by L D Inman
He longed for a new thought to rise on the horizon, but the darkness cloaked him unremittingly around. No new words; no new appeal. Chilled and tired, he went down the lift and gave Lieutenant Rose back his station. Then he crossed the side quad and, seeing Marag’s light was on, knocked on his door.
Marag let him in. “No answer, then, sir?”
“No,” Barklay said, and Marag winced. “Did you try?”
“I did. I got no answer either. What is going on?”
The question was half-moot; Marag had certainly observed the trajectory of events and drawn accurate conclusions for himself. What he wanted was Barklay’s confidence so that he could offer support.
“I’ve served you ill, Marag,” Barklay said, answering his own thought. “I’ve drawn you into a target zone with little recompense.”
“All’s well, sir,” Marag said, firmly. “But—”
“It isn’t well, Marag. It isn’t well at all. I’m going to have to leave Ryswyck. There’s nothing else for it.”
“Has it come to that, then, sir?” There was no surprise in Marag’s quiet voice. And then, “What do you want me to do?”
Barklay couldn’t answer, couldn’t get any words out of his throat. Abruptly Marag took him by the elbow, drew him to a chair and put him in it, and after a minute of quiet clattering, put a cup of tea in his hand. Barklay used the other hand, fingers trembling, to wipe at his face. “Please. Don’t be kind to me,” he whispered.
“Drink your tea, sir,” Marag said.
After another moment, Barklay was able to obey. The hot tea cleared the spume of his tears sip by sip. Now he could speak out loud what had been clear in his mind since the morning, when the word had come that next month’s autumn service course had been summarily cancelled. “Ryswyck will need a council,” he said, taking another sip. “It will have to evaluate the role I’ve played and decide who will share it out and what will need to change.”
“Yes, sir.” Marag’s hands were steady, lifting his own tea from its saucer to his lips.
“Will you serve as the council’s master of ceremonies, Marag?”
“Of course, sir,” Marag said. Then he hesitated. “Who are you going to have for the center chair?”
Barklay needed two long sips before answering. In the silence the rain picked up and plashed down the channel outside Marag’s door. “Do you think Douglas would consent to come?” he said finally.
Marag didn’t answer right away: an indication in itself. “Douglas would be an excellent choice for a council to guide the Academy,” was his careful response. Barklay gave him a look, and he added: “You should ask him, whether he agrees or not.”
“Or would it be better to let him go?” Barklay stared down at the play of lamplight on the surface of his tea.
Marag sighed. “General. You can’t choose how people serve. You can’t even choose how they serve you. Ask him, and then bide by what he says.”
Barklay said nothing. “Did you break courtesy to him?” Marag asked him, gently.
“Not in words,” Barklay said to his tea.
“Unlikely words will mend it, then,” Marag said, thoughtful.
“There’s an entire landscape filled with things I can’t mend, Marag.”
“Then you’ll just have to take them one at a time, sir.”
Barklay didn’t think it was nearly that simple. And Marag had never met John Selkirk. But he had known Barklay for ten years, was patiently familiar with the scope of his sins, and had begrudged nothing, not even the confidence Barklay had given to others. One at a time.
As if following the drift of his thought, Marag said: “You should consider Speir also. I’m sure she would rather come to meet the trouble than wait for it to make its way to her.” Which it would, eventually, Marag didn’t need to say. Because Barklay had loved her especially too. Cardumel might be far away from Ryswyck, but that didn’t mean it was safe.
“It wasn’t trouble I was hoping to spread,” Barklay said.
“I know, sir.”
Barklay sighed. “Well. I’ve got work to do. I’ll leave you now. Thank you, Marag.”
He sat up and offered his teacup to Marag with a bow of his head: with the same gesture, Marag accepted it.
~*~
Speir knew that both the senior and junior cadres of Cardumel would be watching to see how she and Douglas interacted at the next general staff meeting. So when she entered the meeting room and saw him already seated there, she chose her own place further down the table and across, a casual distance in peripheral eyeshot. Douglas looked up briefly as she set her tablet down. “Field-Commander,” he murmured.
“Captain,” she answered, in the same tone; and it seemed all was well.
The meeting came to order and progressed through its agenda. Major Ghislain gave his report; mention was made of Speir’s project, and General Inslee gravely commended her. Speir inclined her head, her cheeks warming only a little. She saw Inslee glance at Douglas, who had looked briefly her way and then returned his tranquil attention to the head of the table. The round of reports continued; Douglas gave his in a calm, colorless voice, and Speir kept her eyes on her tablet, her stylus in her hand. The life had gone out of Douglas again, she knew without having to look. She could guess what that was about. But for the first time, she thought it irksome that she should have to guess. She had carried many wordless burdens; for years it had seemed the only thing she was able to do for those she loved. I will bear your worry; I will bear your fault. Piecemeal confessions; displaced labors; arenas empty of everyone but herself and other people’s ghosts.
These were unworthy thoughts; she felt terrible thinking them. Oh, sweet wisdom. Give me something to do.
The meeting concluded with a report on the preparations for icefall, which included the readings from the outlying array of subs in the Boundary fleet. Flight Lieutenant Blackett was still waiting to hear from the Marguerite, but the other reports suggested that icefall would begin in the expected time range. The naval air flight would relocate inland in three weeks; between now and then they would be deployed in guiding cutters up from the lower coast as necessary.
At meeting’s end the officers got up from their chairs, chatting to one another, picking up their lieutenants who had stood against the walls listening to the reports; Lieutenant Darnel fell in with Speir as she waited for the training officers to clear the doorway. Douglas passed her when she reached it and offered another brief nod: their eyes touched for an instant. Speir nodded back, and he was gone, leaving hardly a ripple behind him, like a fish touching the surface before flickering to the depths again.
She could still be sure of Douglas. That much was always true. She would forget her unworthy thoughts and get back to work.
“Let’s hit the mess, Darnel,” Speir said.
~*~
“Thank you,” Barklay said, “for allowing me room on your supply shuttle for this visit.”
Inslee leaned back in his chair and sized Barklay up where he sat across the desk. The shuttles were weekly now, filling gaps in supply orders between cutter service before icefall. The shuttle usually brought the small sundries that couldn’t be easily packed in bulk cases, but today its manifest also included General Barklay, who—he said—had been up to the district on an errand and wished to have a brief conversation with Inslee. They hadn’t been in the same room in years: it was clear to Inslee, as it would not have been on a com projection, that Barklay was tired and distrait. His hands rested on his knees, consciously quiet, and his smile was brief.
“And,” Barklay added, “for allowing me room in your schedule. I know you’re busy preparing for the winter.”
“The work’s always there,” Inslee said with a shrug. “It’s no trouble. But thank you. What did you wish to speak about?”
“Well, to begin with, I wanted to ask how your new officers are doing.”
A shuttle trip to Colm’s Island, for a feeble gambit such as this? Inslee’s eyes narrowed, but he
gave Barklay a serious answer. “I like them both very much. Field-Commander Speir has shaped well; she discovered a whole closetful of maps in the weather tower and started programming them into the database. Colonel Marshall is thrilled to get the data for his defense works on the main—I’ll have to promote Speir soon if I don’t want him to poach her from me. That won’t be a problem; she gets along with the other officers and does her other work thoroughly and well.”
“And Captain Douglas?” There was a small hesitation in Barklay’s manner.
“Very much the same. His work is unimpeachable.”
“But?” Barklay said, raising a shrewd eyebrow.
“He’s bored,” Inslee said, frankly. “The only challenge here for him is the mediocrity of the juniors in their training courses. He never treats his work like it’s beneath him, but it is, Barklay. A man with his education and talents ought to be rising in the capital, not chivvying youths from duty station to exercise yard and back again. I’d say the same of Speir except she at least has a few more outlets for her skills.”
“You didn’t say anything about that in your report.”
“So you read the report. Of course I didn’t—I’m not about to complain about having two stellar officers on my base, nor make it appear that they are complaining. They aren’t. But since you’re here and we are speaking privately: why did you send them here?”
For a moment Barklay didn’t answer. Then he said: “I thought each of them, in their own way, would benefit from time spent doing quiet work…away from scrutiny.”
Inslee grunted. He wasn’t touching that. “Well, they’ve got the quiet work part down. As for the scrutiny—well, they can’t help drawing attention sometimes. Especially when they get afoul of the local code. And that reminds me. Barklay—” now that he had Barklay here he might as well ask— “is it true that Ryswyck Academy doesn’t have any rules about sexual fraternization?”
He’d managed to startle Barklay. “All conduct is subject to the general code and the rule of courtesy,” he said slowly. “But if by rules you mean prohibitions…no. There are no prohibitions against fraternization at Ryswyck.”
“None at all?” Inslee stared at him, consternated afresh. “I scarcely credited Douglas when he told me so.”
“Wait,” Barklay said, “are you saying…you are saying, I take it, that there are prohibitions about fraternization here. And that Douglas ran afoul of them?”
“I told you they were bored,” Inslee said dryly.
“You mean that Speir and Douglas…?”
“You’re surprised,” Inslee observed. “So then, they did not have a prior relationship at Ryswyck?”
Barklay seemed arrested in thought. He shook himself and replied: “They weren’t bedfellows, that I ever heard. But they were very close friends.” He frowned. “How would they have broken the local code? They are in the same cadre, are they not?”
“That was the mistake they made. The actual rule is that all fraternization is prohibited. Senior or junior.”
Now it was Barklay’s turn to be consternated. “You must be joking,” he said. “All fraternization? On an island? How the hell do you enforce it, then?”
“It enforces itself, for the most part,” Inslee said with a shrug. “Soldiers here are expected to take care of their physical needs on their own, and I’ve made it clear I’m not holding court on lovers’ conflicts every week. If people feel they need to get amongst one another, they can do it when they’re on their annual leave. So naturally, my soldiers take it amiss if two of their number disregard the rules. Especially if it disturbs the sleep shift of a whole corridor.”
“I see,” Barklay said, his lips twitching. “That would certainly dampen people’s senses of humor. Isn’t that equally hard on morale? This is a bleak place.” He glanced over his shoulder at the rivers pouring down Inslee’s windows, then back at Inslee where he lounged sardonically at his desk. “You’ve been here, what, ten years?” he said, thoughtfully.
“You’ve been here, what, ten minutes?”
Barklay smiled. “A touch, General. My apologies.”
“Why, exactly,” said Inslee, “are you here?”
Barklay sighed. “I am looking to retire out of Ryswyck. I wish to convene a council of officers and alums to make decisions for its future.”
What a very innocuous way of describing what Inslee suspected to be a very messy situation. “And?”
“And I wish to…borrow Speir or Douglas or both, for a few weeks, to participate.”
There was a little silence. Then Inslee said: “That doesn’t sound very quiet. Or away from scrutiny.”
“No,” Barklay said ruefully. “But I need their wisdom. Both of them, if you can manage it.”
Inslee’s mind went straight to the practical considerations, though his misgivings went deeper than that. “I’d have to arrange travel permits. Do you think you can get them back before icefall?”
“I hope so,” Barklay said. “But I hesitate to promise.”
“Are you starting soon?”
“I hope to have the council convened in a week to ten days.”
Inslee calculated. “For a week’s worth of meetings?”
“About that.”
“You have permission from Central Command?”
Inslee didn’t miss Barklay’s tiny hesitation. “They are aware and fully briefed,” he said.
“So,” Inslee said, very cautious, “they are not issuing orders to any of your council members to appear.”
“No. It’s strictly voluntary.”
Very few things were strictly voluntary in the military. Inslee suspected Barklay’s intent was to present Central Command with an accomplished fact, rather than asking permission to convene a council first. “Do Speir and Douglas know you’ve tapped them?”
“No. I intend to write a brief that I’ll send by way of your comm office.”
Inslee was silent. He was silent so long that Barklay said quietly, “I am aware that I’m very much obliged to you.”
“Yes,” Inslee said.
“I might talk to Speir, if she’s available before the shuttle leaves,” Barklay essayed.
Inslee rubbed a hand over his thinning thatch. “I think she’s on duty. But she could probably be spared a few minutes.” He sat up and reached for his com pad.
While they waited for Speir to arrive, Inslee said: “Do you want to talk to Douglas too?”
“N-no,” Barklay said. “No, I don’t think so.”
“He’s very cagey about his time at Ryswyck. Prickly, sometimes. Do you know what that’s about?”
“Douglas…keeps his own counsel. I can’t say how he’ll respond,” Barklay said, with a care that corresponded exactly to Douglas’s own answers to questions about Ryswyck. “It’s probably better to let Speir brief him.”
“That might prove difficult,” was all Inslee said. “Their paths don’t cross much in the way of duty.”
Barklay absorbed this. “So, I take it that you did not give Speir and Douglas permission to carry on as bedfellows.”
“I did not,” Inslee said. “I gave them as severe a ticking-off as I thought the situation would stand, and I banned them from their regular private sparring practice. Which they were much more upset about than losing access to one another’s beds.” Inslee shook his head.
Barklay swallowed a smile. “It’s the punishment I’d have chosen, if I were going to punish them,” he said.
Except you wouldn’t have punished them at all. Inslee shook his head. “How you maintain discipline I can’t imagine,” he said.
“It maintains itself,” Barklay said, his smile tilting. “For the most part.”
Inslee snorted in answer, just as Beaton rapped at the door. “Sir,” he said, poking his head in, “Field-Commander Speir to see you.”
“Send her in.”
Speir came in, and would have stood properly to attention before Inslee, but when she caught sight of Barklay sitting there, she stopp
ed cold, and her face went suddenly blank. “General Barklay,” she said, after a moment.
“Good afternoon, Field-Commander,” Barklay said gravely.
Speir turned to Inslee, as if for explanation; Inslee decided to oblige her. “General Barklay is in the district on an errand,” he said, “and expressed a wish to see you before he takes the shuttle back to the harbor.”
Speir looked back at Barklay, her gaze level. Inslee wondered if he was imagining the maternal skepticism in her look, or the faint sheepishness in Barklay’s expression. “I was wondering if I might have ten minutes’ conversation with you,” he said lightly.
Still mute, Speir looked back at Inslee, as if in appeal. The maternal self-possession had evaporated, and she looked anxious. Afraid, even. Did she not want to speak to him? Inslee said: “If you want to, and if you are not taken up with your duties.” If she wanted an out, she had one.
She appeared to think for a moment, and then spoke. “I was just about to make my rounds of the forward perimeter, to check the data sensors. Perhaps General Barklay would like to accompany me while I work?”
“I would be very pleased to have a means of catching up with you without interrupting your duties,” Barklay said.
“Very well,” Speir said, now very calm. “Sir—sir—” this to Inslee— “if I may excuse myself, I must go and fetch my equipment. Shall I meet you at the east door of this block, General Barklay, sir?”
“I can show him there,” Inslee said.
“Thank you, sir.” She saluted Inslee in a moment of brief, deft attention, bowed just as briefly to Barklay, and was gone.
“They have so much bloody initiative, your students,” Inslee said, still looking at the door as it fell shut. “Like a whole summer council in one soldier. They’ll be the death of me—or my salvation, whichever comes first. How do you make them like that?”
