Welcome!” he boomed with a broad grin. “Welcome to you all! Welcome, Sor-Lomaak, High Chief of the sovereign
Salaama-Na
Home, and all the beautiful Allied ships accompanying her! I’m more grateful than I can express for the safe return of
Ulysses
and
Icarus
as well! Please do excuse this informal greeting—an appropriate reception is being prepared—but my exuberance could not be contained!”
Salaama-Na
Home, and all the beautiful Allied ships accompanying her! I’m more grateful than I can express for the safe return of
Ulysses
and
Icarus
as well! Please do excuse this informal greeting—an appropriate reception is being prepared—but my exuberance could not be contained!”
Looking at the man, Matt didn’t doubt he was sincere, but his pale, sweaty face testified to his pain. It was a miracle he’d kept either leg, let alone both.
Walker
’s own surgeon, Selass, daughter of Keje-Fris-Ar, vaulted onto the carriage and whispered something to Ruth, who self-righteously repeated it in her husband’s ear. With a dismissive wave, the Governor-Emperor allowed himself to be seated once more. “Tonight, then,” he said, less vigorously, “please do join me at Government House where I can welcome you properly and we can discuss those things that need our most immediate attention!”
Walker
’s own surgeon, Selass, daughter of Keje-Fris-Ar, vaulted onto the carriage and whispered something to Ruth, who self-righteously repeated it in her husband’s ear. With a dismissive wave, the Governor-Emperor allowed himself to be seated once more. “Tonight, then,” he said, less vigorously, “please do join me at Government House where I can welcome you properly and we can discuss those things that need our most immediate attention!”
After a few more personal greetings, the carriage pulled away with Selass still aboard, and Matt looked at the newly arrived Allied officers. First, he stepped to Sor-Lomaak and saluted. As a head of state in his own right, Sor-Lomaak, while a member of the Alliance, wasn’t under Matt’s military authority unless he chose to be. He was a tall ’Cat, almost as tall as Adar—which still left him half a head shorter than Matt. As had most Home High Chiefs, he’d risen from the “Body of Home clan,” and was built a lot like Keje; broad and strong, instead of slim, with the disproportionately powerful upper body of the “wing runners.” His fur was a black-blotched brown.
“We haven’t met, Your Excellency,” Matt said. “Welcome to the Empire of the New Britain Isles.” Sor-Lomaak seemed flustered, both by the salute and Matt’s words. Realizing he’d unconsciously spoken English, Matt repeated his greeting in his improved, but still-clumsy Lemurian. Sor-Lomaak blinked appreciation.
“I am glad to have finally arrived upon this strange land—far beyond the point I thought it possible to even stand.”
Matt winced. Lemurian religious dogma as taught by the Sky Priests had taken some serious hits of late, and he wished the revelations of such things as consistent, worldwide gravity had been allowed a more . . . comfortable absorption. “Glad to have you, sir. If you need any assistance unloading your cargo, I’ll be glad to help coordinate it.” He paused. “Things are a little strange here, as you’ve surely noticed. Human females do much of the labor, and though we’re in the process of working that out, their status is somewhat unusual.”
“So I gathered when we touched at Respite Island,” Sor-Lomaak observed.
“Yes. Well, I expect this war’s going to set a lot of Imperial institutions on their heads, and it’ll probably be an easier transition if they recognize the necessity for themselves.” He grinned. “We’ll help guide that recognition, of course.”
“Of course.”
“In any event,” Matt continued, “I think you’ll find the Imperials will treat your . . .
our
people well. Besides the fact some of my Mi-Anaaka Marines practically saved their country for them, they seem genuinely fascinated by ’Cats. Almost too fascinated at times! Some of my guys get tired of being . . . well, petted.”
our
people well. Besides the fact some of my Mi-Anaaka Marines practically saved their country for them, they seem genuinely fascinated by ’Cats. Almost too fascinated at times! Some of my guys get tired of being . . . well, petted.”
Sor-Lomaak laughed heartily. “Better petted than feared—or reviled.”
“There’s a little of that too,” Matt admitted, “but mostly by our enemies here.” He shook his head. “I swear, the ‘Holy Dominion’ is human, but they’re just as crazy as Grik, and smarter. They don’t think anybody, humans or ’Cats, are ‘people,’ except for themselves.” Matt paused and blew through his lips. Talking ’Cat always kind of . . . tickled. “The Imperials are scared of our Marines, though,” he added with satisfaction. “It seemed weird to them that our guys didn’t really try to take prisoners in the land fighting, for example.” He shrugged. “You probably understand. In our war against the Grik, ‘quarter’ has never been a priority for either side,” he said dryly. “They’re used to different ways here, although that may change too. The Dominion, or ‘Doms,’ they call them, aren’t much for surrendering.”
Excusing himself from Sor-Lomaak, Matt returned the salutes and shook the hands of the captains and senior officers of
Mertz
and
Tindal
. All were Lemurians, as were the crews of both ships, even the engineers. Matt had to admit he felt strange about that, but also . . . proud. The feeling probably wasn’t all that dissimilar to a sense that “junior was growing up.” Not only had their Lemurian friends learned to grasp the technological leaps the humans brought them, but they embraced them, used them,
commanded
them, and in many ways, they’d begun to
improve
upon them. “Junior”
had
grown up, technologically, and—somewhat sadly—militarily. Matt was confident that for the most part, the Allied naval officers had learned many things
better
than their teachers could show them, and if Pete Alden might once have been uncomfortable bestowing the sacred title of “Marine” on what many had considered “cat-monkeys,” Matt knew Pete had no cause for discomfort in that regard anymore.
Mertz
and
Tindal
. All were Lemurians, as were the crews of both ships, even the engineers. Matt had to admit he felt strange about that, but also . . . proud. The feeling probably wasn’t all that dissimilar to a sense that “junior was growing up.” Not only had their Lemurian friends learned to grasp the technological leaps the humans brought them, but they embraced them, used them,
commanded
them, and in many ways, they’d begun to
improve
upon them. “Junior”
had
grown up, technologically, and—somewhat sadly—militarily. Matt was confident that for the most part, the Allied naval officers had learned many things
better
than their teachers could show them, and if Pete Alden might once have been uncomfortable bestowing the sacred title of “Marine” on what many had considered “cat-monkeys,” Matt knew Pete had no cause for discomfort in that regard anymore.
Looking at his Lemurian . . . colleagues, Matt smiled, and together they walked back toward the American dock, discussing equipment they’d brought from the Fil-pin Lands, logistical matters, and more of the oddities of life in the Empire.
The reception, held on the torch-lit, manicured grounds surrounding Government House, was a resounding success. Long tables draped with spotless cloths formed expanding semicircles around a large round table positioned near the broad, residential porch. There was no dancing, but strains of Vivaldi once more drifted in the light, warm breeze to the delight of the newly arrived Lemurians who’d never heard its like. They hadn’t tasted many of the meats laid before them either; chicken, plump parrots steamed on beds of port-darkened rice, succulent pork prepared in a variety of ways. All were domestic descendants of “Passage” livestock, and the juicy, tender quality of the fare was much appreciated and graciously complimented. Exotic fruits and vegetables were enjoyed as well, but even Matt couldn’t tell how many were native to this world and which might be the result of cross-pollenization. The port wine was sweeter than Lemurian seep, but it had subtle similarities. He’d cautioned against serving anything stronger. ’Cats had hard liquor, but theirs had unpredictable effects on humans. Only their excellent beer produced conventional and generally benign results. Imperial spirits might make the Lemurian guests ill, at the very least.
Besides the lack of dancing, there were other differences from the only other festivity Matt had attended here: the Pre-Passage Ball. That was when things began coming to a head. In retrospect, considering the extent of the treachery rampant at the time, the lack of security had been naïve to say the least. In contrast, the Governor-Emperor now sat with his back to the front entrance of the grand house, with all the most important guests seated at that central table. Flanking it were spotlessly attired Imperial and Lemurian Marines. The Imperials looked very decorative in their yellow-faced red coats, black dress shakos, and white knee breeches. The ’Cats were magnificent in their white leather and blue kilts, accented with polished bronze greaves and helmets. The bayonet-tipped muskets held in their distinctive “rest” positions were immaculate, highly polished—and loaded. No one knew how many traitors still roamed New Scotland, but they were taking no chances this night.
The music and jumbled roar of conversations between Allied and Imperial officers seated at the tables nearby was sufficiently muted by distance to allow those at the Governor-Emperor’s table to communicate without shouting. The discussions during the meal were limited to pleasantries and cultural questions and observations. Matt had cautioned his officers not to harp on the “female question,” since those discussions and negotiations were touchy. Though most assuredly underway, they also remained private. That something be “done” about the virtual enslavement of Imperial women had been a prerequisite to Imperial membership in the Grand Alliance, but it went to the very root of their culture. Most Imperial leaders at the table agreed that the institution was barbaric, and now, that the Company had been shattered, outdated, and even unsustainable. There was significant disagreement on how to proceed, however.
Sor-Lomaak was enjoying himself, with the newly arrived frigate captains translating the conversations. Chack-Sab-At, a major now, was at Matt’s side. He said little, but glanced at his Marines on the porch between each bite he took. Courtney Bradford, the odd Australian engineer/ naturalist, sat at Matt’s other elbow, disinterested in the “normal” foods the ’Cats and human destroyermen ate so greedily, virtually dissecting the unfamiliar dishes he sampled. He was deeply involved in a discussion with Governor-Emperor McDonald about the Empire’s lens-making industry. He was desperate for a “proper” microscope, beyond those the Empire already had.
Spanky had remained aboard
Walker
, but Chief Gray, ever protective, was there. He wasn’t doing much protecting now, though, and was plainly bored. They’d caught the relayed message concerning TF Garrett’s plight shortly before leaving the ship, and he hated doing nothing when friends were in peril. He scowled at the plate before him, picking disapprovingly at the rich food. Commodore Harvey Jenks, who’d arrived later than expected, leaned past his dutifully silent wife and whispered something in the Bosun’s ear. Gray grunted, nodded, and seemed to take heart. Matt suspected the commodore had probably reminded him there’d be plenty to do soon enough.
Walker
, but Chief Gray, ever protective, was there. He wasn’t doing much protecting now, though, and was plainly bored. They’d caught the relayed message concerning TF Garrett’s plight shortly before leaving the ship, and he hated doing nothing when friends were in peril. He scowled at the plate before him, picking disapprovingly at the rich food. Commodore Harvey Jenks, who’d arrived later than expected, leaned past his dutifully silent wife and whispered something in the Bosun’s ear. Gray grunted, nodded, and seemed to take heart. Matt suspected the commodore had probably reminded him there’d be plenty to do soon enough.
Matt looked at Lieutenant (jg) Fred Reynolds, in charge of
Walker
’s meager air division. The kid was picking at his food too, but not from boredom. He still blamed himself for the life-threatening wounds Ensign Kari-Faask, his ’Cat spotter and friend, had suffered when he pressed his attack too closely on the Dom troop transports that had threatened Scapa Flow. She was improving, but that first taste of responsibility for the life of another, especially a friend, had rattled him.
Walker
’s gunnery officer, “Sonny” Campeti, was trying to chat him up, but occasionally, he cast a worried look at Matt.
Walker
’s meager air division. The kid was picking at his food too, but not from boredom. He still blamed himself for the life-threatening wounds Ensign Kari-Faask, his ’Cat spotter and friend, had suffered when he pressed his attack too closely on the Dom troop transports that had threatened Scapa Flow. She was improving, but that first taste of responsibility for the life of another, especially a friend, had rattled him.
Walker
’s gunnery officer, “Sonny” Campeti, was trying to chat him up, but occasionally, he cast a worried look at Matt.
“That gennel-maan yonder asks if you’d scoot the bottle on around, sur?” Matt looked up in response to the voice that sounded in his ear and saw Taarba-Kar, better known as “Tabasco.” The rust-colored ’Cat was one of Lanier’s mess attendants, filling in as his “personal steward” while Juan Marcoo’d he little Filipino, was test-driving his new wooden leg. Lanier had almost burst a vessel when Juan “stoled” Tabasco for the mythical “Skipper’s Steward Division” and the ’Cat promptly deserted him to attend “classes” at the church/hospital that had become an amputee ward. Matt stayed out of it. Long ago, Juan had established a position of moral, if not official, power aboard his ship, and Juan’s tragic but heroic wound had only strengthened it. He looked where Tabasco was pointing.
Across the table, beside Sean Bates—the one-armed, one-time “outlaw” they’d met as Sean O’Casey, now Gerald McDonald’s prime factor and chief of staff—was Lord High Admiral McClain. Matt wasn’t sure what he thought of him. By all accounts, the man was a mariner extraordinaire, and had the trust of Gerald and Harvey Jenks, but he was also a stalwart of the “old guard.” He’d long resisted Jenks’s drive to explore the world beyond Imperial frontiers, and he, almost alone among Gerald’s staff, resisted the proposed reforms regarding the “female question.” He resisted almost all change as a matter of course, in a devil’s advocate fashion, and Matt wasn’t sure if that reflected his honest position or if he was just testing their suggestions. Matt wondered how well he’d adapt to the strategies and tactics required by this “new” war. He nodded at the man and passed the bottle along.
Sean Bates suddenly stood and glanced at those surrounding him. “P’raps now’s a good time ta adjourn ta the library, ta discuss the campaign that laies ahead,” he suggested. “As ye know, the Gov’ner-Emp’rer remains easely tired, an’ I s’pect many here could use a wee rest after yer long voyage.”
“Nonsense, Sean, we needn’t rush . . .” Gerald began, but Matt also stood.
“May as well. It’s been a long day, and we should crack the book and get everybody on the same page. Besides,” he added, “I’m anxious to get back to
Walker
and check on developments in the west.”
Walker
and check on developments in the west.”
“Of course,” agreed Gerald, accepting the excuse. “By all means then, let us adjourn to the library.” He gestured around at the other tables. “They shan’t miss us. It’s good to see our . . . peoples . . . agreeing so well! We’ve much to accomplish together, and I’m glad we’ve had this opportunity to begin as friends!” He sobered, looking at the diners, Imperials and Lemurians, mixed together. “They
must
be friends,” he added, nodding significantly at Chack, acknowledging the crucial role he and his Marines had played toward that end. “Soon they’ll guard one another’s lives.”
must
be friends,” he added, nodding significantly at Chack, acknowledging the crucial role he and his Marines had played toward that end. “Soon they’ll guard one another’s lives.”
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