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“Indeed, Lieutenant. But can you tell me why that opinion is entirely incorrect and the truth as to why it is critical to our efforts?”
    The lieutenant—barely past his midshipman years—could only shake his head no. And those around him looked upon him with a mix of terror and pity.
    “Lieutenant, the alchemists here use the ores mined below to create the solution known as Mercurium. This allows our ships greater freedom of movement; with the proper application of Mercurium to the ships’ sails, they may launch for the Void from any point, upon any sea, on any world. Without Mercurium, ships must sail—sometimes for weeks—until they reach a world’s aurorae at the poles, and only there can they catch the Solar wind and be off into the Void. But of course, you knew this already, did you not, Lieutenant?”
    The young man nodded vigorously, and seemed quite apt to have a nervous episode at any moment.
    “France has very little Mercurium at hand,” Weatherby continued. “So little, in fact, that they’ve found it easier to simply build ships from their holdings on Venus, then send them into the Void and keep them there. These Void-squadrons are growing, I’m sorry to report. And with Venus so close, our critical holding here upon Mercury—one of the keys to our dominance of the Void—has been sorely tested, and will likely be tested many times again. It is Mercurium, produced here, that allows our ships to quickly make the Void from wherever our ships may be, while France and her allies must ascend at the poles of any given world—effectively hampering their imperial ambitions considerably. This outpost is thus critical to our efforts.”
    Weatherby looked closely at his audience. He told them nothing new, really, but he had them well in hand, the benefits of rank and legend manifest. “I know you would like nothing more than to make sail for England and expel the French from our homes. And I should be quite glad to give the order. But we face a canny, cunning, well-armed enemy. We must fight intelligently, attacking at points of weakness. England will be liberated, I can promise you. Napoleon will answer for the crimes he’s committed against our King, our Country and against God Himself. And your actions here, aboard this fine ship, under this most excellent commander, will help bring us to that fine day.
    “Mind your stations, heed your orders and excel in all that you do, and the French shall hear Thunderer in their ears before long! God save the King!”
    The young men in the room stood as one and cried out, “God save the King!”
    With a nod, Weatherby moved toward the door, shaking the officers’ extended hands. It both amused and saddened him to think that these young men would one day say, “I once shook Lord Weatherby’s hand!” He overheard a young midshipman say exactly that upon a frigate he inspected last year, and felt both embarrassed and morose afterward. Weatherby had done much since the invasion of England…but Napoleon still held their homeland. All the accolades and titles would mean little until he could see the King return to Buckingham and Windsor once more.
    Then he could finally rest.
    O’Brian escorted Weatherby out onto the main deck and toward the gangplank that would take him back upon Elizabeth Mercuris. “I must apologize for Lt. Stiles, my Lord. I shall see to his further education, of course,” O’Brian said.
    Weatherby smirked as he stepped onto the “ground” of the outpost –more wooden planking, slapdash paths made of old timbers that linked Elizabeth Mercuris’ buildings together. Below the planking was nothing but the Void. “Of course, though do remember we were much like him back in the day.”
    “We were, and we were whipped for it,” O’Brian retorted as he escorted Weatherby toward the outpost’s Admiralty headquarters—a former second-rate ship, long stripped of sail and mast, with windows where its gunports once were and a surprisingly