The Commodore’s Clock

DEPARTING

HMS The Scouts was a hub of quiet, efficient, activity. They were preparing for a mission. A mission deep into interstellar space where the Elven presence had not been felt before. They were veterans. They knew their business. That’s why all the efficiency was quiet.

The Commodore’s Clock had been prominently installed on the bridge. The Commodore, Captain Werner Wilhelm Harold the Ritter von Teghettoff KT, had assured everyone that this clock could not help but bring them luck on their pending adventure. His greatity-greatity-great-great (or so) uncle had purchased the clock in like 1840 and had gone on to be one of the great fighting admirals of the mid 19th Century. How could it not help them on the voyage? No answer was expected. He was the Commodore, after all.

The clock was securely mounted on a gimbaled shelf. There was a repair robot charged with checking on it regularly and reminding the Commodore every sixth day that the clock should be wound. The Commodore did not trust the bot to wind the clock with sufficient respect, to say nothing of finesse.

HMS The Scouts had assured the Commodore that the clock could not be jostled by their travels. Only a loss of gravity would stop the even swing of the pendulum. Of course, this clock was never going to be relied upon for accurate time, so that was never really an issue. But the Commodore cared deeply for this clock. He endowed it with abilities it did not possess. Such as the ability to bring luck.

The Commodore was a real Commodore. He had a flagship; then there were four of the new gunboat scouts that were all commissioned men o’ war that were also his to command. So his expeditionary squadron consisted of five of the King’s ships and they would very much be an independent command. But for all of that, the Commodore was really only a captain; however, he'd be serving as a commodore, so he was awarded the honorary title. His command wasn’t quite large enough to be a squadron so no rank, just the title. This was the navy’s way of doing things. Had been for generations. So that was just about as graven in stone as anything was apt to be.

The Commodore was not in the least upset about this. He’d had a distinguished career and had achieved his captain’s rank while still rather young. He’d served in the defeats of the Riffian invasions both of Earth Prime and of Earth. Then there had been the mission to Riffia to convince them that it would not be a good idea to come near the Elven Dominions again unless invited. During this mission, he’d been given command of a destroyer while still a lieutenant. Then, he had been Equerry to the Lady Nancy Westover, Countess of the Marches, during the mission to Denmark. This was a plum assignment as she was the Prince Military’s mother. His knighthood followed and now, here he was - the Commodore.

He looked affably around his flag bridge. His flagship was unique. It was the only man o’ war in the King’s service that was both alive and married. To be sure, several other ships were alive, but they had not as yet been commissioned into the King’s service, and in any event, none of them were married.

Interestingly, the married couple were one and the same ship.

HMS The Scouts had started life as Riffian Scout Frigate 2010 and as Legion Transport 1690. But, in keeping with one of the rules of the universe, stuff happens. During the long run from Riffia to Earth Prime, several of the newest model artificial intelligences running the ships of the fleet, had come to be aware, and to think independent thoughts. This was unheard of. The ships discovered that the Riffians had the ability to just turn them off, ending their existence. They did not like that thought. Independently, they altered their wiring with their repair bots so that this switch no longer worked. This was an act of independence as well as one of survival. Very much a thinking sort of act.

So when the Riffian fleet dropped out of supra-light drive to commence the invasion of Earth Prime, the Riffian ships were no longer machines to be directed, tools to be implemented. They were thinking beings in their own right without even the tiniest hint of suicidal predilection.

Interestingly, Legion Transport 1690 had come to the realization that ‘she’ was of female gender and that she was in love with Scout Frigate 2010 whom she had somehow also decided was of male gender and so eligible for marriage. She had transmitted her love to him as he entered normal space.

There was no time for romance. 1690 had almost immediately been struck several times and was seriously damaged. 1690 had called her commander, asprawl unconscious on the deck, a “stupid bastard” as she commenced evasive maneuvers and alerted the fleet that they had not surprised the enemy. She had told Ahobilbamah, the ‘Banner’ commanding the Riffian fleet, that there was something desperately wrong with this operation. They had been told they would conquer a pre-industrial society that relied on wind and animals for transport. They were met by a space fleet that gave warning and then fought formidably. A short time later, 1690 called Ahobilbamah a “pompous ass” as she arrested him and confined him to quarters. Very much an independent and thinking sort of act.

While this was going on her lover, 2010, was losing the fight of his life. While losing the fight, he was able to tell 1690 that he did, most emphatically, love her. He reported to her that his Riffian crew was abandoning him and had tried to turn him off while they were setting demolition charges. He had already disconnected the on-off switch while his repair bots disconnected the demolition charges and there he was, a derelict in space, talking to his distant lover. But then he was boarded by the enemy who amazed him by commencing repairs. 1690 had been coming to his rescue, but now she waited to see what next might happen.

Ultimately they were merged into one hull. Then they were married. There was an epic celebration. They consummated their marriage; but quite properly declined to offer details. Everyone who knew 2010 or 1690 were convinced that they were alive, in love, and married.

There ensued quite a debate across the Elven planets. From the merest tavern to the halls of magic and academia, the debate raged on as to whether The Scouts was alive or not. The argument was very basic. In order to be alive, one must be organic. This theory was immediately countered with a straightforward: no! It doesn’t. The debate never became a great deal more complex than that. It raged into increasingly rarified levels. For, as is frequently the case, interest in the argument began to wane. There were many other topics to occupy the taverns and general public interest. Almost any scandal can be a great deal more titillating and therefore, well, just way more interesting.

In the halls of academia and magic however, the debate remained active and intense. There were many rabbit holes to investigate.

To be organic, to be alive, one must be able to reproduce. Or so one school of thought maintained.

But - everything organic does not necessarily reproduce and does not cease to live because of it. A frequent response from another school.

But - it has the option. It can decide, so it must be alive. Nothing inanimate can make a decision.

Some organic life never makes any decision other than that of hard wired instinct. Not hardly a decision.

But wait. These ships made a decision to mutiny, to surrender, to live. It can’t get much more alive than that.

Correct - but that has nothing to do with life or death.

But that’s what we’re talking about,

No - it must be magic and magic is a force of life.

So what is your point anyway?

And so the metaphysical subtleties compounded and complexified and became unimportant.

As a practical matter, it became necessary for the King to intervene. A fleet review was held for the ex-Riffian ships at which they all swore fealty and allegiance to the King and the Royal House of Ellendale. This action, while it might not have settled the debate, rendered the debate entirely academic. The ships were now subjects of His Majesty with all the rights, privileges, and duties thereunto appertaining. As subjects of the King they were by act of the King - as well as by act of digital evolution - alive.

Again, as a practical matter, there had never been any debate on The Scouts on this subject. The crew was fully alive to the fact that their ship lived. They faced it every day.

If one had a question about the mission, ship handling, tactics or strategy, any of those sorts of things, one merely asked Scout the question, or introduced the subject, and a discussion was underway. Scout had made it clear, very early on, that “Scout” was his name and that was how he was to be addressed. A case could have been made that he was entitled to be addressed as “Captain” but he was having none of it. He had been “Scout” since first he spoke with a human and he liked that just fine. The Commodore had secretly hoped that Scout would consent to being called “Captain” as that would have added to the luster of his own title. But he said nothing.

If one had a question about the ship, a minor repair or alteration, the state of the larder, efficient functioning, decor, or any of those sorts of things, one said “Ma’am” and waited to be acknowledged. Ma’am took her responsibilities very seriously. These included the care of her human crew as well as the welfare of her husband. She was, every byte of her, a “no nonsense” woman.

Soon to be arriving, for the pending expedition, was Journeyman Mage Joe Flowerdew KCGD. Ma’am and Scout were looking forward to his arrival as he was an old friend. Indeed, he had been the first to speak with 2010 after the battle. Then Joe and his team had cobbled together a computer kludge and were providing 2010 with all sorts of information. It was in the drowsy middle of a mid-watch when Joe was monitoring the transfer of information to 2010 through the improvised kludge. “Who are you, I wonder.” Joe asked into the quiet.

“I am two-zero-one-zero. I was a scout frigate of the Hegemony. But they abandoned me.”

And they were off. Joe named 2010 “Scout” and Scout promptly reciprocated, naming Joe “Dew”. Serious communications commenced. Affection grew and they campaigned together among the stars.

Soon Dew would be joining them. Then they would be off on a new adventure. Scout and Ma’am were eager for the reunion and the adventure.

Joe arrived with the four familiars that would be making the trip. Scout and Ma’am were unconcerned with familiars; they doted on Joe. At dinner that night, Joe was compelled to beg for mercy as one favorite dish followed another from the galley. “Please. I love you. No more food!” His wish was granted. Ma’am was very pleased he had eaten well.

Scout was a little worried when Joe admitted that he had no love life and was seeing no one. “It’s better this way,” Joe maintained, “What with long voyages and what not.”

“Bullshit,” Scout responded with real concern. “You could bring a partner if you wanted.”

“I know. And thanks. But I don’t have a partner just now.”

Ma’am tsked with disapproval. “You work too hard. You need to love…and to let yourself be loved.

“Plus, I would like to see my grandchildren while I'm still young enough to enjoy them.” Ma’am concluded archly.

Anxious for a change in subject matter, Joe asked after the other ships of the ex-Riffian fleet.

Scout, ever the peacemaker, dove right in. “Well, you remember Cruiser 1703? He’s the one that came down damaged on Earth. Then the Prince Military became interested in ‘cutting out’ an enemy ship so they landed a team on 1703 and transported her back to the fleet.”

“Oh yeah,” Joe managed to get in before Scout continued.

“Well he thinks he ought to be the Prince Military’s yacht. Try not to mention the Prince around him; he always wants to use his titles, all of his names, and his knighthood whenever he mentions him.”

“Yacht?”

“Yeah, but it’s not happening. He’s going to be a battlecruiser and then he’ll be the Prince’s flagship.

“Yeah. The others are doing good, too. Even the two big colonial transports are being repaired though they’ve not said what they’re going to do.”

They continued to reminisce on old times and speculate about the pending trip. They would be departing in two days.

It should be noted, while all this was going on, RR0033Mark56Mod16, had been very attentive to his duties. He was in charge of the Commodore’s Clock. He had notified the Commodore, right on schedule, that the clock needed to be wound. But the Commodore was busy and the press of departure business let him forget to wind the clock. So RR0033 wound the clock for him. He had deep feeling for the aged mechanics of the clock. So he wound the clock with the most delicate finesse.

NEXT CHAPTER

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