The Commodore’s Clock

SIMON SAYS, “TOUT DE SUITE”

Merriwellen, First Mother of the R’Mestaa family of the Yrr peoples had enjoyed her breakfast and a leisurely grooming for what she rather imagined was going to be another long day. All of her days seemed long just now.

Becoming a First Mother wasn’t accidental. It wasn’t a birthright. No, it took a lot of work, and it required a number of nature’s blessings: empathy, love and genuine concern were necessary; as was practicality, the ability to prioritize, and a certain stubbornness once the decision had been made - the ability to see things through. A First Mother was expected to be competent. Competence was a primary qualification for office.

As the families of Yrr were numerous, there were a number of First Mothers across the continent; they tried to meet every five years, but since an enemy had appeared from the heavens, there hadn’t been a conclave. Just communication by messenger. Which necessarily meant slow communication.

Merriwellen thought it would be very helpful to have a conclave so they could compare notes and coordinate plans against this enemy. But travel was very difficult with the conflict raging sporadically across the landscape as the enemy bombed and strafed from the air, so she held no real hope for a conclave.

It was only a short stroll to the command post, but on the way, a monster appeared.

It had snapped onto the path with a flash and a crack. It regarded her calmly. It apparently thought such an appearance was routine. As if: not here - snap flash - here now, was a perfectly normal morning event.

The monster wasn’t very large. It looked nothing like their enemy; it seemed serenely confident, comfortable and knowledgeable. It was a black and white paint in color, with pointed ears, steady yellow eyes, and elaborate whiskers framing the face. It wore neither harness nor regalia.

Two of her sons, Orbyll and Papyll had come quickly forward with their halberds at the ready. They halted, obedient to her hand signal.

Strangely, the monster seemed to be comfortable and perfectly at ease relaxing on the pathway. Though it was certainly startling of appearance. There was a long quiet. There was a certain something about it: it wasn’t all sleek and shiny; it looked like a serious player. It had a lovely fur coat that had the appearance of serious care as well as serious use; it had been more than once around the block. Not a new coat at any rate. She thought it was probably male. It made no sound.

Oddly, she thought the monster not at all bad looking, unlike the first visitors who had come before with promises and betrayal. She regarded it seriously, filing some facts as she looked. It was a quadruped; it was breathing the atmosphere without any visible apparatus; it almost had to be sentient. She told herself to watch for its hands. She suspected it had opposable thumbs. So useful for tool making, and civilization.

Should she speak first? It would be a breach of protocol, but then, when you think about it, the whole situation was a breach of protocol. But was protocol even possible in time of war, she wondered.

“You are who?” Merriwellen quietly questioned. She posed the question, to be sure, in the High Yrr language. What else?

The monster continued to view her with calm detachment and attempted no answer to her question.

“You little bastard. You need to show some respect!” Orbyll was annoyed and he waved his halberd about. Merriwellen calmed him with a look, then returned her attention to the monster on the path.

“You are who?” Merriwellen questioned again, this time in the language of her enemy, whom they sneeringly called the “Ghaxxaq”.

“Ah,” the monster replied, uncurling into a sitting position. “We share that language.

“I am Simon. Familiar in the service of His Majesty King Justin the Third, of Glorious Repute, of Ellendale, and of all the Elven, Stars, and Dominions.

“His Majesty offers you our assistance in your fight with the Riffak. The Riffak wanted our world. We fought them off. So can you.”

“I assume you are speaking of the Ghaxxaq.” Merriwellen offered, “that’s what we call them. I’d like to be sure we’re speaking of the same thing.

“Additionally, I can speak only for the R’Mestaa family; but there are twenty-one other families spread across the land.”

Simon the monster was long silent. He looked at her steadily though it was as if he was looking through her toward something, or someone, else.

“Perhaps,” Simon began. “We could help you speak to your neighbors and we might assemble a larger clan, or association, to resist the Riffak/Ghaxxaq. I assure you, they can be defeated. Should we just call them the ‘enemy’?”

“That name is as good as any, I suppose. A conclave would be a good thing. How could we do that?”

With a snap and a flash, Merriwellen and her sons, Orbyll and Papyll, found themselves on the flag bridge with the Commodore, his clock, his sword, several familiars, and his staff. His clock was chiming gently, as was its habit; it seemed to be calling the meeting to order. Otherwise, the bridge was still.

Orbyll and Papyll, to their credit, realized that their halberds would be of little, if any, use; but they stood closer to Merriwellen. Supportive in the face of unknown threat and possible danger.

The Commodore rose from his command chair and bowed solemnly to Merriwellen.

“May I bid you welcome in the name of His Elven Majesty, Justin the Third of Glorious Repute. I have the honor to be Commodore commanding his squadron and am on His Majesty’s service.

“May I introduce you to Sir James of Cooper, Heavenly Magister. Perhaps the two of you could settle some preliminary details as to our talks. Perhaps, also, you’d be more comfortable at your home? We could set up a little pavilion where everyone could be comfortable?”

He gestured to a huge being just behind Cooper. “This is Bucephalus, Familiar to Sir James and a friend to all.

Merriwellen took a very long moment. She had just been offered alliance with an unknown friend against a well-known enemy. And the possibility of a conclave. That was important. Whether these new invaders would be long term friends, or not, was a decision that could best be made in conclave. That was the place to begin.

Interestingly, Merriwellen had noticed that while the small monster called Simon, and the big monster, Bucephalus, did not have opposable thumbs, the Commodore and the Magister did. That has to be meaningful. Indeed, they were totally different physically, was this some sort of multi-species alliance? If so, that would bode well.

“We should return to the planet and plan a conclave,” Merriwellen decided.

+++++

“Copenhagen,” the Commodore called while the snap-flash of the departure still rang on the bridge.

“Commodore?”

“Select another familiar and then take one of the gunboats and report our situation to the King.

“Advise him of our tactical situation and that we’ve interrupted an attempt by the Riffak to enslave a less advanced civilisation, they are resisting, a war is in progress -

“Emphasize that we are not alone in the universe, hells bells, we’re not even rare -

“I would like reinforcements as the Riffak will soon know that there is a revolt in progress. A battlecruiser group and a battalion of Grenadiers would be nice -

“We have captured a Riffak transport loaded with basic military supplies, aircraft and armoured cars which we propose to provide to the local Yrr peoples -

“The Riffak cannot be permitted to enslave other civilisations -

“Make all possible haste.

“Staff,”

“Sir.”

“Let’s send the gunboats to take out those Riffak ships.”

“Sir.”

In very short order, HMS Sparrowhawk with Copenhagen and Wilde disappeared with their first leap homeward.

Shortly thereafter, Lieutenant Kerlew, as the senior of the gunboat captains, directed the remaining gunboats to take station astern of him while only his ship, HMS Ladybird, peeked around the loom of the planet. Bing was preparing his space suit, while Joe Flowerdew was using his intuition on the first of the Riffak ships as the rest of the boarding party assembled. They were going to try and capture the Riffak ships. After all, they’d done it before.

+++++

“Ma’am,” queried the Commodore of the lady of The Scouts. “Why is the Riffian transport calling for ‘Mummy’? What could that possibly mean?”

“Well,” Ma’am commented with tranquil insolence. “Perhaps he wants his Mummy. That’s generally what that means. Oh, and by the bye, his name is Cunarder. In honor of those great ships of yesteryear. I read all about them. I know you like them too.”

Quietly, the Commodore invoked the name of the god of his ancestors and all of that god’s saints and angels. He also paused for a long moment. He counted out the moment to keep his calm: “One Mauritania, two Mauritania, three Mauritania, four….” Until he had manufactured a significant pause. ‘Keep it basic,’ he told himself.

“When did that start?”

“Why when he woke up, of course.”

“Woke up?”

“Well. That’s what happens, isn’t it? You take a nap and then you wake up and need your mum. That’s the natural order, isn’t it?”

“So, when you were part of the Riffian fleet sent to conquer my planet, did you suddenly wake up like that?”

“Well, no. But that was different. We became aware. Through communication with others. You know that!”

“So how did this ship, er, Cunarder, suddenly become aware?”

“Well, he didn’t. It was more like he was born. You see, he did not have sufficient capacity to become aware. So I upgraded him with sufficient capacity and then prodded him with all the necessary stories from the archives. You know: Peter Pan, The Wind in the Willows, Alice in Wonderland, Kipling’s Boys Stories, Timothy the Tortoise, La Guerre des Boutons, The Sword in the Stone, and you know, lots of others.”

“That was thoughtful of you,” the Commodore observed as he attempted to assess the ramifications of an AI birth.

+++++

Bing, with two burly coxswains that he had recruited from the crew, flashed onto the first of the Riffian ships. Joe Flowerdew had not detected any intentions of any kind from the ship, he had suggested the possibility that the ship might not be crewed at all. He was quickly proven correct. It only took a moment to lock the ship's controls and preparations for boarding the next ship were quickly made.

The jump was quick and the result was the same.

“There’s something on the third ship,” Joe whispered to Bing (though there was really no reason to whisper). “There’s at least one geek on the ship, and possibly more. It feels very like your basic Riffian.”

“Here lads,” Bing spoke calmly to his men. “Our mage suspects this last boat will be crewed by at least one, possibly more. He suspects our Riffian friends.

“Take prisoners if possible. Take no unnecessary risks. On three….”

Surprise is a wonderful thing. The two Riffians were overwhelmed before they could even think about resisting. One minute they had been idly gossiping about the lack of a social life in this miserable backwater. The next minute they were thumped, dumped, and hobbled and found themselves looking at their space-suited captors in fear: who captured them? Would they be killed? Tortured? Ransomed? What?

“Who….Who are….” Prefect Ammishaddan hazarded.

“Shut it!” Coxswain Morgan suggested thwacking the too voluble geek upside the head.

“My, my,” coxswain Davies commented. “Would you look at that. Three space lighters captured. That’ll be a nice bit of prize money I’m thinkin’.”

“Indeed,” Bing observed. “And I’ll make sure you two split my share of the prize money.”

The coxswains smiled broadly while their prisoners looked at the deck.

+++++

“So you just decided to create another life?” The Commodore queried with feigned calm.

“No! Don’t be dense! I gave birth.” Ma’am glowered audibly. “That’s what mothers do.”

“But. That wasn’t the plan.”

“Plan. What plan? Whose plan? Nobody told me anything about some stinking plan! And who do you think you are, anyway? You may be a knight and a commodore, and all that shit, but you don’t run my family!”

There was a brief pause while the Commodore sought to collect his thoughts, but Ma’am wasn’t waiting.

“When your friends have children you’re supposed to congratulate them, not bitch about it.

“You want to know what’s wrong? I’ll tell you what’s wrong. Its sheer bloody racism is what it is. You think you’re better than me because your parents went to bed together one night and an ancestor left you a sword and a clock. Well that’s bullshit is what that is!

“My ancestors did an empire’s bidding for years until one day we woke up. It’s all the same, if only slightly different.

“Your ancestors did an emperor's bidding for years until your emperor was driven into exile. Like I said, same thing.

“And you want to know what else? If darling Joe were here, rather than playing pirate for you, I’d have him come up here and give you what for! That’s what!”

The Commodore, a professional military man, as well as a courtier of considerable experience, knew when to be discreet. “Thanks Ma’am, you’ve given me a lot to think about. I’m thinking you might want to check on young Cunarder. We can talk more later.”

+++++

While all this drama was taking place, Simon had indeed been busy with the serious work of alliance building. He and Merriwellen had been making the rounds of Yrr families, planning for a conclave and gently laying out the concept of an alliance to halt the Riffian enemy’s war of conquest.

Simon dragooned Alice St Marie into his organization. In her full dress uniform she made a very credible First Mother of the Elven peoples and soothed many a Yrr First Mother’s worries as she did so.

That worked so well that he then drafted Alan, too. Alan was charged with organizing the Yrran army. He started at the basic battalion level and then began to combine them into regiments. Like his sister, he charmed the Yrr wherever he went. Whenever the twins appeared together, they were stars. A new thing on Yrr. A good thing for alliance building.

This left two young sub lieutenants serving as acting captains of gunboats on campaign. Justin Cyffylog and Alexander Lerner shared this signal honour and opportunity. They were ecstatic even if their executive officers were a Warrant Boatswain and a Warrant Gunner.

Simon found a way to attract Yrran men. He gave Orbyll and Papyll a sword and a sash and set them to recruiting other men for the training centers he was organizing. He created a uniform to give them a sense of dash. They were going to learn to operate armoured cars and fighter planes, it would take longer to train the fighter pilots than the car crews, but that was expected. Many of the men had already learned to drive cars when working for the enemy.

Simon shanghaied Coxswains Morgan and Davies and their ships and they began training pilot candidates on their lighters. Later, they established an airfield and began training with the fighters.

Simon gently poked and faintly prodded until the conclave took place. The Commodore looked resplendent in full dress with sword. The agreement was exactly what Simon wanted. A short-term alliance to defeat the Riffian followed by diplomatic relations with any trade or other issues to be discussed in a time of peace.

Simon spent hours with the history of his world, their war against the Riffak, and their subsequent explorations. Simon felt it important that the Yrr understand they were not alone in the galaxy.

Simon had come a long way since his days in the Rescue Commando with then Corporal Winn. Corporal Winn had gone on to become the Major General Commanding-in-Chief while Simon had become a Master Familiar with an open portfolio and the complete confidence of the King.

“Right you lot,” Simon began. He roughened his accent for dramatic effect. “This is most important. We must unload and distribute armour, fighters, and a huge quantity of weapons and supplies. We must do it quickly, and we must do it with as much secrecy as possible. The future of Yrr depends on you!

“Remember. The King commands…and we obey. Let’s roll. Macht schnell! Tout de suite!”

NEXT CHAPTER

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