The Commodore’s Clock

VIRES ET ELEGANTIA

OR

STRENGTH AND ELEGANCE

The one scenario that Admiral Davids’ excellent staff did not contemplate as they approached Riffia, was that they would find an Elven-Yrr expeditionary force already at war on the home world of the Riffians. But they adapted quickly.

Halberdier Sardar Orbyll K’Mestaa commanding the defense of the allied landing zone had been on the defensive as a large Riffian force had moved toward the landing zone. He’d refused his flank several times but had to give ground grudgingly to superior numbers. He’d been aided by air support from the Yrr Air Corps and from Elven ships from time to time, but they kept coming. He was always in front of them fighting superbly.

Then his reinforcements landed. Orbyll promptly broke the back of the Riffian attack with the tanks from the Guard Lancers and the Trollian Mounted Infantry. The tanks, supported by the 8th of the Line, the King’s Own Rifles, and the 24th of the Line, broke the Riffian attack and Orbyll began to move carefully on the capital.

Orbyll had done a very good job. The commander of the 24th Foot was impressed and at his behest, the blacksmith of the 24th Foot fabricated an elegant halberd to be presented to him; it contained the names of all the ships, regiments, and air squadrons that he had commanded during the campaign.

Commodore Teghetthoff was transferred to the damaged Warspite. She would be grouped with three damaged cruisers and five destroyers. As a unit they would return to Earth Prime with news of the victory. Four experienced familiars would jump this unit quickly home. This was a choice assignment for the Commodore. It would bring him Royal attention, again, and almost certainly some reward. They had made their first jump when he remembered that his clock was still on the bridge of The Scouts. He tried to beat himself up over this lapse, but it’s hard to be mean to yourself when you’re exalted by victory. This was some very good luck.

The King and his party departed almost instantly for Riffia. That left the Commodore in command of his task force, forced to wait as the ships were repaired before he could return to Riffia. However, he thought he looked rather dashing wearing his newly awarded Distinguished Conduct Medal.

Admirals Tavers and Davids, old friends and shipmates, quickly agreed on the next phase of the campaign. Using information on Riffian colonies obtained from the Mercantile Ministry, they organized five task forces, each assigned to investigate a Riffian holding and then report back. Admiral Davids commanded this operation he would lead one of these task forces, because, after all, what’s the point of being an admiral if you don’t get to command a fleet from time to time. His pal Chipper had just had a wonderful campaign, so it was only fair. Chipper would be busy, though, searching for any remnants of the Riffian fleet that might still feel belligerent.

Despite the expectations of the King’s Commanders, there was only one Riffian fleet. Unlike the Royal Space Corps, which could field several fleets at any one time; the Riffians only built a fleet as needed and then let them serve and die on the newly conquered world. When the Riffian fleet at home was destroyed, it was over.

The Dojé had disappeared. The government had collapsed.

Riffians were surrendering in large numbers. Fortunately, Major General Sir Falk Hughes, KGD, DSO, was on hand. He was a distinguished engineer who had commanded the Railroad Regiment when it was one of the premier units of the army. He commanded when railroads first began to stretch across Ellendale and on into Trollia and beyond as Lusitania, the Khedive of Alexandria, and the Principate of Isandlwana all beckoned.

A superb logistician, General Hughes had managed expansion, a war, as well as several natural disasters. On Riffia, he quickly began to impose order on a fluid situation.

One of General Hughes’ secrets was that he was always focused on his mission and tended to treat collateral issues as of little import. He always used local talent whenever it was available so he began to appoint Riffians into important positions for which they were qualified. This had annoyed some of the Yrr, but as none of them had the needed expertise, he ignored their concerns and got on with it. Interestingly, he had included “Pipes” Connors’ Riffian bagpipe band from the Hawaiian royal estates. The Riffians, inexplicably, seemed to like bagpipe music so he thought that might be useful at some time. It was indeed.

“Pipes” as he was known to friends and parents, was the son of the Dodger and Tamara. He was favored by the familiar Sorcha and so his love of the bagpipe was facilitated.

“See, General,” he commented at a concert his band was performing before a huge Riffian audience. “We play a great assortment of old favorites, like The Isle of Skye Local Militia, and The Barren Rocks of Aden, as well as a lot of new stuff, you know, like Itchy Fingers and the Queen Elizabeth March. They love it.”

“They do indeed,” the General observed. “Can you do smaller groups, like to play at recruiting drives and such?”

So, to the tune of All the Blue Bonnets Are Over the Border, Riffia gave it up like an old party balloon. Too tired to do anything but hiss feebly as the last breath escaped. No thunder, just the faintest whispering. Whispers unheard beneath a Highland Air.

+++++

Pedro fussed with Leo’s cravat. This reception would be in full formal court dress. The King would be present, as would the Earl Martial; the Queen and the Countess of the Marches would also be present. It was a really major do.

“You know,” Llewellyn observed as he checked his collar and cuffs. I’m thinking I don’t want to be called ‘Lewis’ anymore.”

“Oh really. What brought that on? You’ve been ‘Lewis’ for years now.”

“Well. Somehow, it doesn’t sound right anymore. I think it should be Louis. That’s more like Llewellyn, my proper name, than Lewis.”

“Some people might say that they’re having a hard time detecting any difference at all.”

“Oh please. You don’t pronounce the ‘s’ with Louis, but you do with Lewis. Surely you know that.”

There was a long pause. Then Leo smiled. “Well, I’ll call you anything you please, oh twin of me. But you may have a tiny problem with the rest of the world.”

“Come to think about it, maybe it should be Llew.”

Tonight's reception was just the latest in a series of investitures, receptions, levees, and conferences. There would be a parade tomorrow, then the King and Earl Martial would depart for home. Early on, the King had declined to consider adopting the title of ‘emperor’ and decided that they would need to create some sort of interplanetary conclave. Leo and Louis would be the representatives of the King and Elvedom at the sessions that would begin to lay the foundation for the conclave within the year.

There had been many investitures and parades where medals and knighthoods had been handed out.

In a private family ceremony, Leo and Louis had been given the Grand Cross to their Order of the Golden Dragon. In one of the grand public investitures, General Hughes had become a Knight of the Order of Merit and Sardar Orbyll R’Mestaa had become a Knight of the Order of the Sword of Tizona.

There was a parade for the Yrr Air Corps in which the organisation became the “Yrr and Royal Air Force”, and many medals were handed out including a Gallantry Star for Flight Lieutenant Dayll Z’Callistiaa who was his nation’s first, and highest scoring, fighter ace.

There were other parades and ceremonies. A campaign medal would be designed and distributed to all participants. Things would settle down and the preliminary work on the conclave could begin in earnest the day after tomorrow. The Familiars Wilde and Belvedere would remain behind quietly doing background research designed to aid and make durable the results.

There were concerts. The bagpipes were popular, but so too, was Gianni’s orchestra. Gianni was usually the soloist and the conductor of the orchestra as Leo and Louis and Gugu were usually busy with other duties. Some Riffians were very interested in the stringed instruments and all the percussion instruments. But they could not play any of the brass instruments. Their anatomy prevented them from forming the embouchure needed to play the brass instruments. So routinely, parsecs from Earth, the Admiralty Strad sang to new worlds and new peoples. It sang magnificently as Stradivarius intended. Gianni was of the opinion that, somehow, Antonio heard this song.

In the quiet of their cabin, Humphrey, the King’s Own Wizard, and his longtime lover, Sir Lawrence Baker, KH, PC, were relaxing in their elegant suite. Humphrey had enjoyed all of the ceremonies as he was able to wear the appropriate wizarding gown. Lawrence didn’t usually permit this, preferring Brooks Brothers for normal duty. Lawrence had been taking care of Humphrey since his rescue years ago when the Rajah’s prostitution ring was broken up. Humphrey had a long history of being slightly out of touch with the world. Lawrence had brought him gently into the real world.

They enjoyed a passionate moment and then relaxed in a languorous embrace.

Humphrey was worried. “You know, some of the Riffians are afraid of the living Riffian ships. They worry that if they’re really alive, then they might be guilty of any of a host of crimes. That they might try and take over the world, or some such.”

“Well, there’s probably something to that. They’re alive and sentient, so I suppose there’s a possibility of bad behaviour. After all, anyone is capable of bad behaviour. Anyway, they have no imagination.”

“Imagination?”

“Yeah. Well look. They do precisely what they’re told. They do it precisely and they do it well, but they are not the ones who ordered the job to be done. Like, well, look at Cunarder. He’s, the son of Scout and Ma’am. He is completely literal, just like his parents. He did his duty, despite attack, throughout the Riffian campaign. It never occurred to him to be afraid. That would have required imagination…”

“But wait! What about the original mutiny? Where the ships thought they were going to be turned off. Did they not ‘imagine’ death?”

“I don’t know. Choosing to disobey a stupid order that imperils the mission they’ve been directed to accomplish is entirely different from imagining death. Besides, imagining death invariably leads to notions of heaven and hell, and let’s not forget reincarnation. No. Way too much imagining going on there. I think they were reacting within the scope of their orders in that fight.

“Look. You know that I’ve had to visit different parts of the Elven Dominions on a bunch of medical missions. I once had to spend three weeks on The Scouts and spent a lot of time talking to Scout on that trip. We were talking about books. Both of us love to read. We got to talking about Western stories. We both like Louis L’Amour, but he also likes Zane Grey who I don’t much care for. I asked him if he’d read any of Walter Van Tilburg Clark's stories. He said he had, but that he didn’t get it. He pointed to The Track of the Cat and commented that there was all that uproar and no one ever even saw the cat.

“He didn’t even begin to understand that, in the story, imaginations were playing on reality with devastating results. He didn’t understand because he has no imagination himself. Neither do his peers.

“So yeah, they may make a mistake here and there, but no, they’ll never be a threat. They couldn’t even imagine it.”

“Good to know. I’ll keep that in mind. I hope you’re right, sweetheart. Luncheon?”

+++++

Meanwhile, on the all but deserted flag bridge of HMS The Scouts, repair bot RR0033Mark56Mod16 bustled up to the Commodore’s Clock on its fancy gimballed pedestal. With care, care that might almost amount to feeling, RR0033 wound the clock gently. One might almost say - lovingly. RR0033 wondered what it might be like to have more clocks to care for; RR0033 imagined a whole room full of different clocks that he could care for. He’d arrange them so that he’d have to wind a couple every day. He smiled with the satisfaction of a pleasant day dream and of a job well done. But you’d have to be electronic to feel the smile.

The Commodore’s Clock chimed.

THE END

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