Adapt and Overcome (The Maxwell Saga) (25 page)

Abha gurgled with laughter. “You mean they might cut short our married life?”

Steve snorted. “I think their sword-handling would be bloody dangerous! After earning so much prize money, they’re probably enjoying one of the best-lubricated leave periods in Marine Corps history!”

Brooks winced. “You got that right!
Sword drill with the world’s worst hangover? Don’t even
think
about it!”

~ ~ ~

The wedding took place in a multi-faith chapel on the grounds of the Fleet War College, much used by service personnel for that purpose. Steve and Abha took care of the legal aspects beforehand, signing a contract of permanent partnership in the offices of a lawyer. No license or registration was required, as the founders of Lancaster had held that the state had no business regulating who was or was not married, and under what conditions.

W
ord of the wedding had leaked out. Steve had been able to keep the news media at bay while on the Crusher, but they had caught up with him as soon as he’d returned to the planet. He’d stonewalled all their questions about Commander Buchanan, referring them to AIU and the Fleet’s Public Relations Directorate for comment. Even so, they weren’t about to let the marriage of someone so recently in the news go unnoticed, particularly when he was marrying an officer who’d also received an award for her actions in the same fight with pirates, and had shared in the subsequent prize money award. Because the chapel was on Service property, the media could be restricted from invading it, but they were allowed to set up vid cameras outside. However, both Steve and Abha flatly refused to countenance a press conference on their wedding day.

Abha hadn’t had anyone special in mind to escort her down the aisle. Eventually, at Steve’s suggestion, they approached Admiral Methuen, who was delighted to accept. Being a formal military occasion, he was able to wear uniform despite his retired status. His chest glittered with a triple row of medals, matching the impressive display worn by Master Chief
Petty Officer Dumisane. They put everyone else’s more meager collections of awards in the shade.

The rehearsal
the previous day produced a moment of comedy when the coals in the brazier used for the Hindu part of the ceremony set off the fire alarm in the chapel. The wedding party had to hurry out, holding their ears against the noise, while the chapel administrator scurried to shut off the automatic sprinkler system before it activated. When the noise and fuss had died down, they tried to persuade the administrator to switch off the system during the wedding. He flatly refused, citing safety regulations. They eventually compromised by agreeing to use a gas-fueled brazier, which virtually eliminated the production of smoke.

Steve and Brooks stood at the
front of the chapel in their Number One uniforms. Steve felt as if his heart would leap into his mouth as Abha appeared in the doorway on Admiral Methuen’s arm. She looked utterly beautiful, radiant with happiness, and a murmur of appreciation went through the small gathering of their friends as they turned to look at her. Behind her Carol walked with a bouquet of flowers.

The Hindu ceremony took place first. It was greatly abbreviated for the military environment, but still took over half an hour to complete the essential elements. Admiral Methuen performed the
kanyadaan,
handing over the bride to her husband. Steve undertook the
vivaha-homa
ritual of lighting the fire in the brazier, signifying the establishment of a new household, then the Vedic priest took them through the
Saptapadi,
the seven-fold exchange of oaths between bride and groom, the couple making a solemn circuit of the brazier after each oath. Finally, Carol – carefully coached beforehand – applied the
bindi,
a red dot between Abha’s eyebrows, signifying her married status.

The second part of the ceremony was much shorter. Because Abha was a non-believer, many of the normal elements of a Christian wedding ceremony were set aside. The minister merely read a passage from the Gospels, led them through a simple form of the vows, and pronounced them man and wife.

As soon as he’d finished, Master Chief Dumisane led seven other sword-wearing officers and senior NCO’s out of the chapel while Steve and Abha signed the register. As they walked up the aisle, they heard his deep, booming voice outside the building. “Center…
face!
Draw…
swords!
Carry…
swords!”
As they appeared in the doorway, he commanded, “Raise…
swords!”
The sword-bearers, four on either side of the path, lifted their weapons to form an arch, cutting edges upward, points touching each other, as Steve and Abha walked slowly beneath them. As they exited the last pair, the Master Chief Petty Officer commanded, “Carry…
swords!
Return…
swords!”
They heard the rasp as the eight blades were returned to their scabbards. Ahead of them, the media’s vid cameras recorded the scene. Steve knew its pageantry and tradition, seldom witnessed by the general public, would make it irresistible to news editors that evening.

The reception was held in a small hall adjacent to the chapel. It was a light-hearted affair, with Admiral Methuen proposing the toast to the newlyweds, and Brooks and Carol making speeches that had everyone laughing as they described their friendship with the bride and groom. Steve had arranged for lunch to be catered by the Royal Golden Dragon restaurant, as he’d told Abha some weeks before. Not only was it a lucrative contract for the restaurant, but it demonstrated to the Dragon Tong that he valued his ongoing relationship with them. Abha had wholeheartedly approved of his stratagem. The restaurant
outdid itself, laying on a buffet with a selection of Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Vietnamese and Thai dishes. The guests gorged themselves.

Steve and Abha left the gathering in a rented limousine, ducking inside to escape a hail of confetti showered upon them by their enthusiastic friends. They settled into the back seat, laughing, as the driver accelerated away.

“You’ve got confetti all over your uniform,” Abha teased him.

“So have you. We’ll have to brush each other off carefully.”

“Ha!
The last thing I’m going to do is give you the brush-off. You’re mine now!”

He groaned. “Just married, and already she starts with the puns!”

“That’s not all I’m going to start with. Just you wait until I get you back to the apartment!”

LCS
Nightingale’
s commissioning day was a solemn occasion for Steve; the first time he’d taken command of a spaceship. He fervently hoped it would not be the last. LCS
Aspen,
the Fleet depot ship in orbit around Rolla that serviced the destroyers, hosted the ceremony, as she would support
Nightingale
and the other patrol craft until the planet’s own depot ship arrived.

Chairs for guests were arranged in several rows at one side of
Aspen’
s cavernous docking bay vestibule.
Nightingale’
s crew assembled in formation beside them. Her officers were from Rolla’s System Patrol Service. Senior Lieutenant Maria Coelho had been appointed as Steve’s Executive Officer, to gain patrol craft experience before attending the Crusher later that year. Junior Lieutenant David Shawcross was aboard to understudy Lieutenant Coelho, and would move up into the XO’s slot when she departed for Lancaster. Chief Petty Officer Salveig Andersdottir, the ‘Chief of the Ship’ or most senior NCO aboard, was from the Lancastrian Commonwealth Fleet, as were
Nightingale’
s NCO Heads of Department. They would train their Rolla counterparts over the next few months until the latter were ready to replace them. The junior NCO’s and Spacers of the crew were all Rolla personnel, drawn from those who’d previously served aboard the Fleet destroyers in the system. Together they’d form the ‘core crew’ to train others.

Steve walked into the vestibule to find the depot ship's technicians setting up a portable sound system on a low platform.
Camera crews were busily adjusting holovid cameras on tripods and erecting lighting stands around the platform. However, despite the publicity, he knew this would be a relatively low-key ceremony without a military band or other major fanfare. Those frills would be reserved for the hand-over to Rolla of
Nightingale
and her sister ships in a few months’ time.

To his pleasure, Abha was waiting. She saluted him smartly, grinning.
“Good morning, Sir,” she said formally, followed by, in a lower voice, “Hello, darling! I wish I could hug you in front of all these people, but Colonel Houmayoun’s already here. He came up with me aboard my shuttle.”

“Yes, it might offend his Marine sense of the fitness of things. I'll take the wish for the deed – and consider yourself hugged right back! Is Brooks here too?”

“He couldn't make it. He's out in the field supervising an exercise. He released me to come up on behalf of the instructor unit, and sends his congratulations. By the way, I heard a couple of reporters talking over a cup of coffee,” and she nodded towards a table at the rear of the compartment holding an urn, cups, sweetener and creamer. “They were getting all disdainful about Rolla wasting its money on antiquated, outdated ships, and moaning that this ceremony was a waste of taxpayer money, since it wasn't even Rolla's ship yet.”

“Oh, they were, were they? I'm glad you overheard them. I'm planning to say a few words to the crew and our guests. I'll use them to respond to that nonsense right away.”

The families and friends of the crew, and a few invited guests, took their places in the visitors' seats.
Nightingale'
s complement assembled in formation, and snapped to attention on command as the VIP guests arrived; Commodore O’Fallon, representing Rolla’s System Patrol Service, and Colonel Houmayoun, representing the Fleet.

Steve forced himself to stand motionless before the parade as the Commodore addressed the gathering, placing great emphasis on the significance of
Nightingale’
s arrival as the harbinger of a major improvement in Rolla's security. Colonel Houmayoun responded on behalf of the Fleet, highlighting the speed with which it had responded to Rolla's request to purchase heavy patrol craft and refurbish them, and the contribution Steve and his Fleet NCO's would make over the next few months in training the planet's personnel to operate their new vessels.

At last Colonel Houmayoun invited Steve to come to the platform and say a few words before assuming command. He marched smartly up the steps, and turned to face his crew and the guests. He took care to look directly into the nearest holovid camera from time to time as he spoke. He wanted Rolla’s news media, much of it supportive of the previous administration and opposed to the new government’s defense expenditure, to hear and broadcast his words accurately.

“Fellow spacers, from this point onward I want you to forget that there are two different services making up LCS
Nightingale’
s crew. We’re united in serving a single mistress – our ship – and a single mission, namely the safety and security of this planet, and of the Commonwealth to which it belongs.”

“Some people have insinuated that
Nightingale
is out-of-date, not as modern or as capable as more recent classes of patrol craft. They portray their own ignorance by doing so. The
Songbird
class of heavy patrol craft was designed with modular electronics and systems, easy to upgrade to the latest standards.
Nightingale
has already received the latest updates, bringing her sensors and electronic systems into line with those of the more recent
Serpent
class patrol craft, aboard which I’ve just spent several weeks. I know the
Songbirds
from a previous tour of duty aboard one, and I can assure you, I’ll take them into a fight just as willingly as I’ll take a
Serpent
. They’re fully capable of dealing with threats to planetary security.

“Already Rolla personnel form four-fifths of our crew. Within a few months they’ll be qualified to take over the positions of the few Fleet personnel still aboard. At that time
Nightingale
and her sister ships will be formally transferred to the ownership of Rolla's System Patrol Service. Let's make sure we hand over more than just a ship. We’re the first of Rolla’s new patrol craft. We want to pass on to the others when they arrive, and to the System Patrol Service as a whole, a vibrant, living example of proud service, professional ability, and trustworthy competence. Former crews of
Nightingale
established those traditions during her prior service to the Commonwealth. Now it's up to each and every one of us, as individuals and as a team, to renew them after her long slumber in the Reserve Fleet, and pass them on to those who will follow us aboard her and her sister ships. We won't fail them!”

Steve returned to his place at the head of the parade to warm applause from the guests and his crew. He noted that at least some of the journalists were looking more thoughtful. Substantial elements of Rolla’s news media were resentful that much of
the previous government’s emphasis on social programs was being undone by the new administration in favor of addressing constitutional fundamentals. He hoped his words would be quoted accurately, to provide a different perspective to the planet’s citizens about their new warships.

LCS
Aspen’
s Executive Officer called the parade to attention, and her Commanding Officer read the commissioning directive from the Bureau of Ships. When he'd finished, he looked at Steve. “Senior Lieutenant Maxwell, LCS
Nightingale
is ready for you to assume command.”

Steve saluted him smartly. “Thank you, Sir.”

He stepped onto the dais again, taking from an inner pocket the archaic heavy paper sheet containing his appointment as Commanding Officer. He unfolded it, careful to shake out the red ribbons beneath the ornate wax seal at the bottom of the page, so they’d be visible to his audience and the holovid cameras. He cleared his throat and read aloud, slowly and carefully, the time-honored phrases, redolent with history, some of them dating back to centuries before the Space Age.

To our trusted and faithful servant, Senior Lieutenant Steven Maxwell.

By virtue of the power and authority vested in us to administer the affairs of the Lancastrian Commonwealth Fleet, we, the Commissioners of the Board of Admiralty of the said Fleet, do hereby appoint you to be the Commanding Officer of our ship NIGHTINGALE, willing and requiring you to go on board and take upon yourself the duties, responsibilities and privileges of that position.

We strictly charge and command all the officers and company belonging to the said ship to conduct themselves jointly and severally in their respective employments with all the respect and obedience due to you as their Commanding Officer.

We further command you to observe and execute the Regulations concerning the operation of our vessels and the conduct of all personnel of the Fleet, as well as any orders and directions you may from time to time receive from your superior officers in the service of this Commonwealth and its member
worlds, allies, citizens and friends.

Hereof nor you nor any of you may fail as you will answer the contrary at your peril.
And for so doing this shall be your Warrant.

Given under our hands and the Seal of the Board of Admiralty on the 21
st
day of December in the year 2847 according to the Galactic Standard Calendar.

The orders were signed by two of the five Members of the Board of Admiralty, including the Chief of Fleet Operations, and by its Secretary.

Steve concluded, “I hereby assume command of LCS
Nightingale.”
He folded the document, returned it to his inside breast pocket, and turned to face Senior Lieutenant Coelho. “Executive Officer, bring the ship to life. Set the gangway and anchor watches.”

“Aye, aye, Sir.”
The Exec saluted smartly, then turned on her heel to face the ship’s company. “Chief of the Ship, summon the watch to their duties!”

Chief Petty Officer Andersdottir saluted in her turn.
“Aye aye, Ma’am. Quartermaster, pipe the watch!”

The archaic sound of a bosun’s call floated piercingly from the speakers. Steve watched with pride as the crew marched aboard in single file through the boarding tube connecting
Aspen
with the patrol craft. The first Spacer in the line stepped to one side at the airlock, slid a brassard over her arm, strapped a pistol belt to her waist, and assumed sentry duty to control access to the ship.

Steve
turned to face Colonel Houmayoun, who was here today in his capacity as Senior Fleet Officer on the Rolla station, and saluted him. “Sir, I beg to report that LCS
Nightingale
has been placed in commission on this date. In accordance with my orders from the Board of Admiralty, I have assumed command.”

The Marine returned his salute. “Congratulations, Senior Lieutenant. I shall so inform the Board. May your command of her be rewarding and fruitful for our Commonwealth, our Fleet, this planet, your crew, and
yourself.”

“Thank you, Sir. May I invite you and Commodore O’Fallon to be our first official visitors?”

“It will be our pleasure.”

Both had been aboard
Nightingale
during the process of getting her ready for commissioning, but today was a formal affirmation of her newly operational status. The senior officers signed the gangway log at the head of its virgin first page, then stepped into the boarding tunnel. Journalists scurried to accompany them, asking questions and filming everything of interest as Steve conducted them on a tour. Abha came too, but held back from the crush, letting the official guests and journalists precede her.

Steve finally said his farewells to the official party, made sure that the crews’ families and friends were being well looked after as they toured the ship in their turn, and headed for his tiny cabin, where Abha was waiting. As he closed the door behind him, she rose from where she’d been sitting on his bed and melted into his arms.

“I’ve got only one complaint,” she said mock-seriously as their lips reluctantly parted. “Your bed’s far too narrow for us both to be comfortable in it!”

“I’m sorry. The Fleet didn’t take the needs of lovers into account when they built her.”

“Considering the reputation Spacers have built up over the years, I find that hard to believe.” She winked archly.

Steve laughed. “What do you think of her?”

“She’s cramped inside, isn’t she? I’m not used to having to squeeze past other people in such narrow corridors.”

“I’m afraid so. It’s
pretty impressive to squeeze twenty main battery missiles and twenty defensive missiles – all of them high-powered spacecraft in their own right – plus three laser cannon, a fusion reactor, a gravitic drive plant, a capacitor ring, and all the sensors and automated systems that support them, into a twelve-thousand-ton hull. The crew’s quarters and facilities, and our ability to move around, were shoehorned in around those essentials. The newer
Serpent
class isn’t much better, even though it’s bigger. Of course, we don’t live permanently aboard her – only while we’re on patrol. Between patrols we live aboard the depot ship.”

“Is the bed in your cabin there bigger than this one?”

“Today’s a visitors’ day, and we won’t be going anywhere: so if you’ll give me a moment to make sure that the Officer of the Deck has things in hand, you can come with me and we’ll double-check that.”