Valiant Dust

14

SMS Panther, Gadira II Orbit

“CSS Hector, arriving!” The shrill, piping call of the bosun’s whistle echoed through the large hangar deck of the cruiser Panther as Captain Markham descended the steps from the shuttle. By old tradition, commanding officers were identified by the command they held when boarding or leaving another warship; the Dremish navy observed the same rituals that the Aquilan navy did. As Elise Markham reached the deck, an honor guard of eight sideboys in resplendent black uniforms with blue trousers snapped to attention.

Captain Markham returned the honor guard’s salute and strode ahead between the two lines of sailors. Captain Georg Harper and several other Dremish officers waited at the end of the sideboy line; Sikander debarked from the shuttle just in time to see the two commanding officers exchange salutes, then shake hands. “Captain Markham, welcome aboard,” Harper said. His voice had a strong, slow drawl; Sikander wondered where he’d learned his Standard Anglic. “We’re glad you and your officers could join us.”

“Captain Harper,” Markham replied. “It was courteous of you to invite us. I hope you’ll allow Hector to return the compliment in the near future.”

Harper smiled broadly. He was shorter than Sikander had expected, not much more than 1.7 meters or so, although of course he’d seen Harper only from the shoulders up in their message exchanges. “Of course, we’d be delighted.”

The two commanding officers exchanged more pleasantries; Sikander took a few moments to study Panther’s hangar deck. It was definitely a little larger than Hector’s, with several dangerous-looking armed shuttles stowed efficiently in davits suspended from the overhead. On the forward bulkhead, a large flag in blue, black, and gold hung from brackets—the Imperial ensign. On the opposite bulkhead, the Dremish placed a similarly sized ensign in white and red, the insignia of the Commonwealth of Aquila. “It seems they are rolling out the red carpet for us,” he murmured to Hiram Randall, who happened to be standing nearby.

Randall snorted. “Foresighted of them,” he replied. “I’m pretty sure we don’t have a Dremish banner in our flag locker.”

Captain Markham finished with her initial greetings, and gestured at the rest of Hector’s officers. “Allow me to introduce the rest of my party,” she said to Harper. In addition to Sikander and Randall, the group included Dr. Simms; Angela Larkin; Sublieutenant Keane; Ensign Perry, the auxiliaries officer; and Ensign Kang, the ship’s disbursing officer. It was only half of the wardroom, but given the necessities of watchstanding—and a little elementary military caution in a potentially volatile situation—Markham had made sure to leave Commander Chatburn behind with enough officers to handle Hector in combat if the unthinkable happened. Sikander was still getting to know the younger officers in the dinner party, but they seemed comfortable and competent as they exchanged greetings with the Dremish captain.

“A pleasure to meet all of you,” Harper said. “May I present my executive officer, Kapitan-Leutnant Anton Braun? Our gunnery officer, Oberleutnant Helena Aldrich? And here is Major Owen Kalb, executive officer of the Third Silesian Rifles. They are the regiment embarked on General von Grolmann.” He continued with several more junior officers, but Sikander quickly lost track of their names and positions; the most important impression he came away with was that Panther’s crew was about the same size as Hector’s, and the officers had similar duties. The only differences he noted were that ranks had slightly different names. Then Harper turned to a thin, sandy-haired man in civilian clothing who stood beside Panther’s officers. “Oh, and I almost overlooked Mr. Otto Bleindel, our leading trade representative in Gadira. He works for Dielkirk Industries, but he is also accredited by the Imperial government.”

The two groups of officers mixed together, exchanging handshakes and quick greetings. Sikander found himself shaking hands with Oberleutnant Aldrich, the woman that Harper had introduced as his gunnery officer. She was a tall, strong-featured woman with short rust-brown hair and a stern, rudder-like nose, but she had a surprisingly warm smile. “It would seem that you are my counterpart,” she said, her voice marked by a noticeably throaty accent. “I am Helena Aldrich, gunnery officer.”

“Sikander North. A pleasure to meet you.” Sikander returned her smile. “May I say that Panther is a very impressive-looking warship? I was admiring the main battery from the shuttle as we flew over. Those are the new Type 9 K-cannons, aren’t they?”

“Indeed they are,” Aldrich said. Her smile broadened; it was a rare gunnery officer who didn’t like to talk about his or her work, after all. “I see that you know your armament.”

“I read a feature piece about the Löwe-class cruisers in Naval Review a few months back. They garnered quite a bit of praise from the naval-affairs establishment in Aquila.” Sikander was curious about some of the specifications on the Dremish cruiser’s guns, but it would seem a little impolite to ask. After all, the exact performance of Hector’s own Mark V kinetic cannons was considered confidential; he would have declined to offer any details if Aldrich asked him. The Empire of Dremark was not an enemy, but it was a rival with a fast-growing, modern, powerful navy. Quite a few strategists in Aquila worried that Dremark’s rise would lead to conflict, although Sikander sincerely hoped they were wrong. There hadn’t been any kind of great power war in almost fifty years, and the size and power of the battle fleets maintained by most of the stellar polities meant that a serious conflict would certainly result in destruction on an unimaginable scale.

“If I am not mistaken, your Ilium-class cruisers influenced the design of our own class,” the Dremish officer said. “Our navy was almost nonexistent two generations ago, so our shipbuilders made a habit of basing their work on the most successful foreign designs. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, they say.”

Sikander inclined his head, and decided to change the subject. “Which of the Empire’s systems do you call home, Ms. Aldrich?”

“I am from Gotland. Are you familiar with it?”

“Not much more than the name, I fear. It’s an older system, isn’t it?”

“The second-oldest in the Empire,” Aldrich said. “It’s renowned for its excellent university, and its rings. Gotland is one of the few terrestrial planets with visible rings, although one really can’t see them in the middle of the day. Where are you from, Mr. North?”

“Kashmir. I grew up on the planet of Jaipur.”

“Kashmir, really? I was not aware that Kashmiris served in the Commonwealth officer corps.”

“There aren’t many of us.” Sikander indicated the emerald-green sash on his dress uniform. “That’s why my insignia is a little different from everyone else’s. I hold a Kashmiri rank as well as an Aquilan one.”

“Do you—” Oberleutnant Aldrich started to ask, but she was interrupted by Captain Harper, who raised his voice for attention.

“Rather than standing about in the hangar bay, might I suggest that we repair to the wardroom?” Panther’s captain said to the officers mingling on the deck. “Our mess stewards have quite a dinner planned, and we shouldn’t keep them waiting. This way, if you please.” With Captain Markham beside him, he led the way to a passageway heading forward from the hangar bay.

“We’ll continue the conversation later,” Aldrich promised Sikander. They fell in with the rest of the group, following the two captains.

The internal passageways of SMS Panther did not look very different from those of Hector, Sikander decided. The paint was a different color—a bright eggshell white, as opposed to the slightly darker taupe that filled the passages and compartments of Aquilan warships. Markings on hatches and fittings were in Nebeldeutsch, just similar enough to the Anglic spoken in Aquila that many words were the same, only spelled a little differently. Enlisted men in parade-dress uniforms stood at intersecting corridors, helping to mark the path to the wardroom and perhaps discourage any of Hector’s officers from wandering off to examine sensitive areas of the ship.

The Aquilans found the Dremish wardroom appointed with white linen tablecloths and formal place settings. Sikander noted that small placards showed each officer’s place at the table; Captain Markham must have provided a list of guests ahead of time. When he took his seat, he found himself between Owen Kalb and Otto Bleindel; Helena Aldrich sat across from him. Harper, Markham, Braun, and Randall were seated around the head of the table; as the third-ranking Aquilan present, Sikander was closer to the head than the foot. No doubt the Dremish checked everyone’s date of rank to make sure they arranged the table correctly, he reflected. The Dremish navy had a reputation for punctiliousness, although Sikander hadn’t spent enough time around Imperial officers to see if it was deserved or not.

“Drink, sir?” a mess steward asked him as he settled in his place.

Sikander glanced over at the two captains. Two more stewards poured wine from elegant-looking decanters for both of them; in case of doubt, it was always good practice to follow your captain’s lead. “What is the white?” he asked.

“Gray Mountain Viognier ’96, sir.”

He’d never heard of the vintage, but if it was six years old and Captain Harper was serving it to impress, it was probably good. “Excellent,” he told the steward.

“Mr. North, correct?” the Dremish civilian said as Sikander sampled his viognier—a dry and crisp vintage, quite good. “I hear that you’ve met the sultan. Tell me, what do you think of him?”

Sikander glanced over, remembering the introductions. Otto Bleindel, he recalled. “We only exchanged a few words, Mr. Bleindel. He seemed like a man with a gentle disposition, although I think Captain Markham could tell you a thing or two about his zeal for gardening.”

“I’ve heard a few stories to that effect, too.” Bleindel sipped at a glass of ice water. “In ordinary times I would think the Gadirans lucky to be in the hands of a ruler whose chief concern was his own palace grounds. Regrettably, there are times when rulers cannot afford to be gardeners. In Gadira, this might be one of those times.”

Major Kalb gave a sour laugh from Sikander’s other side. “The only reason the sultan holds on to his throne is because Montréal lavishes arms, military advisors, and economic aid on his regime. Without the Republic’s support, Rashid would be deposed within a day.”

“Perhaps, but his policies have succeeded in bringing quite a bit of offworld investment to Gadira,” Sikander pointed out. “I wonder if Sultan Rashid is cleverer than we all think he is. I am fairly certain that his niece is, anyway.”

“Ah, you have met the amira, then?”

“Yes, I have. I received the distinct impression that she pays attention to a lot of things her uncle doesn’t have time for.”

“I thought so, too,” Bleindel said. “In fact, the first time I met her, she was climbing on a grav tank and interrogating a Montréalais major about the proper maintenance and training procedures.”

“As they say, amateurs study tactics, and rank amateurs study strategy,” Oberleutnant Aldrich observed. “Professionals study logistics.”

Sikander laughed, and sipped his wine. “That saying has been around forever.”

The talk turned to the peculiarities of Gadiran society, but was soon interrupted by a dizzying array of courses from the wardroom galley—soup, salad, a cheese-plate appetizer, and the main course, small roasted fowl stuffed with rice pilaf and lamb kebobs made with local vegetables. “Our chief mess steward suggested that featuring the local cuisine might be a novel experience,” Captain Harper explained as the meal was served. “And, of course, the ingredients and seasonings are fresh, since we were able to purchase them in the market of Meknez just yesterday.”

“We appreciate the efforts of your mess stewards, Captain,” Markham replied. “I can see that we’ll have to think up something special when it’s our turn to host you.”

No warship could truly replicate the fine dining experience of a five-star restaurant or a formal diplomatic dinner, of course, but Sikander had to admit that Captain Harper’s mess stewards had made a very credible effort indeed. Hector’s own cooks would be hard-pressed to equal the effort when the time came to reciprocate. The kebobs were especially good; lamb was something that Sikander enjoyed at home but that rarely turned up on Aquilan menus.

Over dessert and after-dinner drinks, the conversation turned back to Gadira. “I must say, it is a relief to know that there is another warship representing a responsible power here in-system with us,” Captain Harper observed. “Should conditions continue to deteriorate on the ground, the firepower of a second cruiser might make a great difference in efforts to restore order.”

“I sincerely hope that it will not come to that,” Captain Markham said. “The best outcome would be for the Gadirans to work out their own troubles without overt interference from any outside power. I suspect we could only make things worse in the long run.”

“Someone needs to take matters in hand,” Harper said. “The Caidists are about to overthrow Montréal’s puppet sultan, and the Republic doesn’t have the will—or the right—to subdue the planet for the el-Nasirs. I for one don’t believe that Dremark or Aquila must stand aside and do nothing when the Montréalais have allowed this disaster to develop. It’s time to secure our own interests.”

“For better or worse, the Republic of Montréal has invested a good deal of effort in the economic and political development of this system,” Markham replied. “We’re inclined to avoid the disruptions involved with any effort to change the status quo by force. Choosing this faction or that to support seems like a recipe for turning a rebellion into a full-fledged civil war. Surely that is in no one’s interest.”

“The Tanjeer Agreement of 3062 specifically called for an ‘open door’ policy whereby all the signatory powers would have equal access to development opportunities in Gadira,” said Kapitan-Leutnant Braun, Panther’s executive officer. A thickly built man with a gleaming bald scalp, he sat beside Captain Markham. He spoke with a loud voice and forceful motions of his hands. “But somehow forty years later, Gadira is a Montréalais colony. One wonders if the Montréalais negotiated the previous agreement in good faith.”

“How would you amend the agreement, Mr. Braun?” Hiram Randall asked. He maintained an even tone and a polite smile, but Sikander detected a hint of condescension in his tone. He’d been on the receiving end of Randall’s sarcasm enough times to know it well, although he didn’t think that new acquaintances such as the Panther’s officers would pick up on his skepticism. Captain Markham, on the other hand, made a show of taking a deliberate sip of her own wine.

“At the very least, I would consider dividing the planet into zones of development for each of the great powers with interests here,” Braun said. “And each power could determine for itself the appropriate level of its presence and support.”

“That would only be fair,” Oberleutnant Aldrich pointed out.

“Indeed,” said Harper. “I am afraid we must insist on establishing and maintaining public order in the regions where our interests are threatened. Clearly, we cannot count on the Montréalais to do that, since Caidist rebels are running amok on the planet. Fine—we won’t try to tell the Republic how to manage its affairs. All we need is for them to step aside and let us look after our own concerns.”

Braun nodded. “Exactly! Although if you asked me, I would say that the whole system would be better off under the administration of an enlightened power such as Dremark—or Aquila, of course—than they are now.”

“The Gadirans might not see it that way,” Sikander observed.

“Yes, but the question isn’t for them to decide, is it?” Braun waved his hand around airily. “If the best they could arrange on their own was a feckless monarchy, it’s time for more advanced states to step in and help them along.”

“Dremark is a monarchy, isn’t it? You have an emperor instead of a sultan, but what is the practical difference?” Sikander asked.

Smiles vanished from the Dremish officers at the table. Braun’s face actually turned red, but he bit back whatever retort he intended. The awkward silence hung in the air for a long moment, but then Captain Harper set down his glass and cleared his throat. “That seems like an unfortunate comparison, Mr. North,” he said in a light tone. “Emperor Klaus Lenard has little in common with that helpless idiot sultan.”

“My own home system is ruled by a khan, Captain Harper,” Sikander replied. “I merely meant to point out that the Gadirans believe their form of government is just as legitimate as you believe yours to be.”

“The legitimacy of our government is not a matter of belief,” Kapitan-Leutnant Braun said icily. “The House of Ritterblau has ruled in Dremark for over four hundred years with the full support of the democratically elected parliament. Considering the fact that the upper chamber of your own Commonwealth Assembly and many of your planetary governorships are comprised of hereditary plutocrats, I think you have little room for criticism. When was the last time any of your senators stood for election?”

Now it was the Aquilans’ turn to fall silent. Sikander repressed a small smile at his colleagues’ discomfiture. Kashmir was in no way, shape, or form a democratic system, but at least his own people didn’t pretend that the leading families were anything other than a titled aristocracy. It was one of the aspects of Kashmiri culture that his Aquilan friends looked down on, without recognizing that their own system had no particular moral superiority. On the other hand, it seemed that everyone at the table had now been insulted by one comparison or another, and the tension was now thick enough to cut with a knife.

Fortunately, Captain Harper was determined to salvage the evening. He stood slowly, and gave Captain Markham a slight bow from the waist. “Captain, I apologize to you and your officers for allowing the conversation to take an unfortunate turn. Perhaps we should leave these matters to the politicians and the diplomats. We are all sailors here, travelers of the stars, warriors who accept the burden of long watches and constant vigilance in the service of the worlds we love. Let us speak of the things that we share, not the issues our governments fence over.”

“Well said, Captain Harper,” Markham replied. “Please, there is nothing to apologize for. What would you like to talk about?”

The Dremish captain took his seat again, and surveyed the table thoughtfully. “I don’t suppose any of you are anglers?” he said with a small smile.

“I am not, but you’re in luck. Mr. North here is an avid fisherman.”

Harper’s face positively lit up. “Is that a fact? None of my own officers are so enlightened. Tell me, Mr. North: saltwater or freshwater?”

“It depends on the planet, Captain Harper,” Sikander said. “But in general, saltwater sport fishing is my favorite.”

“Ah, too bad. I thought you might be a fellow devotee of the fly rod.” Harper moved on to a colorful description of his last vacation in the mountains of Thuringia; slowly, the down-table conversations resumed, this time steering clear of the political situation. The mood around the table noticeably lightened, and after-dinner drinks flowed freely. After Sikander and Harper had traded fishing stories, Captain Markham and Helena Aldrich discovered that they were both equestrians, while Hiram Randall and Major Kalb both entertained a great (and previously unsuspected to Sikander) love of old Terran-style beer crafting. When Captain Markham and Hector’s officers finally took their leave an hour later, the awkward moments earlier in the meal seemed long forgotten.

The whole dinner party proceeded back to the hangar deck, and the Dremish officers saw the Aquilans to their shuttle hatch. The farewells were cordial enough, but Captain Markham breathed a sigh of relief as the shuttle hands secured the hatch and the Aquilan half of the party found seats. Through the passenger-cabin viewports, Sikander could see the Dremish clearing the hangar before they cycled the bay door.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad,” Markham said, adjusting her seat restraints. “For a moment there I thought they were about to ask us to leave.”

“They’re a little touchy about their emperor, aren’t they?” Randall observed.

“Indeed,” said Captain Markham. She gave Sikander a stern glance. “Did you do that on purpose, Mr. North?”

“My apologies, Captain. That loudmouth Braun was beginning to annoy me.”

“Me too, but next time please leave the diplomatic sallies to me.” Markham shook her head. “I would have thought a man raised in a palace might have a better instinct for not offending people over a formal dinner.”

“There’s a reason my family sent me off to join the Navy, ma’am,” Sikander said.

“Ha!” Randall gave a sharp bark of laughter. The other officers nearby joined in. “Well, I will say this much, North—you found a way to make things a good deal more exciting than they needed to be.”

“You don’t have much room to talk, Mr. Randall,” Captain Markham said, turning her attention to the operations officer. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that you egged on Braun with that innocent little question about fixing the Tanjeer accords.”

Randall grimaced. “Guilty as charged, ma’am. I was curious about what sort of rationale the Dremish might employ, so I took the liberty of performing a little experiment.”

The shuttle’s induction drive hummed, and Panther’s hangar deck gently rotated out of Sikander’s view. The pilot smoothly accelerated through the open bay door, climbing up and away from the Dremish cruiser to rendezvous with Hector in its higher orbit. “Remind me to put you both on watch when the Dremish come over,” said Captain Markham. “Clearly neither of you is fit for company.”

“When will we have them over, ma’am?” Sublieutenant Larkin asked.

“Let’s give it a week or so,” Markham decided. “In the meantime, I think it would be good to offer a show of support to the Montréalais. I suspect we’re going to wind up backing their position, not the Dremish demands. I’d like to show Captain Harper and his XO that we’re on friendly terms with the Republic, regardless of what they might think of it.”

“Shall I arrange a social occasion with Ambassador Nguyen?” Randall asked, now serious again.

“Please do,” the captain replied.