David Drake - RCN 04 - Glory

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THE WAY TO GLORY
by David Drake
DEDICATION
For Gina Massel-Castater
With respect and affection
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Dan Breen continues as my first reader, I'm happy to say. He has particular merit on clerical
issues, but he's very good on matters of size as well.
I'm occasionally asked how I keep details straight while writing complex novels in several
subgenres in quick succession. The assumption tends to be that I have a cross-indexed file of names, etc,
to which I refer frequently. That would indeed be a good way to do it.
What I actually have is a retentive memory and more recently a team of continuity checkers who
do a much better job than I could if I were to concentrate on names instead of story. Dorothy Day and
Evan Ladouceur carried out this duty splendidly on The Way to Glory. The mistakes remain my
mistakes, however.
Incidentally, occasionally an error will lead to a bit of found art. When I realized that the I'd given
the Alliance vessel Moltke fewer, larger guns than a Field Marshal Class heavy cruiser should mount, I
didn't go back and change the equipment. Instead I renamed her Scheer and left her a pocket battleship,
which opens possibilities for later books in the series.
My webmaster Karen Zimmerman both archived my daily files and provided (generally in a
matter of minutes) information which I suddenly needed. Well, wanted: was it important that I have the
real Haitian national anthem before me (in Creole and English versions) when I wrote a throw-away
scene? I guess the answer is that it was important to me. There's a lot more story background in my head
than ever gets onto the page... but if it weren't in my head, what was on the page would be thinner and
paler. I think.
Andre Norton gets a specific note of thanks for noting how useful lizards could be as pets on a
spaceship. I say 'specific' because I probably wouldn't be writing adventure stories of this sort if I hadn't
read Andre's when I met science fiction.
I had computer problems. My son Jonathan fixed them. An acknowledgments page reminds me
of how very lucky I have been in life.
My wife Jo bore with me as I wrote another novel and my immediate neighborhood became a
deepening morass of books, documents, and pictures. (I use a lot of references while I'm working.) I try
to clean up my mess in the short intervals between novels, but I'm aware that it isn't a perfect existence
for an ordinarily neat person.
My thanks generally to all those who've brightened my life by their presence in it.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
The general political background of the RCN series is that of Europe in the mid-18th century, with
admixtures of late-Republican Rome. (There's a surprising degree of congruence between British and
Roman society in those periods.)
Major plot elements in The Way to Glory, however, come from the 19th century. Those of you
who know some American history may note echoes of the Somers Mutiny, and if you're really
well-versed you'll understand how greatly I simplified the details of political factions both in Washington
(Whigs, Democrats, and the intimates of President Tyler whose own party had repudiated him) and in the
US Navy. Real history is a great deal more complex than anything I could make up.
The situation of the British North America and West Indies Squadron, based in Bermuda,
would've been much as described during the 18th and even 17th centuries, with one important difference:
Haiti didn't gain its independence till 1804. From that point through the 1880s (from which I've drawn
several plot incidents) much of the squadron's work involved interceding in Haiti on behalf of British
citizens (many of whom brought no credit upon their status) and refugees in general. One could scarcely
ask for a better description of the term 'thankless task'. This one came with cockroaches.
In more recent times, the US has taken over the former British role in Haiti. I suspect the roaches
are still there; certainly nothing else has changed.
I'll note again that I don't invent systems of weights and measures for the background of the RCN
series: the practice would neither advance my plot nor make the world a better place. I don't assume that
people thousands of years in the future will still be using the systems in use today. Those who would
quarrel with my choice here might usefully ask themselves, however, how long feet and inches have been
in use thus far.
Dave Drake
david-drake.com
EPIGRAPH
Not once or twice in our rough island-story
The path of duty was the way to glory.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington
CHAPTER 1: Xenos on Cinnabar
The pair of footmen at the head of the stairs bowed to Daniel, the older one said, "Senator
Kearnes will be most pleased that you're able to attend, Lieutenant Leary."
"Pleased to be here," Daniel said. He smiled as he passed into the ballroom which took up most
of the second floor of the Kearnes townhouse. Indeed, he was pleased.
The invitation to Lira Kearnes' fortieth birthday gala specified that officers were to wear full
medals rather than ribbons. The request might well have been intended to display Lt. Daniel Leary at his
most splendid; certainly it had that effect.
The Republic of Cinnabar Navy was the sword of the republic, not a weapon of party politics.
High RCN officers couldn't attend this ball because Bruno Kearnes was the central figure in several
political battles of the sort that the RCN kept out of. The unspoken ban on attendance didn't apply to a
twenty-four year old lieutenant. The fruit salad on the breast of Daniel's Dress Whites would've been
impressive even for an admiral, however.
Daniel, lately commanding the corvette Princess Cecile, had returned with dispatches from
Admiral Keith's squadron just in time to give Senator Kearnes his show. Daniel in turn was getting the
kind of adulation that came to those whom the citizens of Cinnabar decided were genuine heroes. It was
Lira Kearnes' gala, but it was Daniel Leary's night.
Daniel scanned the crowd, chcking for anyone he might know among those present. The
invitation had been to all four officers from the Princess Cecile: Midshipmen Dorst and Vesey, and First
Lieutenant Conn Medorn, who not coincidentally was the nephew of Admiral Keith.
The Princess Cecile's signals officer, Adele Mundy, had been invited also--but not because she
was an RCN warrant officer. Adele was Mundy of Chatsworth, head and sole survivor of one of the
most noble families in the Republic. Her father--before his execution for treason--had been leader of the
Popular Party. That was the territory if not precisely the title which Bruno Kearnes appeared to have
marked for his own.
Daniel didn't see any of his fellows from the Sissie, but there was plenty of room in this swirling
crowd to get lost. Besides, Daniel hadn't come here to find shipmates....
The small orchestra in the loft above the balcony swung into a polacca. Couples who weren't up
to the lively music left the dance floor in the center of the enormous hall, but others took their place.
A portly banker with investments in shipbuilding remained with the younger couples, however; he
danced with an enthusiasm that made up for his limited skills. His partner was probably closer to his
granddaughter's age than that of his daughter. She complemented the banker's steps perfectly, just as the
tiara of sapphires she wore complemented her blue eyes.
And those blue eyes caught Daniel's across the room as she dipped and spun.
Much of the Republic's wealth and beauty was here tonight. Daniel Leary could have any share
of it he chose, any share, simply by stretching out his hand.
He grinned: which he'd likely do before long. He was a healthy young man, and the voyage back
from the Galactic North with Admiral Keith's dispatches had been a long one.
"Leary!" called a saturnine man in a red velvet suit; his waistcoat flashed with metallic gold.
Mawhire of Rondolet, recalled a rarely visited portion of Daniel's mind; an acquaintance of Daniel's
father. Mawhire's clothing had made an impression on a child who even at seven was more comfortable
hunting on the family estate than he was with the much crueler games that politicians got up to. "Daniel
Leary! Come over here, boy, and let me introduce you to some friends of mine. My but you've grown
since I last saw you!"
Which would've been about seventeen years ago, when Speaker Corder Leary broke the Three
Circles Conspiracy and drowned it in blood. Daniel vaguely recalled that Mawhire had lost a cousin in
the Proscriptions....
"Daniel Leary, may I present Senator Russell--that's Russell of Walsingham, you know...,"
Mawhire said. Daniel bowed--nodded deeply--to a man with vacant eyes and more facets glittering on
his fingers than there were in the crystal chandeliers above.
"... and Tomas Bayard of Bayard and Sons." Daniel bowed again, this time to an ancient
man--he supposed Bayard was male--supporting himself in a walker. Stone-faced servants stood at
either elbow just in case they were needed.
"Surprised to see you here, Leary," Bayard said in a cracked voice. "Given how your father and
Bruno Kearnes get along. Don't get along."
He turned his head toward Mawhire, a quick motion that reminded Daniel of an ancient,
poisonous, lizard casting for prey.. "You know that story, Mawhire?" he demanded.
"I recall rumors," Senator Mawhire said, having the decency to look uncomfortable. "But it's not
really a matter--"
"Speaker Leary and young Kearnes there don't get along because Leary and Lira Kearnes got
along too well!" Bayard continued in glee. "Far too well!"
He broke into cackling laughter; it ended abruptly in a paroxysm of coughing. One of Bayard's
attendants held his shoulders while the other slipped a large handkerchief over his mouth.
Daniel smiled pleasantly. I hope you bring your lungs up, you nasty little bastard, he thought.
Aloud he said, "That would've been before my time, sir. And of course it's not the sort of thing a
gentleman talks about."
"Gentlemen!" Bayard sneered. "All a gentleman's good for is feeding the worms!"
"That's the common lot of mankind, my dear Tomas," said a woman suddenly standing at Daniel's
right elbow. Her voice was cultured and as smoothly cutting as a scalpel. "However the lieutenant here
has already accomplished things that will keep his name alive after the worms have devoured what the
doctors have left. Not so?"
"Faugh, glory!" Bayard said. "Women and fools set great store by it, I understand."
He started to turn away, but stiffness and the walker prevented him from doing so quickly
enough. The woman added sweetly, "I suppose women you've had to learn about second hand, haven't
you, you poor dear?"
Daniel allowed himself a satisfied smile toward the magnate's back. He wouldn't have responded
to Bayard directly, out of courtesy toward a sick old man--however nasty--and from the sense of
propriety ingrained by living within the rigid order of the RCN. He certainly wasn't displeased to watch
somebody else kick the old bastard in the balls, though--and then put the boot in as he writhed on the
floor.
He turned to the woman. She looked to be in her thirties, but that was probably as much a
medical marvel as the fact Tomas Bayard was alive at all. She was undeniably handsome, but even 'the
thirties' was far too old for Daniel's taste.
"Mistress Jacopus," said Mawhire to the lady, "allow me to present the Lieutenant Daniel Leary
of whom we've heard so much. I'd say Daniel was an old family friend, but in fact I can't claim to be any
closer to Speaker Leary today that Kearnes is--or you are yourself, boy, from what I hear? Had quite a
falling out with your father when you joined the navy, I heard?"
"I haven't spoken to my father in some years, that's true," Daniel said, letting his eyes rise as if to
view the frescos of the high ceiling. Cherubs were teasing lions in various fashions in each panel, while
between the paintings were stucco moldings of furious giants straining to burst through the frames they
supported. He supposed the scenes were allegorical; another way of saying they were without interest to
him. "I wonder if there's something to dr--"
"Do let me be your guide, Lieutenant," Mistress Jacopus said, taking his right arm in both hands;
gently, but in a proprietary fashion nonetheless. "I have so many questions to ask you about your
medals!"
The Jacopus family was famous for wealth and a determined neutrality in the Republic's
rough-and-tumble--sometimes very rough--politics. Daniel had heard that one member of the family was
the most famous hostess in Xenos; he didn't doubt that he'd just met her.
The orchestra was playing a hornpipe, but it was a restrained thing compared to what went by
the same name in the spacers' bars around Harbor Three--or any other RCN liberty port. Daniel had
spent his time in those bars when he was a midshipman, an officer by courtesy but not yet commissioned.
Since fame had brought him invitations to dos like this one, he'd found little to regret about no longer
being poor and obscure. The liquor was better and the women were much prettier. He'd never had much
interest in dancing anyway.
Mistress Jacopus led him toward the refreshment table which was set in a corner, in front of
double doors onto a parterre. Servants passed in and out, exchanging full trays and bottles to replace the
those that had been browsed and drunk empty.
Jacopus was taking him by the long route, however, and at each step she nodded graciously and
smiled to another guest. Occasionally she murmured a first name--"Dear Janni...,"--or title--"Senator,
how nice,"--as they passed, savoring the looks of respect and--from some of the women--fury.
"I hope you don't mind me showing off my trophy, Lieutenant," she said in his ear as though
murmuring endearments. "Because you are quite a trophy, you know."
"Ah, mistress--" Daniel said.
"Christine, please," she said. "And you needn't worry that I'll embarrass you later. I know quite a
lot about your tastes, including the sort of young friends you prefer for recreation. I'd offer to help you
there, but I'm sure a handsome hero like yourself is capable of making his own arrangements."
"That's generally been the case in the past, ah, Christine," Daniel said. "And I do appreciate you,
ah, helping me out of an awkwardness."
Daniel didn't like to talk about his father for a number of reasons, not least that he didn't have
anything to say about Corder Leary. They'd had little contact even before the break--which was over
Corder's remarriage, not Daniel's career. He'd joined the RCN in reaction to that blazing row, not as the
cause of it.
Daniel had spent his childhood on the family estate of Bantry, learning a little about decorum from
his mother--a saint, as everybody agreed--and a great deal about hunting, fishing and manhood from
Hogg, a family retainer. There'd been Hoggs poaching on Bantry from the days of the first human
settlement, long before the Hiatus in star travel drew a thousand-year line through history.
In the eight years since the row, Daniel and Corder Leary'd had no contact whatever. Words
had been said that would've meant pistols at dawn if those speaking hadn't been father and son, but even
beyond that....
Corder Leary was a stiff-necked, stubborn man who'd never backed down in a fight. Daniel
wasn't his father and wouldn't have wanted to be him; but much as Daniel revered his late mother, he
knew very well that his temper and his backbone hadn't come from her side of the family.
There was a crush at the refreshments table. Daniel hadn't really been thirsty, just uncomfortable
at the direction Mawhire had taken the conversation, and Christine Jacopus simply wanted to be seen
with the lion of the evening. Instead of forcing his way through, he paused to look around again.
By the etiquette of upper-class Xenos, the only regular servants on the floor were those behind
the refreshments table. The guests' personal attendants were in the balcony above. They could be
summoned to meet their employer in a hallway if required or even escorted onto the floor by a member
of the Kearnes household in event of an outside emergency.
Many of the guests--perhaps a quarter of the total, Daniel guessed, smiling faintly--were
accompanied by silent men and women in simple dress. If you didn't know who they were, they could
pass for poor relations of the glittering guests they stayed close to.
In fact they were... well, calling them guards would be harsh but not inaccurate. They were
employed by various couturiers, jewelers, and pawn brokers. They accompanied not the guests but
rather the clothing and accouterments which the guests wore and hadn't paid for; that they very probably
couldn't pay for. By convention, nobody 'noticed' them.
"What is this one, Daniel?" Christine said, touching the spray of gold feathers dusted with real
rubies waving from the peak of his dress hat. She leaned against him a little more closely than she need to
have done.
"Oh, the aigrette?" said Daniel, squinting sideways. "That's the Kostroma Star, a, ah, foreign
decoration. From an allied foreign power, of course, or I wouldn't be permitted to wear it."
Though in truth the fourragere of gold and silver cords across his left breast was the Order of
Strymon in Diamonds; the stones on the clasp at his epaulette were the size of a child's teeth. In theory it
entitled the wearer to the freedom of Strymon, a planet Daniel didn't expect ever to visit again as an
RCN officer.
It was stretching the point a good deal to describe President Delos Vaughn as an ally of
Cinnabar, as the events that put him in power had been not only unauthorized by Cinnabar's Ministry of
External Affairs but actively hindered by those well-meaning diplomats. Still, the award was too striking
for Daniel not to wear it unless he were flatly forbidden.
Foreigners had vulgar taste, far inferior to that of Cinnabar, of course. But Daniel had learned
that girls--the girls he found attractive--didn't object to a bit of vulgarity; and truth to tell, the taste of rural
districts like Bantry wasn't nearly as muted as that here in Xenos, the capital.
Christine touched one medal after another, her lips working silently. A circle of guests was
forming about them like mother-of-pearl coating a sand grain in the mantle of a shellfish; not pressing, but
rapt in anticipation of what they might hear. Powerful nobles and very beautiful women, wondering what
the heroic Lieutenant Leary might say!
Daniel knew it didn't matter. These same people would howl and kick his naked body down the
street tomorrow if he were disgraced and executed; they'd done that with many of those implicated in the
Three Circles Conspiracy. The folk quickest to spurn the fallen were those who'd cheered the loudest in
the days before their overthrow.
It didn't matter--but he was young and he was human. "That...," Daniel said as Christine ran the
sash of red silk and cloth-of-gold between her fingers. He spoke to the older woman, but his eyes met
those of the petite blonde beaming from just beyond her. "... makes me a Royal Companion of Novy
Sverdlovsk as I understand it. I was fortunate enough to recover a valuable artifact for the throne and
gained Sverdlovsk's support for a Cinnabar initiative in the Galactic North as a result."
The artifact was a diamond engraved with the continents of Old Earth before the wars in which
asteroids had smashed the planet out of its former shape. Daniel had traded it for a warship, and with that
ship he--and the finest crew that ever blessed an RCN captain--had smashed an Alliance squadron. The
sash was showy. For the same incident Admiral Keith had awarded Daniel the Medal of the Republic in
Red--a small bronze cross with a ruby point in the center.
Civilians marveled at the sash. RCN officers braced to attention and saluted when they saw the
medal.
The orchestra played a few bars as a signal. Couples began forming for a sarabande.
"Now, Daniel," Christine said, holding his right hand with her left but turning to take the hand of
the blonde beside her. "May I present Thora, the daughter of my great friend Senator Bencini?"
She brought their hands together. Thora simpered becomingly; her fingers gripped Daniel with
摘要：

THEWAYTOGLORYbyDavidDrakeDEDICATIONForGinaMassel-CastaterWithrespectandaffectionACKNOWLEDGMENTSDanBreencontinuesasmyfirstreader,I'mhappytosay.Hehasparticularmeritonclericalissues,buthe'sverygoodonmattersofsizeaswell.I'moccasionallyaskedhowIkeepdetailsstraightwhilewritingcomplexnovelsinseveralsubgenr...

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