major speech to kick off the “reception,” and didn’t know how he’d keep from repeating a lot of what he’d just said, or even much further embellish it. The address closed with flowery compliments of “Supreme Commander” Captain Reddy’s military prowess and unerring leadership-while Matt’s face burned-and Radcliff added his personal assurance of “Minister Lady” Tucker’s purity, chastity, courage, and medical genius.
After a respectful silence while the governor made his way to his seat, the choir erupted into another unintelligible but hauntingly familiar chorus, while priestly ushers advanced toward the forward pews. Matt recognized his signal to stand, and suddenly rubbery legs reluctantly obeyed him. Spanky, Gray, Chack, Kutas, Campeti, Juan, and Brassey all shepherded him before the altar. Dennis Silva, shoulders square and mouth grim, erectly escorted Emelia Radcliff toward the front of the cathedral, where they stepped inside an alcove Matt hadn’t seen when he entered. They emerged a moment later, each on the arm of… a short, white, shapeless cloud, and Matt almost barked a nervous laugh at what Sandra must think of her Imperial wedding dress.
The gown was fancy enough, Matt supposed, with plenty of frills, lace, and sparkly stuff, but it was also cut in the Imperial style that deliberately de-emphasized and obscured the female form to protect the modesty of ladies of quality and status. Matt had always been struck by that, since indentured or lower-caste women in the Empire wore little more than civilian Lemurians-which was next to nothing. In the Imperial case, he supposed that was the easiest way to differentiate the classes, but there was little wonder why there were so many “fatherless” children running around Imperial port cities, particularly when lower-caste women had so little expectation of legal recourse or protection.
Matt knew Sandra wasn’t vain, but doubted she’d ever expected to wear such an amorphous thing to the altar-or that she’d preserve it unaltered for the future use of any daughter they might have! For the first time since the… ordeal began, a broad grin spread across his face-and grew even broader when Sandra drew close enough for him to see her savage blush. His anxiety all but fled, and he felt a sudden swirling rush of anticipation. In spite of the ridiculous dress and her brightly flushing cheeks, at that moment, Sandra was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, and her features softened and her lips ticked upward into a tentative smile when she saw his expression.
Diania and Tabby brought up the rear of the bridal procession, and Diania was dressed in a similar, simpler version of Sandra’s dress. Tabby, however, wore what had evolved as the Lemurian version of dress whites: a well- tailored, high-collar tunic that did not de-emphasize her shape in any way and a long white kilt. Belted around her waist was a standard pattern 1917 cutlass, but it was sheathed in a tooled and brass-accented leather scabbard. Diania might have preferred similar garb, but Emelia had virtually insisted that the formerly indentured woman appear as a “lady.”
The singing ended just as the procession arrived at the altar, and in the ensuing silence, the bishop thundered: “Who comes here before God and this congregation to be joined in holy matrimony?”
They’d been warned that it was customary for the groom to recite his name, titles, and lineage at this time, though it was not, of course, usually expected of the bride.
“Matthew Patrick Reddy,” Matt answered in a voice that surprised him with its firmness. “Captain of the United States Ship Walker, High Chief of the American Clan, and Commander in Chief, by acclamation, of all Allied Military Forces united beneath the Banner of the Trees.” He paused, remembering to add the lineage part, and continued proudly; “I’m the son of former Chief Quartermaster’s Mate Donald Vernon Reddy, recipient of the highest military honor for bravery that my birth nation can bestow. He’s now a cattleman-a large landholder-in the great state of Texas, U.S. of A.!”
He heard murmuring to his right in response to his revelation. It sounded like Kutas asking Gray what Matt’s dad had done. He suppressed a head shake. How on earth do they think I got in the Academy?
“Sandra Cayce Tucker,” Sandra interjected before the bishop could proceed. She spoke a little softly at first, but with growing strength. “Nurse Lieutenant and Minister of Medicine for Adar, High Chief and Sky Priest of Baalkpan and Chairman of the Grand Alliance. I’m the daughter of Malcom C. Tucker, ah, Norfolk industrialist, in the great state of Virginia, United States of America.”
The congregation murmured, but Bishop Todd cleared his throat.
“And who giveth this woman to be wed?” he demanded.
Silva straightened. “Me!” he boomed. “Chief Gunner’s Mate Dennis Silva of the United States Ship Walker, DD rate, number one-sixty-three! Famous slayer o’ Japs, Griks, Doms, super lizards, mountain fish, an’ various other dangerous critters, includin’ a Dom Blood Cardinal I spattered at most of a quarter mile! Protector o’ women an’ small princesses, an’ rescuer o’ same! I’m the son o’ Stanley an’ Willa Silva, who was actually married when I was born but passed on soon after, God rest ’em, an’ I hail from Alabama-also in the U.S. of A!”
The bishop was taken aback and Gray muttered something, but Matt supposed it could have been far worse.
“And do you swear before God that this woman is here seeking the solemnization of matrimony of her own free will, and has no just impediment, nor moral or legal obligation that might entangle, complicate, or prohibit the honorable estate she seeks?”
“Ah… yes, sir. I swear,” Silva replied with less exuberance. “If all that means what I think it does.”
Matt saw Sandra roll her eyes.
The bishop paused, again perhaps taken aback by the unorthodox reply. “Then I entreat this congregation to bear witness that this man and this woman have entered this house and the sight of God to be joined together in holy matrimony, an institution created by God in the time of man’s innocency, which signifies the mystical union betwixt Christ and his Church, and which He adorned and beautified with His presence. With that understanding, it must be admonished that this estate be not enterprised lightly or wantonly solely to satisfy men’s carnal lusts and appetites like brute beasts, with no understanding, but reverently, advisedly, soberly, and in the fear of God, duly considering the causes for which matrimony was ordained.
“First of these is the lawful procreation of unobligated children, to be reared in the fear of the Lord and to praise His holy name.
“Secondly, as a remedy against sin and fornication and other base temptations of the flesh, so that those who enter into this, the greatest of obligations, might keep themselves undefiled members of Christ’s body, and righteous members of His Church.
“Thirdly, for the mutual society, help, and comfort that the one ought to have of the other, both in prosperity and adversity.
“Only through due obedience to God’s matrimonial decrees may those who are scattered, and children begotten in the lonely places of this savage world, remain servants of the Lord, and not degrade themselves until they become unknown to Him.”
Matt was struck-vaguely-by the many similarities as well as differences to other wedding ceremonies he’d witnessed. He supposed-vaguely again-that the differences were mostly rooted in the odd society the Empire had created as far as women were concerned, but at that moment it really didn’t matter to him-except insofar as how damn long the thing was taking! They both answered in the affirmative at the end of the long, familiar, if somewhat archaic vows, and Matt duly, somewhat ironically, noted the extra-heavy emphasis on service and obedience that Sandra agreed to. He honestly wasn’t entirely sure what “plight thee my troth” meant, but a plight was like a predicament… wasn’t it?
Spanky stood next to Matt as his best man, and at the appropriate moment, he fished in his pocket for the ring: a simple golden band traditional for all Imperial weddings. It was growing increasingly hot in the still, unventilated cathedral, and the ring suddenly squirted from Spanky’s fingers just as he triumphantly produced it.
“Goddammit!” he muttered, instantly flushing red as the ring hit Sandra’s dress. Instead of being captured in the shapeless folds, it fell and struck the floor with a tiny chink and rolled away down the aisle. Silva stomped on it before it could escape completely, and Spanky quickly retrieved it and stuck it in Matt’s hand. Matt then laid the ring on the large, leather-bound Bible on the altar, as he’d been instructed, and the bishop held it up before passing it back to him. That’s when Matt turned to put it on Sandra’s finger. Her eyes were… chuckling, either at Spanky’s embarrassment or Matt’s grim, nervous expression, and Matt felt his own grin return as he repeated what the bishop told him to say.
“With this ring, I thee wed. With my body, I thee worship.” There was nothing about “worldly goods” in Imperial ceremonies, but Matt didn’t have anything to offer but his ship. “So help me God,” he almost whispered. They both knelt then, and Bishop Todd held his hands out over their heads.
