Question not, but live and labour
Till yon goal be won,
Helping every feeble neighbour,
Seeking help from none;
Life is mostly froth and bubble,
Two things stand like stone,
Kindness in another's trouble,
Courage in your own."Man's Testament"
Adam Lindsay Gordon
<<What is that boy doing?>> thought Lieutenant Melville as he rested in the stifling heat and reeking stench. It was midafternoon, barely three hours after their battle. He was on the Pier, leaning back against the Keel. From here he could observe the east side of their beached cutter, and the odd behavior of Midshipman Aquinar.
<<Told you,>> replied Swish-tail, <<he's good boy.>>
The tap to their water barrel was above and slightly to the other side of where Aquinar was crawling. So the little middy couldn't be after their precious supply of water, which was barely enough to last another few weeks with careful rationing.
After the punishment Melville had administered to him for wasting water, and the boy's sincere repentance and remorse, Melville felt certain that young Midshipman Garth Aquinar would never again waste a drop of water. The day that the boy had spent without water was hard, but in the end it taught him a lesson that every sailor must learn. In the end it would be good for him. That is, if they lived through this. If their long overdue mothership ever came to rescue them.
Four times now Aquinar had made his little trip. His sailcloth pants and white cotton shirt made Melville think of the little middy as a dirty white moth, flitting quickly from the woods to the bones of the cutter. Then he moved slowly, ever so slowly back to the trees, like a grubby white inchworm.
Except for his one embarrassing slash on the buttock, Melville hadn't been hit in the battle, even though he was in the thick of it throughout. Yet his body ached from exertion, as though he'd been used as a punching bag by a whole family of six-legged apes. As though papa, mama, and little baby ape had all given him six licks each.
What does it matter what some little boy is doing? thought Melville. We are going to die here. Our linkup with Kestrel is over a week late. We're almost out of water. Over a third of my company is dead or wounded.
<<No! Not die!>> replied Swish-tail, indignantly. Melville hadn't meant to communicate that thought to his Ship, but when they were in physical contact like this he couldn't help but share his thoughts. <<Kestrel come!>> she added, with the pure, strong faith of a child in its parent. He felt the simple confidence of his Ship flowing through him, strengthening him
Like the boy he was watching, Melville had an irrepressible, cheerful spirit. He possessed a few gifts that were unfolding in a satisfying manner. The voice of command and authority, something that many leaders never develop, was coming early for him. He had a knack for poetry that often provided the right Words at the moment of truth, and he had the ability to communicate them well. He was a natural at tactics and military history, and he was very good with a sword and a pistol. But perhaps his most important gift was his ability to live intensely in the present.
Most people live their lives in anticipation and dread of the future. Or they desperately cling to the past. They spend most of their energy thinking and worrying about what happens next or what just happened. The only time they really deal with what is happening now, is when they look back on it. And because of this, most people learn how to fear, dreading the future instead of living in the present.
Perhaps it was because he wasn't like this, because he lived so intensely in the present, that Melville was generally fearless. It was really nothing special. Most dogs can do it. That's why they're usually happy, and often so full of joy and glee. They never had to deal with the whole human angst business. Melville felt that people could learn a lot from dogs. They seemed to have things better worked out, dogs.
So it was that Melville didn't need hope, as long as despair could be postponed. Like little Aquinar he was ever curious, and usually able to find the energy to satisfy that curiosity. Swish-tail's encouragement was all he needed to indulge his curiosity and postpone his despair. And so he resolved to solve this mystery. In doing so he was to witness something near unto a miracle, and open a door that would save their lives and turn the tide of future events, both great and small.
The little company slept, as best they could, through the stifling dry heat of midafternoon. The boy was in the bowels of the cutter. Melville knew from past observation that he would stay there for quite a long time, so he took this opportunity to move to a better position to observe the boy's movement. The slender young lieutenant was sitting cross-legged and he rose straight up, scissoring his legs up with the unthinking ease of youth. Then he moved into the trees to get a better view. Except for the pickets and the medical personnel, Melville and Aquinar were the only ones who moved amidst the gray boles of the emerald green trees.
From here Melville could only see the boy's back, as he returned from the cutter. He appeared to be walking with great care, and then he disappeared into the woods. Minutes later he came running out to the cutter again, scrambling over the heap of apes that Petreckski had shot, oblivious to the stench and heat, to enter into the narrow gap on the east side.
Again Melville moved to another tree, where he could see the little middy's destination. Again, with a slow, careful stride, the boy returned to the woods. This time Melville could see that he held his cupped right hand tight against his belly, apparently to stabilize it. Finally it dawned upon him that the boy had water in his hand. A few, a precious few drops of water.
Melville understood where the water must have come from. There's always a little natural seepage from between the slats of a ship's wooden water barrel. Their crash landing on this world probably had sprung the joints of the barrel even further. The boy crawled under the back end of the barrel, and carefully, patiently caught the slow drops as they fell.
Precious few drops, but enough, perhaps, to moisten the lips of an injured man. Melville thought of their wounded, sweltering in the heat, and he felt a slow anger begin to burn within. But he didn't interfere just yet. He wanted to see what this young miscreant, this insect, this worm was doing with the water.
As he leaned around the tree to observe the middy's final destination, Melville was suddenly stunned by what he saw. A small opening, a gray bowl formed by the great trunks of several trees was now exposed to his view. Within that bowl were dozens, no, scores of little fawn-colored, eight-legged spider monkeys. They clung from the trees, they rested on the ground, and they observed from the branches above. Now that he looked more closely, Melville saw that there were hundreds, perhaps thousands more watching from the branches high above.
He remembered how those spider monkeys had dealt with the apes that trespassed into their territory. He remembered the apes' body parts raining down from the trees and he suddenly felt fear for the little midshipman, for Aquinar now knelt in the midst of this furry brown throng.
But the little monkeys didn't threaten him. They didn't even move as the boy knelt down beside a tiny, dappled brown spider monkey. They simply watched, with rapt attention.
Melville moved closer. Mesmerized, he stumbled to the edge of the bowl. He could see that the baby monkey, little bigger than the palm of his hand, lay helpless on the ground, panting with dehydration. With a great effort the little head, no bigger than a baby's fist, raised up to slowly lap the precious drops cupped in the boy's hand. When every drop of moisture was licked from his hand the boy stood carefully up, and came face to face with the lieutenant.
His little eyes began to fill with tears. "I . . . I wasn't wasting it, sir. Honest, I wasn't. They," here he gestured at the many monkeys who solemnly watched from within arm's reach, " . . . they're our friends. They helped us. Lots of them died to help us. I know how it feels to be thirsty, sir, and now . . . now he's dying . . . an' . . . and he needs our help."
The lieutenant had trouble finding words and his throat grew tight. "Very well," he croaked, nodding. "Carry on." He stepped carefully back to let the boy pass.
The boy began to walk back to the cutter. As he went, Melville walked beside him wrapping an arm around his shoulders. The boy's shoulders still shuddered with sobs. Melville guided him around to the west side of the cutter, through the wounded, to the front of the water barrel. There the young lieutenant drew a cup of water.
Beside him the other midshipmen, perpetually hungry, were gnawing on ship's biscuits and discussing the advisability and practicality of cooking "monkey meat." "Them apes clearly aren't sentient," Archer was saying, "and there's nothing wrong with eating something that tries to eat you. 'S only fair . . ."
"Mister Archer," said Melville.
"Aye, sir?"
"Mister Aquinar has discovered that there is a very slow leak coming from the underside of the water cask. Get something down there to catch any water, and be sure it's put to good use."
"Aye, sir."
"Lieutenant Melville?" Lady Elphinstone asked softly as she walked over.
Melville turned to the Sylvan healer. Her green sash on her yellow gown emphasized her likeness to a lovely flower, but now she was a yellow flower that had stood upon the field of battle. A flower much splattered with blood. "Yes my lady?"
"Josiah's dog is dead. We could not save him."
Melville felt crushed by the loss. He felt so foolish. Six men had died, yet somehow the loss of this noble dog was almost too much to bear. He felt shamed and confused by the tears that welled in his eyes. He didn't want his men to see him weep but there was no choice. He must do his duty and offer his condolences, even if his tears shamed him. Not to do his duty would be a far greater shame.
"Thank you, my lady." He turned to where the two rangers knelt upon the ground. Josiah was stroking the gray fur of his dog's corpse. Valandil's dog lay next to the Sylvan ranger. Her black fur was streaked with gold, her ears large and erect. She looked up at Melville with intelligent brown eyes, head cocked slightly to the side. He walked to them and dropped to one knee. Great pain and loss could be seen in their weary faces.
"I'm truly sorry for your loss," he said, looking at Josiah.
Josiah turned to him with a sad smile. "Well, he knew the job was dangerous when he took it."
It was the ranger's way to make jest of grave events. Melville grinned appreciatively through his tears. He placed a hand on the shoulder of Josiah's dog, and said his benediction. Like Josiah's jest it was his way, and it was all he had to give.
" . . . The burning sun no more shall heat,
Nor rainy storms on him shall beat;
The bryars and thornes no more shall scratch,
Nor hungry wolves at him shall catch;
His erring pathes no more shall tread,
Nor wild fruits eate instead of bread;
For waters cold he doth not long,
For thirst no more shall parch his tongue;
No rugged stones his feet shall gaule,
nor stumps nor rocks cause him to fall;
All cares and fears he bids farewell,
and meanes in safity now to dwell . . ."
"Thank you, sir," said Josiah. Melville saw that there were tears welling up in the rangers' weathered, leathery eyes. Little midshipman Aquinar was sobbing openly. There had been so very much death in the boy's life, so very suddenly.
Josiah stared off into the distance and spoke musingly, in his slow drawl. "Ah can't properly communicate to you, sir, the joy of exploring a virgin world. Together, just me and mah dog, we would strike out into the great unknown. The true unknown. Nothing can be known about any place until a man has actually put his foot upon it. No satellite imagery, no previous explorers, nothing, absolutely nothing to tell you what might be around the next corner. Ancient civilizations and vast, living cities. Strange creatures and alien races. Flowers and trees, rivers and mountains, like no man has ever seen before."
He looked at Melville and asked, "Have you ever played any of the computer games on high-tech worlds?"
"Yes," said Melville, "an extensive trip to Old Earth was part of our academy training."
"Well, sir, ah think the thing that makes many of them so addictive is the fact that you start with a blank screen." Usually quite laconic, the ranger was saying more now than Melville had ever heard him say before. "As you take each step, it's truly into the unknown, with no idea what might be waiting for you. Monsters, rivers, treasure, mountains, lost civilizations, alien species, anything can be in that next 'hex.' When you're done you have, in a way, almost created a world, a world where no man has gone before. That is what our life together has been like, except it was real. That is what it's like to be a ranger in the wilderness. Now mah partner of lo these many years is gone, and ah shall miss him. And ah do thank you for your benediction, it's most apt and befitting." The ranger looked off into the distance again, seeing the distant echoes of wonders and past glories such as few men will ever know.
Valandil looked at the midshipman and the cup of water in the Lieutenant's hand. "What errantry art thou and the young gentleman upon?"
"There's been too much death today," replied Melville, "we go to save one small life."
" 'Tis well," replied Valandil. "An apt benediction upon the day. And, Lieutenant?"
"Yes?"
"Thou hast done well today. I know that 'tis hard to tell, of one's own accord. So I tell thee. Well done, Lieutenant."
"Aye," echoed Josiah.
"Thank you. 'Praise from the praiseworthy is above all rewards.'"
Then Melville put an arm around the boy's shoulder, and walked with him back into the trees. The young lieutenant stood back from the place where the little monkey lay, holding the cup of water. He poured a dollop into Aquinar's little hand and let him tend the monkey. Periodically the boy came back out, and the lieutenant solemnly poured another handful of water for the little midshipman.
Melville watched the boy's grubby, tear-streaked, sunburned face, and he had a sudden memory of the brave little midshipman standing on tiptoes to shove a pistol in a ravaging ape's mouth. He looked down in wonder at the boy. Where before he had seen a grubby white worm, suddenly he saw a butterfly, an angel. Tears began to fill the lieutenant's eyes, and he wept with pride.
It was foolish. Six of his men lay dead. Three noble dogs and a cat, too! Eleven men lay wounded. And here they were, expending precious water to tend a little cousin of the creatures who had attacked them. It was foolishness. It was madness. But Melville wouldn't have it any other way.
Tears welled up in his eyes. A teardrop escaped, ran down his cheek and hit the ground. A tear of pride. Water for the dead . . . and water for the living. Water for the gentle, water for the kind and compassionate, water for the values that his men had died for. Water for Westerness and all that it represented.
Suddenly another drop hit the ground. And another. And then more. Melville looked up through the tree branches at the sky. While he had been mesmerized by the scene unfolding before him, above him clouds had crept in from the south and a gentle rain began to fall.
Perhaps, thought Melville, just maybe, someone . . . someone Else was also weeping with pride.
The rain that fell that day saved their lives. First the tarps and sailcloths were set to collect water. The precious fluid was lovingly funneled into the water barrel and into every other available container. After that, as the water continued to flow from the heavens, they drank. The healthy helped the wounded to drink. They all drank their fill, and then they drank some more. Finally they bathed.
Pickets still stood, looking downslope, fully dressed with rifles in hand. The healthy helped their wounded mates to bathe first. The rest stood naked in the rain, passing around bars of soap, while the warm water flowed down their bodies.
Lady Elphinstone and Sergeant Broadax bathed out of sight in the center of the woods. It occurred to Melville that under different circumstances a sailor or marine might have tried to catch a glimpse of the fair Elphinstione as she bathed. But the presence of the Dwarrowdelf NCO seemed to bring any such thoughts to a sudden halt. Because of her wrath, and because . . . well, because no one wanted to see just exactly what there was . . . to see . . . there.
The aid station had expanded out to the west side of the cutter and this became the male bathing area. Petreckski and the rangers took shifts looking after the wounded, so that they could bathe.
The rain was like a warm shower. Like one great communal shower, and the men began to sing.
"Sing hey! for the bath at close of day
That washes the weary mud away! . . ."
After they'd sung all the traditional verses, Chief Hans added a few new verses to roars of laughter.
"Sing hey! fer our skipper at close of day,
Nothing or a double helping issss . . . . ever 'is way!"
"Aye!" added one old salt. "First we was bored to tears, and then a thousand hairy monkeys comes to lunch!"
"And," chimed in a marine, "first it's dry as dust and now we 'ave t'swim fir our supper! Life with our lieutenant will never be dull!"
"Aye," concluded old Hans quietly, " 'e was a right Heinleiner fer us today."
Melville knew that this was high praise, this acceptance from his men. He also knew that he didn't deserve it. He'd done little more than any other man, but in the richness of their hearts they were willing to give the victory to their leader. He was lucky, and they rejoiced to serve a lucky man.
Prior to the battle it hadn't occurred to him to worry about his ability as a combat leader, since he didn't know that a pocket Armageddon was headed his way. During the battle he was too busy to worry. But now his gut churned with emotions.
He found himself preoccupied with the battle, reliving it over and over in his mind. He second guessed himself, and thought of things that he could have done, that he should have done. He found himself doubting his ability to face such an event in the future.
He mourned his dead. Yet he was glad, no he rejoiced at having survived! And then he felt guilty that so many others should die and he was happy! He'd been taught in the academy that all these things would happen. The writings of the old masters, the founders of warrior science like Alexis Artwohl and Bruce Siddle had survived the Crash. For centuries they'd been required reading for all military leaders. So, intellectually he knew all about these things.
It was good to be warned. The effect would have been devastating without the warning. Still, there was all the difference in the world between knowing about these things and experiencing them. Like the difference between being warned that the adrenaline rush would happen in combat, and actually experiencing it.
In the midst of these emotions, the praise and approval of his men was a balm to his soul. It was what he wanted, what he craved more than anything else in life, even though he didn't deserve it. He knew that such support wouldn't always be there. Sometimes leaders needed to make hard, unpopular decisions. But it was good to have their support now, and he'd revel in it while he could. Even if it was coming from a bunch of naked old salts.
Prior to this, the little spider monkeys had seemed aloof, barely glimpsed as brown flashes in the upper branches. Now they hung from the lower branches, gibbering and jumping as they watched the antics of the little company below.
Melville noticed that the monkey Aquinar had saved was now hanging around the young middy's neck. The little creature clung with all eight limbs, its strange upside-down face, with mouth on top and eyes below, peering forward beside the boy's neck. All the other members of the company gathered round and gently stroked its dappled brown fur. The tiny creature seemed to accept the attention as its due.
After they cleansed their bodies, while the water continued to flow down, the company began to wash and wring out their clothing. They soaked and soaped their garments in basins created by placing sailcloth over low spots in the ground. Then they wrung them out onto the ground. The monkeys seemed to think this was a grand game. The men watched them carefully, worried that the little creatures would try to steal something, but they seemed content to be spectators at this show.
Finally, all the bathing was done, their laundry was clean and every available container was full. His men were renewed and invigorated by the rain, but he knew that it was just temporary. Melville estimated that there was about an hour of daylight left, and he was determined to put it to good use.
"Gentlemen!" he began. "We've won a mighty victory, but this hill isn't truly ours until we've removed all of our uninvited guests! Let us use the remaining daylight to send them home again. Sergeant Broadax, Chief Petty Officer Hans, if you'd see to it I'd be obliged. I suggest that we begin with the ones closest in, and I think we can make good use of the rain to float them back to where they came from."
The pouring rain was being channeled down the hill in streams, and it proved to be a relatively simple matter to half drag and half float the bodies down to the nearest stream and send them on their way. This was the kind of work best left to the supervision of their sergeants and petty officers, but the young lieutenant couldn't permit himself to slack off, and he didn't let his midshipmen do so either. Wherever the work was the hardest, Melville tried to be there, in the thick of it, assisting and guiding. His middies had no option but to follow his example.
As they worked, Melville talked with the men and with his midshipmen. He sounded them out to see how they felt. "Mr. Archer," he asked, "how did you find combat?"
"Well, sir," replied the boy with apparent sincerity, "nobody's ever tried to kill me before. It kind of made me feel important. I think it's good for a fellow's self-esteem"
"Aye, sir," added Crater with a frown of concentration, "surviving combat's sort of comforting. Only not very."
In the midst of their labor, they found themselves again with allies from above. First one little brown monkey appeared to help them, comically teaming up with two stalwart men to drag a corpse across the ground. Then another and yet another joined in. Soon there were hundreds, then thousands of the spider monkeys, all delighting in sending the invaders floating downhill. If they'd all come plunging out of the trees together they'd probably have frightened the little company, but in this gradual manner they slowly earned the trust of the men of Westerness.
The slit latrines that had been dug on the downslope sides of their position were flooded. Sergeant Broadax put her most junior troops to work digging drainage ditches downslope from the latrines. The nasty stuff always did flow downhill, and rank did have its privileges.
With the help of gravity, the deluge, and thousands of spider monkeys, all the ape corpses were soon removed. Only two were held back, along with a few dead spider monkeys, for Petreckski and their surgeon to dissect later.
Melville's food-obsessed midshipmen were hunched around a cooking fire, roasting bits of some mystery meat skewered on sticks. Aquinar was handing up a tasty bit to his monkey, who chewed it eagerly. Not really wanting to know what they were cooking, he called the "young gentlemen" to him, and walked up to Broadax and Hans.
The two NCOs were watching the removal of the last of the enemy corpses. "Sergeant Broadax, Chief Hans."
"Aye, sir," they replied together, Hans spitting a stream of tobacco juice, and Broadax still clenching her seemingly indestructible cigar in her teeth.
"I'm not too concerned about hypothermia; this rain still feels like a warm shower. But if it cools off tonight we may be in trouble. So I want a good fire going soon. Be sure it's tended all night. The men will need to debrief themselves after battle, and sitting around a fire will help. Tomorrow night will be even more important for debriefing, so be sure we have one then, too."
"Aye, sir," they replied, again in unison. They knew exactly what he was talking about. For untold thousands of years, warriors almost always took the nights off. Across the millennia they "debriefed" themselves every night after combat, around the campfire.
Then, in the twentieth century, starting with World War I, combat became a twenty-four-hour-a-day endeavor. From that point on, armies fought day and night for months on end, and the age-old process of nightly debriefings disappeared. Throughout that tragic century the price warriors paid for this, in psychiatric casualties and in post-traumatic stress, was profound. In the twenty-first century this process was reintroduced, using labels like "critical incident stress debriefings" and "after action reviews," but it was really something age-old made new again. It was a simple, universal human equation, first introduced by a classic science fiction author, E.E. "Doc" Smith: "pain shared equals pain divided, and joy shared equals joy multiplied." Sometimes it was even written as a formula:
(pain shared = pain ÷) + (joy shared = joy x)
As the warriors of Westerness talked that night, and on each subsequent night, they would divide their pain, and multiply their joy, making battle something that they could live with and could do again if they had to.
"What I am concerned about is another attack. If they come at us again, or if this meat downhill draws carnivores or carrion eaters, we need to be on guard. The men will be tired, but I think it's necessary to keep double pickets tonight. Do you agree?"
"Aye, sir," replied Hans.
"Aye, indeed," rumbled Broadax, sucking deep on her cigar as rain pattered off of her helmet and ran down her beard.
My God, thought Melville, how does she keep it going, even in this rain? It's not a cigar, it's a damned nuclear fusion reactor.
"Good," said Melville. "Sergeant Broadax, your marines will do picket duty by themselves tonight. I have another task for our sailors. Can your men handle the duty by themselves?"
The marine sergeant's eyes grew wide and she rocked back on her heels. "Sir! None o' my marines is solar powered or water soluble!" Then, with a scowl, "We'll handle it."
Melville tried to hide a grin. "Crater," he continued, looking at young Jarad Crater, his senior midshipman, "You'll be the officer in charge of the pickets tonight. I suggest you listen very carefully to any suggestions the sergeant gives you."
"Yessir!" gulped the midshipman, swallowing in wide-eyed horror at the thought of disregarding any of the Dwarrowdelf's "suggestions."
"Hans," he continued, turning to the grizzled old sailor, "I don't want to impose upon the hospitality of our newfound friends, but if another group like this attacks us, a retreat up into the trees may be our only hope. Young Aquinar seems to have won their trust. I want you to work carefully with him to get some ropes up into the lower branches." The old sailor's eyes lost their focus and he began to scowl with deep thought. You could almost see ratlines and rigging dancing in his head.
"Ultimately the goal is to prepare a method for everyone to move up into the trees quickly, but we've got to go about this gradually, earning their trust a bit at a time. If possible, I want Aquinar to spend the night in a hammock in the trees. Have the proper ropes, tackle, and supports ready to go for a larger operation on short notice. Tonight we'll get Aquinar in the trees, tomorrow night hopefully a few more can sleep there.
"Aquinar will be in charge of all aspects involving interaction with the monkeys. He'll have final say in all such matters." Everyone nodded their heads soberly. Word of Aquinar's "miracle" had spread quickly. Aquinar nodded his head. He appeared to be completely untroubled by this profound new responsibility. The little spider monkey wrapped around his neck looked on sleepily.
"Mister Archer." Here he turned and looked young Midshipman Buckley Archer in the eyes.
"Aye sir?"
"You'll be the officer in charge of the rigging and prep for movement into the trees. Remember, Mister Aquinar calls the shots on anything involving the monkeys, and I trust you to listen closely to Chief Petty Officer Hans' advice in all technical aspects of rigging." Like Crater, the young man's eyes went wide at the mere thought of disregarding such "advice." Chief Hans' grizzled face grinned appreciatively.
"Think about how to get the wounded up, and how to get our supplies up if we have to. You have full authority to strip anything you need from Swish-tail's hulk. Understood?"
"Aye sir," the young man replied, gulping at the responsibility and trying to think how he'd balance it all out. He was an unusually clever lad and Melville felt confident he could work it out, especial with Chief Hans' "advice."
"All of you be sure you get some sleep tonight, and be sure your men get a chance to sleep. There are enough leaders and men assigned to each task to go turn-and-turn-about."
Suddenly, Chief Hans interrupted. "Gawd a'mighty sir. Do ya see that?"
By the last light of day they turned and watched, open-mouthed, as spider monkeys rode the corpses downstream, cheering and gibbering with high-pitched peeping noises, like baby chicks, while their macabre boats careened downstream to the far wood line. Some of them found sticks to serve as poles, and they used these to push and fend their ghastly rafts. As the corpses hit the wood line at the bottom of the hill, the tiny monkeys all leapt off, scampered up the slope, and found yet another "boat" that was about to embark downstream.
When Melville saw the monkeys using poles to assist in their bizarre rafting, he realized that they were a tool-using species. They were tool users, possibly even sentient. And they were friends.
As the last light of day ebbed away, Melville knew he'd achieved something. Just what they'd achieved this day wasn't clear yet, but it was more than mere survival. It was . . . significant. What more could a young man ask, than to do great deeds and be significant upon the stage of life?