From the other end of the hallway, leading into the main ballroom, Mike could hear a rising swell of sound. Suddenly, he realized that was the sound of a crowd breaking into celebration. A wild hope came to him.
"Eddie," Simpson choked out. "Lieutenant Cantrell, I mean." Then, taking shaky control of himself, lifted his head and gazed at the opposite wall. "God knows how, but he must have gotten off the boat before it hit. The Danes were all over the area, picking up their own, and they fished him out too. He was badly hurt-lost a leg, they say, or part of it-but he came through it. He's conscious again."
He swallowed, visibly trying to regain his composure. "Hypothermia would have been a blessing to him, actually. Kept the blood loss to a minimum. How in hell he survived the impact on the water, though-at that speed…"
Despite his own swelling heart, Mike forced himself to think. Coldly and clearly.
"John… Look, I hate to raise this. But is there any chance-"
"A Danish subterfuge? A trick?" Suddenly, Simpson started laughing. The laughter, like the earlier weeping, had a semi-hysterical quality to it. Again, as if the man who laughed had no real experience at it. Or, at least, none for many years.
"Not a chance!" he cried, holding up the message slip. "No, it's Eddie all right. Can't possibly be a Danish ploy. He's already pissed off the king of Denmark. Apparently he lectured Christian on something called the Geneva Convention and refused to tell him anything except his name, rank, and serial number."
Mike started laughing himself. Truth be told, perhaps even semi-hysterically.
"It gets better!" whooped Simpson. "Christian is most disgruntled. He tells us-no fool, that man, he's already figured out he'd better not burn any more bridges behind him-he's willing to go along with whatever this Geneva Convention business means but-"
Now, the admiral was almost dancing a little jig.
"-but not unless we quit cheating."
Weakly, still shaking with laughter, Simpson handed the sheet to Mike. "See for yourself."
Mike's eyes ranged down the page until he came to the end.
- CANTRELL CLAIMS FORGOT SERIAL NUMBER. WE ARE MOST SUSPICIOUS. WILL KEEP HIM AS PRISONER, FOLLOWING WHAT HE CLAIMS ARE YOUR RULES. BUT MUST INSIST HIS SERIAL NUMBER BE GIVEN TO US. ABSOLUTELY INSIST.
CHRISTIAN IV, KING OF DENMARK
"Of course," chuckled Simpson, "he's just covering the Old Bastard's ass. Navy takes care of its own. He didn't forget his serial number. I never thought to provide people with any."
Mike stared at him. Simpson shrugged. "What can I say? I screwed up. Guess we'll have to figure out a serial number system. Can't use social security numbers, of course, the way the old Navy wound up doing."
"To hell with a 'system,' " proclaimed Mike. "Later for that. Right now, we'll just have to wing it. Eddie needs a number right away."
The cheering crowd in the ballroom was starting to spill into the hallway. Mike knew he'd be surrounded by well-wishers in seconds, burying him.
Think quick.
He did. But-
Is Eddie bright enough? Stupid question.
Will he get reckless? That's the real problem. Ah, what the hell. He's lost a leg, what can he do?
Um. Eddie? Stupid question.
Piss on it, Mike. Go with the ones who got you here.
Just do it.
Pulling his ever-present notepad and pen from the inside pocket of his fancy clothing-another reason he'd insisted on his own modifications-Mike hastily scrawled a message. He just had time to hand it to Simpson before the mob swept him back into the ballroom. Dignitas be damned. Let's have a party!
Simpson didn't read the message for perhaps half a minute, until he was sure he had himself back under control. When he did read the message, however, he promptly burst into laughter again.
LT CANTRELL DECORATED NAVY CROSS. CONGRATULATIONS.
LT CANTRELL REPRIMANDED FORGETTING SERIAL NUMBER.
INSIST REPRIMAND BE GIVEN HIM. WITH SERIAL NUMBER.
THUS NO EXCUSE REPETITION OF INCIDENT.
LT CANTRELL SERIAL NUMBER 007
Afterword
by Eric Flint
It is one of the pieces of accepted wisdom in fiction writing that stories written in collaboration are almost invariably weaker than stories written by authors working alone. Since I enjoy sticking my thumb in the eye of accepted wisdom, I like to think I've done it again with this book-as well as a number of others I've written in collaboration with several different authors.
I've never really understood the logic of this piece of "wisdom," beyond the obvious technical reality: until the advent of computer word-processing and online communication, collaboration between authors was simply very difficult. I can remember the days when I used to write on a typewriter, and had to spend as much time painfully retyping entire manuscripts just to incorporate a few small changes in the text, as I did writing the story in the first place. (And I'll leave aside the joys of using carbon paper and white-out.) Working under those circumstances is trying enough for an author working alone. Adding a collaborator increases the problems by an order of magnitude.
That's the reason, I think, that authors for many decades, even centuries, generally worked alone. And where exceptions did occur, they usually did so because of special circumstances. Two, in particular:
The first is where one author basically does all the writing. The input of the other author might have taken the form of developing the plot outline, or, not infrequently, simply lending his or her name to the project for marketing purposes.
The second generally involved married couples, or people who were otherwise in position to work in very close proximity. To use a well-known instance from the history of science fiction, just about everything written by Henry Kuttner and C. L. Moore after their marriage was, in fact if not in name, a collaborative work.
Modern technology, however, eliminates all the practical problems involved with collaborative writing. Thus, to use this book as an example, once Dave and I had settled on a detailed plot outline, we were each able to write our respective chapters, swap them back and forth in emails, cross-edit and add new material, rewrite-whatever was needed-just about as easily as a single author would manage his own rewriting and editing.
Of course, that still leaves the creative and personal aspects of the business. Those can be either a challenge-sometimes an insuperable one-or an opportunity. Part of what annoys me a bit about the unthinking assumption of a lot of people that collaboration automatically reduces the quality of the writing to the lowest common denominator, is that they overlook the obvious. Collaborative writing is a skill, like any other. Some authors are hopelessly inept at it-or simply don't want to do it all. Others manage it poorly; still others in a workmanlike but humdrum manner; and some-I happen to be one of them-do it very well.
I think there are three key ingredients to the skill. The first, and most important, is that the author himself has to want to do it. Any author for whom collaboration is a chore or a nuisance, done only for practical and commercial reasons, is not going to do it well. They will meet the challenges, perhaps; but they will miss the opportunities and potential benefits.
The second is that you have to choose your partner (or partners) carefully. This has both a personal and a professional side to it. On the personal side, your partner has to be someone you're on friendly terms with. On the professional side, they should be someone whose particular strengths and weaknesses as a writer match up well against your own. There's no point in Tweedledum co-authoring a novel with Tweedledee. You want a co-author who is going to add something-and whose weaknesses (and all authors have them) can be cancelled out by your own strengths. And vice-versa, of course.