"What the hell am I doing here?"
There was no prompt answer. The wind rushed and moaned. The roiling water crashed and hissed under the stern. The following ship heaved its topsail into sight again, and withdrew it. A lilting chant drifted like smoke on the wind.
We ride the wind down like sleek, skimming birds.
The seething foam furrows follow true.
The sky is clouded with our singing sails.
We ride the wind down, down the wind.
He was Comet Colonel John Ward, Terran Confederation, Earth; he was certain of that. Age? Forty-two, more or less. Specialty? Historical Naval Tactician. If you had to call it something you might as well call it that. Hobby? Sailing. But, God, Snipes and Lightnings aren't ships-of-the-line! Reading? Well ... lyric poetry and ancient history, if you must know. Present Occupation? God Helper. No, call that Commander Advisor to the Kali, Aqua. Future? Oh, hell-yes; right up the....
Wide shouldered, wave exploding, trim twin-hulled we come.
First, the sky tall, fine first-liners.
Then the seconds, flanking fast.
Lean and level slide the frigates.
All around us flash the corvettes.
Ride the wind down, Kali seamen, down the wind to Ande-Ke.
Six months ago he had a future all outlined, but six months ago he was a shining God Helper, come in glory. Now he was simply a God Helper, and sometimes not even that.
We are the Kali. The fortunate ones. Yes!
Heirs to our wind and water world.
Like our ships we are tall and proud.
Like our wind we are wild and restless.
Like our sea we are strong and savage.
This is our world, wide and lonely.
Ride the wind down. Kali brothers, down the wind to Anda-Ke.
Six months on this barely discovered, one per cent land area, behind-the-galaxy planet, with piercing Confederation insight: Aqua. Where the land was scattered about like pepper on an egg, and even the wind tried to run backwards.
Down the wind at Anda-Ke—there is trouble.
There we meet the stupid Grimnal.
There the challenging, groveling Grimnal.
He will plead for his wives and children.
And, as proper Kali seamen.
We will keep them soft and happy.
After, we send their men away,
Under the hungry gray-green water:
Under the wind as we ride the wind down, down the wind to victory.
And here he still was, trying to show some life-loving, song-singing, battle-mad, contrary-thinking, conceived of leather and salt spray, five-foot humanoids how to fight a sea war.
And that was really quite a joke. The Kali and the Grimnal had been at this for a hundred years, and doing quite well. They were in no danger of getting overpopulated for one thing, and had evolved a dual power political system over the entire planet before the invention of an explosive. But now, being newly discovered by bigger and better dual powers, they were being shown how to fight in a bigger and better way. Only the Grimnal seemed to be learning, however. Oh, the Kali listened, and even followed directions, but they seemed incapable of understanding that slamming two corvettes upwind into the guns of eight first-liners was simply not good military tactics.
They had a game. Something like Tag in reverse. One man was It, and everyone on ship tried to catch him. He could go anywhere, do anything, even cut the rigging as long as it didn't endanger the ship. The more daring he was, the better. Ward had watched one make a hundred and fifty foot dive from a skysail yard with the ship making about twenty knots in a heavy sea. How do you go about explaining caution to a people like that?
But he had to. Somehow. Since the big boys had taken sides the Kali had been losing. Or, more accurately, Ward had been losing.
All the Gods are busy Beings.
We know.
But even They have noticed now,
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