Taylor Anderson: Rising Tides

“Enter,” said Matt after a slight hesitation.

Juan Marcos, the bold, inscrutable little Filipino steward who had, by force of will alone, established himself as Matt’s personal steward/ butler/secretary, moved the curtain aside with a grim expression. The final prisoner to come before them was none other than the captain of Ulysses, the flagship of the Company squadron that had attacked them and then fled so ignominiously in the face of Walker ’s vengeful salvos. As flagship, Ulysses carried the greatest weight of metal and the most powerful guns. She had most likely been the ship that fired those first unexpected broadsides that damaged Matt’s ship and killed several of her crew. The Company captain’s later protestations of innocence and remorse only added to the contempt in which Walker ’s crew held him. He was a murderer and a coward. Currently, only his cowardice was on display. When the ’Cat Marines practically carried him into the compartment and he saw his own sword laid upon the table, its point arranged in his direction, he already knew the verdict and began to blubber. Any sympathy Matt might have felt toward the man evaporated, and his voice was harsh when he spoke.

“Captain Moline, it is the judgment of this court that you are not a naval officer and are therefore not subject to punishment for certain infractions of the Imperial Articles of War of which you have been accused-even though it’s my understanding you did swear, upon receiving your HNBC commission, that you’d abide by those articles. That being the case, this court has no choice but to find you not guilty of the crimes specified under articles two, three, four, twelve, thireen, fifteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, and twenty-seven of which you’ve been charged.”

Matt had never considered himself a cruel man, but he couldn’t stop himself from pausing, ever so slightly. Just long enough to see the first rays of hope begin to bloom in Captain Moline’s eyes. He abruptly continued, in the same harsh tone.

“However, even as a civilian, you’re still subject to certain specifications within those military articles, and of course you’re entirely subject to numerous civil charges as they exist for the protection and punishment of non-military subjects of Imperial law. No provincial Assize court or Home Circuit being in the vicinity, it’s my understanding that, according to Imperial law, this court must assume the duties normally prescribed for them. If you were being tried by a civil court, you’d certainly face at least the charges of high treason against your sovereign and nation, piracy, and attempted murder of a member of the Imperial family. I could add other charges, but there’d be no point. Any of these are capital crimes, and this court finds you guilty of all specifications.”

“But…” Moline floundered desperately. “I was following orders! The orders of a representative of the Prime Proprietor’s personal factor!”

Matt paused and took an exasperated breath. He glanced at his notes. “Yes. You testified that a ‘Mr. Brown’ presented you with sealed orders that were to be opened in the event you sighted this ship-a ‘dedicated steamer with four funnels,’ you said. You also said these orders directed you to lure the described steamer as close as possible and destroy it without warning.”

“Despicable orders, but orders nevertheless!” pleaded Moline.

Matt continued relentlessly. “Orders you did not question? Commodore Jenks assures me that even masters of Company vessels are free… are required to question orders they consider criminal or immoral-it’s in your charter!”

“Much of what is in the charter has no meaning now,” Moline moaned. “Questioning orders is no longer encouraged or even allowed!”

“The charter reflects Imperial law. It does not supersede it!” Jenks accused. “Neither do the orders of rogue Company officials! Regardless of what the Company might or might not encourage or allow, you are still subject to Imperial law!”

Moline looked at Jenks and his eyes grew dull. “You have been gone a long time, Commodore. Who are you to say what supersedes what?”

Jenks jumped to his feet. “Honor supersedes treachery!” he practically shouted. “Duty to the Governor-Emperor supersedes any conceivable ‘duty’ to a Company… creature… in the office of the Prime Proprietor!” With a visible force of will, he composed himself. When he continued, his voice was dry and emotionless.

“If your ‘Mr. Brown’ had not been so conveniently killed in the exchange of shot with this ship, perhaps some of what you say might be verified and your own guilt mitigated to a slight degree, but not enough to save you from a rope.” He glanced at his own notes. “You testified that these ‘sealed orders’ were destroyed as soon as you were acquainted with them, so clearly even ‘Mr. Brown’ recognized their criminal nature. It has been established by numerous witnesses that Ensign Parr, whom I dispatched aboard Agamemnon, duly reported to the first authorities he met-Company officials!-the survival and rescue of the princess, as well as her intention to take passage on this ship. Numerous witnesses-virtually Agamemnon ’s entire original crew!-also report that they were transferred and sequestered aboard Icarus, a less powerful and capable ship, before they could report to any naval or Imperial authorities. Finally, both Icarus and Agamemnon were pressed into Company service! Imperial Navy ships and crews were illegally seized by, and placed into the service of, Company pirates bent on committing high treason! Regardless of any ‘sealed orders,’ these acts were no secret to you. That you continued in command of Ulysses is abundant proof that you made no objection to these other crimes at least, and obviously made no attempt to thwart them! Even if you are as utterly stupid as you would have us believe, you are at the very least guilty of being an accessory to a blatant act of piracy!”

Jenks paused, catching himself. His voice had begun to rise again and his fury toward not only Captain Moline but the HNBC itself threatened to overwhelm him. Matt suspected Jenks’s emotions were stirred by terror as well: not physical terror-he knew Jenks was no coward-but a growing terror of what they might discover his precious Empire had become in his absence. Matt could identify with that kind of terror: he felt it at the edge of his consciousness every moment of every day. He somehow managed to function and perform his duties-he had no choice-but he was genuinely terrified for the safety of one Nurse Lieutenant Sandra Tucker, who even now was still in the maniacal hands of the Company minion, Walter Billingsley… as far as they knew.

Matt cleared his throat. “Further demonstrations, protestations, or even admonitions are pointless at this stage. As previously stated, Captain Moline, you’ve been found guilty of the crimes described by Commodore Jenks. It is therefore the order of this court that you be taken from this place to the deck of the pirate prize Ulysses, where, according to the customs of your service, you will be bound hand and foot and hanged by the neck until you’re dead.” Matt glanced from the frozen form of the prisoner to the two Marines. “Get this bastard out of my sight.”

Brad “Spanky” McFarlane scrutinized the toil underway in the crew’s forward berthing space with a critical but generally satisfied eye. Standing in the steamy compartment where hardly anyone ever actually slept, he struck his trademark pose-hands on his skinny hips, his absolute authority over everything in his domain radiating from his diminutive but powerfully wiry frame. Before him, a party of’Cats adjusted shoring timbers while two men held torches against a warped steel plate, heating it to a dull reddish orange. Radiant heat from the torches and the steel they played against only added to the stifling temperature of the berthing space, even with the portholes open. Absently, Spanky wondered again what kind of idiot designed this ship and so many like her with the portholes in the forward berthing space so close to the waterline that they could almost never be opened-at least not in any kind of sea, or while the ship was underway. If it hadn’t been for the meager light they provided in daytime, he probably would’ve plated over them during the reconstruction.