Taylor Anderson: Rising Tides

Jenks paused in his flight up the stairs to the porch only long enough to greet an older man in a cocked hat and a soiled but richly decorated coat. “Lord High Admiral McClain,” he said, saluting. “I must see the Governor-Emperor.”

The man nodded. “He’s expecting you,” he said gravely, gesturing toward the observatory with his nose. “Aloft.” He looked at Matt. “Both of you.” He paused, but clearly wasn’t finished. “My compliments, Captain Reddy,” he continued. “We’ve not met officially, but His Majesty speaks highly of you. I was impressed by your swordsmanship-as well as your cunning. Particularly the latter. I find myself lending more credence to some of the wild tales I’ve heard-which forces me to reevaluate a few opinions I’d formed concerning your entire account of the situation in the west.” He waved a blood-spattered kerchief he’d been holding against a cut on his cheek. “Dreadful times lie ahead, I fear. The commodore has long been a proponent of aggressive exploration, at least in the seas of this hemisphere.” He sighed. “I have opposed that in the interests of security through isolation… but we aren’t really isolated here at all, are we? Not anymore. We… thought the Dominion was our only real threat, and that they might serve as a buffer for what might lie beyond, but even if they’re now our most pressing threat, they’re not alone, are they?”

“No, sir,” Matt said quietly. “And they aren’t even the closest. Reed proved that.”

“But apparently he is their creature. One must now contemplate how much of this Company subversion over the last decade might be laid at his feet, and how much sway over other Company officials he might still exert.”

“Reed was their ‘creature,’ ” Matt said stonily. “He was ready to hand your Empire to the Dominion on a silver plate… but I wouldn’t worry about him anymore, if I were you. I would strongly recommend you round up as many of his cronies as you can, though. Even if most didn’t know what he was really up to, a lot had to know it was treason of some sort or other.”

“Indeed. And we shall ‘round them up,’ as you put it. You and Jenks are to be commended for your perspicacity in uncovering this evil plot.” The admiral’s expression turned sour. “I only wish I’d been made privy to the particulars in advance.”

“There were no particulars, sir,” said Jenks. “Only suspicions, and we had little enough to base them on.” Jenks’s voice became harder, more formal. “Not nearly enough to convince even you, beforehand, sir.”

Admiral McClain nodded. “I suppose I deserve that,” he said sadly. “I hope you’ll accept my assurance that you speak to the converted now, Commodore.”

“I sincerely hope so, sir. Now, if you’ll excuse me?”

“Of course.”

“Who was that?” Matt asked as they entered Government House and made their way through the bustle to the stairs.

“Lord High Admiral James Silas McClain the Third,” Jenks replied neutrally. “He’s the titular governor of New Scotland and commands Home Fleet-a large percentage of which is now fighting the greatest sea battle of the age without him.”

“Huh.”

They ascended the staircase that ran back and forth through the Imperial living quarters, until they reached a relatively small, oval room atop the residence. It was hot in the confined space, and crowded with officers delivering reports and departing with instructions. Several grim-faced surgeons toiled over the Governor-Emperor’s legs, casting furtive glances at the newcomers and one another.

“Prop me up, damn ye all,” the Governor-Emperor roared. “I can’t bloody see! If I must lie here among you pack of carrion-eaters, at least let me view the battle!”

The man’s pale, almost painfully thin wife gently propped him up with a pillow so he could reach the eyepiece of his telescope again. Matt had seen the woman a few times before, but never like this. He remembered that Princess Rebecca often said that Sandra reminded her of her mother, but Matt hadn’t caught any real resemblance beyond hair color. Now he saw it: the way she glared at others in the room, the determined way she swept at errant strands of hair that strayed from her more abundant coif. Before, she’d seemed a broken woman, clinging desperately to the faint hope he’d brought her. Now, even as that hope had faded, she’d risen to protect the last thing in the world she appeared to care about: her injured husband. For an instant, a red-hot knife twisted in Matt’s guts as he finally allowed himself to contemplate the probability that Sandra was indeed lost to him. His crew had been practically coddling him in that respect for some time now, he knew, but he’d continued to insist to himself that hope remained. He couldn’t do that anymore, he realized. He had to let it go. At least for now, he had to put his own grief aside, as this woman had done, and focus on those things he could still save.

Somewhere out there, beyond the general fleet action that the Governor-Emperor watched even now, his ship might be fighting for her life. There was nothing he could do about that either, and his sense of helplessness was profound. There was something he could do, though, and if it might do little to help those he cared about here, it might make all the difference for those “back home.”

“Ah, listen up,” he said loudly. The tumult in the room and on the stairs behind him froze into a kind of shocked silence. Even Jenks was taken aback by the outburst in this setting. “I’m new here, but some things are the same wherever you go, and I know a chicken with its head cut off when I see it.”

“Now see here!” the Governor-Emperor roared. “I may be wounded, but I’m no chicken!”

“It’s a figure of speech, Your Majesty,” Matt said quickly. “I know you’re not, but this is the biggest wild turkey chase I’ve seen since the Japs bombed Cavite! The events of the day have come as a hell of a shock, even to those of us who suspected someThing was up, but right now the vast majority of your people are still in shock, and still running around like a bunch of headless chickens! There’re things that need to be happening, and you’ve got senior officers milling around on the porch who don’t have a clue what to do. I know you’re confused. Everyone is. You’ve never had an attack here, like this, before.” Matt took a breath. “My people, on the world we came from, experienced a similar sneak attack not too long ago, and they didn’t react much different. We’ve been surprised a few times in our war here too, against the Grik, but we’ve learned a few things!”

“What should we be doing now, that we aren’t already?” Jenks asked seriously.

Matt took off his helmet and wiped his brow with his sleeve. “You really want to know?”

“Of course!” insisted the Governor-Emperor.

“Okay. You might even be doing some of this already, but if you are, I can’t tell.” He sighed. “First, you have to signal other ports-Glasgow, Edinburgh, whatever-and warn them to expect attacks as well. Maybe send out some scouts.”

“That we have done,” Jenks stated. “We have a network of semaphore towers across the island, and I directed that warnings be sent immediately, as soon as I first arrived here.”

“Good. Has everybody replied?” Matt waited in the following silence. “If not, you must assume there have been attacks there already, or the network’s been cut. You need to get warnings to the other Home Islands as well. Next, round up all the Company officials and Dominion representatives. I already suggested that to your Admiral McClain.”

“I ordered the arrest of Dominion representatives, but detaining Company administrators is… problematic,” said the Governor-Emperor.