to be human/sexual in content, she has taken over the galley and ship's stores. I must say, sir, she does well. She wouldn't let the men throw away anything."
Making eyes at Flex, Piehl thought. She is what, seventeen. Not my problem. They'll have to work things out for themselves. Ahhh, for the good old days when all you had to worry about was being vaporized by the enemy or eaten alive by an admiral.
Piehl got out of his chair, slipped quietly off the bridge and headed aft to his cabin.
"IMP?"
"Yes, Captain."
"Did you scan the trade goods for anomalies before loading."
"Yes, so far it is clean."
"All right, keep a sharp eye. That would be the obvious way to slip something aboard."
"Aye, Captain."
"I'm going down-time for a couple hours. Keep me posted."
"Aye, aye, Captain."
Piehl woke a few hours later, had a quick turn in the fresher and changed to a ship's uniform, the multi-pocketed, jumpsuit used throughout space. He looked in the mirror and wondered what the Lady Lociranou could want with a burned out middle-aged ex-general, a losing general at that. He knew the emotional reasons, but what looked back at him from the mirror wasn't the stuff of which Holo stars were made.
His hair and beard were salted gray. At the moment, deep-set eyes weary with fatigue; not a very romantic picture.
Ah well, he mused, better this way. The last thing I need is involvement with a woman, any woman.
Piehl went over to his personal locker and removed the battered case that held his 'Syrinx'. Piehl ran his hands over the old case, remembering the good songs and the different places he'd played. He put his index fingers on the translucent metal strip along the edge of the case and moved hands and fingers outwards towards the edge thinking the name of the instrument as he'd been taught.
It opened quietly. A Syrinx is large for a lap instrument. To Piehl it felt alive. He thought soft then ran his fingers easily up and down the frets, picking out an old Earth folk song. It sensed his intent and tripped through each melodic line in counterpoint.
Good, cheerful stuff. The hands and the heart remembered. He sat for a few moments and went over the old Legion songs the men would request. They liked drinking-songs, fighting songs, songs of brave ships and men, and of course, simple and sentimental love songs.
Fighting men have little in their lives that is complex; too much battle, not enough love, and of course, drinking to forget, or remember.
Not for me to criticize, he thought, I know the life better than most. There was a knock on the door.
"Who goes?"
"Ing, sir."
"Come in, Major, I've been sitting here remembering times and places I played for the men."
"I too remember, Captain; of course, we got it across the comm-net. I sang for the ship on the day we decided not to retreat. A bright moment, sir."
"I know, I heard of it later. How in God's name did you survive? I heard your ship was hit by a double bolt from the Imperial battle cruiser Tarnwall."
"No reason I should have, Captain, except for a bit of luck. I was in-capsule trying to conn the ship to the middle of the Imperial Fleet. The capsule was faced away from the direction of the hit and blown right off its mounts into the captain's cubby.
"It wedged in there somehow and the blast doors closed automatically. There I was, stuck, couldn't move, couldn't see, couldn't do a thing; so I connected the CommSys to all the emergency channels and sang rude songs about the Imperial Navy for eighteen hours."
Piehl laughed. "By God, Ing, it was great. Well, let's go out and see what's going on."
"Aye, sir."
Piehl closed the case and headed for the portside hatch. Even before they got to the hatch, Piehl could hear the echo of voices and laughter. There was an occasional snatch of song coming from the docking bay floor. Three hundred men sat on makeshift chairs and tables made from the tag ends of hull plate and stress beams. Half the onboard supply of liquor was already gone. There'd be trouble if they hadn't brought of their own. Piehl had forgotten about a Legionnaire's thirst.
"General, you better hurry or it'll be gone before you start," one of the men shouted.
Piehl went among them, sharing a bite to eat here, a joke and drinks wherever he stopped. One young man hardly out of his teens piped up.
"Take me along, General Piehl, I've listened to my Dad's lies for years. I want a chance to make up some of my own."
"I'd take you all, but I have no fleet this time, just a merchant pretending to be a cruiser." Piehl gestured toward the ship. "I think it will do."
The Whistler and Piehl walked over to the lift platform and got on. They raised it up about six or seven feet and Piehl laid the Syrinx case down.
"Somebody got a chair?" One of the men tossed up a crate. Piehl stood and looked around the docking bay. All of the men became quiet, and looked up expectantly.
"Alright, men, first things first."
"IS THERE BLOOD IN THE STEEL?" he shouted.
"OUR BLOOD IS IN THE STEEL," they roared back.
"Good! Then THERE'S STEEL IN THE BLOOD!"
He pulled his ship's knife from his belt, held his hand up to the men and with his knife cut a diagonal line across the palm.
A close look would have revealed a network of old scars. As the blood welled, he walked across the platform to the hull of the ship. When he held his hand next to the hull, there was a hush in the huge room. Then he pressed his hand hard against the hull.
"I JOIN MY BLOOD WITH THE STEEL!
I JOIN THE STEEL WITH MY BLOOD,
AND THROUGH MY BLOOOD,
THE BLOOD OF FREE MEN!"
Piehl sang it loud and clear.
There was another great cheer from the men.
"Piehl! Piehl! The Legion! The Legion!"
Piehl shouted the last with them. As a ritual it was old in the dawn of seafaring, the natural predecessor of space faring. In ancient times a sailor wouldn't take a boat to sea without first killing a bird and placing its bleeding breast against the prow to bring good luck or good fishing.
Somewhere on each man's hand there was a similar cut and somewhere in the ship they would have placed a drop of their blood to preserve and to protect. Piehl suspected even the Whistler had put a drop or two of his own somewhere on the hull.
Piehl raised his hand for quiet. "Thank you, men. Those of us who are outward bound will do our best and better for
