on how to proceed, however.
Sor-Lomaak was enjoying himself, with the newly arrived frigate captains translating the conversations. Chack-Sab-At, a major now, was at Matt’s side. He said little, but glanced at his Marines on the porch between each bite he took. Courtney Bradford, the odd Australian engineer/ naturalist, sat at Matt’s other elbow, disinterested in the “normal” foods the ’Cats and human destroyermen ate so greedily, virtually dissecting the unfamiliar dishes he sampled. He was deeply involved in a discussion with Governor-Emperor McDonald about the Empire’s lens-making industry. He was desperate for a “proper” microscope, beyond those the Empire already had.
Spanky had remained aboard Walker, but Chief Gray, ever protective, was there. He wasn’t doing much protecting now, though, and was plainly bored. They’d caught the relayed message concerning TF Garrett’s plight shortly before leaving the ship, and he hated doing nothing when friends were in peril. He scowled at the plate before him, picking disapprovingly at the rich food. Commodore Harvey Jenks, who’d arrived later than expected, leaned past his dutifully silent wife and whispered something in the Bosun’s ear. Gray grunted, nodded, and seemed to take heart. Matt suspected the commodore had probably reminded him there’d be plenty to do soon enough.
Matt looked at Lieutenant (jg) Fred Reynolds, in charge of Walker ’s meager air division. The kid was picking at his food too, but not from boredom. He still blamed himself for the life-threatening wounds Ensign Kari-Faask, his ’Cat spotter and friend, had suffered when he pressed his attack too closely on the Dom troop transports that had threatened Scapa Flow. She was improving, but that first taste of responsibility for the life of another, especially a friend, had rattled him. Walker ’s gunnery officer, “Sonny” Campeti, was trying to chat him up, but occasionally, he cast a worried look at Matt.
“That gennel-maan yonder asks if you’d scoot the bottle on around, sur?” Matt looked up in response to the voice that sounded in his ear and saw Taarba-Kar, better known as “Tabasco.” The rust-colored ’Cat was one of Lanier’s mess attendants, filling in as his “personal steward” while Juan Marcoo’d he little Filipino, was test-driving his new wooden leg. Lanier had almost burst a vessel when Juan “stoled” Tabasco for the mythical “Skipper’s Steward Division” and the ’Cat promptly deserted him to attend “classes” at the church/hospital that had become an amputee ward. Matt stayed out of it. Long ago, Juan had established a position of moral, if not official, power aboard his ship, and Juan’s tragic but heroic wound had only strengthened it. He looked where Tabasco was pointing.
Across the table, beside Sean Bates-the one-armed, one-time “outlaw” they’d met as Sean O’Casey, now Gerald McDonald’s prime factor and chief of staff-was Lord High Admiral McClain. Matt wasn’t sure what he thought of him. By all accounts, the man was a mariner extraordinaire, and had the trust of Gerald and Harvey Jenks, but he was also a stalwart of the “old guard.” He’d long resisted Jenks’s drive to explore the world beyond Imperial frontiers, and he, almost alone among Gerald’s staff, resisted the proposed reforms regarding the “female question.” He resisted almost all change as a matter of course, in a devil’s advocate fashion, and Matt wasn’t sure if that reflected his honest position or if he was just testing their suggestions. Matt wondered how well he’d adapt to the strategies and tactics required by this “new” war. He nodded at the man and passed the bottle along.
Sean Bates suddenly stood and glanced at those surrounding him. “P’raps now’s a good time ta adjourn ta the library, ta discuss the campaign that laies ahead,” he suggested. “As ye know, the Gov’ner-Emp’rer remains easely tired, an’ I s’pect many here could use a wee rest after yer long voyage.”
“Nonsense, Sean, we needn’t rush…” Gerald began, but Matt also stood.
“May as well. It’s been a long day, and we should crack the book and get everybody on the same page. Besides,” he added, “I’m anxious to get back to Walker and check on developments in the west.”
“Of course,” agreed Gerald, accepting the excuse. “By all means then, let us adjourn to the library.” He gestured around at the other tables. “They shan’t miss us. It’s good to see our… peoples… agreeing so well! We’ve much to accomplish together, and I’m glad we’ve had this opportunity to begin as friends!” He sobered, looking at the diners, Imperials and Lemurians, mixed together. “They must be friends,” he added, nodding significantly at Chack, acknowledging the crucial role he and his Marines had played toward that end. “Soon they’ll guard one another’s lives.”
The library was surprisingly quiet, considering the unabated noise outside. Matt had been in the room many times now, and the furnishings reflected their owner well. Gerald was like a cross between Jenks and Bradford, personalitywise. He had the bearing and reserve of his commodore and friend, combined with the eccentric curiosity and (suppressed) enthusiasm for science of the Australian. As plenipotentiary at large for the Alliance, Courtney had been in the room even more often than Matt, but he was immediately drawn to the bookshelves as the officers filed into the room. Matt had to tap his elbow and point to the great map dominating the room’s south wall.
“You don’t actually need me for this,” Courtney complained. “These military machinations are quite beyond me. If you insist I pay attention… I may well ask a question!” he warned.
“As long as you’re not asking where we all are a month from now when you suddenly notice we’re gone,” Matt countered.
Those who knew the Australian laughed. He was prone to a notable absentmindedness. That notwithstanding, he had a natural talent for analysis, and when he kept his thoughts on a single track long enough, he was very good at pointing out obvious flaws in plans that others had overlooked. Matt wanted him paying attention.
The officers and guests made themselves comfortable (a relative thing for Lemurians, since all the chairs were designed for people without tails) and Governor-Emperor McDonald allowed himself to be ushered to a divan, his legs propped up. Matt noticed with pleasure that Ruth McDonald didn’t excuse herself but chose a chair near her husband.
“There’s one… small thing we need to have understood before we begin,” announced Lord High Admiral McClain, glancing at Ruth. He looked around the room with a closed expression. “Who’s the authority here?”
“The Governor-Emperor, of course,” Matt replied patiently.
“I mean, the military authority,” McClain pressed.
“I am,” Matt said simply, “as we’ve discussed before. I remain ‘Commander in Chief of All Allied Forces, by acclamation.’ ”
“The Empire of the New Britain Isles did not ‘acclaim’ you, sir.”
“James!” Gerald scolded, and Commodore Jenks stirred angrily.
“With respect, Your Majesty, I speak only truth,” the admiral maintained.
“You speak out of place,” Gerald said more forcefully. “Captain Reddy was acclaimed by the other Allied powers long before we became one. You shall not forget that even before our alliance was made-before they had any ‘obligation’ to help us-they willingly spilled their blood to defend us from the despicable Dominion! We’ve joined them, and heartily! They didn’t join us.” He paused, gulping an angry breath. “We may know this region of the world better than they, Lord High Admiral, but largely due to your influence, that knowledge is sorely limited. We know next to nothing of the extent of the enemy realm, for example, but that part that borders the vast Pacific. How deep does it go? What lies beyond?”
“My apologies, Your Maj-”
“Let me finish, damn you, sir!” Gerald practically roared. He stopped, forcefully composing himself. “We must not start like this!” he continued quietly. “The time for petty, egoistic squabbles is past. We face a wicked, determined enemy here and in the west! Our allies stand poised to deliver a heavy blow to the Grik, but we’re still on the defensive here. The enemy holds a significant portion of our very homeland! We must throw him out! Captain Reddy and his strategies have been much more recently successful at that than any we can draw upon!”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Matt said, partially to cover Chief Gray’s muttered “puffed-up bugger” and the few ensuing chuckles. Admiral McClain reddened, and Jenks stood and moved toward Matt to add his support. “I’m glad you brought up those ‘strategies,’ because the first thing we need to get clear is, just like our war in the west, we can’t have limits to our ‘war aims’ here. We’re going to fight this war hard, ugly, and as fast as possible. There’re no rules except victory, and there’ll be no ‘negotiated peace.’ ” His green eyes flashed. “They picked this fight, but we’re going to finish it.” He sighed. “Maybe we won’t have to kill them all, as we’ll probably have to do to win in the west, but to accept anything short of complete surrender’ll only waste the blood already lost.”
There were a few sharp cheers, and the ’Cats stamped their feet in approval. Admiral McClain didn’t cheer, and even the Governor-Emperor seemed dubious.
“That will be… costly,” he said.
