Chapter 2: By Her Command
"It's a long way to Tipperary," sang Captain Sean Lane of the Royal Navy. "It's a long way to go."
He stumbled slightly as he climbed the steps toward his flat. The muscular Irishman was drunk, though not- in his opinion- drunk enough. He still remembered why he had been drinking, for one thing.
"It's a long way to Tipperary." He made it to the door of his one-room flat and struggled to fit the key in the lock. After a few tries, the door opened up.
"To the sweetest girl I know," he sang cheerfully as he walked through the door.
A blonde-haired girl with twin-tails stood up from the bed where she had been sitting as he came in. She wore an old-fashioned shirt that looked like a uniform of some kind, white gloves, tall socks, and no pants or skirt.
Suddenly sober, Lane felt his face flush. "I am terribly sorry, miss, I seem to have come to the wrong flat." The words came out in a rush and he pulled the door closed as he backed hurriedly out of the room.
Half expecting a cry for the police, he looked desperately around for his home. Three hundred and one, three hundred and three-
Wait.
That was his flat.
Lane had risen to the rank he wore by quick thinking and an ability to grasp opportunities when they came. He could think of only a few reasons a half-dressed blonde would be in his room, and at least two-thirds of them argued for him going back in.
He swung open the door again. "Excuse me, miss? Do I know you?" His first theory was that he had met the girl at a bar, made an assignation, and then had forgotten with the aid of some whiskey.
She looked him up and down. "Captain Lane?" she asked. Her voice was very proper, very RP.
She knew who he was, but he was unaccustomed to hearing that accent with any of the girls he tended to bring home. That scuttled at least two possible theories. "Yes? By the way, you seem to not be wearing any pants. I thought you should know if you weren't aware."
The girl snapped to attention. "I have been sent by the Queen to find you, Captain. You are hereby ordered to report immediately to Her Majesty."
"Her Majesty?"
"Of course. Queen Elizabeth," clarified the blonde.
There was a long pause, during which Lane's eyes got wider and wider. His next words came out in a whisper. "Did- did something happen to the king?"
"What?"
"The king. King George. If Elizabeth is queen, then-"
"I am talking," said the girl frostily, "about Queen Elizabeth the First."
Another long pause. "I am very drunk, aren't I? I thought you just said I had been summoned by Queen Elizabeth the First. Of England, right?"
"Where else?"
"Point," he conceded. "Miss, if you would please direct yourself outside, you will find a telephone down the hall. Ask the operator for the number to Bedlam, then tell them you are checking yourself in. They can help you from there." He walked past her and gratefully collapsed on his bed.
The blonde crossed her arms and started tapping her foot. "Do you even know who I am?"
Lane closed his eyes. "I don't know. The Duke of York?"
"No, she is still back at the dock."
"Go away."
"I am Her Majesty's battleship Warspite," she announced. "And these-" she produced a thin envelope from somewhere- "are your orders." She tossed them onto the bed next to him.
He opened his eyes, frowning at her. Curious, he picked up the envelope and tore it open. "Sir," he read.
"You are hereby directed to assume command of-" he stopped talking as he read through the rest of the letter.
He finished. Slowly, he raised his eyes to look at Warspite. "This is what they meant by a breakthrough with the Mental Cubes, isn't it? They said something about personifications of ships or something."
"We have the power of the greatest warships the world has ever known," confirmed Warspite. "And you have been chosen to command us."
"Why me? There are plenty of admirals and such."
"The Queen herself demanded you as our commander- well, second-in-command after Her Majesty, of course."
"Of course," echoed Lane. "Again, though- why?"
"You will have to ask her yourself," said the warship haughtily. "Come with me and I will take you to her."
Lane shrugged. "All right. At least I'm drunk enough that this doesn't seem absolutely crazy."
She walked to the door, which opened abruptly. Another young woman peered in. She was, at least, more dressed than Warspite, with a long blue dress and white gloves. "Is he coming, Warspite?"
If anything, her accent was more upper-class than Warspite's, a stark contrast to Lane's faintly Irish-accented English. He had always been self-conscious about his accent- he was manifestly not one of the upper class twits who were most common in the higher echelons of the service- but the situation was strange enough that he did not feel the usual sense of inferiority.
"I believe so," said Warspite. "Come on, then. Up we go." She reached out and, with shocking strength, pulled him up off the bed so quickly he stumbled forward a step or two. Both of them frowned at his lack of balance. "Have you been drinking?"
"Yes," he said. Apparently she had not been listening too closely to what he had been saying. "But being accosted by a warship in your flat at two in the morning tends to sober one quite quickly."
"I don't know," said Warspite dubiously. She looked at the other girl. "Would it be better to bring him before Her Majesty intoxicated or delay until he's sober, Hood?" Lane noted the name. So this was the Hood, was it?
"Her Majesty is more likely to forgive drunkenness than lateness," said Hood. "At least at the present time."
"All right, all right," groused Lane. "I'm coming. Shall I put on my uniform?"
"Quickly, please," said Warspite.
"All right. But can you do something for me?"
"What?"
"Before we go outside, could you put on some pants or something?"
"Your Majesty, I present to you your subject Captain Sean Lane of the Royal Navy," announced Warspite, who had ignored his suggestion about her dress, or rather lack thereof.
They were in an old aircraft hangar. Partitions had been set up to create smallish "rooms" of a sort, all neatly laid out. The area Lane was in was clear of any of the makeshift walls, but did have a slightly tatty carpet which ran to a sort of throne. Peering curiously at it, Lane decided it was mostly made out of an old barber's chair, though someone had re-upholstered it and shined the arms until they gleamed.
Sitting at tables all around him were at least a dozen of the ship-girls. They watched him narrowly, some holding cups of tea.
A slip of a girl in a short, frilly gray dress sat on the throne, holding a strange sort of scepter with a crown on one end. She nodded graciously at Warspite. "He may approach," she said grandly.
Lane hesitated, but then made a snap decision to go with it. He walked forward and knelt. "Your Majesty."
"Finally!" said Elizabeth. "We had started to wonder if any of the British understood who We were." She waved the scepter. "You may rise."
He did so, glancing at Hood and Warspite. They had taken up positions flanking the throne, eyeing him closely. "Your Majesty, I confess I am at a loss. I have received orders to take command of the Royal Navy, er, ship-girls, but as to why-"
"Because I specifically requested you!" said the Queen acerbically. "And it wasn't until Warspite dealt with the two admirals they sent in your stead that they actually listened."
"'Dealt with?'"
"Oh, their injuries will heal," said Elizabeth dismissively. "No, I asked for you because you were the most successful Royal Navy commander against the Sirens."
He grimaced, knowing immediately what she was referring to. "Respectfully, Your Majesty, I lost almost my entire command."
"But you destroyed far more Siren ships, and displayed excellent tactical thinking and judgment. Your court-martial was a travesty."
"It is- kind of you to say so," said Lane, gritting his teeth.
"Therefore, you are the only commander fit to lead my fleet. I mean, Our fleet." She jumped down from the throne, in a decidedly unladylike way. She walked around him, looking him up and down. He submitted to the inspection, bemused.
She sniffed. "What is that odor?"
"He was conducting maintenance when we found him," said Warspite quickly. "I fear that we surprised him so badly that he spilled the alcohol he was using to clean a, a piece of, er, equipment and-"
The Queen waved her explanation away. "No matter. He will do admirably. Our judgment is impeccable."
"As always, Your Majesty," said Warspite. There were some embarrassed coughs at the blatant flattery, but Elizabeth didn't seem to notice.
"Captain Sean Lane, you will, in Our name, take command of the Royal Navy as my loyal servant," announced Elizabeth grandly. "Kneel."
Lane looked around. The ship-girls were watching him closely as an expectant silence fell. Not knowing what else to do, he knelt.
The Queen tapped him on each shoulder with her scepter. "I hereby grant you the title of Knight of the Seven Seas. You may rise, Sir Lane."
It wasn't any order of knighthood that he'd ever heard of, and he doubted he'd see his name in the Honours list, but he supposed he would take it.
It was a good thing he was drunk, though.