Those gathered in the wardroom quickly resumed their seats, making way for Matt, Nurse Lieutenant Sandra Tucker, and His Excellency Lord Bolton Forester, the new ambassador from the Empire of the New Britain Isles, to find theirs at the battered table in the center of the compartment.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen… and ladies,” Matt amended for Sandra’s benefit, and for that of Lieutenant Tab-At, or Tabby, the newly appointed engineering officer. Tabby was modestly dressed in a T-shirt and kilt (wearing a top was something she did more often now that she was an officer), but the clothing did little to hide the fact that she was female. The silky gray fur on her arms and face was still blotchy in places where it hadn’t quite covered all her steam scars, and Sandra winced slightly at the sight. Her expression turned into a satisfied smile at the thought that Matt-and every other human in the Navy-was going to have to start getting used to the idea of female officers of all sorts. She almost laughed out loud when Matt frowned at her.
There’d been female ’Cats aboard ever since Walker started supplementing her dwindling human crew with Lemurian cadets. That was the Lemurian way, and if Matt wanted sailors, he had to take both genders. All were “Americans” now, having sworn the same enlistment oath as Walker ’s original crew. The Marines and the Lemurian Armies were also entirely integrated. Many of Walker ’s losses in the recent campaign had been made up with former Imperial women, however, and incorporating human females into the Navy and Marines made almost everyone uncomfortable except said females-and the Lemurians, of course, who didn’t know what the big deal was.
Sandra had initiated the integration aboard the new Lemurian purpose-built carrier USS Maaka-Kakja (CV-4), originally recruiting women from Respite who were escaping the then-all-pervasive institution of indentured servitude that most women in the empire endured. Matt was furious when he found out, but by then it was a fait accompli. The Imperials were (publicly) furious too over the equality the move implied, not to mention the almost unavoidable precedent it set for their own navy.
When his rage passed, Matt secretly suspected Sandra’s move was a stroke of genius that had solved a lot of problems, both for him and for Governor-Emperor Gerald McDonald, who was doing his best to eliminate the age- old “Company”-inspired institution of virtual female slavery throughout the Empire. Having uncorked it, Sandra had made it practically impossible to put the genie back in the bottle.
Regardless, there were now human females, sea… women running around Walker, to the amusement of half the crew-and horror of the rest. Matt understood it, accepted it, even welcomed it for various reasons, but he didn’t like it.
“I’m sure you’ve all met His Excellency, Ambassador Lord Forester,” he began, looking across the table at the tall, somewhat heavyset man. Matt didn’t know Forester well, but the man was a personal friend of the Governor- Emperor and that spoke well for him. He waited briefly while most politely nodded. “Good.” Matt smiled. “Try to be nice to him. It’s in all our interests, his people’s and ours, that we get along.” There were chuckles, and even Forester’s face broke into a smile. There had been, and doubtless would continue to be, tensions between the Western allies and the Empire. The Empire had spawned the criminal Billingsley, after all, who’d managed to cause so much trouble. Even now, in its death throes, the legacy of the Honorable New Britain Company was still cause for concern. The societies were very different, and some enmity remained.
“I will do my part,” Forester said, absently twisting the graying ends of his massive, stereotypical Imperial mustache. “I’m rather new at this; the Empire has had no diplomatic department, per se, and no real tradition of negotiation. And though we allowed the Dominion to maintain an embassy in the New Britain Isles-which they apparently used primarily to intrigue against us-there has been no ambassador to the Doms for a decade.” He grimaced. “Hopefully, there won’t be one until the evil that rules there is destroyed.” He spread his hands with a small smile at Matt. “Then, of course, we had no one else to talk to until you came along.”
Matt refrained from pointing out that the Lemurians had always been there-and the Empire knew it.
The ambassador straightened. “It is no secret that I feel inadequate and wholly unprepared for my new, consequential post, but though I may not be a polished envoy, I understand that I must learn all I can about the military and political structure of your elements of our Alliance. Just watching and listening helps me with that.” He smiled more broadly. “I assure you, even listening to the… English-Lemurian patois you have developed is most helpful.”
There was more laughter. “I think we’re even, then, Your Excellency,” Matt said. “Courtney Bradford is the best we can come up with for your counterpart, and he’s not very polished either.” Bradford was an amazingly valuable but… odd individual. He’d been an Australian petroleum engineer in the East Indies, but considered himself first and foremost a naturalist. Sometimes Matt wondered if everything that had happened to them since they passed through the Squall that brought Walker and her people to this world wasn’t some divine attempt to overwhelm Courtney’s curiosity. “I think the Governor-Emperor knew our people would react better to someone like you than to someone more ‘polished.’ As for listening to the gab, knock yourself out. I don’t think we have, or should have, any secrets you shouldn’t hear. Make yourself comfortable…” He grinned, considering the lively gyrations of his ship. Walker rolled horribly in any kind of sea, and was currently pitching rather briskly as well. “If you can.”
Matt looked at the others in the wardroom and the grin disappeared. Time to get down to business. “Okay, here’s the deal. As you’re all aware, Walker needs a major refit and she’s on the binnacle list for now. For some time, particularly since we turned for home, it’s been bugging me that a fair percentage of the personnel most needed to accomplish various projects have been cooped up here aboard Walker. In the past, I’d have swallowed that frustration, of necessity. But the wonders of this modern world we’re building are throwing changes at us so fast that they’re hard to keep up with.” He shook his head. “Sometimes I feel like the guy living in the house with oil lamps, who never twisted the light switch because he knew there was no electricity and all the bulbs were burned out-then somebody just waltzes in and turns on the lights.” He grinned sheepishly.
“The point is, before departing New Scotland, I sent a message asking the guys back home to put their heads together and figure out a way to get some of you malingerers off this ship and back to work. In retrospect-I don’t know why; I didn’t expect much. I knew we could fly you out of Manila, but by then you’d only have a few days on us.” He nodded at Ed Palmer, the communications officer. “We just received, via Respite Station, confirmation that two four-engine seaplanes the Air Corps cobbled up-I think they’re calling them ‘Manila Clippers’-should arrive at Respite at about the same time we do. They’re supposed to be bigger, more powerful versions of the three-engine ‘Buzzards,’ and I’ve been assured they’re reasonably safe and reliable.” He paused. “A number of you will board those planes and proceed ahead of us to Maa-ni-la. Some of you will continue on to Baalkpan, via other appropriate fueling stops. Once you reach your respective destinations, you’ll commence a variety of assignments that you are, in some cases, uniquely qualified for.”
“What kind of assignments?” blurted Silva. The big, heavily tanned, one-eyed man still stood, leaning against the aft bulkhead. His mighty arms were crossed, and the spray of scars on his face testified further that Walker ’s people had suffered as much as she had. Beside him, much shorter, stood an orangish, tiger-striped creature named Lawrence, or Larry the Lizard. Lawrence’s physical similarity to the Grik, with his furry-feathery reptilian form, sharp teeth, and wicked claws, was still a little disconcerting to some, but all knew he was fiercely loyal.
“What kind of assignment, SIR, damn your insubordinate soul!” growled Chief Bosun Fitzhugh Gray. Gray was more than twice Silva’s age but nearly as big. His decades-old China Station flab was long gone, and if he might not quite be a physical match for Silva, he had infinitely greater moral authority.
“Sir,” Silva amended agreeably, and Gray rolled his eyes.
“Let’s hear what the Skipper has to say before flapping our gums,” Brad “Spanky” McFarlane commanded. Spanky was a skinny little guy, and had once been Walker ’s engineering officer. Somehow, despite his size, people always remembered him as much bigger than he actually was, and now he was Matt’s exec.
“Please,” agreed Sandra Tucker. She was even smaller than Spanky, but her new job in the Alliance was Minister of Medicine, and petite and pretty as she was, she had a will of iron and couldn’t be lightly ignored (or resisted) by anyone. She was also, incidentally, Captain Reddy’s fiancee. There was a brief, uncomfortable silence. No one resented her hard-earned authority, but some inevitably reflected on the most recent result of it.
Juan Marcos, Matt’s self-appointed personal steward to the CINCAF, appeared with a carafe and noisily stomped through the suddenly quiet wardroom on a remarkably complicated peg fashioned for him on New Scotland. He’d lost his left leg during a sneak attack by the Holy Dominion. No one spoke while the little Filipino filled cups with an air of supreme satisfaction. Well, at least the “monkey joe” is back to normal, Captain Reddy reflected, staring bleakly at the not-quite-green foam rimming the brew in his captain’s cup. Juan had finally returned to duty, relieving Taarba-Kar (Tabasco), his Lemurian replacement. The first thing he’d done was insist on
