Chapter 11: Bon Voyage

Sunday evenings were normally a quiet time, both at Earth and at Thule. On this particular Sunday evening, though, things were not quiet at Earth – and not quiet at Thule.

DECO Miles Chandler stood in a civilian dress jacket and turtleneck sweater just behind the Orbital Control station of the Operations Centre, Tribune Whitefeather and his team stood At Ease behind him.

Deputy Director Renee Galois was sort of hovering behind the knot of Confederacy officers and the Director of Evacuation and Colonial Operations. He was wearing his old French field marshal's uniform, colourful and bedecked with medals. In his hand he clutched the field marshal's baton awarded to him by a grateful French government back when his oath was to that nation and not the Confederacy. To Whitefeather's jaundiced eye the retired soldier looked quite out of place, a Victorian Era fashion anachronism in this sleek ultra-modern room filled with high-tech control surfaces and high-definition monitors. William wondered what the hell the prissy old CAP elitist was doing here, unless it was to ensure he didn't miss any after-departure party that Miles might choose to hold.

The face of the Commodore of the fleet, Auxiliary Fleet Colonel Fritz Metzger, appeared on a large screen on the Orbital Control station. Colonel Metzger was addressing both the Duty Controller and Chandler. "All ships report that they've completed dependant and pre-pack pick-ups. Please advise Tribune Whitefeather that I have personally confirmed that Governor Deschenes' gift has been delivered aboard the Arctic Princess. Unless there are any other last minute additions you want to make, we are ready to depart."

As Miles Chandler shot Whitefeather a 'do I really want to know' look, the Tribune merely nodded slightly and said, "My deepest thanks."

"Have a safe voyage, Commodore," Miles advised Metzger. "Controller, I release the fleet to your command."

The Controller nodded. "Commodore, you are clear to break orbit. Path is clear. No other traffic outbound, CSS Nirvana inbound on Approach Vector Four."

The speakers soon rang with intership communications as one by one, the ships of the fleet brought their primary sublight engines to full power, broke orbit and headed toward the jump point.

As the CSS Arctic Princess took her place with the rest of the Fleet, South Dakota TV screens tuned to KROA-TV began showing advertisements for a series of reports by "former Action News reporter, Sandy Hause", to start Monday at six and eleven, about life as a concubine in the Diaspora. In Sandy's pod, Lyn fought to keep her kitten Charlie distracted from the Governor's gift, lest he injure it.

Thule was the site of preparations for a second departure. Task Force Foxhound, consisting of the CSS Arthur C. Clarke and the corvette CSS Caldecot Castle, would be departing for Hesperus early in the morning – about oh-four-hundred Monday. The crew of the Clarke had spent a busy weekend transferring their extra concubines down to Thule, where Lieutenant Carruthers had arranged for a cluster of pods for the crew's families at Base Scott. Normally the Clarke's families would have remained on board, like those of a cube ship's crew, but Hesperus was technically the Front Lines, placing the vessel in harm's way. Kids and nonessential concubines would have to stay behind.

Captain Todmorton was inspecting his ship. With trepidation, he entered the Geophysics Lab, and stopped dead in his tracks as he beheld the scene before him ... As expected, none of the Sciences Division's oddballs were wearing duty blue. They seemed to be wearing Oxford College robes and conical hats.

"A little short for gnomes, aren't we?" he asked as the room came to attention. As every officer and concubine swung toward him, he realized what the conical hats read: "Dunce".

Ah, he realized. A Confederacy of Dunces. He half-expected to discover soft drink bottles bearing the name of the long-defunct Dr. Nut scattered across the lab tables.

He approached the bearded leader of this particular bunch of dunces, Lieutenant Payne. "I understand you're objecting to participating in Battle Station drills?"

Payne regarded the pest with genial contempt. "Of course. We're an unarmed ship – the only weapons we have on board are the Science Division's cavalry sabres."

Toddy heartily wished that Payne hadn't reminded him of the all-too-recent incident of his breakfast with General Lee and the Army of Northern Virginia. "We still have to hold drills, and that includes General Quarters," Toddy chided his Chief Science Officer.

"And what tactic would we employ if we encounter the Sa'arm?" countered Payne, his Virginia patrician accent tinged with sarcasm. "Our only real option is to use the Sir Robin manoeuvre: tuck our tail between our legs and gallantly run away at the fastest speed this ship has coal for. The AI can handle that without relying on any human intervention at all. Just tell the ship to get the hell out of here, and we're gone, before anyone outside the bridge crew even knows a threat exists."

Toddy couldn't come up with an adequate riposte to that.

"We're certainly not going to cuddle up to the Caldecot Castle," Payne reminded his captain. "They're supposed to be placing themselves between us and the threat. Besides, we're the larger ship. It would be like tryin' to hide a rhino behind a sparrow. Just makes the corvette the bull's-eye of an even bigger, more inviting target, and you don't want to do that."

Toddy pondered for a moment. "OK, look. Your battle stations are the same as your collision stations. Just pretend it's a collision drill."

Payne glanced back at his co-conspirators, and returned his gaze to Toddy. "I suppose that does make more sense..." he ventured.

"Please."

" ... and seein' as you asked all gentlemanly like that, we'll do it that way. Collision drill."

Toddy sighed in relief. "Collision drill," he agreed.

That evening saw another Beauty Saloon party, in Banquet Room Four this time. The crews of the Clarke, their concubines and dependants joined the crew and concubines of the Caldecot Castle for one last blow-out before the two ships set off for their months-long trip to Hesperus. Michael and Penny Deschenes were the corvette captain's special guests of honour. When they discovered that the two ships' dependants would be present, Thule's First Couple managed to snag an invite for their daughter and her boyfriend. Samantha, invited as thanks for her efforts on behalf of the ships' families, dragged along her three older dependants and her red-headed Irish concubine Callee. Callee's infant son Jason was being babysat by her fellow concubines back at the family pod.

Concubine waitresses bustled around the room, serving platters of buffalo wings, nachos and other finger foods. Their outfits consisted of frilly white half-aprons that left them quite top-free and bare-bottomed, matching white maid caps, white concubine collars with white bow ties, and black leather sandals. In the corner, a concubine mixologist dressed in a fancy white collar with a black bow tie and a pair of black patent-leather shoes whipped up fancy drinks. For some reason the orders being presented to the otherwise nude woman were largely for drinks that called for vigorous use of the cocktail shaker. Mounted on the bar top was a reproduction of Max le Verrier's famous illuminated Art Deco sculpture of the nude Goddess of Light, Clarte.

All of the sponsors wore their full dress uniforms, complete with Sam Browne belt and wedge caps. Their concubines largely stuck to the standard issue ugly grey shifts and collars – both Callee and Penny sticking to collars and sandals. The children wore a variety of togs that left them largely covered.

When the Deschenes party arrived, Daniel and Diana made quite the impression: he in his red Corps of Cadets uniform and she in more-or-less the same uniform as her mother.

The only major exception to this arrived a fashionable 20 minutes late: the Science Division. The six sponsor scientists and four concubine scientists arrived simultaneously, the men dressed in buckskin trousers and the women in scanty buckskin loincloths. They looked like Hollywood's idea of native North American Indians, right out of Central Casting.

Toddy mentally reviewed the invitation to the party Had his opposite number in the Caldecot Castle, Captain Hardesty, bothered to qualify just which Confederacy the uniforms were to come from? 'AI, ' he subvocalized, 'please read Captain Hardesty's invitation to tonight's party back to me. Specifically, any mention of a dress code.'

Obediently, the AI responded, 'Dress for sponsors: Confederacy uniforms. Dress for concubines: at sponsor's discretion. Dress for dependants: standard school clothing.'

Sure enough, the wording gave Payne and his fellow scientists all the leeway they needed, by not mentioning specifically which Confederacy the uniform was to come from. Toddy had a sinking feeling about the answer to the inevitable question.

It was Captain Hardesty who asked that inevitable question. The black-clad man's eyebrows were heading to the ceiling as he sputtered, "What in the hell kind of Confederacy uniform is THAT?"

"Iroquois Confederacy," Lieutenant Wilson responded shortly. He brought his hand up in greeting. "How."

I'd like to know how myself, Toddy thought. I'd like to know how you seem to get away with this every time.

The room burst into laughter as everyone doubled over with glee. Even the corvette skipper could see the humour in the situation.

"Pray tell," ventured Governor Deschenes as he regained a semblance of control over himself, "would you happen to know a tribune named William Whitefeather?"

"No," confessed Payne, his Virginia patrician accent sounding quite incongruous coming from an Indian chief in full war paint and feathered headdress. "Should I?"

"No, I don't think it would be wise. It would be too much like slamming two pieces of uranium together. I don't think any command would survive the explosion of practical jokes." Michael wiped a tear from his eyes. "He's actually a member of the Iroquois Confederacy, which would make this even funnier."