Firestorm d-6

by Taylor Anderson

  “Remember,” she said more gently, “it’s different here than where you’re from. Soon, it’ll be different there,” she swore. “You may always bow your head as a sign of respect, if you choose, but never kneel to anyone!” She gestured ahead. “Lawrence and I were just heading back to Navy headquarters-to deliver the mail.” She smiled. “Would you care to walk with us?”

  “Ah…” Diania said, teetering, but nodded. “Aye’m, if ye wouldnae mind. P’raps ye may halp me wi’ me thoughts.”

  “Of course,” Sandra said, encouraged. Together, the trio resumed walking. “Maybe you’d like some advice about what to do next?” she guessed.

  “Aye’m,” Diania mumbled. “I labored in tha Comp’ny repair yard on Respite. I’m a carpentress by trainin’.” She held out her small hands, proudly displaying the calluses. “I kin go ta the Manilly shipyard fer work, but I know naught aboot Baalkpan.” She seemed amazed she had a choice to go there.

  “It’s much the same,” Sandra said. “Not quite as large, and surrounded by thicker forests. Hotter too. But there’s more innovation, more experimentation. It’s becing more iron and steel oriented, however. I suspect the machine shops are the finest in the world and the foundries are probably beginning to rival anything in the Empire.” There was still much steel being salvaged from sunken Amagi in the bay, but Commander Brister had Baalkpan’s first Bessemer process foundries turning out real steel now as well. He had both open hearth and electric arc blast furnaces to play with.

  Diania looked dubious. She knew little about metals, except some made better tools than others.

  Sandra suddenly smiled inwardly. “Of course, you could join the Navy. They’re always looking for good carpenter’s mates,” she said in a casual tone.

  That afternoon, many gathered at the “Buzzard’s Roost” to witness the departure of the PB-2. Lieutenant Mackey and Sergeant Cecil Dixon would be making the trip to Baalkpan, leaving Orrin Reddy to go east with Sandra and Task Force Maaka-Kakja. Sister Audry, the Dominican nun who’d endured the same captivity, travails, and terrors as those abducted by the criminal Billingsley, was going back to Baalkpan too, along with Sa’aaran “scouts” and Abel Cook. Now that it was time to go, Abel was reluctant to leave despite the exciting mission that awaited him. He had a fair-size, long-standing crush on Princess Rebecca, and there was no telling when he’d see her again. Sandra, Rebecca, and Captain Lelaa hugged Audry, and Tex, Laumer, Lawrence, and Midshipman Brassey gave her respectful salutes. Audry smiled wistfully, then made her way carefully into the cramped fuselage. The ground crew scampered out on the broad wing and spun the dorsal engine until it coughed to life.

  “Now all that remains is that ridiculous Dennis Silva,” Rebecca said. Her tone belied the words. She was sorry to see Abel go, and wasn’t at all happy Dennis was leaving. Drooped across her shoulders was a small, strange, brightly colored, feathery reptile named Petey, who’d adopted the princess on Shikarrak Island. He had membranous wings of a sort, and though he couldn’t fly, he could glide considerable distances. He also had a very foul mouth since he could imitate speech like a parrot-and some of the first words he’d heard were spoken by Dennis Silva. His vocabulary had improved somewhat, as had his possible understanding of the significance of a word or two. The only word he was known to understand entirely was “eat.”

  “Rid-culus Silva!” the creature chirped, acting suspiciously as if looking for the man.

  “Here I am, you little creep!” boomed a voice.

  “Creep!” Petey screeched. “Goddamn!”

  “Shush now, dear,” Rebecca said, stroking the little lizardy head. Her tone became more severe when she saw Silva bowling through the crowd. “Here you are at last! Everyone is waiting for you!” She paused, almost speechless. “What on earth have you been doing?” she finally managed. Silva was literally covered from head to foot with thick, dark grease.

  “Uh… well, I was over at the bearing works, helpin’ some ’Cats play machinist, see? Somethin’ happened, an’… we had us a calammitus grease-packin’ dee-zaster. Well, I realized the time, an’ figgered I better light along here before I was listed AWOL an’ hanged.” He held up a tiny rag. “I’ll wipe this goop off on the way. It’ll give me somethin’ to do.”

  “Silva… you’re… indescribable.” Sandra giggled.

  “Aw shucks. Thanks,” he said with his lopsided, signature grin, which always made Sandra a bit nervous. Seems ever’body’s always either wantin’ me hanged, or heapin’ me with praise!”

  “Or grease,” Laumer inserted.

  Silva opened his arms wide and advanced toward Rebecca. “Gimme a hug, li’l sis!”

  The princess backed away. “I will not! Go away this instant, you filthy beast!”

  Dennis shrugged, then turned to Sandra and the others and snapped a sharp, greasy salute. “So long,” he said. “Don’t never say I didn’t warn ya, when vicious sea monsters is pullin’ yer ships down to doom, the beer’s too warm, and ever’thing’s goin’ awry ’cause ol’ Silva ain’t there to save the day!” He darted for the plane, and just before he vanished through the tiny hatch, he tossed something at the water, but it took a wrong bounce on the dock and rolled to a stop on the wooden planks.

  Its last passenger aboard, the ground crew spun the outboard props and scurried back to the pier. With the newly started engines at idle, the strange seaplane wallowed away and made for a clearing in the harbor traffic.

  “He is a spiteful, senseless beast,” Rebecca said sternly, tears streaking her face.

  “Yes, he is,” Sandra agreed with a small smile. Brassey had gone to retrieve whatever it was Silva tossed. He brought it to them, carefully unwadding a sheet of paper. “It would seem Mr. Silva got some mail as well,” Sandra observed, taking the page. “I probably shouldn’t read it.” She did. Lughead:

  Now you’re not dead anymore, Mr. Riggs say’s you’re coming home. I know you won’t want to, probably because something needs doing, but I miss you so bad. Risa’s gone, you’re gone, and I’m stuck here all alone. Our whole little family has fallen apart. You’re MINE, you big goon, and if you skip out on me, I swear I’ll marry that stump Laney, just to spite you. Love and lots of kisses,

  Pam

  She wished she hadn’t. The reference to Risa still didn’t prove or disprove any of the theories regarding that part of the… relationship, but Pam’s feelings were clear, and Sandra’s heart went out to the nurse from Brooklyn. She also had the strangest feeling Pam Cross probably shouldn’t have claimed ownership of Dennis Silva. She looked at the curious faces around her and quickly wadded the note back into a ball, then tossed it into the sea.

  CHAPTER 5

  Grik Madagascar

  “G eneral of the Sea,” Hisashi Kurokawa, once ruler of Amagi, the magnificent Japanese Imperial battle cruiser, and now “High Councilor” to the Celestial Mother of all the Grik, peered intently through the crude iron bars at the drama unfolding in the cell. Inside, a female Grik of the lowest class, a “broodmare” for those Hij responsible for overseeing field labor (there were no female Hij outside the royal household), lay curled in a corner, smeared with her own blood and filth. She was larger than almost any male he’d seen; fatter, and with less formidable personal “weaponry.” She wasn’t half as massive as the Celestial Mother, of course, but e="3"›Loprobably weighed four hundred pounds. She hadn’t moved for quite some time, but he knew she was alive because of the whimpering. Despite his attempt at complete, clinical objectivity, he couldn’t suppress the primor- dial thrill the pitiful sound stirred within him. Good, he thought. At least I haven’t gone mad.

  He wasn’t there to enjoy the creature’s torment, however, but to observe the results of an experiment he’d arranged with the cooperation of the “Chooser,” an ominous, ghastly Grik he loathed, but whose assistance was necessary for the validation of Kurokawa’s new theory. The Chooser was the ultimate arbiter of life and death, short of his sovereign, in all the Grik Empire. There were o
ther “choosers”; many more. There were a few in each province of every regency. But as the chooser for the Celestial Palace, in the very household of the Giver of Life, this one was known only as the Chooser. Though reluctant at first, now he understood that Kurokawa’s grand scheme didn’t threaten his position or status, the Chooser had become the former Japanese officer’s greatest patron at court, beyond even Regent Tsalka and General Esshk. Kurokawa was pleased by that, though the malignant monster’s growing familiarity-and even overtures of friendship!-appalled him. But a happy Chooser was a powerful ally indeed in the great, twisted game Hisashi Kurokawa played. A year ago, he’d faced a hideous death. Now he had the ear of the most powerful being alive. He munched a cracker and stared through the bars. So far, the test was going well.

  The “broodmare” (it actually helped Kurokawa to think of her thus, to keep his… enjoyment to a minimum), moaned, and haltingly reached out to caress one of the hatchlings that slid from its protective stance on her flank. It hissed at her, but as had been demanded, she tentatively tried again. This time, the small, downy bundle of needlelike teeth and claws allowed the gentle touch, but immediately hopped back to its place on her flank-disdainful of its claws-and resumed its militant pose. There were five other hatchlings just like it there. Across the cell, as far as they could get from the female and “her” young, three more hatchlings raced back and forth, clacking and skittering on the stone floor with their claws. Occasionally, one squeaked a petulant snarl at its nest-mates that seemed determined to deny them a meal. On the floor between the warring gangs lay the savaged carcasses of eight young: two “defenders” and six “attackers.” Kurokawa had duly noted the statistics. “Fascinating,” he muttered.

  Behind him in the dank passageway, he heard unreproduceable Grik voices and advancing feet. He recognized the voices now, and he understood what they said, but speaking the vile tongue was beyond his desire or capability.

  “I thought we’d find you here,” General Esshk growled, and Kurokawa looked at the powerful Grik. All the hatchlings in the cell immediately forgot their antagonism toward one another and frizzed at Esshk’s approach, uttering a low, warning moan.

  “You have interrupted my experiment,” Kurokawa complained. “I may have to begin all over!” Esshk couldn’t speak the English the Japanese officer used any better than Kurokawa spoke Grik, but he also understood the words.

  “You are a most sadistic creature,” Esshk stated, a little wonderingly. “You realize what you put that one through,” he motioned through the bars, “is tantamount to the ‘Traitor’s Death,’ the most severe punishment the Giver of Life ever inflicts? To be slowly consumed by hatchlings…” The hardened warrior practically shuddered.

  “There is a difference,” Kurokawa insisted. “his one has not been bound, her claws and teeth pulled out… and her reward will be great.”

  “ If she survives, and does not go mad. And no doubt you’ve threatened her with the complete ‘treatment’ if she does not cooperate.”

  Kurokawa didn’t answer. The other voices in the passageway neared, and he identified them as those of Tsalka and the Chooser. They were attended, as always, by a significant guard. Also among them were three Japanese sailors. The sailors said nothing and wore nervous expressions. Suddenly, Kurokawa missed “General” Niwa, the closest thing he had to a friend. Niwa wasn’t really a friend, of course, but he alone of all the men of Amagi had been truly loyal, he thought, and he’d become a confidant of sorts in a world where Kurokawa had no others. Niwa had gone to Ceylon with General Halik to observe enemy strengths and tactics when the inevitable invasion of that province began. The Grik had scant hope of holding the place, but Regent Tsalka insisted that some effort be made after all. At least they might bleed the “prey”-the very real “enemy” that former “prey” had become-the first true enemy the Grik had ever faced throughout their long history.

  “Your ship awaits to take you to inspect the ‘projects’ underway on the continent,” Tsalka hissed. “The Celestial Mother is anxious for a report, and so am I. I would still preserve my regency from the enemy, if possible!”

  “All the projects proceed according to plan,” Kurokawa assured him. “You would not… rush me again, would you?”

  “Not at all,” Tsalka denied quickly, remembering what happened the last time they struck before Kurokawa said they were ready: The loss of Amagi and most of the “Invincible” Swarm. “I am… anxious, that is all. Word from General Halik hints at some confidence.”

  Kurokawa had heard that too, but the confidence involved a scheme to break the Allied blockade so Grik ships, loaded with steel and other war material produced on Ceylon, might escape Colombo-not that Halik thought Ceylon could be saved. Kurokawa sighed and stood from his stool. “Fleet construction and some of the new ordnance principles have struck minor snags, largely due to incompetent labor, but the deadlines will be met. I go there to ensure that they are, and to add certain modifications that have recently struck my fancy. The ‘Army’ plan proceeds even better than expected, as General Esshk can attest.” He gestured at the cell. “These tests confirm yet another of my fancies, that should result in an even greater efficiency among the ‘new’ Army troops and Navy crews. I’m quite excited.”

  “What of the aircraft you promised?” Esshk demanded. Kurokawa smoldered. Esshk wouldn’t leave that alone.

  “The… ‘aircraft’ I’ve undertaken to design and build are almost ready, in fact,” he stated.

  “But they are nothing like the aircraft you promised! They do not resemble your damaged ‘floatplane’ in any way, or the P-B-Y of the Americans that was destroyed,” he said, failing to pronounce the letters P-B-Y properly, although his meaning came across. “I doubt the enemy has been idle. Most likely, they have replaced it by now.”

  “They can’t,” Kurokawa assured him, “not with anything nearly as capable, at any rate. Trust me, the aircraft I’ve designed will be more than adequate for the task. Besides, as I’ve said”-he closed his eyes and took a breath-“more often than I can count, Grik are physiologically incapable of operating aircraft forms even remotely similar to our needlessly damaged, and sadly no longer flight-worthy, type ninety-five.”

  “If your plane is so badly damaged, why exert so much effort maintaining it?” Esshk asked suspiciously.

  “Because it’s a priceless asset, a model for innovation and experimentation,” Kurokawa snapped. “ You forced me to ruin it, but gazing upon it, I still get ideas!”

  Esshk seemed mollified. “Possibly, that is reasonable. But the craft your Hij construct!” Esshk almost threw up his hands. “How can such things fly?”

  “Very well,” Kurokawa assured. “And while they may be more labor intensive, and expensive in materials”-he shrugged-“we have plenty of both for that project, and they’re significantly less complicated. Before long, we’ll have them in their hundreds, and your doubts will be drowned by awe.”

  “They had better be,” Esshk darkly warned, but Kurokawa ignored him. He was still terrified of Esshk, but he was safe from his ire-for now.

  “And what of the… issue… in the south and west?” the Chooser suddenly asked, defusing the current tension. “That still remains, and lurks ever larger.”

  “Yes, how will we counter that as well?” Tsalka asked. “The creatures there have long been known to be hunters, but we haven’t pushed them. The extent of their realm is limited and known-nothing lies beyond it. The Celestial Mother was ‘saving’ them for a pleasant diversion once the original Grand Swarm eliminated the Ancient Prey once and for all. With the destruction of that, the Invincible Swarm, and the current drain on our resources, we may be vulnerable to even such as they!”

  “The drain is only temporary, and our losses will soon be replaced manyfold, with the implementation of the ‘new protocols’ devised by the Chooser, General Esshk, and myself. As for the beings in the south? Her Majesty has asked me to go to them,” Kurokawa said smugly. “She believes since t
he ‘southern hunter’s’ form is similar to mine, they may be more likely to accept the Offer from me.” He shook his head. “I cannot go myself, of course. I have too much to occupy me here. I will send suitable representatives-who understand the price of failure.”

  “The Offer!” Tsalka moaned. “That is scandalous enough! To make the Offer based on what might be instead of what has been, has never happened before!”

  “Enough,” Esshk hissed at him. “ She has decided. Precedence constrains you and I, not the Celestial Mother. Do you doubt she may do as she pleases?”

  Tsalka lowered his head and blew a gust of air through jagged teeth. “Of course not.”

  “So,” Esshk continued, addressing the General of the Sea, “we have brought the Jaaph Hij you requested.”

  “Hmm.” Kurokawa lowered his gaze to encompass the three humans accompanying Tsalka’s entourage. He motioned one forward. “Lieutenant Toru Miyata, I believe you are acquainted with the distinguished First General?”

  Toru, who looked like a slighter, younger version of Niwa, controlled an impulse to gulp. “Yes, Captain-I mean, General of the Sea Kurokawa!”

  “As a junior navigation officer, you’re not essential to the projects underway…”

  I’m expendable, Miyata concluded with a sick feeling.

  And I therefore proudly accept your enthusiastic offer to lead this important, glorious mission! Given that you are a navigation officer, I trust you of all people to succeed for our Emperor, our.. . allies, and for me.” Kurokawa’s face clouded. “Others may have failed the Emperor, but the navigation division never did, when it came to getting us where we needed to go. For that reason, I hold you almost utterly blameless for the loss of my ship!”

  “Wha…” Miyata jerked a bow. “Thank you, sir. May-may I ask the General of the Sea… what I’ve volunteered to do?”