Rising Tides

CHAPTER 14

Eastern Sea

N ervously, Matt endured the one-handed shave. Somehow-even Juan couldn’t remember exactly how or when-the Filipino had apparently broken his left arm during the terrible storm. He swore it hadn’t been when the ship nearly capsized; he’d have remembered that. He was darkly suspicious that it happened when Earl Lanier fell on him sometime later. Now the arm hung suspended in a sling while Matt did his best to project calm indifference as Juan’s shaky, unsupported razor scraped the stubble from his face. The sea was almost calm at last. The morning sky was blue, with a purple-tinged fleece of clouds. The typhoon, Strakka, or whatever it was, had passed, and like other Strakkas he’d experienced, there wasn’t any fooling around. When it was gone, it was gone. There was no lingering stormy aftereffect. In seas where land was near, there was always a tremendous detritus of shredded vegetation, trees, and tumbling corpses of fish and animals. The corpses never lasted long once the sea calmed down. At least within the Malay Barrier, flasher fish took care of that. Out here, in the broad Pacific, he didn’t know. Lanier, who fished over the side whenever the ship was at ease, hadn’t caught any flashies off their little atoll, although he caught plenty of other stuff. No, out here, the end of the Strakka had almost a cleansing effect; as if in its might it had absorbed and scoured the sea clear of all but the mildest weather.

They’d been lucky for once. The only thing that saved them, apparently, was that the monstrous wave hadn’t actually broken over the ship, crushing her like a bobbing beer can. Evidently, it had risen in their path, moving in vaguely the same direction they were. There’d been no real warning as such-even Chack hadn’t seen it in time for that-and all they’d been able to do was try to claw up its flank. They didn’t make it. The thing was just too steep, and even now no one had any real idea how high the wave ultimately crested. In spite of the wind and the direction of the swells, the top of the wave must have split of its own accord beneath the titanic weight it had amassed. Walker simply dropped over onto her side when part of this avalanche of falling sea landed upon her.

Matt, like all seamen, had long heard tales of “rogue waves” that reached to the sky, “white squalls” made of almost solid, windblown water. He admitted that he’d always put both in the same category as mermaids and sea monsters. Now he knew there were sea monsters and “white squalls” weren’t the most unusual squalls that one might encounter. Clearly, “rogue waves” existed too, and he wondered uncomfortably just how “rogue” they actually were on this world. The terror of the event still resonated within him, and even if the details of what he’d done and how he’d reacted had blurred, the overall sense of crushing, swirling hopelessness and failure wouldn’t go away. It had been that close.

Grimly, he counted the cost yet again. They’d lost seven people, all’Cats, over the side. Just gone. Both bridgewing lookouts were swept away. Most of the rest were lost while trying to secure the plane and boats and any number of other things that had been torn loose on deck. The sea had continued to run high for an interminable period, and the safety chains and lifelines simply hadn’t been up to the task. One of the launches was a total wreck, and the Nancy had suffered some damage as well. Reynolds was surveying it now to see if it could be repaired. The number three boiler had burst when they took water down the stack. It hadn’t been a catastrophic break, but the seams were blown and all the firebrick inside had exploded and practically shredded the tubes and tanks. Four more ’Cats had died in the fireroom and nearly everyone who’d been in there was injured to some degree.

Tabby was probably the worst. Somehow she’d managed to shut off the fuel and feed water to the damaged boiler in the smoke- and steamchoked compartment. She’d even closed the cut-out valve, ensuring that steam still reached the turbines from the undamaged boilers, before she’d finally been overcome. By so doing, she’d literally saved the ship and all those aboard her. Walker would have been doomed without steerageway. In the process, however, she’d burnt her lungs and been badly scalded. She was in the wardroom now, with half a dozen other bad cases. Her fur was coming off in bloody clumps and her labored breathing sounded like a sub’s diesel exhaust when water washes over the vents. Matt had been to see her, to see them all, and he figured Tabby was done for. Oddly, Selass offered some hope. Not much, but some. Matt didn’t know how she could, but he prayed she was right.

There were many other injuries, serious and light, ranging from broken bones, like Juan’s arm, to the big, stitched-up cut running along the Bosun’s jaw. Campeti had a concussion. One of the ’Cats, an ordnance striker named Faal-Pel, who’d previously been known as “Pall-Mall,” had instantly gained a new nickname when he somehow contrived to lose half his tail. Matt supposed Faal-Pel would be stuck with “Stumpy” forever. Objectively, it could have been much, much worse, and looking back over their adventures and his poor old ship’s many trials, he realized it usually had been. He had to concede that, in all honesty, this time they actually had been “lucky.”

Achilles had been “lucky” too, in that she’d survived the storm, but otherwise, not so much. Walker ’s wireless array had been damaged again, and they’d lost all contact with Jenks’s ship during the storm. Even when the aerial was repaired, they couldn’t reach Achilles. By chance, they found her the following day while crisscrossing their path to leeward. She’d been almost dismasted by the blow, and her starboard paddle wheel was a wreck. Matt was seriously concerned that the once beautiful, formidable ship may have endured too much. She’d been almost two years at sea, had fought a major action, and now had gone through the worst storm imaginable. He hoped she could reach Respite. With the same concerns, Jenks allowed Walker to take Achilles under tow. As if to show how fickle fate could truly be, they sighted Icarus later that evening, looking as though she’d missed the storm completely. Of Ulysses there was no sign.

“We can fix the boiler,” Spanky said roughly, and coughed. His eyes were red and there were bandages on his forearms. He’d been one of the first into the aft fireroom and had sucked in some steam as well. He’d also personally carried Tabby to the wardroom, snarling “Don’t touch her!” at anyone who tried to take her from him. “Actually, we can rebuild it. We’re carrying more spare stuff than the old Blackhawk ever had for us.” Blackhawk had been their destroyer tender in the Asiatic Fleet. “It’ll take time and a lot of work, though. When I say ‘rebuild,’ I mean rebuild. Hell, even the casing’s warped.” He shook his head. “We’ve got a lot more water than usual coming in around the starboard shaft packing too, but otherwise, engineering came through okay.” He paused. “I mean, other than a lot of people hurt… and the dead, of course.”

“Of course.”

The Bosun was gingerly feeling his jaw. “I never would’ve believed it,” he said. “Thin as this old gal’s skin is, I figured we’d have a thousand leaks after a beating like that, but she came through like a submarine.”

“Hey,” Spanky growled, “I was there when damn near every new rivet went in. You weren’t. She’s tighter than a drum. And not all her steel’s so thin anymore. We rolled the new plates out to original spec. That’s why it sticks up in some places when your apes bitch about the paint scraping.”

“Is that so? Well, I wasn’t bitching.”

Spanky looked almost accusingly at the Bosun. It was as if, having failed to rise to his argumentative bait, Gray had let him down. His next words, words they’d all been avoiding, confirmed it. “Then what are we going to do about the dead, anyway?”

Juan wiped the remnants of soap off the Captain’s face and beat a hasty retreat. He wanted no part of this discussion.

Matt rubbed his face and took a deep breath. “Damned if I know. All the dead… still aboard… were ’Cats this time, mostly in the fireroom.” He lowered his voice. “We can’t cremate them the Lemurian way, and I don’t know how they’ll feel about burial at sea. Carrying them back to Baalkpan isn’t even an option. Neither is waiting until we reach Respite. We’re still at least a week out.”

“Ask Chack,” Gray suggested.

Spanky shook his head and looked away. “I’ll ask Tabby,” he said huskily. “Leavin’ out Chack’s Marine rank, she actually kind of outranks him now, anyway. Besides…” He couldn’t finish.

Lieutenant (jg) Fred Reynolds looked at the PB-1B Nancy from every angle, still amazed that the plane had survived the storm in one piece

… mostly. Kari-Faask imitated nearly his every move. She was just as concerned as he was about the condition of the plane, though she’d have been relieved if the damn thing had been totally destroyed or just washed over the side. She wasn’t nearly as keen on flying as her friend and pilot was. Since the plane wasn’t wrecked, she intended to make sure it was as well maintained as possible-as long as her precious hide might have to ride in it again.

“The motor plumb flooded,” announced Jeek, the flight crew chief. “We take whole thing off, replace with spare. Gaas tank, all gaas lines, come out, dry out. Use big air blow!” he said, referring to air from the ship’s compressor. “We take wet motor apart, dry out, new spare!” He seemed proud of his ingenuity. They had five spare engines for the Nancy, and an entire spare plane broken down and stowed in the aft deckhouse. Remembering that, Kari sighed. If they’d been down to the “spare” plane, that would have probably just left them making more dangerous flights.

“That’s swell, Jeek,” Reynolds said. “Any structural damage?”

“She wet inside and out,” Jeek admitted. “Some glue come loose on inside.” He brightened. “But glue dry again, pretty day!”

Reynolds looked at him. “You better clamp those places!” he said sharply, but Jeek grinned.

“Just joke. She tight. No water get inside. Only motor wet. It outside.”

Reynolds stopped, noticing something he hadn’t seen before. There were a lot of small patches in the plane’s skin, where the flight crew had covered bullet holes. Most had been painted over and were barely noticeable. One, however, on the nose, right in front of the windscreen, had a circle around the patch with a big O and what looked like an upsidedown N.

“What’s that?” he demanded.

Jeek shrugged. “You bring plane back full of holes from bad guy guns, that fine. Lots of work to fix, but fine. You shoot hole in own plane”-he gestured at the nose-“not fine. From where you sit, numbers say NO. Maybe you remember not shoot own plane no more!”

Reynolds’s ears reddened. “That wasn’t my fault, damn it!” he said defensively. “They were shooting at us, I was shooting at them! All I had was a damn pistol!”

“You get ‘carried away,’ ” Kari agreed. “You almost shoot us down yourself!”

“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 had 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.

It had been hard enough on Matt and many of his destroyermen to recognize the complete equality of the sexes among Lemurians. Sandra had already defiantly staked a claim to equal status aboard his ship before they ever really met the ’Cats, but she was different. She’d become the medical officer, and some measure of risk was inherent in that, as well as their overall situation. It wasn’t as if they’d put her on a gun crew! But then, when they met the Lemurians, and began accepting Lemurian cadets aboard the ship, they couldn’t discriminate based on sex, because it would have profoundly offended their allies. Over time, Matt guessed they’d grown desensitized. Female ’Cats aboard ship, in the Army or Marines, or working in the factories, became a matter of course. Some “traditionalists” like Spanky might still act scandalized, but they accepted the situation and the necessity behind it. There were always rumors of interspecies… associations, but in most cases they were still just rumors-with one glaring, possible exception.

Jenks looked around the table at the suddenly hostile faces. “Mr. Bates, would you care to give a history lesson?”

O’Casey glanced up from studying his spoon.

“Yeah, O’Casey, how about that?” Gray demanded. “How come you never said anything about this before?”

O’Casey cleared his throat. “Aye. Well, I could say ye never asked, but I doubt that’d satisfy ye. To be sure, at first it wasn’t an issue. When the darlin’ royal lass an’ I were marooned wi’ yer submariners, it made no difference. ’Twas hand ta mouth an’ little hope o’ rescue.” He bowed his head to those around the table. “Then, when ye came fer us in this lovely ship, ye might remember that ye had more immediate concerns than the domestic institutions o’ the Empire. An’ again, it didna’ signify. Later, as we told ye more o’ our situation, ’twas the princess herse’f who forbade me ta carry on aboot it. She was determined our peoples should be friends and cooperate against the evils o’ the world, an’ she feared this very reaction.” O’Casey looked at Jenks. “As her father’s only direct heir, an’ a ‘matriarchal exception,’ she’s quite the ‘crazed abolitionist,’ an’ after such long association wi’ the lass an’ these fine folk, ye might now add me ta that list.”

“I never doubted it,” Jenks replied. “And yet you are an Imperial Officer once more.” He glanced apologetically at Selass. “Might that at least gain me some credit as a ‘flexible’ barbarian?”

Selass huffed, but she did sit at last.

“In any event, Mr. ‘Bates/O’Casey,’ perhaps a more comprehensive ‘history lesson’ might build some slight mitigating context,” Jenks said.

“Aye…” O’Casey paused, then took a long, slow breath. “Aye,” he said more firmly, gathering his thoughts. “The commodore an’ I, when once we were more ‘equal,’ used to engage in historical discussions, focused in the main upon ‘post-Passage’ subjects. I know you, Captain Reddy, are somethin’ of an historian yerself.” Matt nodded, a little selfconsciously. “Anyway, when the Founders first came this way, they were in much the same position as ye. Admittedly, they dina’ help the ‘locals’ with nearly the same zeal as ye, but in their defense, the threat wasna’ so pressin’ then. They chose ta hide from this terrible world. The rub was, even wi’ their greater numbers, there were, proportionately, just as few ‘dames,’ as ye call ’em. None went west wi’ the tragic ship the Grik managed ta take, but there were few enough. Ye an’ I ha’ discussed this oursevs. The ancient East Indiamen had many roles: part ‘freighter,’ ye call’em, part warship-ta pertect themsevs-an’ part passenger ship. They also transported convicts on occasion, as ye know.

“There were a grand total o’ fourteen ‘ladies’ among the passengers, two beyond child-bearin’ age, an’ some mere children.” He shrugged. “Well, the children grew up, but the ‘stable’ was still nearly bare, if ye know what I mean. By the by, descendants o’ them first ladies, if they’re ladies themselves, are not subject to the ‘institution’ bein’ discussed. They’re born free wi’ no ‘obligation’ a’tall. That said, there were nearly twenty female ‘transportees,’ whose original destination was actually a series of isles, not the land o’ ‘New Holland,’ or ‘Australia,’ as Mr. Bradford calls it. These women were bein’ transported for crimes, an’ that’s what the ‘System of Obligation’ was founded upon. They had ta… ‘work’ their way through their terms o’ transportation, but were then available fer honorable matrimony wi’ the original crews. Their descendants were also ‘un-obligated,’ as the child canna’ be held responsible fer the crimes o’ the parent. Here, I must point out that, despite some resistance, any crew member was ultimately granted equal status within the law, regardless o’ ancestry.” He smirked. “There were too many Lascars amongst the crews-Indians, Arabs, Malays an’ the like-fer the officers ta do anythin’ else, so long before yer own ‘Revolution,’ against the Mythic Crown, there was true racial equality wi’in Imperial society. I willna’ say ’twas easy, or even bloodless, but it just had ta be. Finally, ’twas decided that any man who reached majority, swore ta hold fast ta Imperial law an’ forswear heathern religions in favor o’ the English faith, could enjoy full citizenship.” He shrugged. “There were problems, but ye’ve had some o’ those too, as I recall from our talks.

“Well, as ye can imagine, this didna’ solve every issue. We still had our own ‘dame famine’ fer a time. Then, one day, a storm-battered ship was rescued at sea an’ we first learned o’ the ‘Holy Dominion.’ ” He sipped the hot tea Jenks had brought aboard, still clearly savoring the flavor after subsisting so long on “coffee.” A couple of the other men and Chack were just as glad to have the iced tea Juan had made from some gifted leaves.

“The survivors we took in were twisted souls an’ devoted to a form o’ popery we couldna’ fathom, but were as yet not as foul as they’ve become. We met their folk an’ traded wi’ them. At the time, they seemed as much in flux as we, although they’d been ‘here’ a longer time. Their holdin’s were confined to the central Americas an’ they seemed a mix o’ Spaniards from an Acapulco galleon an’ some Indians that had landed there sometime much earlier. At first our peoples got along well enough. This world is just as big as the old, an’ it can be a lonely place. They seemed as glad ta meet us as we did them.” He looked at Jenks.

“As ye may know,” O’Casey continued, “New Britain, or the ‘Hawaiian’ chain, has lovely, fertile ground, an’ at least on this world, fastgrowin’ hardwoods ta support a respectable shipbuildin’ industry, but it’s poor in other resources. We’d come ta the same conclusion as ye, that this world had much the same structure as our old, wi’ the exception of volcanic isles which appear inconsistent wi’ what the Founders knew before. The great continents seem little changed, however, wi’ a few strikin’ exceptions, so we knew where ta look fer what we needed. The Americas were wi’in our distant reach, so we made colonies there, north o’ Dominion territory, ta supply that need. As for the Dominion, the greatest surplus they had for trade was women.”

“Despicable!” proclaimed Bradford. O’Casey eyed him for a moment, then nodded.

“Aye. But as the commodore has said, essential ta our early survival. The Company had re-formed by then an’ become a separate entity under Imperial law, wi’ broad autonomy much like before. It took advantage of the trade, an’ understandably required compensation fer bringin’ the lasses hither. Since the Imperial people an’ government had little ta compensate wi’ beyond fish, foodstuffs, an’ increasingly modern manufactured goods beyond what the Dominion could produce, we supplied those goods fer trade ta the Dominion fer females. The goods ‘bought’ the women, but the Company demanded compensation fer the transportation, so the ‘obligation system’ was expanded ta include them. The Company brought the women, but held the obligation until it was purchased by individuals or the government. At first, those who bought that obligation, or indenture, did so for the good of all an’ simply released the women among us. They married, bore children, an’ became Imperial subjects. They weren’t citizens, but their children were. There lay much of the incentive for them ta marry, ye see.

“Over time, however, once the immediate crises ended an’ there was plenty of women fer all, the Company continued the practice o’ bringin’’em in, but increasingly ta sell their indentures ta those who wanted labor. There’s now a permanent ‘lower class’ of women-called ‘Lascars’ again, I fear-who begat ‘citizen’ children with those holdin’ their obligation. Strangely, it’s they who support the Company more than any since it continues ta add ta their ranks and gives ’em a political advantage in the Court o’ Proprietors, even while the ranks of those who canna’ be citizens grows.” He paused. “I fear some o’ this may also stem from a… perverse reluctance ta dispense wi’ their twisted faith as well. Unlike yer Sister Audry’s approach ta convertin’ ‘heathens,’ Dominion priests’re more… insistent. Add ta this an even more burgeonin’ ‘trade’ since, in recent decades, the Dominion’s begun ta fear our numbers an’ Imperial power. Their ‘Church’ has taken on more an’ more of the pagan rituals o’ the early Indian folk, an’ e’en as the Company trade grows, it’s become more costly since the ‘Holy Dominion’s’ started… slaughterin’ their ‘excess’ females in hideous rituals… Now we have women bringin’ their own daughters ta secluded shores an’ beggin’ the Company ta take ’em!”

There was silence in the wardroom as those present began to digest the enormity of the moral dilemma facing the Empire. The “trade” couldn’t simply be shut down without condemning untold numbers to their deaths, yet the Company fed and grew and gained self-perpetuating power off that very trade.

“I think I’m finally starting to get it,” Matt said quietly. “I see how the Company’s growing in strength, and I understand why the government’s concerned. I also see the moral and political mess the Governor-Emperor’s in. What I guess I don’t see is what the Company hopes to gain in the long run. They’ve saturated the market for marriageable women and they’ll undoubtedly saturate the labor market at some point as well. It appears they also at least contributed to this new-and yes, much more barbaric practice-the Dominion has engaged in. What could the Company possibly hope to gain in the end?”

“Absolute power, for a start,” Jenks said. “O’Casey saw it long before I did, but with the support the Company has gained in the Court of Proprietors, they can do almost as they please. And even as the Lascars empower the Company, they become dependent on it as well. It controls most jobs and industry, and by its actions it’s provoked the Dominion, which besides its overwhelming numbers has a navy with numerical supremacy over and near technological parity with our own.” Jenks snorted bitterly. “Start with a population that’s dependent upon you for its livelihood, add an external threat to control those who oppose you, and you can do virtually anything you want. What that might be, I can only speculate.”

“And I take it that the Governor-Emperor and his daughter are opposed to this?”

“Of course!”

“Wow,” was all Palmer could manage.

“Yeah,” grumbled Gray. “What a mess.” He looked at Jenks. “Now I see why you’re not an ‘abolitionist,’ but what the hell?”

“Well… but with all those extra women, they ought to be cheap, right?” Campeti asked.

Matt gave Walker ’s gunnery officer another withering look, but then his eyes widened and he rubbed his chin. “Yeah. What about that? I never have gotten your monetary system straight. God knows ours is fouled up. What do they cost?”

It was Selass’s turn to glare, but Matt held a hand up to her.

Jenks seemed confused. “Well, ah, our monetary system has largely returned to a foundation based on precious metals. We get ours from our colonies in the Americas, as does the Dominion. Of course, the Company gets a percentage of whatever they carry in their bottoms, but there at least, the Navy has some advantage since most is transported aboard Naval vessels. There is some piracy, after all.”

“So you use what, a ‘pound’ system?”

“That’s quite a simplification, but pounds, certainly. Twenty shillings to a pound sterling, at my last inquiry-some time ago-twenty-six shillings for a guinea…”

“In other words, just as confusing as, well, it still is. No paper money?”

“No. Except for lines of credit redeemable at Imperial banks. There is often a discount…”

“But gold’s gold, and a pound of gold’s worth what?”

“Forty-four and a half guineas.”

“And a guinea’s worth twenty-six shillings-so a pound of gold would be… ah, eleven hundred and fifty-seven shillings, or…”

“Almost forty-eight pounds,” Palmer supplied.

“Right.” Matt looked at Jenks. “So what do they cost? How much is this ‘obligation’ worth?”

“Well… that varies. The value of the obligation depends on how much time a woman has been in service. Of course, their maintenance is added to the total, as are any extraordinary costs such as further transportation…”

“You mean feeding, clothing, doctoring, and then transporting them, possibly against their will to say, Respite, actually adds to their obligation?”

“Naturally. Any unobligated citizen would have to pay for those things…”

“But they’d have a choice, Jenks,” Matt pointed out. “And to then charge them for transportation to another place where they can be further enslaved for someone else’s gain…!”

“I thought we’d moved past the ‘slavery’ dispute!” Jenks said.

“No, we haven’t, because that’s still exactly what it is! What’s to stop an owner of an ‘obligation’ from just shifting a worker-a woman!-around as long as he likes, island to island and workplace to workplace, constantly adding to her ‘debt’ for her entire life?”

Jenks blinked. “I… I honestly never thought about it like that.” He seemed sincere and… horrified. He straightened. “I’m a Naval officer, and until recently, I avoided politics as best I could.”

Bradford grunted. “It sounds as though the vast majority of your people have as well. Most are probably as ignorant as you, if the majority of these-possible-abuses take place on your frontiers.” He raised an eyebrow at the others. “Do remember that we’re still dealing in conjecture here. We have no evidence that this ‘perpetual obligation system’ actually occurs, just a speculation that it might.”

Matt almost laughed. He was still digesting some of Bradford’s new theories regarding how they might have wound up ‘here’ in the first place. “Lack of evidence has never stopped you from ‘speculating’ away on every conceivable topic, Courtney!”

Bradford grinned and stroked a nostril with his forefinger. “Indeed. But let us leave off persecuting the poor commodore for now. The system he described does seem to have begun innocently enough. Through our own brief contact with these Company thugs-virtual Nazis, if I may make so bold-we do have ample evidence of their treachery and deceit. I do not find it at all difficult to believe that the ultimate result of this particular institution has been perverted, warped, and molded to fit whatever diabolical agenda the Company ultimately serves.”

“Hear, hear!” exclaimed Lieutenant Grimsley, Jenks’s exec. He’d remained silent, slowly sinking into his chair throughout the discussion. If Jenks “avoided” politics, he’d always tried to pretend they didn’t exist. At least before Billingsley abducted the princess and the others. Emboldened by his voice, and the generally agreeable response to his words, Grimsley turned to Matt.

“Pardon me, Captain Reddy, but may I ask why you are suddenly so interested in the cost of these obligations?”

“Sure,” Matt replied. “Gold isn’t really money among our friends. Not yet, anyway. That said, we took on a… little… when we refueled at Mindanao-‘Paga-Daan.’ I’d like some idea how many Respitan women this ship can purchase out of bondage… and set free.” He looked at Jenks. “You might want to think about that too. One way or another, we’re going to kill this goddamn ‘Honorable New Britain Company,’ so the ‘trade’ is basically over, if I have anything to say about it. Consider this: all these women who’ve been under the Company and, yes, Imperial thumb for all these generations probably don’t have much loyalty to either one. You say some still even adhere to this sick mix of Catholicism and… whatever else it is. Those I ‘buy’ will have the options of staying where they are, becoming free citizens of the Alliance, or maybe even joining the United States Navy, God help me. At least in noncombat roles. I’ll bet most choose between the latter two.”