A Little Duvalier history

"Where is Fenghua?" Rebecca asked. She had found herself in what could only be called a story time rota; only coming by once a week.

Jinhua looked around. "She has taken an interest in your young man's treecat." She replied nodding toward a quiet corner. The girl was at a table with ensign Kyle, Daedalus sitting on it, and occasionally signing. "She will probably know more about your treecats than anyone else aboard by the time she gets home."

"So like her mother."

"Yes, in this at least. But she has a lot of her father in her." She looked sad. "He would have been so proud of her."

"I read up on your family enroute to here. So one of your ancestors was hanged?" Sonya Campbell asked.

Duvalier snorted. "Angus wasn't hanged, he was lynched."

"And I thought you came from a respectable family." Jinhua traded her empty glass for a full one.

"This from someone who got hammered and woke up half naked in my bed on our last cruise." Rebecca snorted again, then drained her glass and switched it for another.

"This I gotta hear." Kelly said.

"What, how I woke up with this Kodiak Max stealng all the covers?"

"Kodiak Max?" Dwyer asked.

"The premier predator of my home world. It stands 2 meters at the shoulder and seven in length. There's an old joke I can paraphrase to fit her; what do you do if you wake up to find a Kodiak Max in your bed, steaing all the covers? Answer, give him the pillow too, but don't wake him up to ask."

"If I want to hear about what someone was doing in the same bed, I'd ask Sonya about her last shore leave." The man grunted as his fellow captain hit him in the gut with her elbow.

"He means the lynching. We know the technical difference, but maybe it's different in Manticore?" Sonya asked.

"No, it still means an execution where there is no trial."

"How did it happen? And when?"

"My entire clan moved to the Manticore system in 1500 AD. We came because of the plague decimating the first settlers almost ten years earlier. Then the new arrivals got hit by the new mutated strain. Of the four hundred and sixty of us that came, seventy-five survived, We split up, about half staying on Manticore, the rest going to Sphinx. The city of Duvalier stands on the land we'd settled on Sphinx. But when Gryphon was opened up to settlement in 1510, those on Manticore all moved there. But the land situation was worse."

"How so?" Dwyer asked.

"When the original colony was started, it was a democracy. But the plague killed almost 90 percent of them. They didn't want to lose political control of their homeland, so before they asked for settlers, they rewrote their consitution, converting those surviving families into something like seventy-five percent of our present aristocracy. So we already had a lot of nobles who had bought the right of first refusal for land on Gryphon even before the first settlers actually moved there. This along with land grants that make what I've read about the Spanish ones during the age of Exploration on Old Earth look like modern housing lots in Landing today. The first two Grand dukes of Gryphon never even visited the planet, just adminsitered their holdings from afar. It wasn't until 1550 that the crown required all Gryphon 'nobles' to have their primary residence there.

"That meant you had a quarter of the planet in the hands of absentee landlords with both grants and credits to allow them to purchase more before anyone else, a quarter up for sale to the new settlers, the rest in crown lands, and all of the choice land belonged to the first two groups, or so they thought. When we arrived, instead of doing what a lot of the new settlers did, merely putting a pin in the map and saying, 'we'll live here', my ancestor actually checked it out from orbital maps and walked the land we later claimed.

"Patrick Michael Duvalier had been an architect on earth specializing in rustic homes; All natural building materials for insulation, that kind of thing. His branch of the family made a lot of money inside what is now the Solarian league designing the methods used on a number of newly settled planets in what used to be the Verge before the League annexed the Shell. He had actually been paid to relocate himself and his extended family by the crown. And almost two thirds of those who survived the plague had skills such as agronomy, forestry, quarrying and fishing that were also valuable enough to have the crown pay for their trips. So Patrick chose the vally now known as Oak Glen as his home, with the 100 square kilometers around it and the other twenty-five Manticoran resident survivors bought the land along the coast at Holy Loch and Glen Curtis.

"The crown still held title to the Crown Range back then, and had decided to divide it up between the seated nobles and the commoners, but access to some of the richest minerals were along our border, and the Duke of Novaya Baikal was hoping to grab those for himself. He was more incensed when Thomas Kirk Duvalier who owned the land in 1610 discovered the Gryphon Leviathan, which is used to manufacture medicines and cosmetics. So in the early 18th century when the population reached six million; the agreed level for the Crown Range to be divided up, he and a lot of the nobles got together to 'convince' land owners like Angus Ian Duvalier who was patriarch of the family to relocate."

"Sounds like the old stories about the westward expansion in North America." Koshigami commented. At the blank stares from Jinhua and Rebecca, he elaborated. "What they call the old west had entrepreneurs who tried to make people sell their lands, whether it was so the cattlemen could have grazing land, to sell to mining consortia for minerals, or because the railroad was going to pass through the area and needed to buy up the right of way."

"Exactly. He first tried to claim that the entire Duvalier clan had settled on the wrong claims, that ours were further south. It didn't stand up in court as much as he tried, because the records of our family and those on Manticore itself did not match the 'local' records they tried to use to prove his claim.

"So in 1718, Novaya Baikal sent men in to make problems; killng cattle and using paws from Kodiak Max attached to poles to claw the bodies to conceal the bullet holes, 'mysterious' fires and explosions to destroy facilities. Angus' son Ian was killed when his harvesting submarine was lost to 'causes unknown' then. Of course with the local constabulary and judiciary firmly under control of the Nobles, no real effort was made to discover the causes, or punish the guilty.

"Every time something happened, the Duke would 'graciously' offer to buy the land from him, But Angus was a typical Highlander, and as anyone knows, we Gryphon Highlanders tend to be determined-" She stopped speaking as Jinhua started to laugh, then converted it to a coughing fit. "Should I ask the doctor to look into that horrible cough, Graffin?"

Jinhua shook her head. "I was just thinking that 'determined' is such a bland word. You could have used stubborn, though I think 'pig-headed' 'hard-headed', thick-necked' or even-"

"To get back to my story without further digression?" Rebecca said reprovingly. "Then a 'hooligan gang' supposedly attacked Angus' home. Unjfortunately for them, Angus was there when it happened, and he led his hands out, armed literally for bear. The locals usually carried 13mm rifles because they might face a Kodiak Max, and nothing much smaller even slows them down. They shot down four aircars, killed seven men, and captured sixteen. The local constables showed up, already saying 'hooligans', to find that one of the dead men was Pyotyr, the son of the Duke."

"Christ. How did the local constables explain that?"

She laughed softly. "They didn't even try. They merely arrested Angus to 'question him' about the incident. Enroute to the capital, they were supposedly forced down in a small town by 'irate citizens' who dragged Angus out, and hung him for the 'murder'." She motioned to the Penannular that pinned down the shoulder piece of her kilt. Beneath the pin was a representation of a man hanging from a tree, with two angels pinning men down beneath the feet of the corpse.

"You all know the craze back in the last two centuries before the Diaspora; people having coats of arms made as if they were knights, or their descendants? Someone had jokingly asked the first generation of the Duvaliers of Gryphon if they were going to do the same, but no one even considered it. When my Grandfather became the First Baron Duvalier, he had this symbol commissioned with the last words of Angus before he died as our family motto. 'Justice will have it's day'. Sir Vladmyr Ushenko Duvalier, my grandfather, and his adoptive father Malcom, made sure to get even with Novaya Baikal, even if it was never recorded how." She grinned. "Let's just say the 10th Duke of Novaya Baikal and his son died under 'suspicious circumstances', and both my family and the Crown are the only ones to know why." Her grin became feral, then sad. "You know my Treecat name; Cat Like Joker? My father always said I inherited my sense of humor from Grandfather Vlad."

"It sounds like your people are at war with their own nobles." Sonya commented.

"There's a reason we Gryphon Highlanders have little use for ninety percent of our nobles. They give the term 'conservative' a bad name. If you ask most Gryphon nobles, Moses came down with the Eleven Commandments, not ten, and the second was 'God gave us these titles, and you are unworthy of notice'. They used to manage votes by accepting bribes from anyone and every one. Back in Roger the Second's time they had a referendum that wanted to set aside the 9th Amendment and take away all of the land held as a treecat sanctuary, as if we had treecats of our own to dispossess. Queen Samantha finally put and end to that, along with we Highlanders."

"Captain?" Jinhua chuckled as all five looked at her. "You might want to look at that."

Across the compartment a dozen Sidemorans were approaching where Stacy and the Republican LAC commanders were describing their own maneuvers during the competition. The two leaders were a pair of the drummers ticking off a marching pace, followed by four carrying banners for the Sidemore LAC carriers, the COLACs and three carrying of all things, hat boxes. Now the drums rolled as the formation stopped.

"Attention to orders!" The senior officer shouted. "As commander of Stainless Banner Wing and senior LAC commander of our attached CLACs, it is my great pleasure to award your proper ceremonial head gear for participation in these games. Lieutenant Petain!" The young man stood. "As senior officer, operating as the commander of Imperial Guard Cavalry squadron, we award you the helmet of that regiment."

The ancient design looked like a cross between a Greek helmet's horsehair crest and that worn by a Roman officer. Petain took it, and put it on, shaking hands solemnly.

"Lieutenant Montcalm, the 1er Regiment de Carabiniers has a distiguished record from Royal France until the Second World War on Earth. However we chose the headgear from the earlier period." This hat was a tall shako in what looked like bearskin. The younger man grinned as he put it on, and shook hands.

"Our greatest award goes to one of our own. For excellence in these games, and winning the competition, we have a special award." Stacy stood, and gasped as the largest hatbox was opened. With trembling hands, she took it out, holding the hat in her hands, and merely stared at it.

It looked like a wider brimmed version of the Sphinx Forestry Service 'bush' hat with the right side pinned up and back, but several plumes were attached to the left side of the hat band.

The officer stepped back. "You know as well as I do, Midshipwoman, on Sidemore only the Commandant of the LAC school wears that design of hat. One day, maybe you'll wear what it represents. You are allowed to wear this one with your dress uniform through this deployment, and keep it as a momento.

"And when this deployment is over, I will be asking that you be assigned to my wing." He looked at the other COLACs, "As have my peers. Atten-hutt!" All four of the COLACs snapped to attention, snapping off parade ground salutes. The girl looked confused, and looked toward where the Sidemore Captains stood. They also snapped to attention, and also saluted her. Rebecca joined them.

"You have to put on the hat and return our salute." the Spokesman stage whispered, causing chuckling. Stacy blushed furiously, put the hat firmly on her head, then snapped to attention and threw back a salute worthy of Saganami Island.

Rebecca watched the officers congratulating the girl, checking her watch. "And on that note everyone, we deploy in four hours. Let's be about it."

Deployment

Both the Phoenix Cluster and the Phoenix Wormhole Junction are actually misnomers. The 'Cluster' is just a trio of stars in comparatively close proximity in regard to standard spatial distances. The 'junction', unlike the Manticoran Wormhole, is two separate wormholes, again a lot closer together than occurs usually.

The Phoenix terminus of the Manticoran Junction was associated with the Hennesy System, and the Erewhon segment is near the Terra Haute System a little more than five days away for a warship, almost ten for a merchant conversion. Of course to the people in that ship, running at the Delta band equivalent of .75C, it is only about eight days subjective. Since junction transits were effectively instantaneous, it is the Hennesy-Terra Haute leg that accounts for virtually the entire length of the journey from Manticore to Erewhon.

The ships of the impromptu squadron practiced singly and as a unit for every contingency they could think of. The Republican members of the crew, divided up among the colliers/armed merchant cruisers worked alongside their new allies finding a way the tehcnology of the more modern navy could work with the Republic's slightly inferior methods; easier than it might sound, as the ships captured at Cerebus, along with those captured at the battle of Manticore gave the Alliance a leg up. By the same token, the Republic and it's previous incarnation had routinely found ways to intergrate captured technology into their systems.

They were sixteen and sometimes eighteen hour days, but the crews began to become not a bunch of people traveling together, but a well organized team. At least mostly.

Rebecca held up the tea pot as Diedre Hughes came in, and at the Exec's nod, poured as Os apeared like a Djin, delivered cookies snacks and sandwiches, then vanished without even a puff of smoke.

"Any problems, Number One?" She asked as Irene stole a wedge of Camambert.

"One I didn't anticipate, ma'am. Dollaryde."

Rebecca stopped pulling, allowing the little monster to escape. "You're kidding."

"I wish I was." She handed over the data pad. "Last cruise he was turning out 3.3 to 3.6 on his efficiency reports. But he's slipping and badly. You expect it at first when you uprate someone; so the first 2.9 he did went by without notice. But in two weeks he's dropped to an average of 2.7. He's assigned to monitoring station two in Fusion one, he spends his shift chasing the bubble."

Rebecca checked the record. Hughes had highlighted the shifts in question, and the number two station reported constant changes in the settings, running up and down by as much as four percent above and below the median. This was dangerous, though the euphemism sounded almost funny. It had been taken from surveying and the sighting transit used. If you set one leg of the transit at a time, you ended up trying to level it every time you set the leg, or 'chasing the bubble'. But by tamping two of the three legs, while adjusting two of the three leveling wheels simultaneously, you leveled and set the transit in half the time.

With a fusion plant it was a disaster waiting to happen; because if that variation became 5% or more, the plant could lose containment. That would cause a partial loss and vent inside the ship, killing or injuring the engineering crew. Worse yet it could lose full containment, reducing the ship to dust as the plant blew.

She turned to her computer, bringing up Dollaryde's records under Chief Engineer Commander Collins. "Number One, this doesn't make sense. Did you check his position under Commander Collins?"

"That's why it doesn't make sense. He was doing the same job, but excelling." She ran her fingers through her hair. "I knew Collins well enough to know he wasn't buttering your bread to cover for Dollaryde. And Hayes is tough but fair. What's changed?"

"I don't know, but we're going to find out." Rebecca leaned forward. "Os?"

"You want me to talk with the Bosun." She looked up at the pantry door, where Oscelli was standing.

"Do you have to do that?"

"Do what, ma'am?"

"Either eavesdrop or use some kind of weird psychic powers to keep track of my whereabouts?"

"If I am to do my job proficiently, the answer would be yes." He replied equably.

"Can you think of anything that might be distracting our Mr. Dollaryde from his duties?" At his quirked eyebrow she added, "other than the twins."

"He has been having problems with the brewery. He dumped his last batch of beer right before we deployed, according to Chief Sisko. He didn't give a reason, but he was upset. Mr. Krueger has also been riding him hard. The midshipman did apologize for something, what I do not know. But he is still pushing the lad pretty hard."

"Anything actionable?" She asked sharply.

"No." Os shook his head. "Like a young officer who expects the enlisted man to do better, according to Ensign Reese."

"All right then. Have someone check surreptitiously to assure Dollaryde has enough ingredients for more."

"Surreptition would be the way to go, ma'am."

Surreptition

"Hey, Dollaryde." Chief Sisko called out as he headed toward hydroponics. The younger man looked up, then back at his console. The chief stopped. "What, I'm not worth talking to?

"It's not that, chief." His eyes didn't lift from the panel. "I just got reamed, again, by J.G. O'Connor because he says I'm chasing the bubble."

Sisko walked over, looking at the console readings. The controlled star that was the fusion plant was rock steady, pressure moving barely half a percent from the median. Every time the pressure shifted, Dollaryde tapped in a correction. The kid was micromanaging like a maniac. Concentrating like that constantly during a four hour shift would drive you crazy.

"Has it been acting up like that since you started?"

"No, chief, only during this shift." The kid rubbed his head. "I've done two diagnostics in the last three hours, but I didn't find anything wrong with the system." He bit off a curse, adjusting it again, "It's like the-"

"Chief, can I help you?" Lieutenant JG O'Connor came up behind them.

"No, sir. I was just checking on Dollaryde-"

"Chief, he's having enough problems doing his job without people from other departments coming by and trying to chat him up. Talk to him in an hour after his shift."

"Yes, sir." Sisko turned, leaving the compartment. He passed through the section where the brewery stood. The vats stood empty, and he walked over, checking them. They had the look of something that had been scrubbed and polished until they shown. He smelled the air, noticing a trace of cleaning solvents in the air.

He went on, arranging to have vegetables that were grown aboard, primarily tomatoes because of the speed with which they matured sent up to the pub, then went to storage to have other vegetables, delivered to be sliced into bite sized pieces.

"Morning, Boozer." He looked up from his thoughts as the Bosun came by.

"A word in your shell-like, Boats?"

"Always have time for you, Boozer."