Ryswyck

by L D Inman

  “But I can sink it further,” Barklay said, very quietly.

  “You might find that difficult,” she said. There was no hidden maternal smile in that merciless gaze. Barklay stifled his flinch before it could rise to his voice.

  She went on. “A stupid death is no witness to courtesy.”

  “Isn’t it?” he retorted lightly, before he could stop himself. He saw her eyes flash, her square chin rise, queenlike, and hurried to speak before she could draw breath for her rebuke. “No, you are correct. There’s stupid, and then there’s meaningless. I’m not going to do anything meaningless. I—” Saying I promise was probably a very bad idea. “I am a soldier still, Speir. If not an honest one.”

  That quenched her. Her eyes suddenly brimmed and sparkled. Barklay’s heart was wrung all over again, as it had been a few bare hours before, listening to her answer Selkirk’s questions with a judgment that did not hesitate despite the pain it caused her. He wanted to throw himself down at her feet, but that would be no use to her. He couldn’t think of one single useful thing he could do.

  “You see right to the bottom of me,” he said in a low voice. “You always have. I wanted that. I wanted your judgment, your clear sight. But I shouldn’t have asked you to look.”

  “No,” she agreed in a whisper.

  “I didn’t think of it hurting you to give me what I asked for. Not till it was too late; and then I couldn’t bear to stop. I compounded fault on fault.”

  “Yes,” she said. Her tears recovered themselves without spilling.

  “But…,” he whispered bleakly, “I don’t see how to mend it.”

  “I don’t think you can,” she said. “I think it’s up to me.”

  He struggled with this for a moment and then said: “That’s not right.”

  Speir sighed. “I wonder, do we ever mend our faults? Or do we just make it easier for the other to do the mending?”

  This was a new thought. There was always something new to learn about courtesy. Even at the last ragged, hopeless hour. “What would make it easier, then, Speir?”

  Speir always kept to the point. “Knowing you’re not about to squander what I’ve given you would help,” she said.

  “I won’t squander it,” he said softly.

  “Some evidence that the truth has finally got your attention would not be amiss.”

  “No more evasions,” he agreed.

  She was silent for a moment; then brought out a question dragged over pain. “Would you want me for your friend if you didn’t need me?”

  Oh, Speir. That was a young soul’s question. His heart wept that he had given her the occasion to ask it.

  He said rustily: “Would you want me for your friend if I never could stop needing you?”

  Young she was, but she understood all the same. They might have come to some sort of answer, but their mutual gaze was broken by Selkirk entering the room. They both looked at him mutely.

  “Your shuttle is ready, Captain Speir,” he said quietly.

  “Yes, my lord,” she answered. Glanced back at Barklay. Barklay laid his closed hand against his heart, as if for the first time. She offered him a small, tight smile in return; then without hurry, without compunction, she bowed briefly to Selkirk and passed beyond him.

  He watched her go with an eye cocked over his shoulder. Then his gaze swept back to Barklay where he sat at his desk.

  “You really have no shame at all, do you?”

  “Do you think it’s shameful for me to attempt to mend my faults?” Barklay answered. He stretched up to his feet and peered through a fine gap in the drapes. Beyond the rain-beaded window, he could see Speir join her soldiers hefting duffels across the tower quad to the airfield where their shuttles waited.

  “Presumptuous, to think you could,” Selkirk said. “With faults such as yours.”

  “Yes,” Barklay sighed. “Speir said something kin to that.”

  “She’s right.”

  Selkirk edged into Barklay’s field of view and parted the next gap with the back of his hand. Selkirk was never given to panic, but Barklay could see the strain collected at the angle of his jaw.

  “I would presume with you, too,” he said quietly, “if you gave me leave.”

  “I know you would.” Selkirk did not move his gaze.

  A silence fell. Then Barklay said: “Alban…we were friends once—”

  “Is that really the appeal you want to use with me?” Selkirk’s voice was even and uninflected.

  Barklay shook his head. “I’ve already made my appeal. I just don’t want to die with either of us on the other’s conscience.”

  “You’re not on my conscience,” Selkirk said. “This is about Ryswyck, isn’t it.”

  The trouble with old friends was that they were far too acute. “It isn’t just my life’s work,” Barklay plowed on. “If it were I wouldn’t blame you for trying to destroy it.”

  “If it were,” Selkirk said, “I wouldn’t bother.”

  “You don’t really believe I’ve created a nest of twisted traitors.” That, Barklay knew to be true.

  “Why do you care what I believe?” The Cardumel soldiers were climbing aboard their shuttle, the last one of them drawing up the folding steps and dogging the hatch.

  “Because of what you told Captain Speir,” Barklay argued. “It’s the truth you want.”

  “No,” Selkirk said, drawing it out absently. After a moment he turned his head to look at Barklay. “No, that’s not why you care. You care because you’re greedy. You’re getting what you want, but you want more than that.”

  “Alban—”

  “I know why you want this mission, Thaddeys. You want to close the circuit of your war crimes by bringing them back upon yourself. And I'm happy to sponsor that. It will save me a great deal of trouble and inconvenience—particularly if we don’t all die in the next fifteen days. But you also want to see your philosophy vindicated. And I know I'm not the first person to tell you those two objectives are not compatible. You can be punished, or you can be vindicated. You can't have both.”

  “That’s what Douglas said.” Barklay released a sad sigh.

  “You should have listened to him while you had him,” Selkirk said. “He’s mine now; and what I choose to do with him is out of your hands.” He returned his gaze to the window. “Don’t try to use any appeals with me.”

  “Then all I can do is trust you,” Barklay said.

  Shimmers of heat from the shuttles’ engines warped their shapes as one by one they rolled forward, engaged their hovers, and lifted away.

  2

  From his seat on the dais, Barklay watched his students gather in the mess hall and take their subdued places on benches facing his way. Lunch had been started in the kitchen, and the scent of chowder was slowly permeating the air, a discordant note of normality in a room whose very light seemed to have changed since they had gone to Red Mark status. Barklay could see individual students, young soldiers whose names he knew, sneaking glances between Barklay and the others on the dais with him. Selkirk had reserved seats for Taronas and Fleek at one end of the line of chairs; Fleek was already in hers, frowning at a tablet, a stylus twitching in her hand. Selkirk was conferring with Taronas halfway up the short steps to the platform. Barklay sat in the center of the line, another of Selkirk’s seeming courtesies; the chairs to his right were for Marag, Beathas, Stevens, and Douglas. Marag and Beathas came up the steps on the other side. “General Barklay, sir,” Beathas greeted him, as if this were any lunchtime assembly.

  Barklay couldn’t quite rise to her level of pretense. “Commodore,” he said quietly.

  Still less could Marag pretend to serenity: he was pale and strained around the eyes, and his “Sir” was almost inaudible. But he sat down firmly next to Barklay, composed his hands with the tablet he carried on his lap, and relaxed into Barklay’s proximity.

  Barklay was under no illusions about what that show of support was costing Marag. Loyal, loyal, loyal, and again loya
l, and his reward for it was to be threatened with execution: and Marag would take that rebuke to heart, would believe that his failure was real. Would fold any anger he felt toward Barklay into his own self-indictment.

  No more evasions. Barklay had counted upon Marag’s extended sense of responsibility. He should have known it would come down to this, as he should have known better than to lay the burdens he had on Speir’s soul. And there was no time left for mending.

  He leaned his head toward Marag, a gesture that his students would recognize: a conference between the headmaster and the head instructor. “I see you, Marag,” he murmured. “And I am sorry.”

  A muscle moved in Marag’s jaw, and he cast his eyes down. “I know, sir.”

  Marag’s voice was gentle. But it wasn’t All’s well.

  The murmurs in the room rose: Barklay looked up to see that Douglas had entered with Stevens, followed by three of the rota captains. The lieutenants grabbed quick places among their comrades as Douglas and Stevens mounted the platform; Selkirk’s eye was drawn by their approach, and he exchanged a brief look with Douglas as Douglas took his seat. Douglas’s expression was deceptively mild: Barklay wondered if Selkirk could see the challenge in it. After all, Douglas’s style was very like Selkirk’s own. All of this, Barklay knew, was being as carefully observed and parsed by the Ryswyckian student body as by Barklay himself.

  Selkirk dismissed Taronas to his seat and went to the lectern. He did not, as some might have expected, open the assembly with a chant, but addressed them simply and at once.

  “As of an hour ago,” he said calmly, “Ryswyck campus and this sector have gone to Red Mark status. Many of you have received preliminary briefings and orders to assume defense conditions. Until the threat of imminent invasion is lifted, orders for defense conditions will be standing orders.

  “As you may also be aware,” Selkirk went on, “the normal operations of Ryswyck Academy were suspended this morning pending disciplinary review. Obviously, that process has been deprioritized. We are all being called upon to fight to our utmost; and I am placing my deliberate trust in the will and the faith of every Ilonian here.” Let me fetch you a bigger trowel to lay it on with, Alban. “I anticipate that Ryswyck as a location will be vital to our defense of the south coast. Therefore, Ryswyck as an institution will also be vital. I will be relying on you to work with the forces that are staged here for our defense. For that purpose I’ve created Ryswyck as its own division of combined forces, army and navy.” Selkirk paused to let the murmur of the assembly pass. Barklay felt many eyes flick to him and back to the Lord High Commander. “As General Barklay will shortly explain to you, the army will need his service for another operation, so I am obliged to provide Ryswyck Division with leadership at short notice.” Another pause; this time the murmurs were apprehensive and petered out quickly. “Under the circumstances it seems better that Ryswyck be under a commander who will direct it according to its nature. I have spoken with Captain Douglas, formerly of Cardumel Base, whom many of you know; and he has consented to serve as admiral-at-large of this division, answering directly to Central Command.”

  Barklay found himself curling his toes inside his shoes. Carefully. Carefully, Alban. It would not be to Selkirk’s advantage to present Douglas as his own creature, to govern Ryswyck in his stead. Barklay was pretty sure Selkirk had not bothered to ask Douglas for his consent in the matter: but concealing that fact was not going to be enough diplomacy for this.

  “Admiral Douglas has proposed an executive council for Ryswyck as a defensive installation, consisting of Captain Marag as supply officer, Commodore Beathas as tactical officer, and Captain Stevens as executive officer. They will be working with my adjutants, Rear Admiral Taronas and General Fleek, to coordinate Ryswyck’s operations with Central Command. If I find myself able to send one or more staff to augment this council, I will do so.” That was well calculated, Barklay thought: a promise and a threat in one, putting a gleam of daylight between Selkirk and Douglas and daring Ryswyck not to need Central’s direct influence.

  Barklay did not have a good view of Douglas from where he sat, but he could see students looking in Douglas’s direction. Look back at them, Douglas, he thought. See them. Let them know you belong to them. It was the only leadership skill, in Barklay’s observation, that Douglas had had left to learn when he left Ryswyck. There was no time to instruct him, no time even to warn him. No time, no time.

  “And now,” Selkirk concluded, “General Barklay would like to say a few words.” He turned away from the lectern, gave Barklay the sketch of an ironic bow, and returned to his seat.

  Barklay cleared his throat and stood up. In the silence his bootsteps were a hollow, heavy sound. He looked out from the lectern upon the faces of his students: he saw renewed apprehension; grief; indignation, whether against him or on his behalf there was no knowing. You won’t be able to sing fast enough, Speir had warned him. He wasn’t going to try. He let them absorb for a moment the full implications of his appearance in fatigues, and then spoke quietly.

  “I ask you not to begrudge Lord Commander Selkirk his anger at my faults,” he said, simply. He could feel the room trembling to listen to him. “He is not mistaken. I have wronged him.” From the corner of his eye he saw Selkirk turn his head away, and Barklay felt his soul breathe easier. Not all stone, then. He did have an appeal left. “And he can be forgiven for thinking that you, that Ryswyck Academy, have a share in my fault. Because I have wronged you also.”

  It was easier than he could have believed possible, to speak like this. He still had the power to design people’s thoughts, to persuade them to ignore the damage, as if that might bend reality itself: this was what he was giving over, and all he had to do was open his hands and turn it free.

  “I did not tell you all of the truth. You know that I founded Ryswyck because I believed that we can not truly survive as a people if we forget the humanity of the enemy we are committed to kill. What you don’t know is that I came to this belief because I myself had failed that test. The business of war is to put war out of business—” he’d said that many times before; a few lips quirked— “and we say it, and we think we believe it. I say it to you because when I went to meet our enemy, I did not believe it. I believed the business of war was to pursue vengeance, and contempt, and cruelty. I crippled my soul believing that, and led others to do the same.”

  Douglas was right; he should have spoken of this earlier. Should have given his students a proper chance to absorb the truth.

  “I have opened the door to courtesy for you, not to invite you into a place where I am, but to usher you into a place I cannot go. You will soon meet the enemy yourself: they will be young soldiers, with family and friends, who live lives with the same ordinary zest and difficulty you do. And you will have to hurt and kill them. It will not be a clean and orderly arena. They will not look you in the eye and bow. They may not see your courtesy at all. You will be angry, you will be frightened, you will be disgusted. What you have done at Ryswyck up to today is theory and practice. It is now time for application. You will be going to a field where I have not already been ahead of you. And I won’t be with you.”

  There were tears in many eyes by now. Barklay swallowed and went on.

  “You’ll have a better chance than I did. You have prepared your minds in advance. You have learned to possess your own souls. You’ll have many of your teachers at your shoulder. And you’ll have Douglas, who despite the wrongs I’ve done him has resisted vengeance with all the considerable strength of his soul. I could not wish you a better commander for this defense operation.”

  He could not—did not dare—look round at Douglas. But he could see his Ryswyckians looking at Douglas, and could feel in the room that the resistance to his suggestion was a manageable resistance, even a fruitful one, if Douglas responded to it right. It was just as well that he was giving over his command to something that felt possible; he would have to give it over whether it was possible or no
t.

  “Now,” he went on, after another pause. “I have spoken with Lord Commander Selkirk about our possible strategies for thwarting this invasion. And he has agreed that I may plan and lead a special forces mission. It will be risky, not only because it will be planned at short notice, but also because it may fail spectacularly. And even if it succeeds, I and my team will almost certainly not be coming back. Now Lord Commander Selkirk has also given it to me to ask you for two volun—”

  The rest of the word was drowned out by the sound of benches scraping on stone, as every single Ryswyckian surged to their feet and stood at fierce and quivering attention.

  Barklay stood in the profound silence that followed, blinking at tears that would not blink away.

  “…Thank you,” he said, huskily. “I will choose two as their particular training and family encumbrances may suggest. For the rest: your rota captains have been prepared and will brief you over lunch. Any questions they can’t answer, they will refer to the executive council, who will consult with Admiral Douglas or Central Command as necessary. I thank you for the serious attention you will give to cooperating with these obligations. I trust you to mend what I will have to leave unmended. And I pray you will fight well and come out free, as I hope you will also pray for me.

  “I am forever obliged to you.” He touched his closed hand to his heart. “This assembly is dismissed.”

  ~*~

  Out on the airfield, shuttles were being loaded in a prickling rain that threatened to intensify at any moment. In a short while Selkirk and his entourage would be gone: Douglas both longed for and dreaded the moment when he and Ryswyck would be alone with one another.

  Barklay, too, would be leaving. Douglas did not want to speak to him. He would be within his rights to let Barklay go without acknowledgment, but an obscure sense of dutiful courage drew his steps to Barklay’s office.