Then the awards were given. First Melville was called forward and made a Member of the Order of Knights Companion of the King of Osgil, and a member of the Royal Host of Glory by the King of Stolsh. The Dwarrowdelf ambassador declared him a Friend of the Dwarrowdelf League, apologizing in a deep gravelly voice that while he deserved more, that was the best that a lowly ambassador was authorized to do. The two kings each hung a very impressive medal around his neck, while the Dwarrowdelf ambassador settled for reaching up and giving a hearty handshake. In his enthusiasm the ambassador’s huge, calloused hands nearly crushed Melville’s hand.
Melville’s monkey sat proudly and serenely through it all, its eyes sparkling as it took everything in. Then the King of Osgil declared that the tiny monkey was now a Squire to the King. The little creature seemed to be deeply affected, cooing slightly and stretching its head out timidly to let a ribbon be placed around it. With one hand it grasped the medal that hung from the ribbon, peering at it studiously while stroking the ribbon with several other hands.
Then each of his officers were called up to become Knights of the Realm of Osgil and Members of the Royal Order of Honor in Stolsh. And to receive a bone crushing handshake and the Friendship of the Dwarrowdelf League from their ambassador. Their monkeys also calmly accepted their masters’ honors, but they too appeared deeply touched when they were declared Royal Squires and given beribboned medals.
A particularly poignant moment occurred when Broadax stood before her people’s ambassador. The burly, bearded old Dwarrowdelf paused and looked her over carefully. It was known that she’d left her own people in some sort of rebellion, if not outright disgrace. The Fangs held their breath and waited to see if their beloved lieutenant would be snubbed.
Tears began to flood from the Dwarrowdelf ambassador’s eyes, flowing freely down into his beard. He reached out his hand and Broadax took it slowly. The old Dwarrowdelf pulled her to him and wrapped his other arm around her. His voice was loud and sounded like grinding gravel as he said, for all to hear, “You have made us proud, good sister warrior. A Dwarrowdelf ax has struck a mighty blow in this first great battle against an evil foe. This is good. This is very good!”
At this the Fangs all cheered spontaneously, and a red flush rose upwards from Broadax’s neck like a barbarian horde, burning everything in its way.
Then the three rulers walked the ranks of the Fangs, with Melville leading them and introducing each man, woman, and boy. These were truly noble representatives of their three races, noble in speech and noble in deed, each of them shaking every hand and personally thanking each crew member as they bestowed a medal upon him. And in every case his monkey was duly declared and bedecked as a Royal Orderly. A group of aides followed them as they made their rounds, carrying a seemingly inexhaustible supply of medals to go with the handshakes.
Even the Guldur members of the crew, standing timidly, feeling unworthy of recognition, were encouraged, thanked, and rewarded. They may have fought with the Guldur initially, but they fought for the right side in the battles that mattered, and they were living proof that the Guldur were an oppressed people. All three rulers made it clear to Fang’s Guldur crew members that they blamed their rulers, and not them; and would welcome any of their race who rallied to their cause in the years to come.
After the last crew member was duly bemedaled and beshook, the King of Osgil turned to Melville. “But, some of thy crew who came with thee to our fair planet are not here!”
“Sire,” said Melville, “Your navy was kind enough to provide caretakers for our ship during our absence. All of my crew members are here.”
The old king’s eyes sparkled and he grinned a grin that looked a lot like his granddaughter’s mischievous smile. “Nay, good captain, what of the dogs and cats who have served ye so well? Would ye forget them? I have not. We are not, as a rule, partakers of red meat, but an imported beefsteak has been purchased and sent to your ship. Even as we speak, the four-legged members of your crew are being rewarded in the manner that they prefer best.”
Finally, after every individual was recognized, the King of Osgil returned to his throne and concluded with these Words. “A valiant paladin of thy home world once said, ‘Where do we get such warriors? What loving God hath provided, that each generation, afresh, there should arise new giants in the land to answer the summons of the trumpet. Were we to go but a single generation without such heroes, then within the span of that generation we should surely be both damned and doomed.’ So now let us partake of the meal that awaits us, and let us give thanks in every way for these worthy warriors who have answered the summons of the trumpet in our hour of need.”
Melville saluted the dais. This was not a prescribed military action but it felt appropriate to do so, as a pure and simple act of recognition and greeting between warriors. Then he executed an about-face, looked out on his crew, and with a smile of sheer joy he commanded, “Fall out!”
“Do you understand the full magnitude of what you have done? You are leading our nation down the path of war. Nothing is worse than war! . . .”
It didn’t take long for Sir Percival Incessant to corner Melville. They hadn’t even sat down yet. Out of respect, the others backed away and discreetly watched as the Westerness Ambassador to Osgil publicly self-destructed.
“Nothing is worse than war . . .” Aye, thought Melville. Aye, he knew the horrors of war far, far better than the man standing in front of him. Visions raced through his mind. AiEe burning. Her brave people, ravaged, raped, tormented, and dying. A little body crumpled on his quarterdeck. Had he really brought that upon Westerness? For a brief moment his moral compass spun and the world reeled. Dear God, I’d do anything to avoid this. But it cannot be avoided. It has been brought to us, inflicted upon us, and our only choice is to fight or die.
Aye, there is something worse than war, Melville thought to himself. How did John Stuart Mill put it? “War is an ugly thing, but not the ugliest of things; the decayed and degraded state of moral and patriotic feeling which thinks nothing worth a war is worse . . . A man who has nothing he cares more about than he does his personal safety is a miserable creature who has no chance of being free, unless made and kept so by the exertions of better men than himself.”
Melville tuned out the ambassador’s words as he studied the individual standing before him.
No matter how this turned out, Incessant’s career as a diplomat was finished. Here was a man who could rise to positions of rank and recognition that most people would never dream of, and then spend his every effort scheming to gain even more. Melville looked into the heart of the man standing in front of him and felt only contempt and pity. In the end, however high he rose, whatever he achieved, he would never be happy. A lifelong diet of festering resentment and spite would leave him old and bitter, with a belly full of bile.
Here was a man with great reservoirs of vindictiveness and spite, dammed up behind fragile walls of paranoia and ineptitude. Now his actions, his policies, and he himself had been publicly repudiated by three major galactic powers. Now the dam had burst, and the flood of hate was so great that the ambassador lost all sense of propriety. He was going mad before Melville’s eyes.
Melville tuned back into Incessant’s rant for a moment. ” . . . Do you really think you have the right to command a frigate?” he demanded, spraying spittle and shaking a finger in Melville’s face.
Did he have a right to command a frigate? Not much. Hundreds of men were senior to him. No, he didn’t have a right to command Fang, no more than he had a right to capture her, or to break through the blockade of Ambergris, or to blow countless Guldur frigates out of the water, or to woo a Sylvan princess.
Yet he had done so.
All of a sudden it dawned on Melville that the little man in front of him had no power over him. Whatever harm the man could do, he would. There was nothing Melville could do that would change this man. No words, no concession, no act could ever satisfy him.