“War?” declared Halowell, insensitive to the exchange. “Thank God! Then you know?”
“Know what?”
“Why, the cause for my relief!” Halowell paused, seeing their expressions. “I see… or rather I don’t. I know not what sparked the war at home, but I assure you war has commenced already upon those dark, eastern shores!” He shuddered. “We were down the coast from Acapoolco at the usual place…” He looked about curiously, again taken aback by the gathering ’Cats, then specifically addressed Jenks. “As you know, Commodore, the ‘trade’ has been officially illicit for some time as far as the Doms were concerned. They’d rather cut the bleeding hearts from the poor wenches than sell them to us now! But commerce as usual hasn’t been much discouraged beyond the provincial capital. A veritable harbor city has arisen at Puerto Marco, where women bring us their own daughters to spare them the stone knives of that twisted faith. Stone knives, for the love of God!” The man paused, his horror obvious. “In the event, we were anchored with several other Company vessels, our cargo already shipped, awaiting only the tide. During the night, Doms-thousands of’em!-attacked every other ship and slaughtered all aboard. Only the whim of chance had Pompey moored the farthest out. Perhaps the fiends assigned to us became disoriented in the gloom and attacked another ship…” He began blinking rapidly. “It was horrific, sirs, the screams… You could tell by those that they even murdered the ‘cargo.’ ” He shook his head. “There was nothing we could do. We cut our cables and bore away as quickly as we could. Some galleys gave chase, but we caught a favorable wind that proved our salvation.”
“Can you imagine why they’d do such a thing?” Jenks asked. Dominion atrocities didn’t surprise him, not anymore, but there had to be a reason.
“Indeed, sir. From the time we entered Puerto Marco, we heard rumors of mighty fleets and large armies. There were no warships in port, save the galleys, but you can’t keep a secret like that. Our suppliers hinted, the victuallers warned, even the ‘cargo’ had heard things… and there was a distinct shortage of labor, particularly young men, to be had. We knew something was stirring, the other captains and I. That was why we had already determined to depart before our holds were quite full and travel in company. Alas, too late.”
“Lucky,” grunted the Bosun.
“For us,” Halowell granted.
“Did you gain any notion where these fleets were bound?” Jenks asked.
“The rumors were of the normal sort; nothing definitive. But enough agreed on a few destinations: the Enchanted Isles garrison is perhaps the most probable, since it lies the closest and the Doms have always claimed the islands. Considering the treachery at home you spoke of, I now give greater credibility to the very heart of the Empire as a possibility. Certainly the colonies on the northern continent are at risk. Those three were mentioned most and strike me as most likely, particularly having heard your news.”
“We expect an attempt on the colonies,” Jenks confirmed. “That’s why we hurry there.”
Halowell looked around. “This one ship? Granted, she’s a wondrous thing, with amazing speed, but…”
“This one ship, if she’s all we have,” Matt said. He looked around at the staring faces of his crew, his people, furry or not. “By the way, Captain Halowell, this ‘cargo’ you speak of, these women. I expect they’re ‘indentured’ to the Company, as usual?”
“Aye,” answered Halowell, sensing something in Matt’s tone.
“Then I must inform you that ‘trade’ of that sort has been stopped, by Imperial decree, and any such ‘cargos’ now in transit are considered contraband and subject to seizure. Pending a final ruling by His Majesty, the Governor-Emperor of the New Britain Isles, regarding the legal status of the people constituting said cargoes, the indentures of every human being aboard Pompey now belong to USS Walker and the United States Navy. How many do you have?”
“Ah… just under two hundred, sir.” Halowell groaned, suddenly realizing the personal loss this meeting involved, namely his percentage.
“From this point until you reach the Allied, United States Navy docks in Scapa Flow, those people are no longer ‘cargo,’ but passengers. They’ll be afforded every courtesy and fed and watered in proportion to anyone else on your ship to the extent of the crew going on half rations themselves, if necessary. Do I make myself clear?”
Halowell looked at Jenks and saw an equally severe expression. He gulped. “Aye, Captain Reddy. Most clear.”
“Good. Now, I believe we’ve all hung around here as long as we should. Commodore?”
Jenks smiled. “Captain Halowell, I have the honor of issuing you a temporary commission in His Majesty’s Navy, incidentally placing you under the jurisdiction of the Articles of War. Congratulations. I presume the commission will be upheld following your inquiry provided you make no effort to ‘lose’ or alter your logs. The judges understand the position Company masters have been in, and they’ve been surprisingly lenient in most matters. Besides, the Navy needs the ships and experienced captains. Now, considering the possibility you’re behind a major enemy fleet, I suggest you make as much sail as you consider safe, sail southwest for several days, then attempt a record passage.” He started to turn, dismissing the two former Company officers, but stopped. “You might arrest your ‘warden’ and anyone else you suspect of being a Company informer, but don’t hang them yourself. Let the court sort it out.”
Later, back on Walker ’s bridge with Pompey rapidly diminishing astern, Jenks chuckled. “I don’t remember your discussing the disposition of ‘contraband’ with His Majesty.”
Matt shrugged. “I like Gerald, but I doubt your courts’re much different from ours back home. The ultimate disposition of those people could take months if Gerald doesn’t jump in, and I don’t know if he can yet. In the meantime, we took ’em; they’re ours. They’ll have the same choice we gave the women we ‘bought’ on Respite. They can do what they want. We’ve got other things to worry about right now. Do you think the Doms could put together three big fleets?”
“I honestly don’t know. It’s possible.”
Matt sighed. “Well, we can chase only one. Your people on the ‘Enchanted Isles’ and everyone in the Empire are on their own. All we can do is stick to the plan and try to protect the colonies.”
Jenks looked aft at the distant sail, beginning to blend with the afternoon haze that had consumed the knife-edge horizon of the morning. “I hope they appreciate the ‘Christmas gift’ you’ve given them,” he muttered.
“Who? Oh, the women on that ship?” Matt shook his head. “Where I come from, freedom isn’t something a man can give; it comes from God. You’re born with it. Sometimes men have to fight to keep others from taking it away, and all too often good men give their lives so that God-given freedom can endure. That’s the gift; blood for freedom. What I did today cost me nothing. It was just right.”
“I wasn’t talking about those women. Their situation is improved regardless-admittedly more so since your arrival in the Isles. No, I mean my own people… and the freedom you gift them with the blood of yours, human and Lemurian.”
CHAPTER 9
Ceylon
“B oy, this is one hell of a cruddy Christmas!” Greg Garrett grumbled to himself.
“What?” shouted Pruit Barry, about ten feet away, trying to make himself heard over the roar of heavy guns, the crash of a brisk surf, and the warbling shriek of maybe two thousand charg-ing Grik.
“I said, I think it’s Christmas!” Garrett yelled back.
“Oh. Wow.”
Flocks of crossbow bolts sheeted over the breastworks and an occasional roundshot geysered damp sand high in the air. Ravaged Donaghey, though working hard against the beach under the assault of a heavy sea running at high tide, pounded the attackers racing down the narrow peninsula, scything great swaths in the tightly packed mob. Lieutenant Bekiaa-Sab-At, her white leather armor dingy with mud and stained black with blood, stood. “Muskets, archers, present!” she roared. Slightly fewer than seven hundred sailors and Marines prepared. Most of the Marine muskets had gone to sailors, since they were easier to learn than the powerful longbows, and the Marines already knew how to use those. “Mark your targets!” Bekiaa warned. This wouldn’t be a massed volley; those relied as much on psychological impact as anything else, and here, in previous assaults, they hadn’t been getting their money’s worth for the first time. They were starting to run dangerously low on ammunition, particularly musket balls, and it was better to make each one count. Their arrows were holding out rather better. Details raced out between assaults, braving the frighteningly improved enemy artillery, and retrieved as many arrows from sand and corpse as they could. At least the “Grik fire” bombs hadn’t been an issue. They couldn’t maneuver the heavy, catapult-like weapons within their shorter range-not that they didn’t try at first. Smaller, shorter-ranged versions of the things, carried by packs of troops, made tempting targets and were never allowed close enough to deploy and launch.