On the Oceans of Eternity

Everyone on the bridge of the Eades flinched involuntarily as another of the heavy ca

The three portside broadside guns ran out, letting in a brief stab of light before they fired and added more to the choking cloud of smoke. Return fire smashed into the side; timbers groaned and buckled, and one burst in a spray of splinters. Corpsmen rushed forward to bandage and haul the wounded below; crewfolk scattered sand to keep the deck from growing slippery.

"Rudder amidships," Marian said.

Outside the slit the low roofs and seawall of Tartessos showed, rose-pink stone and whitewash and umber tile. There were fires along the docks now, and black pillars rising into the fading blue of the sky.

"Ma'am, two feet in the hold. We've got the pumps unplugged and we're gaining on it."

"Very well," she said.

Below the bridge there was a long grumbling thunder as the bow six-inch rifle was run out. Massive cranked arms opened the portlid and the muzzle came into view. She slitted her eyes against the long spear of flame; her numbed ears ignored the huge thud of its discharge, and she thought she could see the black speck of the shell in flight. The results when the hundred-and-fifty-pound steel forging struck and exploded were unmistakable; the stern of a docked ship vanished, to reappear as boards and timber falling out of the sky. The merchantman began to settle…

"Helm," she said. "Come right to one-four-zero."

"Command?" the helmsman said.

"Right, one-four-zero," she said, louder. We'll all of us be just a bit less keen of hearing from now on. "We've done enough. Time to go home."

Peter Giernas watched as Eddie and Jaditwara lifted Perks from the travois and carried him onto the captured ship.

"Pewks!" Jared cried, stretching out chubby arms. "Pewks!"

"Happier than he was to see me," Peter Giernas grumbled.

He lay back in the chair with his injured leg propped on a coil of thick rope; overhead a sail was stretched across the mizzen boom of the ship they'd renamed Sea-Ranger, giving a welcome shade. The big schooner was looking a lot neater… unlike the Tartessian settlement not far from the riverside; about half of that had burned, including the whole circuit of the palisade. The massive black-oak logs still smoldered, and the great central pole had fallen in the night, like a whip of fire. The smell of burning mingled oddly with the spring freshness of the riverside greenery.

Chief Antelope came up the gangway behind the two Islanders carrying the dog. Perks's ears came up and his tongue lolled happily as they set him down beside his master; Spring Indigo kept a hand on her child, in case his prying fingers found the bandages irresistible. He'd already made his father howl with an unexpected grab, and there had to be some limit to the wolf-dog's forbearance.

"I greet you," Giernas said to the chief. He had some scorch marks himself, and a crusted cut on the ribs.

"I greet you," the tribesman said gravely, squatting on his hams.

The usual translation difficulties came next, but at last Giernas managed to grasp what the Indian was driving at.

"No," he said. "I don't think you should destroy the place completely. Make the people inside come out and give up, yes… you'll want hostages when their leader and his warriors get back."

And won't that be some homecoming, he thought with a trace of glee, looking down at his son and woman where they sat on the deck beside him.

"But if we don't," Antelope replied, "how can we… make things as they were? Maybe they'll build their Big House again!"

Giernas hesitated. This man wasn't really a friend; they couldn't even talk without skull-splitting effort. But they'd fought together-

"Things will never be as they were, here," he said. "Too much has changed already; the sickness, the horses, and other new things. Also… these strangers are not the last who will come."

"Your people?" Antelope said, with a trace of suspicion.

"Perhaps. Maybe later, to trade and hunt here. But if not mine…" He waved around at the ship. "My people know how to build these ships. Others have learned, and more will learn. You have a fine land here, but you are few and you lack… the arts that make for strength. Others will come, like the Tartessians-strong, hungry peoples, numerous and…"

He looked at Eddie, where he was standing at the rail with an arm around Jaditwara's waist.

"… numerous and… heedless. You should be ready for them. To be ready, you need the Tartessians… what you can learn from them."

Chief Antelope's brows furrowed.

I hope that does you some good, he thought. Then the Indian spoke, and Giernas's sun-faded eyebrows shot up.

"You should stay. You could show us what we need; and your heart is good."

He flushed. Well, that's flattering as hell, he thought, and shook his head. "No, my friend; I have my own home and my own people to go to."

Shouts rose from the banks of the river. Giernas looked up, blinked, reached for his binoculars and swore softly as the motion jarred his injured leg. His first glance had been right; it was a standard Islander craft, a double-ended whaleboat of the type Guard frigates or large merchantmen carried, mounting a stubby lugsail. As he watched, that was struck and six oars a side flashed out and dipped in unison. They kept the mast up; besides Old Glory, it carried a white truce pe

Yup, that's the Guard, he thought, bewildered; blue sailor suits and flat caps, cutlasses and pistols. And they're probably wondering what a Tartessian ship is doing flying our flag. He looked up at the masthead; it was nice not to be the only one wondering what the hell was going on.

The whaleboat came alongside and an officer came up the companionway, looking around and then gaping at the burned-out Tartessian settlement.

"Permission to come aboard?" she asked. "Ensign Ellen Hanson, RNCGS Winthrop."

"Permission granted," Giernas said, and returned her salute. "Lieutenant Peter Giernas, Ranger Service. Pardon me for not rising. Ensign, but a Tartie put a bullet through my leg day before yesterday."

"Then you don't know… the war with Tartessos is over, sir!"

"We've been a bit out of touch," Giernas said. He looked around and smiled grimly. "But yeah, we were under the impression it was over, too."

Marian Alston-Kurlelo rose as Isketerol entered the conference room of the tent. Not entirely by accident, a VCR was ru

Base past the ranked frigates, the ironclad, and the steam ram hadn't been accidental at all. The honor guard formed an alleyway to the tent and snapped to present arms. Their officer drew the tent flap aside:

"The King of Tartessos, ma'am, and his aide."

"Let them in out of the wet, by all means, Lieutenant."

Rain hissed down outside and dripped from the cloaks of the Iberian King and his young aide…