weight. He’s certain their decision to bring back the shilling proves they were all quite mad.”
“Yes, well one would almost have to be a bit mad to be a first settler,” Williard said. “Without offense to your grandfather, the thought of being dropped on a bare planet with nothing but the goods I could ship there is more than a bit unsettling.”
“It was very difficult, I’m told,” Alexis agreed.
The rest of the meal passed in idle talk as course after course was brought, and more than one bottle of wine.
“You did not exaggerate, sir. Not at all.” Alexis sat back from the table as the last of the dishes was cleared. The meal had been truly spectacular. A thick, juicy slab of real beef, charred black on the outside and rare in the middle. So far removed from the provisions aboard Hermione that she could not credit them being called the same. The side dishes had been equally well prepared, and Alexis had allowed her enjoyment of the food to lull her into also enjoying far more wine than she should have — and this on top of her newfound love for the Scotch whiskey. The servants quickly scraped the tablecloth clean and set two glasses and a decanter of port between them.
“I never exaggerate about fine food and drink, Mister Carew,” Williard said. “It is far too important.” He poured them each a glass of the port.
Alexis took a sip and bit her lip. The conversation over dinner had remained innocuous, not touching on Hermione or Captain Neals, but both were still much on her mind.
“About our … phantasm, lieutenant? You truly believe there’s nothing to be done?”
“I truly believe it should not even be spoken of, Mister Carew. But as you seem determined.” He sighed and drained his glass. “There are, in truth, two Navies. The first, which if I am to believe all I’ve heard of him, you encountered aboard Merlin with Captain Grantham. It is a Navy of honor and duty, where your worth is measured by merit and your deeds.” He twirled his empty glass between his fingertips, watching the light through the remaining drops of port. “The other Navy is quite different, I’m afraid. It has gained much sway over the whole during the last few years of peace, and it measures worth in quite a different way. It is one of patronage and power, and it cares not for the rest. Our hypothetical captain would belong to the latter Navy, and he would certainly have many friends. Friends who, in addition to the Navy’s own desire to avoid scandal, would go to great lengths to protect him personally.”
He refilled his glass.
“Even when the nation is at peace, Mister Carew, our two Navies are at war, the one against the other. And as with any war, those of us in less exalted positions —” He smiled. “— and I assure you that lieutenant, no matter how far removed from your own position it may seem, is far from exalted. We must … survive. For we can do our side of the battle little good when we wield little power. No, Mister Carew, I will survive. I will do my time with … with any phantasm I am assigned to serve, and I will move on. When I am a Post Captain, myself, then I will have some influence over events, I think. This is what I recommend for you, as well.”
* * * * *
Alexis staggered a bit as she wandered the station’s corridors. Dinner with Lieutenant Williard had gone long, and it was later than she’d thought. She considered, briefly, returning to the ship, but Captain Neals had granted all the officers liberty not only for the evening, but “all night in”, with no one required to be back aboard Hermione until the forenoon watch. For the officers, at least — the hands were not so lucky, being confined to the ship, and the ship not even Out of Discipline for them to have some release from the pressures of constant sailing.
Her head was spinning more than a bit from the drink. Though dinner had been long, it hadn’t been enough for the effects to wear off, and
“Yes, well one would almost have to be a bit mad to be a first settler,” Williard said. “Without offense to your grandfather, the thought of being dropped on a bare planet with nothing but the goods I could ship there is more than a bit unsettling.”
“It was very difficult, I’m told,” Alexis agreed.
The rest of the meal passed in idle talk as course after course was brought, and more than one bottle of wine.
“You did not exaggerate, sir. Not at all.” Alexis sat back from the table as the last of the dishes was cleared. The meal had been truly spectacular. A thick, juicy slab of real beef, charred black on the outside and rare in the middle. So far removed from the provisions aboard Hermione that she could not credit them being called the same. The side dishes had been equally well prepared, and Alexis had allowed her enjoyment of the food to lull her into also enjoying far more wine than she should have — and this on top of her newfound love for the Scotch whiskey. The servants quickly scraped the tablecloth clean and set two glasses and a decanter of port between them.
“I never exaggerate about fine food and drink, Mister Carew,” Williard said. “It is far too important.” He poured them each a glass of the port.
Alexis took a sip and bit her lip. The conversation over dinner had remained innocuous, not touching on Hermione or Captain Neals, but both were still much on her mind.
“About our … phantasm, lieutenant? You truly believe there’s nothing to be done?”
“I truly believe it should not even be spoken of, Mister Carew. But as you seem determined.” He sighed and drained his glass. “There are, in truth, two Navies. The first, which if I am to believe all I’ve heard of him, you encountered aboard Merlin with Captain Grantham. It is a Navy of honor and duty, where your worth is measured by merit and your deeds.” He twirled his empty glass between his fingertips, watching the light through the remaining drops of port. “The other Navy is quite different, I’m afraid. It has gained much sway over the whole during the last few years of peace, and it measures worth in quite a different way. It is one of patronage and power, and it cares not for the rest. Our hypothetical captain would belong to the latter Navy, and he would certainly have many friends. Friends who, in addition to the Navy’s own desire to avoid scandal, would go to great lengths to protect him personally.”
He refilled his glass.
“Even when the nation is at peace, Mister Carew, our two Navies are at war, the one against the other. And as with any war, those of us in less exalted positions —” He smiled. “— and I assure you that lieutenant, no matter how far removed from your own position it may seem, is far from exalted. We must … survive. For we can do our side of the battle little good when we wield little power. No, Mister Carew, I will survive. I will do my time with … with any phantasm I am assigned to serve, and I will move on. When I am a Post Captain, myself, then I will have some influence over events, I think. This is what I recommend for you, as well.”
* * * * *
Alexis staggered a bit as she wandered the station’s corridors. Dinner with Lieutenant Williard had gone long, and it was later than she’d thought. She considered, briefly, returning to the ship, but Captain Neals had granted all the officers liberty not only for the evening, but “all night in”, with no one required to be back aboard Hermione until the forenoon watch. For the officers, at least — the hands were not so lucky, being confined to the ship, and the ship not even Out of Discipline for them to have some release from the pressures of constant sailing.
Her head was spinning more than a bit from the drink. Though dinner had been long, it hadn’t been enough for the effects to wear off, and
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