South of the Ecliptic. Donald Ph.D. Ladew
simple and sentimental love songs.
Fighting men have little in their lives that is complex; too much battle, not enough love, and of course, drinking to forget, or remember.
Not for me to criticize, he thought, I know the life better than most. There was a knock on the door.
"Who goes?"
"Ing, sir."
"Come in, Major, I've been sitting here remembering times and places I played for the men."
"I too remember, Captain; of course, we got it across the comm-net. I sang for the ship on the day we decided not to retreat. A bright moment, sir."
"I know, I heard of it later. How in God's name did you survive? I heard your ship was hit by a double bolt from the Imperial battle cruiser Tarnwall."
"No reason I should have, Captain, except for a bit of luck. I was in-capsule trying to conn the ship to the middle of the Imperial Fleet. The capsule was faced away from the direction of the hit and blown right off its mounts into the captain's cubby.
"It wedged in there somehow and the blast doors closed automatically. There I was, stuck, couldn't move, couldn't see, couldn't do a thing; so I connected the CommSys to all the emergency channels and sang rude songs about the Imperial Navy for eighteen hours."
Piehl laughed. "By God, Ing, it was great. Well, let's go out and see what's going on."
"Aye, sir."
Piehl closed the case and headed for the portside hatch. Even before they got to the hatch, Piehl could hear the echo of voices and laughter. There was an occasional snatch of song coming from the docking bay floor. Three hundred men sat on makeshift chairs and tables made from the tag ends of hull plate and stress beams. Half the onboard supply of liquor was already gone. There'd be trouble if they hadn't brought of their own. Piehl had forgotten about a Legionnaire's thirst.
"General, you better hurry or it'll be gone before you start," one of the men shouted.
Piehl went among them, sharing a bite to eat here, a joke and drinks wherever he stopped. One young man hardly out of his teens piped up.
"Take me along, General Piehl, I've listened to my Dad's lies for years. I want a chance to make up some of my own."
"I'd take you all, but I have no fleet this time, just a merchant pretending to be a cruiser." Piehl gestured toward the ship. "I think it will do."
The Whistler and Piehl walked over to the lift platform and got on. They raised it up about six or seven feet and Piehl laid the Syrinx case down.
"Somebody got a chair?" One of the men tossed up a crate. Piehl stood and looked around the docking bay. All of the men became quiet, and looked up expectantly.
"Alright, men, first things first."
"IS THERE BLOOD IN THE STEEL?" he shouted.
"OUR BLOOD IS IN THE STEEL," they roared back.
"Good! Then THERE'S STEEL IN THE BLOOD!"
He pulled his ship's knife from his belt, held his hand up to the men and with his knife cut a diagonal line across the palm.
A close look would have revealed a network of old scars. As the blood welled, he walked across the platform to the hull of the ship. When he held his hand next to the hull, there was a hush in the huge room. Then he pressed his hand hard against the hull.
"I JOIN MY BLOOD WITH THE STEEL!
I JOIN THE STEEL WITH MY BLOOD,
AND THROUGH MY BLOOOD,
THE BLOOD OF FREE MEN!"
Piehl sang it loud and clear.
There was another great cheer from the men.
"Piehl! Piehl! The Legion! The Legion!"
Piehl shouted the last with them. As a ritual it was old in the dawn of seafaring, the natural predecessor of space faring. In ancient times a sailor wouldn't take a boat to sea without first killing a bird and placing its bleeding breast against the prow to bring good luck or good fishing.
Somewhere on each man's hand there was a similar cut and somewhere in the ship they would have placed a drop of their blood to preserve and to protect. Piehl suspected even the Whistler had put a drop or two of his own somewhere on the hull.
Piehl raised his hand for quiet. "Thank you, men. Those of us who are outward bound will do our best and better for having had you here. We will do our duty. That duty will be far easier because of your help. In six months I expect to take a drink with each of you. Will this be so?"
"Aye, aye, General," they all roared together; and one old marine added as an afterthought, "I sure as hell ain't never disobeyed that order, Sor." They laughed long.
"General, how about a few songs to prime the journey?"
Piehl sat in the chair, put the case across his knees and pulled out the Syrinx. The men watched with anticipation. He unzipped his suit and placed the back plate against the bare skin over his ribs. He immediately felt a familiar warmth.
"So what'll it be, men?"
"Spacer’s Gal, General; Reef Stars, Midshipman Bill, The Battle at Carney's Rift, shouted others.
After things quieted down a bit, Piehl played out a few minor cords, then a major to get the feel, bumped the volume up and thundered into 'Spacer's Gal'. It was rolling bouncing tune and everybody sang, if not with skill, with plenty of liquor-inspired enthusiasm. Over it all, a booming baritone emanating from his whole body, was the Whistler's voice.
They did several more in the same vein until it looked as if their voices were going to give out, then Piehl eased into 'Mary Rose, I left You', which the Whistler sang in a fine tenor, and many a tear found its way down a grizzled spacer's cheek.
Faintly, in the background, Piehl heard a pure soprano singing the refrains; to his surprise, it was the Princess.
Piehl beckoned her to the lift. "Your Highness, will you sing one for us?"
She climbed onto the platform, blushing. "I don't know, Sir Aubrey, I heard most of these songs from my father when I was a little girl. He is very fond of spacer songs, but I've never sung before a group."
"Don't worry, Miss, just pretend you're in the bath," Flex called up to her. She blushed even harder.
"Easy, girl," Piehl said. "I'll give you the line and keep it moving. Easily done, Your Highness. Do you know ‘The Captain's Lament’?"
"Oh, that's too sad. How about `Jenny Roy and the Star Fox'?"
"You know that, all the verses?"
"Of course I do!" Her voice had the old Royal arrogance.
It was an old song from the first-contact days about a beautiful Earth human girl and a handsome alien called the Star Fox and forbidden love. Piehl played a fine intro to set the tone and she sang it perfectly, never missing a beat or a word. At the end the applause was deafening. She blushed more and laughed, clapping her hands with the men.
"Well, men, it's time to get on with it. All hands stand to!"
The Legionnaires leapt to their feet as he played the opening cords of the Legionnaires Hymn. When it was done, the men gave a great shout and slammed their heels down on the steel deck.
Piehl put the Syrinx away and moved toward the ship, saying a few words to each of the men, shaking an offered hand, taking a salute. He saw Shorty headed his way with an intent look on his face.
Shorty asked him to wait a moment. "Captain, you may not want to hear this, but I want you to listen anyway. Blair Prince is out beyond the Rim somewhere."
"He's a damned Pirate!" It was not a subject Piehl wanted to discuss.
"Will you listen!"