Wind Dancer: Secret War Steampunk Series - Adventure, Mystery + Mad Science (16 page)

The silence in the room was absolute until a lone voice
shouted in acclaim. The room burst into whistles, shouts, and pounding on
tables and floors. Abigail, realizing that she had been holding her breath,
leapt to her feet in applause. Seeing her do so, others followed until the
whole room was standing.

Saira and Jarro stood hand in hand as the applause rolled
over them. She said something to the man, and they executed as perfect a bow as
you’d ever see on a London stage, Abigail thought. Laughter and more applause
greeted this. Then Saira turned, leaping into the taller man’s arms. They
locked in a passionate kiss. Cat calls, and more laughter followed this
display. Saira then did a backflip out of his arms, and still holding hands,
the two raced out the mess doors, the acclaim of the hall following them. As
Will and Abigail sat again, he turned to her smiling.

“Well, that’s the last we’ll see of them tonight,” he
predicted. He reached for one of the filled buns on the table. “Here try one of
these. Wu makes ‘em, and usually outdoes himself. They’re called ‘Dim Sum’
which means ‘small treasures’. ”

Abigail picked up one of the buns and tried it. Hot spicy
filling exploded in her mouth along with some sort of crunchy vegetables. It
was really quite good.

“I see that you allow somewhat informal relations on your
ship, Will,” she said around another bite.

“What?” Will asked in confusion as he finished his bun. Then,
catching her meaning, he shrugged. “What anyone does on their off time is their
business. The main rules are no opium, nor white. No stealing or killing. No
one lays a hand on anyone unwilling.”

“What happens if they break those rules?” she wondered.

“If they’re that stupid, they go out
the hatch,” he said grimly. “As for Saira, or anyone else for that matter, they
can sleep with who they please.” Will shrugged again, “We’re not like your
British high society out here Abigail.” He laughed, “I’m certainly not one of
your Christian captains. Who loves with who, is nobody else’s damn business. No
more than is what they eat for breakfast really. We’re
free people here.
I guess that was what I was trying to say earlier.”

“Oh,” she replied. There really didn’t seem much more to say
to that. He was right in that it wasn’t like ‘high society’ at all. It seemed
that up here your accomplishments mattered more than the accident of your
birth. That what you set your hand to determined who you were, what you did. In
‘society’ her station would allow her to be head of a College department, but
not to fix Tesla engines all day long as she had been doing. That you could
take pleasure with whom you wished she had to admit was a tempting thought.

In ‘society’ people had relations of
course, but it was all very much hidden. It was understood that very few should
approach the altar as an innocent, but how that happened was never talked about
openly. She herself had some experience, but it was always with careful consideration.
The removal of pregnancy as an issue may have come with the diaphragm, but
other restraints were very present. God forbid, for example
, that you
take a lover outside your station, or have one publicly.

The very idea that she could simply go off with someone,
under her own name, and no one would do more than wish them a happy time was
very liberating to contemplate. Not that she would, of course. Saira, damn her,
had it too right. She was in strange waters, and the last thing she needed was
to risk complicating things more. Besides, this was not some pleasure cruise,
she reminded herself. She had a purpose, a duty to her father, to the world.

Still, she admired what they seemed to have won for
themselves. She was under no illusions about it all. She had seen and heard
enough to know that their way of life could be brutal and short, with no fixed
home, always wandering. Still, she wondered if they truly appreciated what they
had.

Chapter Eleven

Mess, Wind Dancer, South China Sea

While she engaged in these thoughts, the musicians struck up
another tune. Naomi stood up from the table with a cry of “That’s my song!” She
strode to the front and was soon leading the room in a popular beer−hall
song that was both ribald and hilarious. Abigail found herself singing along
with everyone else. Will turned out to have a surprisingly good voice.

The evening followed on with more singing, dancing and even
some surprisingly good poetry from a young oriental man. Abigail found that she
had perhaps had more of the potent rum than she should. She’d barely finished
one little bottle and found her head swimming. She reached for another of the
delicious little buns to help soak up the alcohol in her belly.  

As the evening wound down, more people left, in ones, twos
and threes. Each stopped to give a good night to Will and those at the table.
Devi was meandering through a pleasant tune on her many−stringed
instrument softly, when ‘Paddy’ McGuire returned to his earlier topic.

“So, Abigail, as an intelligent woman, can you not see that
the governing o’ the Empire must be changed from its corrupt ways?” he asked.
The line of empty bottles in front of him seemed not to slow down him down in
the least.

“What exactly do you mean? Abigail asked warily.

“Don’t get him going,” Naomi pleaded with a roll of her eyes.

“What do I mean?” McGuire straightened up in his seat. Naomi
waved her hands helplessly. “What do I mean?” He repeated, more loudly. “Why
the un-just and decadent system of the aristocracy of course! The tyranny of
absent landlords who amass wealth and privilege on the backs of common folk,
saving your presence of course. The bald fact a man will be held down in his
place by a silk stocking rather than rise to be whatever he can make of
himself. That’s what I mean!”

“But I thought we’d already agreed that Her Majesty has done
many a service to all humanity, did we not?” Abigail replied. McGuire
reluctantly nodded. “That, you see, is the essence of what title means, to
serve your people,” she said empathizing each word as she spoke it. Abigail
paused as if gathering her thoughts before continuing.

“I’m afraid that you cannot condemn on one hand, and then
praise on the other,” she pointed out. “The decisions Her Majesty made were as
much a part of the ‘system’ you so loudly decry as any other virtue. Certainly,
there are members of the nobility that are asses. I know more than a few. Yet
any numbers of them also have their titles by dint of accomplishment and hard
work.

Must there be reforms? I agree, absolutely,” she nodded
briskly. “The water tithe, the long hours and low wages of the resettled
workers, the Star Court for the nobility and the Bailey for the other classes,
the tyranny of the Colonial Officers, all are barbarisms from the War. Yes, I
say again, all these and more are due to be changed.”

“Should any man, or woman be allowed to make of themselves
what they will? Absolutely.” Abigail said in answer to her own question. “And
that is starting to be true with the merit reforms. Take myself for example; I
hold my own title by the sweat of my intellect, as does my father before me.
And who, Mr. McGuire is leading these reforms you may ask? Why
Lord
Darwin,
Lady
Churchill, even the
Crown-Princess,”
she said,
gasping in mock horror. “Not to mention the New Party of Parliament,” she said
continuing. I believe that you’ll find that a good number of ‘decadent
aristocrats’ vote New party. I can tell you that
I
do. What would you
have instead? A republic of some sort like the French tried?”

“Aye. That I would!” McGuire retorted. “One man, one vote!
And leaders that are beholden to the people that elect them! You may talk of
Parliament, but all of Ireland has not a tenth of the seats it should in the
Commons, and no Irishman sit in the Lords at all! Where is our voice? You talk
of noble lords and ladies, and I do grant you that there are some as seem to
have their hearts in the right place. But why should we be dependin’ on their
hearts at all?” He finally paused for breath.

“One woman,” Abigail said into the pause.

“What?” McGuire looked nonplussed.

“’One man, one woman, one vote’ that is the
full
quote
you know,” Abigail said archly.

“Oh Aye,” McGuire said, “I’ll give ye that, one woman as
well. But a republic would have such power as only was given it. And then no
man, nor woman, would be in a place to draw the tyrant’s mantle about them.”

“Truly? That has worked
so
well hasn’t it?” Abigail
responded with false brightness. “Would you prefer the ‘Republic’ of
Franco-Mexico with its Emperor and
no
vote? Or perhaps one of the
American States, The Confederation for example? Oh, wait, you must be male and
a landowner to vote there. You likely have your
slaves
take you to a
poll there,” she said with a barely suppressed sneer in her voice. “How about
the Union of American States? Oh, so sorry it used to be bigger did it not? But
with no aristocracy to hold it together, it’s much smaller now, not that you
don’t still need the patronage of a Boss or an Industrialist to stand for
office I am told. I’m sure they have
no
tyranny problem.” She paused to
take another drink. Will laughed, and pounded the table in approval of
Abagail’s words.

“I think Paddy that you might just be out−gunned on
this one,” Will observed. “As my people said to Custer at Blake’s Ford, ‘ready
to surrender now’?” McGuire focused on the Captain blearily, in drunken
offense.

“Never, you heathen!” The Irishman said, pounding the table
angrily. “I tell ye, Republicanism is the way o the future! Once everyone has an
Aetherwave, then those we elect will have to do as we the people direct them to
do, now won’t they? As for your examples, Lady Abigail, well, that’s the reason
that an
Irish
republic will be the first real success! After all, we
were doing it long before your King William crossed the Channel, we were.”

“Do you seriously believe that millions of people on the Aetherwave
will be able to decide on anything?” Abigail asked astonished.

“Course they will,” McGuire said confidently. Abigail shook
her head.

“And what if there’s a true emergency?” She asked. “What
then? For example, say that the Invaders return?”

McGuire snorted aloud at this.

“That’s a weak argument and you know it,” he said. “They’ve
been looking at Mars though every telescope since the war, and have seen
nothing. No lights, maybe some ruins, that’s all. We killed the last of them we
did.” Abigail shook her head at his answer.

“We really don’t know that now do we?” She returned.

“What? Don’t be daft!” McGuire sputtered.

“Not at all, “Abigail said calmly. “There are many mysteries
still about them. Not one single body of an Invader was ever recovered,
anywhere. By all accounts, they destroyed themselves and their machinery rather
than be taken at the end. They are a cipher to us still.

To cite another mystery, how is it that a race as advanced
and powerful as to fly across the great gulf between the worlds could only land
by crashing into the ground? I doubt that you would accept such landings.” This
was greeted by chuckles around the table. “For that matter,” Abigail continued,
“why did they have no airships of their own?” Frowns greeted her around the
table at this pronouncement. Naomi spoke up for the first time.

“My father always said it was because we never gave them time
to build airships,” she said hesitantly. “That those great spider- walker
things were all they had time to build.”

“Come to that,” Will mused, frowning in thought, “it did seem
like they never really got what we were doing flying around them.” Seeing Abigail’s
astonished look, he grinned at her. “I was rat catcher for my father in the old
First Expeditionary, and saw more than my share of the War as a youn’un. No,”
he said firmly, “I think that they were doing some kind of counting coup.”

“Counting what?” Abigail asked, “I am unfamiliar with that
term.”

“Custom of some of the plains peoples in North America.
Instead of riding to war with a spear or gun, you have a stick. You ride up to
the enemy and hit them lightly on the arm with it. You gain honor by showing
how skilled you are.”

“I would think that killing most of Western Europe, much of
Britain, India, and the Americas, not to mention devastating large swaths of
the planet as more than a tap on the arm,” Abigail retorted. Will shrugged,
holding up his hands in defense.

“Hey, they were Invaders! You said yourself that we really
don’t know all that much about them, even though they nearly exterminated us,”
he said. “I don’ know, maybe we just didn’t know how the game was to be played.
Once they showed that they could kill as many of us as they wanted, maybe we
were supposed to stop fighting. Instead, we kept on fighting, fighting until we
killed all of them instead. Maybe we were not good interplanetary gentlemen.”
He raised his bottle to his lips.

Abigail nodded, with a new look of respect in her eyes.

“Lord Hadley, my father,” she said, “has some thoughts that
are very similar.” Abigail stopped herself before she said anything else. She
found herself blinking back tears. Too much rum, she decided. She had to change
the subject. “We’ve yet to hear what you think, Will. Surely as a captain you
can see the wisdom of having a strong single voice in a time of emergency. You
rule a ship, the monarchy rules a nation.”

Everyone laughed at that. Abigail looked confused as she
gazed about the table.

“What did I say?” She asked them. Will
smiled at her.

“Not the same thing at all,” he said. “First of all, I don’t
‘rule’ the ship, I am Captain of a free airship. They follow me because I’m
good at what I do. They trust that I won’t get them killed for no reason; I
trust that they won’t do the same to me.”

“And don’t forget that you bring more money our way than
honest work ever could,” McGuire laughed. Naomi gave him an elbow in the ribs.
Will nodded.

“It’s true, I do,” Hunting Owl said seriously. “I don’t force
any of them to do anything they don’t want to. Sure, once they sign the Articles,
they agree that my word is law. When we are in the midst of it, there is no
time for debate, and everyone does what I say. If they don’t like how I want
things later, they can collect their share and leave at any port. Nations don’t
do that.”

“And if we are going back to politics we are going to say
good night,” Naomi announced pulling McGuire up with her by the elbow. McGuire
grinned at her as he came to his feet swaying.

“Your cabin or mine darlin’?” he said in what Abigail was
sure he thought was a seductive voice. She could tell from the expression on
Naomi’s face how seductive
she
thought it was.

“I am putting you to bed in your own cabin, alone,” Naomi
grunted while getting his arm around her shoulder. “You are drunk enough that
you will start singing those mournful songs of yours.”

“They’re not mournful, lass,” he said plaintively. “I simply
want to share the heart of my homeland with you.”

“Mournful.” She said firmly. “Besides, we both have watch
tomorrow.”

“Need help there, Naomi?” Will asked standing. The bridge
talker shook her head.

“It’s alright, I’ve got the big fool,” she said easily. “Night
Lady Abigail, Cap’n.” McGuire’s head flopped over to look at Abigail.

“A most charmin’ discourse Abigail, I hope that we have more.
One question though, if I might.” He held up a drunken index finger.

“What would that be Paddy?” Abigail asked him warily.

“Givin’ what you say to be true, where did the Invaders come
from, and what did they want?” He asked, suddenly earnest. Abigail looked sadly
at him. She told him the truth.

“We don’t know Paddy, and we may never know,” she said
softly. “It is science’s purpose to ask questions that we do not know the
answer to in the hopes that we may learn the answers.” To her surprise, McGuire
nodded in satisfaction, at this.

“Good,” he said sounding pleased. “Then ye don’t claim to be
knowin’ everything. I look forward to talking more.”

“As do I Mr. McGuire,” Abigail said. She smiled at the young
woman holding him up. “Naomi, a pleasure to meet you.” The woman nodded at her
in leave−taking. The two made their way towards the door, with McGuire
beginning a drunken croon about someone called Anachie Gordon. Will and Abigail
sat back down at the now empty table. Bobby Marsh, the Chief Rigger, had stolen
away while Abigail was talking to McGuire and Walters.

“He’s a good man,” Will said to her, “and a top form wave
operator. He just gets a touch…obsessed when he’s been drinking. That he likes
you is a complement, you know. If you’d told him last week that he’d be
drinking with a British Lady, I’m sure he’d have told you were mad.” Will said
with a grin.

“I like people of principle, which he certainly appears to
be. Even when I think he is wrong.” Abigail smiled back. “I enjoy a good
debate. You should see some of the ones that we have at Cambridge. The rectors
have had to ban duels by research fellows or there won’t be any of us left.”
Will smiled at that.

“I can just see you challenging someone over a point of
theory. “ His dark face assumed a haughty expression as he drawled, ‘I say,
copper is the best conductor, pistols at dawn sir’! ” He shook his fist in a
passable imitation of an upper-crust figure. Abigail laughed, visualizing some
of her fellow Scholars behaving similarly.

“Well, it isn’t quite that bad, but close enough,” She
allowed. She frowned and then went silent.

‘What are you thinking?” He gently asked her after a moment.
She had the presence to look abashed as she looked at him.