Ride The Rising Tide (The Maxwell Saga) (36 page)

Steve grinned. “I’ve never eaten Scottish food, although I’ve heard all sorts of horror stories about haggis. Care to try it with me?”

She giggled. “Why not?”

Brooks sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to come along to keep an eye on you, in case you over–indulge. If we’re going to be drinking whisky, should we take a taxi?”

“That’s not a bad idea. I’d hate to be arrested for drunken driving so soon after becoming APD’s golden boy!”

~ ~ ~

As a server cleared their table of the remnants of dessert, the waiter asked, “Was everything to your liking, Sir?”

“
Oh, yes,” Steve assured him happily, patting his replete stomach. “Now, do you have Aultfeldy single malt whisky?”

The man’s face showed surprise. “Yes, Sir, we do. You’re the first person who’s asked for it in some time. Most people choose a cheaper and better–known single malt. Aultfeldy’s a connoisseur’s tipple.”

“Well, I’m no connoisseur, but tonight’s a special occasion. I’d like three glasses of Aultfeldy, straight.” He looked at his friends. “Coffee for everyone?” They nodded, and he turned back to the waiter. “Coffee as well, please.”

“
Coming right up, Sir.”

As he walked away, Brooks said, “All right, Steve, out with it! What’s so special about this ‘Aultfeldy’ stuff, and why do we need to drink it tonight?”

Miriam leaned forward. “Yes, this is all very mysterious! What’s up?”

Steve said slowly, “Nine years ago tonight, on January 22nd, 2837 according to the Galactic Standard Calendar, I met a man. In a very real sense, he’s the reason I’m here tonight.”

He told them of meeting Bosun Cardle in Louie’s saloon at the Elevator terminal at Old Home Earth, and how his defense of Louie a few days earlier had sparked a discussion that had led to an offer of employment as a spacer apprentice. He described how that had led to Radetski and Operation Sweet Tooth, Vince’s later death at the hands of pirates, and Steve’s subsequent enlistment in the Fleet. While he spoke, the waiter put three crystal glasses on the table before them, and poured coffee, but no one interrupted his story to sample their drinks.

“
So that’s what we’re celebrating tonight,” he concluded. “Nine years ago I met the man who’d become a surrogate father to me, only to lose him less than two years later. It was his willingness to take a chance on me that gave me the opportunity to leave Old Home Earth and build a new life for myself. Two years later — seven years ago, almost to the day — I enlisted in the Fleet and started Boot Camp. Now I’m 27 years old, with a bright future ahead of me, all because Vince gave me a break. I wish he was still here with us, but since he can’t be, I reckoned I’d raise a glass of his favorite tipple in his memory.”

He picked up his glass. “Here’s to Vince Cardle, the best man I ever knew. If there’s anything after death, I hope he knows we’re thinking of him now; and I hope I get to see him again when my time comes to cross the river.”

“Absent friends,” Brooks toasted, and Miriam nodded. They clinked their glasses together, then sipped the heady single malt whisky.

“
Whoo!
That’s strong!” Miriam gasped, her eyes widening. “It’s smooth, though. I can feel the warmth sliding all the way down my throat.”

“
It’s good stuff, all right,” Brooks agreed. “It’s much lighter than some single malt Scotches I’ve tasted, not too peaty–flavored.”

Steve nodded. “I can appreciate it better now. Back then I didn’t have a palate for whisky — Louie said I was too young. I reckon I’ll keep a bottle of Aultfeldy in my home when I finally establish one, and drink a glass now and again in memory of Vince, and for special occasions.”

“I think he’d like that,” Miriam said quietly.

“
I hope so. I hope I can become someone of whom he’d be proud.”

“
I think perhaps you already have,” she suggested.

“
I reckon I’ve still got a long way to go before I can claim to have lived up to his standards.”

Brooks grinned. “What’s the old proverb? ‘The longest journey begins with a single step’. You took that step nine years ago tonight, buddy. I’d say you’ve taken quite a few more since then. Here’s to the rest of them. They may not be smooth and easy, but I hope they’ll be steps of which he’d be proud — and I’ll be proud to walk at least some of them alongside you.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Steve agreed softly.

Peter Grant was born in South Africa in 1958. The state censor board did not allow television until 1973, and his parents didn't get one until 1974; so he grew up with books. Lots of books.

He started out after school as a military man, moved into commercial information technology, and assisted with humanitarian work during South Africa's prolonged civil unrest that led to the end of apartheid in 1994. After having traveled all over Africa, he emigrated to the USA in 1997, married a pilot from Alaska, and settled in Tennessee.

Visit him at
his Amazon.com author page
, or his blog:

http://bayourenaissanceman.blogspot.com