Distant Thunders
An oppressive smoky haze from the epic battle and resultant, seemingly endless funeral pyres clung to the savaged city and the wide expanse of Baalkpan Bay. Almost three weeks after the Grik invaders churned themselves to offal against Baalkpan's defenses, the smoke and sod-Aden smell of wet, burnt wood still lingered like a sad, ethereal shroud. Captain Matthew Reddy, High Chief of the "Amer-i-caan" Clan, and Supreme Commander of all the combined Allied forces, surveyed the somber scene from Donaghey's hastily repaired quarterdeck as the battered frigate tacked on light, humid, northerly airs toward the mouth of the bay. The water remained choked with the shattered remains of the Grik fleet, causing a real menace to navigation. Occasionally, thumped and shivered when she struck some piece of floating wreckage and it clunked and shuddered down her side as she passed. It was the first time Matt had returned to the water since that terrible night when the Battle of Baalkpan achieved its cataclysmic peak. Much of the flashing intensity and grief he'd felt had slowly begun to ebb, but the brief interval and the dreary day conspired to reinforce his gloomy mood.
By any objective measure, the battle had resulted in a momentous victory for the Allies, but it came at a terrible cost. The mighty Japanese battle cruiser Amagihad accompanied the Grik host, and her shells had shredded the remaining Lemurian ships in the bay and pounded the carefully prepared fortifications to matchsticks and heaps of earth. Lemurian losses had been horrifying, and both precious, aged American destroyers -- survivors of the U.S. Asiatic Fleet that had been swept by a mysterious squall from one war (and world) smack into the middle of another -- had ultimately been sunk in the battle. Mahan (DD-102) was a total loss, having virtually disintegrated herself by ramming the Japanese ship with a load of depth charges set to explode. That blow to Amagi had probably been mortal, in retrospect, but she'd still been under way and apparently on the verge of escape. She was finally destroyed by the combination of a lucky, forgotten mine, and the dogged determination of battered Walker (DD- 163) and her crew, who fought to their final shell despite their own damage and casualties.
USS Walker was more fortunate than her sister. She'd managed to crawl back to the shipyard before succumbing to her grievous wounds, and even now, an effort was under way to refloat her. Amagi lay on the bottom of Baalkpan Bay, broken and gutted by flames, her warped and dreary superstructure protruding from the water as a constant, grim reminder of that terrible day and night.
Matt himself commanded Donaghey for this brief sortie, and it was a slightly awkward situation. He was familiar with Donaghey's historical design, but knew little about actually operating a square-rigged ship. Her assigned captain, Greg Garrett -- Matt's former gunnery officer -- had become quite a sailor, but he was still recovering from serious wounds. Russ Chapelle, a former Mahan torpedoman, had learned quite a bit, however. He'd been the ship's master gunner and was elevated to "salig maa-stir" (sailing master), or executive officer, after Donaghey's own Lemurian exec was killed. Garrett would get his old ship back, or a newer one, when he recovered, but for now, Russ was creditably taking up the slack.
Matt knew Garrett chafed at his inactivity, but his wounds were severe, and Nurse Lieutenant Sandra Tucker insisted he heal completely before exerting himself. All Sandra's patients were important to her, but Greg was human, and humans were an increasingly rare species. The titanic struggle -- seemingly destined to encompass the entire locally known world -- had already claimed many of the mere handful of humans actively engaged in aiding what was clearly the side of right. No one knew how many Japanese sailors the Grik had saved from Amagi, but even if the Grik hadn't eaten them they were, of course, not friends.
One of the changes Adar had made during the reconstruction of Nakja-Mur's Great Hall (he still had difficulty considering it his Great Hall) was the addition of a number of separate chambers. Some of these were offices, such as the War Room, which was usually occupied by Matt when he was present. Letts had a small office of his own as well. There was also a conference room large enough to accommodate a fair number of attendees while still being relatively cozy. He'd been inspired in this by Keje. In Keje's case, the chamber on Salissa wasn't partitioned, but he often had informal, intimate meetings around a simple wooden table supplied with crude stools. In Adar's conference room, the table was bigger of necessity, and there were more stools, but there were also a number of the more traditional cushions for guests to lounge upon. The somewhat uncomfortable stools tended to keep those present awake and relatively alert, but Adar had discovered that often, people he met with needed to contribute only brief reports or accounts. There was no reason for them to suffer while others hashed things out. Many times, for example, he'd watched an exhausted Ben Mallory fall fast asleep on a comfortable cushion while Captain Reddy and the members of his battle line discussed the ramifications of his aerial observations.
Mallory wasn't here for this discussion. Those present were essentially the same ones he and Alan discussed inviting earlier, with the exception of Keje, whom Adar had asked to attend as well. Most of them -- Letts, Sister Audry, Rebecca, Sandra, and Keje -- joined Adar on stools around the table. Only Spanky and Courtney took advantage of the cushions. Spanky was exhausted after his perpetual "watch-on-watches," and claimed to be only marginally Catholic anyway. Adar got the impression he didn't know why he was there. Courtney was fascinated by the looming discussion, but he always accepted a cushion (and the beer he preferred over seep) when the occasion allowed.
Adar had secretly hoped Alan Letts would start things off, but for once, the light-skinned officer waited for Adar to begin. "Well," he said at last. "I suppose we must hammer things out, as you Amer-i-caans so aptly phrase it. Mr. Letts and I have long planned what he calls an economic discussion, but there appears to be a more pressing matter before us. The economic discussion will ... must happen, I'm sure, but it need not require the presence of some of you. What we must fashion this evening is some sort of accommodation between what appears to be a growing spiritual factionalism." He blinked at Sister Audry.
"I have long enjoyed our brief discussions concerning your faith and how it may have ... influenced ours historically, but until recently I presumed you understood my fears that openly revealing that faith might contribute to a schism of some kind among our people -- right when our growing unity is our greatest advantage. Aryaalans, B'mbaadans, and even Sularans hold substantially different beliefs from most sea folk, and even the People of Baalkpan, yet those differences are primarily matters of interpretation. The fundamental belief system is quite similar. We all revere the Sun and the Heavens, even if we place slightly different emphasis on one or the other, and our understandings of our lives beyond this one are somewhat different as well. Still, the differences are little more profound than the color of our fur. My dear Sister Audry, the differences you preach are far more profound -- and potentially more corrosive to the mutual trust and understanding my people have achieved.""I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," Sister Audry replied in her strangely accented English.
"Of course you do," Adar remonstrated gently. "I consider you a personal friend, and I thought we had an understanding. You assured me you would do nothing to undermine the solidity of the Alliance during this time of trial."
"I have not!" Sister Audry declared. She sighed. "My order is not given to radicalism. It is not even much given to aggressive evangelism. I come from a place that was mostly Mohammadan, after all. Immoderation of speech is not our ... my way, except when it pertains to intellectual works and teaching."
"How come you took Achilles in like that?" Matt finally asked. "We could have destroyed all four ships from beyond their range."
"That's why I took her in," Jenks replied. "I'm reliably informed that you have a temper, and I feared you would destroy them all once they'd fired at you. Was I wrong?"
Matt shrugged. "I don't think I'd have fired on the ship that surrendered," he said, a little defensively. "I didn't destroy this ship."
"Ahh, but by the time you caught her, your passion had faded!"
"Mmm," Matt said noncommittally. He pointed at the wounded and the prisoners coming aboard. "What're we going to do with all of them?"
"I suppose we must convene a court-martial," Jenks replied. "We have many repairs to attend and I understand even your ship was slightly damaged?" Matt nodded, thinking of poor Aubrey. "That should give us sufficient time," Jenks added. "If you've no objection, I think Imperial forms might be most appropriate. Three officers will preside as judges. I would be indebted if you yourself would sit, as well as two other officers of your choosing. I know you're not disinterested, but you have no personal knowledge of any of the defendants. I expect you will also assume not all are guilty, as Mr. Parr was not."
"Why don't you do it?" Matt asked. "Even some of your loyalists might object to a foreigner."
"As prosecutor, I cannot preside."
"Oh. Okay then. I'll appoint a couple of others. I don't think taking volunteers would be a good idea just now."
"Perhaps not."
For a while, they just walked together and an awkward silence hung about them.
"How's it feel?" Matt finally asked.
Jenks looked disdainfully at the bloody sling supporting his left arm. "It hurts a bit," he confessed with a grin, "but that wondrous ooze your medical ... person applied has dulled the edge."
"Good. Shouldn't get infected either. How's O'Casey?"
"Hmm? Oh, Bates. Ha. Utterly insufferable. He wasn't hurt at all, but I confess at times I wished for a ball to take off his head."
"I guess he came up with a number of ways to say, 'I told you so'?"
Jenks looked blank for a moment before realization dawned. "Oh! Oh, yes. An infinite number of ways, and without pause, I might add." Jenks shook his head. "He was right all along. I think I even knew it back then, but the politics of New London are considerably less clear at home than they are out here, at the ends of the earth. I hope someday he will forgive me and we might be friends again." Jenks gestured at his arm. "Now that I know where the true infection lies."
"So it would seem," Matt said, and sighed. "And here we are, over a thousand miles from where I ought to be fighting who I ought to be fighting. We still don't know where Billingsly and my people -- and your princess -- are, but we do know your governor-emperor never knew we even had the girl. This Honorable New Britain Company did, though, and fired on the ship -- my ship! -- they suspected she was on. The only explanation for that is that now, they want her dead! Apparently, this Company is pulling a major power grab, and everything and everyone both of us cares about might depend, one way or another, on how that turns out. Jeez, if that doesn't put us on the exact same side at long last, I don't know what ever would."
"I apologize for all of this," Jenks said quietly. "Everything."
Matt became angry. "Damn it, Jenks, I don't want your apology! Maybe that'll make you feel better for being such a jerk once, but all it does now is cheapen everything we've done -- and have to do!