On the Oceans of Eternity

Commander Arthur Jenkins was sitting propped up in bed; his left forearm ended in a mass of bandage three inches below the elbow, and other straps immobilized it. A tray was across his lap, fixed to rails on either side of the collapsible hospital cot, with a bowl of beef broth made from concentrate-what the rank and file called "Gomez soup" after the Prelate of the Ecumenical Church, because it proved the doctrine of the Resurrection of the Flesh-and the remains of a small loaf of bread. He put down the spoon as they approached and smiled.

A cheerful expression that squeezed at Alston's chest below the breastbone.

"Commodore," he said. The smile went wider. "I'll have to change my name, if I'm ever promoted." At her raised eyebrows he moved the left arm slightly. "Captain Hook, what else?"

Alston found herself unable to stop a small snort of laughter. "I hope you don't think I'm going to let you off with a soft job because of this, Arthur."

"Ma'am, I'm sure there will be something useful to the Republic I can do," he said, keeping the smile on his face.

"Certainly there will," Marian said. "Commanding the Chamberlain, if I don't manage to get her sunk in the interim- the doctors tell me you'll be on your feet in about a month."

He looked up at her, startled hope in his eyes. She leaned forward, smiling herself, a rare flash of white teeth against her coal-black face, and laid a long-fingered hand gently on his shoulder.

"Arthur, the Republic pays you a munificent six dollars fifty cents a day-less income tax and witholding tax-to be an officer and a fighting sailor, not to play the piano, although I know you're going to miss that. And I set policy on disabilities, so-called. If Nelson could command an entire fleet at Trafalgar with one arm, I think you can run one ship with one-and-a-half."

"Violin, ma'am," he said, gri

Swindapa leaned forward from the other side and kissed him softly on the forehead. "You are very brave," she said simply.

Alston cleared her throat. "Anyway, your family've been informed that you're alive and recovering," she said. "Standard thirty-word radiophone message back from your wife, but I thought it wouldn't hurt if I jumped the queue and brought it to you myself." He took it up eagerly. "Good luck, and listen to the doctors. I'll be in to see you now and then."

Swindapa leaned over to whisper in her ear as they left: "I don't think he was listening to that last bit," she chuckled.

They walked out the front door flap of the field hospital, their boots noiseless on the soft sand of the street outside; it would be a few days before the road team was ready to gravel it. The Marine sentries on either side slapped hands to rifles, and the officers returned the gesture of respect.

"Well, neither would I, if I was in his shoes," Alston said.

Lord, but I hate doing this, she thought, looking over her shoulder for a second at the backlit canvas of the hospital-tent complex. Duty. "His wife's with Brandt Farms, isn't she?"

"Plant-breeding program," Swindapa agreed. Her eyes grew a little abstracted, and her Fiernan accent went from a trace to noticeable. It always did, when she opened the doors of that memory-palace within that her training at the Great Wisdom had built. "Three children… she's expecting a fourth… they have an application in for an adoption. You know," she went on in a conversational voice, "my… mmm, cousin… at the Old Circle has a mother's-sister's-daughter, niece, who died giving birth to twins this summer, a boy and a girl. They'd be glad to put them with a good family on the Island."

"See about that," Marian said, smiling within. Her face went colder. "Now we have to do the funerals."

Most of the Guard's dead from the sea fight had gone over the side at once in the heat of action; there would be a common ceremony for them. Some had died since and would be buried ashore, and there were more from the Marines and the auxiliaries. Cremation was one of the few things the Sun People and Fiernan Bohulugi had in common, and the Ecumenical Church had no objection to it; that was a lot more practical than sending home bodies. At least they had plenty of firewood…

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

November, 10 A.E.-Walkeropolis, Kingdom of Great Achaea

October, 10 A.E.-Great River, southern Iberia

"Sam?" Vicki Cofflin said, looking at the Emancipator's navigator. "Any definite idea of where the hell we are?"

"According to my calculations, the Hattusas radio beacon, and plenty of sheer guesswork, about here. Skipper," she replied.

Vicki leaned over her shoulder. Here was somewhere west of Monemavasia, a coastal town that didn't exist except as an Achaean base. Exactly how far west was impossible to say, with the weather like this. That didn't bother her as much as it might have a Lost Geezer; she'd grown up relying on dead reckoning guess-and-God navigation. Still…

"I hate bombing civilians," Vicki Cofflin said quietly.

"Don't we all," the XO of Emancipator replied.

"Even worse, that bastard Walker's not at home." Vicki sighed. "Well, we have to try and take out his factories." Louder: "Helm, come about to two-two-zero."

The dirigible throbbed about them; the crew were muffled in heavy wool trousers and jackets of glazed sheepskin and knitted wool caps. The thin air was damp and chilly, smelling of machine oil and wicker and ta

"Hell of a tail wind," Alex Stoddard said. His eyes flicked to the instruments. "Better than forty knots-our ground speed must be up around a hundred mph."

Damn, Vicki thought. Too fast for comfort.

It made her nervous, especially with a mountain range nearly eight thousand feet high to the west of the target and another one only a couple of thousand feet lower to the left. She looked down from the commander's seat onto the crumpled, mountain-strewn landscape of southern Greece, then over at the map table.

"Observers to their stations," she said.

Several of the crewfolk scattered, to point binoculars out ports in the wicker sides of the gondola. Waiting stretched; she sipped cocoa from a thermos and monitored pressure, fuel consumption, and ballast status.

"Skipper!" That brought her over to the portside observer. "That's Mount Taygetos!"

She took the binoculars herself. Single sharp triangular peak, knife ridge ru