by Grant, Peter
Her eyes warmed. “I agree. You know I want to study pediatrics, so why don’t we find a charity supporting medical treatment for kids or caring for orphans, and give it to them?”
His face lit up. “Good idea! In fact, I know just the group. Before I joined the Fleet, I helped establish a charity that grew into the Radetski Children’s Fund. They run several orphanages there, caring for kids whose parents were killed during the civil war on that planet, particularly those who were badly hurt. I’m sure they’ll be able to put it to good use.”
“That sounds good to me.”
He hugged her. “I wanted to show this to you now because, if anything happens to me before I can deliver it, the Dragon Tong will probably ask you about it. In that case, I want you to tell the Tong that this arrived for me just before… whatever happened to me. You can reach them through a restaurant in town – in fact, I think I’ll hire it to cater our reception. It serves excellent food. Tell the Tong I’d told you I was planning to give them the knife, but you don’t know any more about it than that. I think they’ll accept that, because they won’t expect me to have shared such sensitive information with you. If they give you the reward, do with it as you see fit.”
“All right, darling, I’ll do that – although if you go and get yourself killed, I’m going to be seriously annoyed with you! What will you do with it in the meantime? Is it safe to keep it here?”
“I don’t think so, not long-term. I took it from my safe deposit box at the Fleet Depository a couple of days ago, because I wanted to show it to you and tell you about it. Tomorrow we’ll go there to put it back again, and to authorize you to access my box if anything happens to me. It can wait under lock and key and armed security until I need to take it shipboard with me again.”
“OK. I must admit, now I know that knife’s here, I won’t sleep very well until it’s gone again!” She shivered.
“And who said you were going to get any sleep tonight in the first place?”
She giggled and snuggled closer, tossing the knife on the sofa next to her as she reached for him. “Well… I’ll need at least some sleep to keep up my strength… but if you wear me out, I daresay I won’t think about it at all!”
~ ~ ~
They met Brooks and Carol in the foyer of a restaurant in the city the following week. Brooks looked tired but very happy, whilst Carol resembled nothing so much as a cat that had been at the cream. As they walked up, Abha looked at her and raised her eyebrows, and they both giggled.
“Have you any idea what that’s all about?” Brooks asked Steve plaintively.
“Not a clue.”
Abha laughed. “Silly! We’re just comparing non-verbal notes. We’re both with our men again, and I’m guessing we both spent the first couple of days with them doing the same sort of thing, pretty much non-stop.” She and Carol again dissolved into merriment as Steve and Brooks blushed simultaneously.
Carol’s eyes fell on Abha’s ring finger, and she gasped. “Wow! I won’t ask what that cost, but I’ve never seen a more beautiful engagement ring in my life!”
“Neither have I,” Abha purred, extending her left hand to display the white gold ring Steve had bought for her. It bore a five-carat oval-cut emerald of medium-dark color and tone and flawless clarity. The stone had been set with an oval two-carat brilliant white diamond on either side. “Steve found this one at a manufacturing jeweler while I was on my way here. He put down a deposit on it, to hold it until I could decide whether I liked it – as if there was ever going to be a question about that!” She turned her head to him and kissed him fondly. “I fell in love with it on the spot, so he bought it. Fortunately he hadn’t spent most of the prize money he’d earned at Midrash last year, so we didn’t have to wait for the Rolla prize money to come through.”
Brooks grinned. “It seems the man has good taste in both women and jewelry.”
They paused while the head-waiter seated them, then Carol reached across the table, took Abha’s hand in hers, and examined the ring minutely. She sighed, “Well, Brooks and I have to budget for all those kids I want, and a home in which to raise them, but perhaps one day…” She grinned wickedly at her partner. “I know I said you had to earn more prize money to pay for our family, but you really outdid yourself! Steve, Brooks tells me it was your doing, just like the Vargash affair last year, so I suppose I have to thank you again.”
The prize money from Rolla had been released by the Courts of Admiralty the day before the training unit’s return. The instructors’ ship had received a signal detailing the amount each person had earned almost as soon as it emerged from hyper-jump at the system boundary, which had led to non-stop celebrations among the instructors all the way to planetary orbit. The total prize money had come to three hundred and fifteen million credits, yielding over forty-seven million to be distributed among the officers and almost ninety-five million among the enlisted personnel.
Steve flushed again. “It was all of us, Carol. I couldn’t have done a thing without Brooks, Abha and the others to back me up all the way.”
Abha leaned against him. “I’m not complaining about the prize money either. Between the two of us, Steve and I are pretty well set, if we invest it wisely and don’t spend too much too soon.”
Brooks sniggered. “Yeah. Each of you is marrying money! I’ve got to tell you, Steve, you could tell my instructors to do anything right now and they’d obey you. Your reputation among them has reached stellar heights.”
“I’ll try not to lead them astray – at least, not too far.” The others laughed.
They placed their orders with a hovering waiter. The sommelier poured a very palatable fruity white wine for them, and they sipped appreciatively.
“How are the wedding arrangements coming along?” Carol wanted to know.
“Pretty well,” Steve assured her. “We’ve been able to arrange two ministers and book a military chapel, which were the biggest obstacles at such short notice.”
“Will you wear a wedding dress?” she asked Abha.
“No. There’s no time to buy something good and get it fitted at such short notice. Besides, we’re a military couple, so we may as well look the part. I’ll wear Number One uniform, like Steve.”
“Are you going to do the whole arch of swords thing?” Brooks asked, grinning.
Steve nodded. “I’ve sent a message to Master Chief Dumisane. Remember him?”
“How could I forget him?” He turned to Carol. “He was the senior NCO instructor at Officer Candidate School when Steve and I were there, and also one of the top instructors in the Armati Society, which studies ancient weaponry. He’s forgotten more about swords and sword-fighting than most of us will ever know.”
“That’s right,” Steve agreed. “He’s Command Master Chief of the Home Fleet’s First Battle Squadron now. I’ve invited him to our wedding as a guest, and also asked him about members of the Society forming an arch of swords for us. You and I are both still members, and that’s one of the benefits the Society offers, so I figure it’ll be worth taking advantage of it.”
“Sounds good to me,” Brooks agreed. “I wouldn’t be comfortable issuing swords to our instructors and telling them to hold them over your heads. Most of them have never been trained in their use, so there’s no telling what they might do with them.”
Abha gurgled with laughter. “You mean they might cut short our married life?”
Steve snorted. “I think their sword-handling would be bloody dangerous! After earning so much prize money, they’re probably enjoying one of the best-lubricated leave periods in Marine Corps history!”
Brooks winced. “You got that right! Sword drill with the world’s worst hangover? Don’t even think about it!”
~ ~ ~
The wedding took place in a multi-faith chapel on the grounds of the Fleet War College, much used by service personnel for that purpose. Steve and Abha took care of the legal aspects beforehand, signing a contract of permanent partnership in the offi
ces of a lawyer. No license or registration was required, as the founders of Lancaster had held that the state had no business regulating who was or was not married, and under what conditions.
Word of the wedding had leaked out. Steve had been able to keep the news media at bay while on the Crusher, but they had caught up with him as soon as he’d returned to the planet. He’d stonewalled all their questions about Commander Buchanan, referring them to AIU and the Fleet’s Public Relations Directorate for comment. Even so, they weren’t about to let the marriage of someone so recently in the news go unnoticed, particularly when he was marrying an officer who’d also received an award for her actions in the same fight with pirates, and had shared in the subsequent prize money award. Because the chapel was on Service property, the media could be restricted from invading it, but they were allowed to set up vid cameras outside. However, both Steve and Abha flatly refused to countenance a press conference on their wedding day.
Abha hadn’t had anyone special in mind to escort her down the aisle. Eventually, at Steve’s suggestion, they approached Admiral Methuen, who was delighted to accept. Being a formal military occasion, he was able to wear uniform despite his retired status. His chest glittered with a triple row of medals, matching the impressive display worn by Master Chief Petty Officer Dumisane. They put everyone else’s more meager collections of awards in the shade.
The rehearsal the previous day produced a moment of comedy when the coals in the brazier used for the Hindu part of the ceremony set off the fire alarm in the chapel. The wedding party had to hurry out, holding their ears against the noise, while the chapel administrator scurried to shut off the automatic sprinkler system before it activated. When the noise and fuss had died down, they tried to persuade the administrator to switch off the system during the wedding. He flatly refused, citing safety regulations. They eventually compromised by agreeing to use a gas-fueled brazier, which virtually eliminated the production of smoke.
Steve and Brooks stood at the front of the chapel in their Number One uniforms. Steve felt as if his heart would leap into his mouth as Abha appeared in the doorway on Admiral Methuen’s arm. She looked utterly beautiful, radiant with happiness, and a murmur of appreciation went through the small gathering of their friends as they turned to look at her. Behind her Carol walked with a bouquet of flowers.
The Hindu ceremony took place first. It was greatly abbreviated for the military environment, but still took over half an hour to complete the essential elements. Admiral Methuen performed the kanyadaan, handing over the bride to her husband. Steve undertook the vivaha-homa ritual of lighting the fire in the brazier, signifying the establishment of a new household, then the Vedic priest took them through the Saptapadi, the seven-fold exchange of oaths between bride and groom, the couple making a solemn circuit of the brazier after each oath. Finally, Carol – carefully coached beforehand – applied the bindi, a red dot between Abha’s eyebrows, signifying her married status.
The second part of the ceremony was much shorter. Because Abha was a non-believer, many of the normal elements of a Christian wedding ceremony were set aside. The minister merely read a passage from the Gospels, led them through a simple form of the vows, and pronounced them man and wife.
As soon as he’d finished, Master Chief Dumisane led seven other sword-wearing officers and senior NCO’s out of the chapel while Steve and Abha signed the register. As they walked up the aisle, they heard his deep, booming voice outside the building. “Center… face! Draw… swords! Carry… swords!” As they appeared in the doorway, he commanded, “Raise… swords!” The sword-bearers, four on either side of the path, lifted their weapons to form an arch, cutting edges upward, points touching each other, as Steve and Abha walked slowly beneath them. As they exited the last pair, the Master Chief Petty Officer commanded, “Carry… swords! Return… swords!” They heard the rasp as the eight blades were returned to their scabbards. Ahead of them, the media’s vid cameras recorded the scene. Steve knew its pageantry and tradition, seldom witnessed by the general public, would make it irresistible to news editors that evening.
The reception was held in a small hall adjacent to the chapel. It was a light-hearted affair, with Admiral Methuen proposing the toast to the newlyweds, and Brooks and Carol making speeches that had everyone laughing as they described their friendship with the bride and groom. Steve had arranged for lunch to be catered by the Royal Golden Dragon restaurant, as he’d told Abha some weeks before. Not only was it a lucrative contract for the restaurant, but it demonstrated to the Dragon Tong that he valued his ongoing relationship with them. Abha had wholeheartedly approved of his stratagem. The restaurant outdid itself, laying on a buffet with a selection of Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Vietnamese and Thai dishes. The guests gorged themselves.
Steve and Abha left the gathering in a rented limousine, ducking inside to escape a hail of confetti showered upon them by their enthusiastic friends. They settled into the back seat, laughing, as the driver accelerated away.
“You’ve got confetti all over your uniform,” Abha teased him.
“So have you. We’ll have to brush each other off carefully.”
“Ha! The last thing I’m going to do is give you the brush-off. You’re mine now!”
He groaned. “Just married, and already she starts with the puns!”
“That’s not all I’m going to start with. Just you wait until I get you back to the apartment!”
Rolla System
January 2848, GSC
LCS Nightingale’s commissioning day was a solemn occasion for Steve; the first time he’d taken command of a spaceship. He fervently hoped it would not be the last. LCS Aspen, the Fleet depot ship in orbit around Rolla that serviced the destroyers, hosted the ceremony, as she would support Nightingale and the other patrol craft until the planet’s own depot ship arrived.
Chairs for guests were arranged in several rows at one side of Aspen’s cavernous docking bay vestibule. Nightingale’s crew assembled in formation beside them. Her officers were from Rolla’s System Patrol Service. Senior Lieutenant Maria Coelho had been appointed as Steve’s Executive Officer, to gain patrol craft experience before attending the Crusher later that year. Junior Lieutenant David Shawcross was aboard to understudy Lieutenant Coelho, and would move up into the XO’s slot when she departed for Lancaster. Chief Petty Officer Salveig Andersdottir, the ‘Chief of the Ship’ or most senior NCO aboard, was from the Lancastrian Commonwealth Fleet, as were Nightingale’s NCO Heads of Department. They would train their Rolla counterparts over the next few months until the latter were ready to replace them. The junior NCO’s and Spacers of the crew were all Rolla personnel, drawn from those who’d previously served aboard the Fleet destroyers in the system. Together they’d form the ‘core crew’ to train others.
Steve walked into the vestibule to find the depot ship's technicians setting up a portable sound system on a low platform. Camera crews were busily adjusting holovid cameras on tripods and erecting lighting stands around the platform. However, despite the publicity, he knew this would be a relatively low-key ceremony without a military band or other major fanfare. Those frills would be reserved for the hand-over to Rolla of Nightingale and her sister ships in a few months’ time.
To his pleasure, Abha was waiting. She saluted him smartly, grinning. “Good morning, Sir,” she said formally, followed by, in a lower voice, “Hello, darling! I wish I could hug you in front of all these people, but Colonel Houmayoun’s already here. He came up with me aboard my shuttle.”
“Yes, it might offend his Marine sense of the fitness of things. I'll take the wish for the deed – and consider yourself hugged right back! Is Brooks here too?”
“He couldn't make it. He's out in the field supervising an exercise. He released me to come up on behalf of the instructor unit, and sends his congratulations. By the way, I heard a couple of reporters talking over a cup of coffee,” and she nodded towards a table at the rear of the compartment holding an urn, cups, sweet
ener and creamer. “They were getting all disdainful about Rolla wasting its money on antiquated, outdated ships, and moaning that this ceremony was a waste of taxpayer money, since it wasn't even Rolla's ship yet.”
“Oh, they were, were they? I'm glad you overheard them. I'm planning to say a few words to the crew and our guests. I'll use them to respond to that nonsense right away.”
The families and friends of the crew, and a few invited guests, took their places in the visitors' seats. Nightingale's complement assembled in formation, and snapped to attention on command as the VIP guests arrived; Commodore O’Fallon, representing Rolla’s System Patrol Service, and Colonel Houmayoun, representing the Fleet.
Steve forced himself to stand motionless before the parade as the Commodore addressed the gathering, placing great emphasis on the significance of Nightingale’s arrival as the harbinger of a major improvement in Rolla's security. Colonel Houmayoun responded on behalf of the Fleet, highlighting the speed with which it had responded to Rolla's request to purchase heavy patrol craft and refurbish them, and the contribution Steve and his Fleet NCO's would make over the next few months in training the planet's personnel to operate their new vessels.
At last Colonel Houmayoun invited Steve to come to the platform and say a few words before assuming command. He marched smartly up the steps, and turned to face his crew and the guests. He took care to look directly into the nearest holovid camera from time to time as he spoke. He wanted Rolla’s news media, much of it supportive of the previous administration and opposed to the new government’s defense expenditure, to hear and broadcast his words accurately.
“Fellow spacers, from this point onward I want you to forget that there are two different services making up LCS Nightingale’s crew. We’re united in serving a single mistress – our ship – and a single mission, namely the safety and security of this planet, and of the Commonwealth to which it belongs.”
“Some people have insinuated that Nightingale is out-of-date, not as modern or as capable as more recent classes of patrol craft. They portray their own ignorance by doing so. The Songbird class of heavy patrol craft was designed with modular electronics and systems, easy to upgrade to the latest standards. Nightingale has already received the latest updates, bringing her sensors and electronic systems into line with those of the more recent Serpent class patrol craft, aboard which I’ve just spent several weeks. I know the Songbirds from a previous tour of duty aboard one, and I can assure you, I’ll take them into a fight just as willingly as I’ll take a Serpent. They’re fully capable of dealing with threats to planetary security.
