them to the Cathedral of St. Brenden in the heart of Respite City. It was the first covered trolley Matt had seen and it was generously carved and gilded. The driver told them that it once belonged to the Company director, but Matt was grateful for the protection it afforded them, because the humidity in the valley where the bulk of the city lay was oppressive and afternoon storms were common. Other trolleys would bring a large percentage of the rest of the crew to join them, leaving a small but alert watch aboard the ship. Maybe Matt had grown paranoid, but it seemed to him that far too many bad things seemed to happen whenever their guard was down, and even Governor Radcliff agreed. The Respite militia was in a high state of readiness, and a couple of picket ships had been sent beyond the reef to reinforce and broaden the range of the guard ships stationed there.
The smallish trolley was filled almost to capacity because Spanky, Gray, Chack, Kutas, Campeti, Juan, and even Silva all attended Matt on this fateful journey. Midshipman Brassey would join them at the cathedral as an Imperial representative in the party. Little conversation passed among the group, and what did was somewhat awkward. Of those in the trolley, only Gray and Campeti had ever been married before, and the adventure ended in disaster for them both. In neither case had the proceedings been accompanied by such fanfare, and they began to get a real dose of that as they wound through the outlying streets and approached the center of the city. The roadside grew increasingly choked with happily waving well-wishers.
“I… wasn’t expecting this!” Matt muttered, looking at the throng. He wasn’t whistling anymore and even looked a little pale. “I guess I wasn’t this nervous before we fought Amagi!” he suddenly blurted, shocked by the admission his mounting tension released.
“That’s okay, Skipper. You’re s’posed to be scared to death before jumpin’ into somethin’ like this,” Gray assured him. “Hell, that’s one o’ the reasons I only ever did it once!”
“Skipper’s not scared of anything,” Spanky denied. “It’s Juan’s coffee that has my guts in an uproar. That’s probably what’s bothering him too. Sorry, Juan, but by God, it’s time somebody spilled the beans you been murderin’.”
“I don’t think Juan’s coffee is to blame,” Matt objected bleakly.
“Course not!” the Filipino declared, glaring at Spanky. “Snipes poison themselves on burned bilgewater,” he added, referring to Spanky’s previous, longtime status as engineering officer. “I’ve seen it take years to get that sooty swill out of their system! Here, Cap-i-taan Reddy!” he offered, trying to pass him a sick-berth urinal. “In case you feel… ill. I sterilized it myself!”
“Put that goddamn thing away, you idiot!” the Bosun growled incredulously, then snatched the cylinder himself and tossed it under the bench they sat on. “What the hell’s the matter with you?”
“But his uniform!” Juan objected.
“The Skipper’s uniform won’t get a spot on it, ’cause he ain’t gonna puke. Sure, he’s a little edgy. Who wouldn’t be with all this fuss? I guess if he was the sort to spew, he woulda done it the first time he ever stuck a Grik with his fancy sword!”
The thought of that very sword at his side right now caused a queasy stir in Matt’s stomach.
“Just shut up, everybody,” he murmured. “About… being sick, anyway.” He looked at Juan and offered a weak smile. “Thanks for the thought, but I’ll manage.”
Dennis Silva muttered something and chuckled.
“Think I’d prefer a quick pass by the JP myself,” Lieutenant Kutas said. His scarred face looked pinched as he stared at the crowd.
“It does seem quite a… fuss,” Chack observed. “We do such things much differently, as you know. Why could you not have just a simple ceremony like you performed for Mr. Letts and Nurse Theimer, Cap-i-taan?”
“Because we were all fixin’ to die then, Chackie,” Silva said. “This is politics!”
As was often the case, Silva was more astute than he generally pretended, because politics were definitely involved. Governor Radcliff wanted to capitalize on the popularity of the destroyermen to reinforce Respite’s dedication to the Alliance-and the Empire they’d helped to save. Emelia, as she’d stated, wanted to showcase Sandra and the respect her own people gave her to emphasize the advantages inherent in dismantling the system of female indenture and the advancement of associated social reforms. The… spectacle was also clearly intended to display strong friendship not only to Walker ’s crew, but also to the large number of allied personnel now stationed on the island and the crews of other ships in port. Of course, Matt and Sandra’s decision to wed on Respite demonstrated their esteem for the people there and the Empire in general.
The donkeys pulling the trolley were finally reined to a halt in front of the Cathedral of St. Brenden, and the passengers gawked up at the impressive edifice as they stepped out of the vehicle. It wasn’t as big, and certainly not as Gothic as its old world counterparts the humans had seen, or seen pictures of, but the white-plastered stone fairly gleamed and massive columns supported the front of a truly impressive bell tower that soared perhaps a hundred feet high. Broad steps led to a massive conical wooden door that Radcliff had told them was hewn from the very timbers of the “passage” Indiaman Hermione herself.
Militiamen and two of Walker ’s Marines flanked the huge door, and the thunder of the cheering crowd echoed back at them from the cathedral face like a breaking surf.
Matt straightened his tunic and adjusted his sword belt. “C’mon, he said, with what seemed a brittle confidence. “I guess we better go inside.”
The doors swung wide as they ascended the steps and the scent of burning candles met them as they left the bright sunlight and entered the relative gloom inside. At first, in equal contrast to the tumult outside, there was hardly a sound within as their eyes adjusted, but then the applause began as they were ushered forward toward the lighted altar at the far end of the long, arched chamber. Matt heard a muffled “Belay that shit!” from the Bosun behind him and he wondered briefly what Silva had done, before he focused his attention on the gathering that awaited them.
Several men, ranging from relatively young to ancient, stood on an elevated platform and were dressed in flowing white robes with little ornamentation. They flanked a man in a silky blue robe with gold accents whom Matt had briefly met during his first visit to Respite, and he was further discomfited to realize that the ceremony would apparently be performed by Bishop Akin Todd himself! His stomach clenched again when he remembered that previous meeting had not been completely cordial; the bishop had harbored deep suspicions of the Alliance in general, and its social meddling in particular. Now, however, the tall, white-haired man with the conical “pope hat,” as Gray had called it, practically beamed at him as he motioned Matt and his party to find seats in the right-front pew.
Glancing down the length of the long, wooden bench as his men preceded him with awkward, sideways steps, Matt was surprised to see Ambassador Forester and Midshipman Brassey standing at the far end, waiting. Brassey he’d expected, but he wondered why Forester had chosen to sit on the groom’s side. He glanced to the left, and was equally surprised to see Governor Radcliff, Emelia, their daughters, and several others he didn’t know sitting for the bride. As had been arranged, Dennis Silva, of all people, joined them there with a beatific smile, and Matt suppressed a groan. Sandra had insisted, and he supposed he understood, but he sensed a disaster in the making. With a final glance behind him, taking in the various attendees with his eyes better accustomed to the gloom, he noted the garish colors of Imperial finery interspersed with numerous Navy uniforms, and he jerked a nod in their direction and sat. Periodically over the next quarter hour, the great door admitted light, warm, humid air and more members of Walker ’s crew. Each time, the local attendees clapped their hands for men and Lemurians, and Matt was again pleased by their reception.
The applause abruptly stopped when the Bishop finally extended his arms to his sides. A choir stood behind him, from seats arranged beneath a massive cross that Matt only then fully appreciated. The thing appeared to be made of thousands of shards of multihued volcanic obsidian, from clear to blue to almost black, and it sparkled in the candlelight like hot blue, flickering flames. The bishop lowered his arms, and the choir commenced an unfamiliar hymn. Matt didn’t understand the words, but the voices were clear and strong and the melody was moving. The admirable acoustics of the cathedral added an impressive power to the music, and Matt felt his tension ease to some degree. The song was kind of long, but when it finally ended, Bishop Todd raised his hands again in the sudden silence and boomed:
“Let us pray!”
The prayer was pretty straightforward and not unlike many Matt heard in church as a kid, and he duly bowed his head for its duration. When it ended, he was surprised to hear the bishop call Governor Radcliff to speak. The melodious words that followed were essentially a highly complimentary account of the past campaign that highlighted Matt’s, Walker ’s, and even Sandra’s contributions to its success. Matt knew Radcliff had prepared a
