"Sire," said Melville, "Your navy was kind enough to provide caretakers for our ship during our absence. All of my crew members are here."

The old king's eyes sparkled and he grinned a grin that looked a lot like his granddaughter's mischievous smile. "Nay, good captain, what of the dogs and cats who have served ye so well? Would ye forget them? I have not. We are not, as a rule, partakers of red meat, but an imported beefsteak has been purchased and sent to your ship. Even as we speak, the four-legged members of your crew are being rewarded in the manner that they prefer best."

Finally, after every individual was recognized, the King of Osgil returned to his throne and concluded with these Words. "A valiant paladin of thy home world once said, 'Where do we get such warriors? What loving G.o.d hath provided, that each generation, afresh, there should arise new giants in the land to answer the summons of the trumpet. Were we to go but a single generation without such heroes, then within the span of that generation we should surely be both d.a.m.ned and doomed.' So now let us partake of the meal that awaits us, and let us give thanks in every way for these worthy warriors who have answered the summons of the trumpet in our hour of need."

Melville saluted the dais. This was not a prescribed military action but it felt appropriate to do so, as a pure and simple act of recognition and greeting between warriors. Then he executed an about-face, looked out on his crew, and with a smile of sheer joy he commanded, "Fall out!"

"Do you understand the full magnitude of what you have done? You are leading our nation down the path of war. Nothing is worse than war! . . ."

It didn't take long for Sir Percival Incessant to corner Melville. They hadn't even sat down yet. Out of respect, the others backed away and discreetly watched as the Westerness Amba.s.sador to Osgil publicly self-destructed.

"Nothing is worse than war . . ." Aye, thought Melville. Aye, he knew the horrors of war far, far better than the man standing in front of him. Visions raced through his mind. AiEe burning. Her brave people, ravaged, raped, tormented, and dying. A little body crumpled on his quarterdeck. Had he really brought that upon Westerness? For a brief moment his moral compa.s.s spun and the world reeled. Dear G.o.d, I'd do anything to avoid this. But it cannot be avoided. It has been brought to us, inflicted upon us, and our only choice is to fight or die.

Aye, there is something worse than war, Melville thought to himself. How did John Stuart Mill put it? "War is an ugly thing, but not the ugliest of things; the decayed and degraded state of moral and patriotic feeling which thinks nothing worth a war is worse . . . A man who has nothing he cares more about than he does his personal safety is a miserable creature who has no chance of being free, unless made and kept so by the exertions of better men than himself."

Melville tuned out the amba.s.sador's words as he studied the individual standing before him.

No matter how this turned out, Incessant's career as a diplomat was finished. Here was a man who could rise to positions of rank and recognition that most people would never dream of, and then spend his every effort scheming to gain even more. Melville looked into the heart of the man standing in front of him and felt only contempt and pity. In the end, however high he rose, whatever he achieved, he would never be happy. A lifelong diet of festering resentment and spite would leave him old and bitter, with a belly full of bile.

Here was a man with great reservoirs of vindictiveness and spite, dammed up behind fragile walls of paranoia and inept.i.tude. Now his actions, his policies, and he himself had been publicly repudiated by three major galactic powers. Now the dam had burst, and the flood of hate was so great that the amba.s.sador lost all sense of propriety. He was going mad before Melville's eyes.

Melville tuned back into Incessant's rant for a moment. " . . . Do you really think you have the right to command a frigate?" he demanded, spraying spittle and shaking a finger in Melville's face.

Did he have a right to command a frigate? Not much. Hundreds of men were senior to him. No, he didn't have a right to command Fang, no more than he had a right to capture her, or to break through the blockade of Ambergris, or to blow countless Guldur frigates out of the water, or to woo a Sylvan princess.

Yet he had done so.

All of a sudden it dawned on Melville that the little man in front of him had no power over him. Whatever harm the man could do, he would. There was nothing Melville could do that would change this man. No words, no concession, no act could ever satisfy him.

And there was freedom in that.

So Melville simply turned and walked away as Incessant shouted, "You might have your ship, but you will be sent to the other side of the galaxy, and you will never do anything but deliver mail and worthless cargoes to frontier outposts for the rest of your miserable, insolent life. I can see what has happened here. I know that I am finished, but I still have authority. I have given that order, written and sealed, and it will not be rescinded!"

As Melville strode toward the tables he was joined by Princess Glaive in a gown that was like a swirl of translucent, gauzy green gra.s.s, with patches of dandelions artfully sited in strategic locations. She studiously ignored the whole incident with Incessant and immediately, impishly brought him back into the joy of the moment. "Shouldst I be whispering in thine ear, 'Remember, O Caesar, all glory is fleeting,' hmmm?"

Melville smiled and wrapped his arm around her, causing her gown to ripple delightfully, as though a mischievous breeze was blowing across her meadow. "I think it was a slave who was a.s.signed to that duty, not a princess."

"Mmmm," she purred, standing up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek, "wouldst thou have me for thy slave girl?"

The rest of the dinner was a perfect, flawless gem of purest joy. Melville had a habit of taking the good times and identifying them to himself. This, this is something special, something wonderful, he said to himself. I will take this day, this joy, and I will save it away. I will invest it in a mental, emotional "bank account." Some day when the years turn bad, when pain and sorrow fill my life, I will make a withdrawal from that account, and it will sustain me in my dark hours. I've known joy such as many people will never know. If the world should turn on me, as it did earlier today, may I have the decency not to moan and wail, and bear my fate with dignity and grace.

A swirling rainbow of well-wishers came past his table. Most of them were only a colorful blur in his memory, but one in particular stuck with him. A Westerness Marine officer came up to him, escorted by Lieutenant Broadax. Broadax had lit a cigar, and was beaming in a cloud of smoke as she introduced him.

"Sir, this here's Lieutenant Colonel Hayl. Ye needs ta know 'at he was o' some service to us today. The colonel's the head o' the emba.s.sy's marine detail, an' aye, he was o' service, if'n ye takes my meanin'." This last was said with a broad wink that was about as subtle as a musket volley.

Melville stood and held out his hand to the tall marine, noting from his ribbons that he'd done service as a ranger, which was impressive.

"May I introduce you to Princess Glaive Newra, and may I say that I'm obliged for any a.s.sistance that you have given to me and my ship in this hour."

Hayl bowed and kissed the princess' hand, murmuring, "Charmed, Your Highness, I'm truly charmed." Then he looked at Melville, smiled and replied, "Truly it was nothing. I did absolutely nothing."

"Well, sir," said Melville, taking his meaning and returning the smile, "then I'm sincerely obliged to you for nothing, and if there is any way I can ever repay you, please don't hesitate to let me know."

"Aye, well, there is a boon that I would beg of you."

"If it's within my power, it shall be done."

"Well, Captain, my son is twelve years old. I've taught him everything that I can across the years. He has been well schooled, and I'd be honored if you would consider interviewing him for service with you as a midshipman. I've already provided him with a sea chest, all regulation requirements, and a yearly stipend. He's followed your exploits and is an enormous fan of yours, as am I, and if you'd accept him it would be the highest honor."

"Indeed, Colonel, I do have some openings in my midshipman's berth, and I'd be honored to meet the boy. But you do understand how these openings occurred?" A flicker of anguish flashed across Melville's face, a glint of black pain amidst the rainbow joy of this evening. Beside him, Princess Glaive squeezed his hand.

"Aye. I understand, Captain, and these are the risks we take and accept as warriors. Actually, I've taken the liberty of bringing the boy with me," at which he gestured and Melville became aware of a young boy standing a few feet away.

"Come here, son," said Melville kindly.

The boy strode forward, his chin held high but quivering ever so slightly.

"Do you want to serve on my ship?"

"Aye, sir."

"You know that it's dangerous, and it may be years before you'll be back with your family?"

"Aye, sir."

"You're certain?"

"Aye, sir."

"Very well, then. You aren't committed yet, I want you to be able to spend a few days on board ship before you make a final decision. But if, after seeing the ship and spending a few days with us, you still think you want the position, then you may have it."

Melville turned to the senior Hayl and continued, "Colonel, you can have his gear sent to the ship as soon as is convenient. I understand that we are under orders to sail soon. I don't know how soon it will be, but I'd like for young Mister Hayl to get a chance to look over the ship and make a final decision."

"Aye, Captain. If we can send him off tonight I think that may be best. Heads are rolling at the emba.s.sy, and my options may be somewhat more limited in the very near future. My son is prepared to depart; he has said his goodbyes."

"Indeed. As you can see, I do have some allies. And I, too, can ask boons. If you need my help please let me know. Mister Hayl, you can wait for me outside the cloakroom. You will accompany me back to my inn tonight. I can't guarantee that any of my men will be functional tonight, but you can come over to the ship with me, first thing in the morning."

"Aye, sir," said young Hayl.

"I thank you sir," added his father.

"It's nothing, sir, truly nothing," said Melville with a smile.

Chapter the 16th.

Was a Lady Such a Lady . . .

You common people of the skies;

What are you, when the Moon shall rise?

"Elizabeth of Bohemia"

Sir Henry Wotton

"Well, looky there mates," muttered Broadax through her cigar stub as they walked into their inn. "They killed the little piggy afore 'e even 'ad a chance t' finish 'is apple. d.a.m.n I'm hungry fer real food," she went on, licking her lips, "I could eat the whole piggy m'self."

Melville, his first officer, and his marine officer were just returning from the king's award banquet. Their "gongs" were still hanging from ribbons around their necks. But, as always, they'd found the Sylvan food unsatisfying.

They'd walked confidently through the dangerous late night streets of Osgil, in the certain knowledge that the darkness held nothing more terrible than themselves. Melville was keeping young Midshipman Hayl with him until he could be safely stored aboard ship. The other members of their crew were all at other inns, or had other engagements, other opportunities tonight.

To their front was the dimly lit, broad stairs up to their rooms. To their left was an alcove for coats and boots, and to the right was the entrance to a long, brightly lit banquet hall with a table full of revelers reaching down its length. The table was dominated by a whole roasted pig. One moon had set, but bright moonlight from Osgil's remaining satellite still flowed in from skylights in the steep roof far overhead.

Standing in the doorway to their right were two other customers, both of them human. The inn was on the ground, rather than up in a flet, and was commonly frequented by humans. About half the customers that could be seen sitting at the table were descendants of Old Earth, the rest were mostly Sylvan.

"Aye," responded Fielder looking to his right at the huge roasted pig that Broadax was l.u.s.ting after, sitting indignantly astride the table. He and Broadax were developing a fragile truce based on mutual cynicism, distrust of the Sylvans, and dislike of their refined food, a truce that had been cultivated across countless boring banquets. "And he looks quite angry about it. That Sylvan food. You eat and eat, and an hour later you're still hungry. I wish they'd saved us some of the beefsteaks that they sent to the dogs. I'd kill for some red meat." Then the door to the inn swung shut behind them, and Fielder heard the door being braced shut from the outside.

Broadax's hearing was poor, a natural trait of her race, aggravated by too many stints in front of the firing line. Hayl was too young to know danger and Melville was enthralled by the lingering effects of some feminine Sylvan magic, temporarily oblivious to the world around him. Only Fielder realized their danger.

Melville had sat beside Princess Glaive during the dinner and his mind was still adrift in a warm buzz of love and yearning. Under the table they had held hands and he kept his calf and foot woven against her dainty leg throughout much of the dinner. He didn't remember much about the meal, it was all a dim haze to him, but later they stepped out into the gardens, the princess limping slightly, and they had a few minutes of privacy to whisper to each other.

Was a lady such a lady,

cheeks so round and lips so red,a"

On her neck the small face buoyant,

like a bell flower on its bed,

O'er the breast's superb abundance

where a man might base his head?

There is a fifth sense of touch, besides pressure, pain, heat, and cold, and that's the light, warm, stroking, comforting touch of another human being. A baby will die without it. In adults it's a key ingredient in courtship, flirting and making love. That, along with a lingering sense of smell, is probably responsible for the "afterglow" feeling that lovers have after leaving their love. His palm still felt warm and smelled faintly of her subtle perfume, and his mind wandered. Her touch and smell still echoed through his mind and body.

"Danger, mates," Fielder hissed as he heard the door being braced shut behind them. He immediately understood that someone wanted to bar their exit from this room. His blue uniform jacket was already unb.u.t.toned and he placed both hands on his hips, under the jacket, ready to draw his .45 auto from the small of his back. Then he leaned gently back against the door. If the door were opened behind them he would know the instant it moved and would be in position to respond.

That night their lives were saved by two things: Fielder's constant paranoia, and their enemy's arrogance. All three of their monkeys hunched down and pulled out short, hardwood belaying pins from where they were kept tucked under their bodies. Melville snapped out of his fog, quickly unb.u.t.toning his jacket and placing his right hand casually back on his hip while pulling Hayl behind him with his left hand. Broadax spit out her cigar stub and disappeared into the alcove to their left. Fielder took a shuffle step in that direction, his right shoulder still in contact with the door.

"What's so dangerous here?" asked young Hayl with a squeak, looking around the moonlit room bewilderedly.

"Us!" snarled Melville.

Then, appearing legs-first down the darkened stairs in front of them, came a group of large, ugly Sylvan males dressed in some household livery of khaki pants and maroon jackets, with semi-automatic pistols held casually in their hands. Melville had heard of interbreeding between Sylvans and Ogres, and this looked like living proof to him. They looked as if they could be written off their owner's taxes as a business expense, under "misc. heavy equipment." One of them was far-and-away the biggest, ugliest Sylvan Melville had ever seen. He must have had mostly Ogre blood in him. Good, thought Melville, big guys, hopefully picked for their brawn, not their pistol skill.