The officers looked at each other in consternation. They were in no condition to meet with the governor, no matter how well meaning the invitation. The only uniforms they owned were the ones they were wearing when they’d come over from Kestrel, and these had seen multiple battles since. Their tattered uniforms weren’t a source of shame in the heat of battle on Ambergris. But the humiliation that awaited them here filled them with dread.
There was one possible solution. Melville moved quickly to the upper fo’c’sle where his two rangers, his purser and his surgeon stood looking at the vast Pier. Elphinstone immediately perceived that something was amiss. “Why hast thou such a long face, Captain?” she asked.
“My lady, we’ve been invited to dinner. The governor has kindly invited the wardroom and the midshipmen to dinner, but while our ship is fit for an admiral’s inspection, our uniforms are in tatters and we aren’t fit to see any decent folk. I turn to you for succor. I couldn’t refuse the invitation without giving offense, but if you went immediately to the governor and explained our situation, perhaps he’d understand?”
“My captain,” she replied with a sad, kind smile and just the hint of a tear, “thou are the mightiest hero to come to Osgil in many an age. The city is thine. Thou hast but to ask, and it shall be done. By dinner tonight we shall have ye all in new dress uniforms of the finest quality.”
The Westerness Navy’s tradition of feeding its midshipmen on ship’s stores (to the extent that it fed them at all, apart from their impoverished private stocks) led to a group of young men who were eternally hungry and obsessed with food. The local time and the ship’s time were out of synch, and the meal was several hours later than they were accustomed to. So it was that the captain and his officers were very hungry, and their poor midshipmen were truly famished.
Thus the Fangs approached Government House slavering with greed, groomed, shaved and shined to the highest degree, after a kaleidoscopic day of fitting and primping. True to her promise, Lady Elphinstone had turned out a small army of tailors. These professionals quickly decided that the basic Westerness naval uniform was so similar to that of His Majesty’s Twenty-First Sappers as to make no difference, that the hats of the Northern Militia would do quite nicely with just a little reshaping and by changing the hat bands, and that the shoes of The King’s Own Outer Guard were absolutely identical to the Westerness standard. The advantage was that all of these local uniforms were ready made, and on the shelf, as were suitable shirts and stockings. By simply transferring the buttons and insignia from the old, tattered uniforms, they got the job done in a single afternoon, and had time to measure the rest of the crew for new uniforms as well, save for the twelve tailors and two cobblers who worked overtime to have Lieutenant Broadax’s uniform done in time.
The end result was the very essence of perfection and of far better quality than most of Melville’s men were accustomed to. Only the individuals going to the Governor’s dinner had been taken care of today, but within a few days the entire ship would turn out in uniforms of the same quality.
Throughout that first triumphant meal, Melville tried to control his midshipmen’s rapacious assault upon their food. His task was aggravated by the fact that Sylvan food wasn’t completely satisfying to races whose metabolisms were designed to function in higher gravity. The midshipmen consumed great quantities of vegetables and mushrooms and whole flocks of small birds, and yet they still weren’t satisfied. Melville was fearful lest their culinary covetousness should get them off on the wrong foot with their hosts, but it soon became clear that his concerns were groundless. In the eyes of the Sylvans, they could do no wrong.
* * *
The next few days were dedicated to bringing in fresh water and nonperishable stores, so that they could leave at short notice, as was expected of Her Majesty’s Ships. When that was completed, Melville prepared to release his crew for shore duty. Only the barest skeleton crew would be left with the Ship. The crew lined up for a partial pay on their way down the gangplank, “So’s the lads’ll ‘ave a li’l walkin’-around money,” as Hans put it.
The crew was lining up for their pay when Melville became aware that his monkey was gone. On the few occasions that it left him it never went far, so he looked around for it. Then he realized that everyone around him was also looking for their missing monkeys. He experienced a moment of surprisingly intense fear and loss. Most of the little creatures had appeared from nowhere, and there was suddenly the fear that they could disappear just as easily. He had a sickening sense of just how much the little creatures would be missed if they were truly gone.
“There they is!” shouted a voice. There was a period of bewilderment, followed by laughter when it became apparent that the monkeys, every single one of them, were queuing up at the end of the line, waiting patiently for their pay.
Okay, thought Melville, I can handle this. The important thing is not to lose them, to make them full-fledged members of the crew and give them an obligation to stay with us.
Melville jogged up the steps to the quarterdeck, turned and addressed his crew. “Shipmates,” he began, “We’ve been through some hard times, and some remarkable adventures. You are all professionals. You have proven it over and over again. You have made us proud. Now isn’t the time to let that professionalism lapse. Now is not the time to bring shame upon your Ship. Take your pay, go out, and have a good time. You’ll find that the people of Osgil are grateful and generous. Your pay will go far. All of you,” and here he made a point of pointing to the entire mass, and especially the monkeys, trying to make eye contact with them, “will be required to report for formation, here at dockside, every morning at eleven o’clock. Most of you should be able to stagger out to the ship by then.” This drew appreciative laughs. “If you do not report for formation, you’ll be reported AWOL. Again, you have all served us honorably and well. Do not let your Ship down now. As you take the King’s coin, you accept your responsibility as servants of the crown.”
Then he turned specifically to the monkeys, pointing at them as he continued, “The monkeys will be paid as ship’s boys, third class. You’ll be on shore leave like everyone else, and you’ll be required to report for formation like everyone else. Do you understand?”
There was a brief, pregnant pause, then all the monkeys hopped up and down, screeching joyfully. This was immediately echoed by the crew’s cheers. Melville stood with his hands on the quarterdeck rail and watched as his men were paid, then the boys. Finally the monkeys, with comic dignity, each took their pay as they strode down the gangplank and were unleashed upon the good citizens of Osgil.
From this point on, their experiences were a whirlwind of grand balls and parties in flets perched high up in the vast trees of Osgil. Even the three-quarters Earth gravity of the planet added to their sense of lighthearted joy.
Osgil was faced with a vast war, unlike any they’d experienced before. It was being called the Two-Space War, and it had begun with a series of unparalleled disasters and defeats for the Sylvan and Stolsh. The Sylvans had every cause to fear the future. But while they dreaded the path before them, they also found joy in the one great victory that they’d enjoyed, and the heroes who bought that victory for them.
The Sylvans knew how to greet returning heroes. It was in their heritage. It was their tradition to reward deeds of great valor. It was even in their new philosophy inspired by classic Earth science fiction. “TANSTAAFL,” the Fangs were told repeatedly. ” ‘There ain’t no such thing as a free lunch.’ Aye? Well this be no free lunch, young sailor. Thou hast earned it.”
A Fang’s money wasn’t accepted here. Night after night, every member of the crew was wined and dined somewhere. Down to the lowliest seaman, they told the tale of their battles over and over again, with bread crusts and wine stains on tabletops. They never grew weary of the tale, or the open hearts and open arms that awaited them afterwards.
Even the monkeys were accepted with open arms. Osgil was a sophisticated galactic port. Over the centuries a wide assortment of alien creatures had arrived at her docks, and Osgil took “Fang’s Monkeys,” as they quickly became known, in stride.