S. Stirling - On the Oceans of Eternity

Which is that your jury-rigged empire falls into its component pieces. And it wouldn't be nearly as easy to conquer it again as it was the first time.

Should we have held out until you were wrecked, damn the delay, to weaken a potential enemy in the long run? Oh, well, not my decision, thank you Lord Jesus.

"I agree," Isketerol said harshly.

They dickered through the terms of the war indemnity, access to supplies for the Republic's forces, temporary disarmament of the Tartessian fleet.

"And hostages," Isketerol said wearily at last. "I suppose you will want more."

"Not too many more," Marian said. "But hostages of weight. To begin with, your heir." She held up a hand. "For no more than five years, and he can visit home, and you him. He'll be treated with honor, I assure you-he can reside with the chief or with me, as you choose. And he'll get an excellent education."

Sarsental hid a start of alarm, then a dawning eagerness; he whispered urgently in his father's ear until silenced with a gesture. Isketerol rose and paced, hands knotted behind his back. At last he returned to the table.

"That is a bargain with several aspects," he said. A glance aside: "My son is wild to see the wonders of the fabled place. You hope to make him a friend… but you bribe me with the promise that he will truly learn things I only grasp as a man grasps shadows passing in the night. You are more subtle than I thought, Commodore."

Alston spread her pink-palmed hands and smiled slightly. "Blame the chief, and Doreen Arnstein."

"So." Isketerol's fingers rasped on the blue-black stubble of his chin. "Agreed-subject to a discussion of the details-on one condition." At Marian's arched brow, he went on: "Among the other hostages shall be my daughter Mettri; she has nine years. And she and Sarsental shall both study in due time at your… what is it called? OCS, yes. And the Oceanic University-they shall be free to take any course of study they will, as an Islander might…"

Later that night Swindapa chuckled in her ear: "Sarsental, he would like to do that."

"He would," Marian said, sliding further down in the narrow bed. "So soft…"

A wailing cry interrupted her. "Oh, sweet suffering Lord Jesus, is that the change me or the I'm hungry ?"

"Both, I think," Swindapa said, stretching luxuriously and lying back. "Your turn."

"How did we get from maybe we'll keep him to it's your turn this feeding ?" Marian muttered, sliding out into the dank, dark chill of the HQ tent's bedroom.

A few sounds came from the great camp outside; a challenge-and-response, the rutch of boots on gravel, the endless lapping of the sea not far away. Marian hitched on her robe, sighed and went to the cradle.

"Both," she said.

She tossed the used diaper into the bin, secured the lid, pinned on the new, washed her hands and tested the temperature of the milk from the heater on the inside of her wrist.

The baby looked up at her through the dimness as she cradled the blanket-wrapped form against her with four infancies' worth of experience. She smiled down, and the infant responded with an enormous toothless grin, reaching for her and gurgling. Her heart turned over.

"All right, little'un," she crooned. He transferred his attention from her to the bottle eagerly, used to it by now. "Here you go."

Feeding, burping, and tucking-in over, the child went to sleep again with limp finality.

"That's a relief, after Heather," she said, sliding back into the bed. " She always wanted to stay up and play. Where was I?"

" Aywo ! Cold hands!"

"The water's cold," Marian said reasonably. "You'd object a lot more if I hadn't washed them."

"Mmmmm. Did we… how's it go… suck in Isketerol with the hostage scheme, or did he suck in us?"

"That's 'sucker,' sugar, 'sucker him,' or 'take him in.' We'll find out in about ten years, I suspect…"

December. 10 A.E .- Nantucket Town, Republic of Nantucket

December, 10 A.E .- Rivendell, Kingdom of Great Achaea

February, 11 A.E .- Central Sicily, Kingdom of Great Achaea

February, 11 A.E .- Syracuse, Kingdom of Great Achaea

April, 11 A.E .- Central Anatolia, Kingdom of Hatti-land

Why in the name of God didn't we deep-six this ridiculous so-called tradition right after the Event?" Jared Cofflin demanded.

"Because keeping it up made people feel better," Martha Cofflin said succinctly. "We did condense it. Hold still."

He did, as she stuck the white mustache to his upper lip. At least he wouldn't be sweating as much in this damned Santa suit when they got outside; late December in Nantucket was God-damned cold, Gulf Stream or no Gulf Stream. The Coast Guard tug was warm enough, with the boiler right below this miniature bridge. Not far away her skipper pulled on a lanyard, doing a creditable imitation of "Jingle Bells" in a series of cheery toots from the steam whistle.

The little side-wheeler swung in alongside the T-sectioned pier at the head of Old North Wharf. A huge crowd was waiting, big white snowflakes falling on fur caps and knitted toques, children held up to see or sitting on their parents' shoulders. More snow hung on rooftops, and made a white tracery of the rigging of sloop and schooner and square-rigger across the width of the harbor. Lanterns gleamed everywhere, soft flame light in the pearly fog, and hissing torches stood high; behind them the church spires and rooftops showed like outlines in a Currier amp; Ives print.

"Ho, ho, humbug," Cofflin muttered.

Back before the Event, the Christmas Stroll had just meant more work for then-Chief of Police Jared Cofflin. At least that hadn't changed…

The crowd cheered as he shouldered his sack and walked down the gangplank. He waved back, grinning despite himself; it was mostly kids here, jumping up and down and yelling. He reached into the sack and scattered some of the little sacks of maple-sugar candy and precious chocolate, which at least kept the melee away from him . And there were things to celebrate besides getting through another year; the news from Tartessos was pretty damned good.

Amateur choirs struck up "Silent Night" as he walked up the wharf and up Main Street; it was anything but, though. The big covered market to his left where the old A amp;P had been was roaring, food stalls mainly, handing out eggnog and sausages in buns and grilled lobster tail on a stick and baked apples. A lot of mulled cider was going around, too, and these days cider had quite a kick. Main was pretty well clear of spectators except on the packed sidewalks and at every window and side street, but a big bunch of Fiernan dancers circled 'round him as he went up it; this was an important festival time for them, too, when Moon Woman danced the reluctant Sun back to warm the earth.

At least we persuaded the chariot boys not to sacrifice their horse, bull, and hound right here , he thought-and before the Alban War back home, they'd have given Sky Father a man, too, so the boss-god would be strong enough to chain the Wolf that would otherwise eat the sun and leave the world in eternal darkness.

They probably do still do that over there, when nobody's looking, treaty or no treaty .

At the head of Main he climbed the steps of the Pacific Bank. "Merry Christmas!" he called.

" Merry Christmas !" the thousands roared back-or versions of "Happy Solstice Festival" in a round dozen languages. The dancers went into a whirling, cartwheeling frenzy.