* * *
Ardon observed how subdued the officers’ mess was this evening. Occasionally he would hear the galley chief issue directives to his crew as they scurried about their duties, or he might pick up a snippet of some private conversation. Otherwise, the quiet noise of twenty hungry people hurriedly downing their portions was about the only sound to be heard. No one lingered in idle chitchat when a meal was finished. It was up from the table and out the door, back to work stations.
He wondered, ‘So this is one of the effects that eight straight weeks of constant duty has on a crew of a fighting ship? The crewmembers become little more than parts of the machine itself, each one surrendering up a piece of his or her soul so that the ship becomes the true living organism? Does the vessel finally gain control over the people to the point where they are consumed with working for its good, so that the machine becomes more precious than the creatures giving it life? Or is this just some kind of self-preserving collective spirit residing inside the ship’s crew?’ These were questions Ardon felt worth pondering, but at some later time.
He then turned his attention to Darla. She had hidden it well from the others, but most of colonel’s waking hours were filled with painful headaches caused by the constant attempts of her demon within to gain possession of the woman’s mind. Every night the monster renewed its struggle to overcome her resistance and every night, with Ardon’s help, Darla successfully bested it. Ardon was now convinced that Darla had the needed inner strength to mentally defeat the demon’s attacks. No longer was he worried about the woman’s sanity or her succumbing to this angry disease. Still he worried... worried she might physically die from the monster’s constant assaults before the demon could be expunged.
Ardon had often recommended that Darla take a sick leave and visit Euroaquilo. Each time she softly replied that the path of her destiny was already chosen and she would not deviate from it. At first, Ardon thought she was merely trying to appear tough and strong, possibly fearful of what others might think of her. Soon it became evident that the woman was being deliberate and stalwart, determined to stay some invisible course she was now on.
Once, late in the morning following an extremely difficult episode after which Ardon had recommended a visit to Euroaquilo, she confided, “There is a shroud of darkness that veils my path and I feel grief and dismay lying in wait should I remain on this road. Yet I see a bottomless chasm of indescribable anguish and eternal hopelessness if I wander one foot-breadth from the trail.”
She then tenderly kissed Ardon on the lips and, in the silence of her cabin, where no other ears could hear, sadly whispered, “I was born a child of shame, bastard daughter of an evil time, abandoned to despair. Even those loving me feared the abomination growing within.” Ardon was shocked at the woman’s revelation, but said nothing. As tears grew, she went on. “Even my rape I dared not confess to anyone. Few men have dared to share their dreams with me, lest they might receive my sickness. In their eyes, I am undesirable and ugly. No man could be found to gift me at my coming of age. All stood away in fear of what I had become. I was well into my fourth decade before there arose one brave enough to risk me - and he, at the request of Mother.”
Darla mourned, “A woman alone and empty I became, bitter in heart and soul. So I lifted up my arm and gave my strength to the gods of war. Upon the fields of blood, I found solace and my sword became my lover.” She turned her head away and quietly wept. Ardon remained silent, not able to find any words of consolation. She sadly choked out, “I have had but one friend to comfort me all these troubled years. And now, even it harkens me on to death.” The weeping continued.
In time, the girl stopped her tears and spoke more of this friend. “It appears as a lilting musical voice in my head. In times of need, it sings sweetly or becomes silent, depending the given direction I am considering at the moment. Its song has never betrayed me to my enemy, nor has it brought me to calamity. Indeed! Many a time it has preserved my soul alive. The music brought me to you, and I have not regretted my decision to pay heed to its call. It is the music that keeps me on this path I now follow.”
She then took Ardon’s hand and gently stroked it. He watched Darla’s face, her sadness reflected in the glow from lighted diodes on the panel near the door. The girl sighed sadly in remorse. “The music no longer plays for me when I think of returning to my Lord Euroaquilo. There is a veil of uncertainty that has risen between us - the cause for it I do not know. He hinted to me of future doom and unwanted parting. I believe he has dreamed and seen my demise. Maybe he hopes that, through my destruction, the demon will be forced from me, and maybe, in my rebirth… that is, if I attain it… my sickness will be gone.”
Ardon attempted some encouragement, but Darla hushed him. “I go where the music sends me. I will not falter from that path. Should I live or die, it is of little consequence to me, for I am but an unwanted living abortion in a troubled universe. My passing will be marked with a collective sigh from all those upon whom I have intruded.” She looked into his face, resigned acceptance showing in hers. “I will at least be at peace.”
Ardon was speechless, finding no consoling words to reply with. His own shame, for viewing this child the way he had, almost overwhelmed his senses. How selfish… No! How wicked he had been, refusing to recognize Darla’s feelings, worse, her needs. He had avoided the child after their first encounter in the Palace, viewing her as little more than a deformed household pet, something to be pitied from a distance. For nearly six millennia he had been privy to girl’s struggles and yet he never once felt real empathy for her nor did he ever speak up in her defense. Ardon wished that he could somehow disappear into nothingness.
Suddenly Ardon’s attention was drawn to the mess hall door. Raucous laughter came from the outer passage, and then...
“The smell of vittles all thrown in a pot.
The stronger the odor, the more moldy the lot.
Don’t cry o’er it Sally, it’ll spoil the gin.
Davy Jones’ locker is where we’ll all end.
So, away with sad faces and raise up the mug.
Smile at death as you drink down the suds.”
Jebbson stepped through the door, closely followed by Leftenant Ilanit. Viewing the astonished faces, they belted out the final refrain.
“The cannons will rumble and the muskets will roll.
When the battle is finished, our food will be cold.”
The entire room was stunned into dead silence. Gradually, one and then another of the seated officers rose, applauding this maker of boisterous merriment. Finally Colonel Darla stood, her scowling face unable to hide twinkling eyes. “So, Major Garlock, has the emptiness of open space finally gotten to your brain, or have you been examining our liquor stores a little too closely?”
Jebbson gracefully dipped into a deep bow, his arm sweeping out in a graceful, extended salute. He stood and offered a toothy smile. “My dear Queen Adaya, commander of a fearsome host, I have just now arrived from the chores of tedious labors. Your leftenant and I are near delirious with hunger. Please forgive us our little tryst should it have offended any valiant warriors among you. I shall take my beating as proscribed by law, but please spare the fair one who travels with me.” He bowed again.
Laughter erupted in the room, drowning any further comment Darla may have wished to make. Instead she motioned Jebbson and her leftenant, Ilanit, to join them at the table. The mess hall quieted, but not nearly to the level it had been earlier. Long was the song remembered and oft was it repeated to others. Courage and determination are drawn from many sources during war. It has been said that death is easier to face with a song on your lips. Whether that is so or not, Jebbson’s little ditty was put to tune and became a standard for many a brave warrior entering battle.