Distant Thunders d-4

by Taylor Anderson

  “We should have just sent him away with the promise we would bring the girl,” growled Keje quietly as the launch burbled back to Donaghey . “The girl” was still with them, having refused to part with her friends. She was distressed and confused by Jenks’s attitude, not to mention Billingsly’s presence. She didn’t know Billingsly, but she knew what he was. For now, she much preferred to remain among people she trusted unreservedly. That was what she’d whispered to Matt, and he wondered if Keje overheard or just picked up on it too. That might explain his sudden animosity. Agamemnon was already piling on sail and beginning to slant eastward. With the freshening breeze, her paddle wheels were free-spinning. “With Jenks hanging around here, he’ll see too much,” Keje added.

  “Possibly.” Matt nodded at the Bosun. “Gray’s always been a pretty good judge of character and he said Jenks is an asshole.” He sighed resignedly. “Having met him, I’m inclined to agree. But Adar’s probably an even better judge. He won’t let his fascination with the ‘ones who came before’ cloud his judgment.”

  Keje huffed noncommitally. Before ascending to his current lofty title, Adar had been Keje’s own High Sky Priest, and the two had been like brothers their entire lives. Keje knew Matt was right, but his own impression of Jenks had been very similar to Gray’s. He’d actually been surprised by that. According to Matt, his Amer-i-caans and Jenks’s people were related in some way. He supposed he’d expected them to behave more alike. Jenks’s reaction to Keje’s people’s situation couldn’t have been more different from that of Matt and his destroyermen.

  “Besides,” said Gray, “he never would’ve gone for that-just leaving, I mean.”

  “Right,” Matt agreed. “And over time, maybe we can loosen him up. If we can make friends with the Brits, and if we can trust them, we’ll have to bring them up to speed on our programs anyway.”

  Gray snorted and shook his head. “You know, it sure is weird-not trusting Brits, I mean. Sure, in our history we weren’t friends all the time, but we were on the same side in the last war, and we were best friends in the war we left behind-both of us fightin’ the Japs. Those guys on Exeter and Encounter and all the others, they were the same as us. They were our guys. We might’ve gotten in fights in bars, made fun of other, and called other names, but we’d watch out for each other too. This Jenks guy drives it home in no uncertain terms that we ain’t on the same side here. Some of the fellas are liable to get.. . confused.”

  Matt was thoughtful. “Good point, Boats. Make sure everybody knows these aren’t the same Brits we knew back home. No fights, no trouble-we do want to be their friends-but right now, we’re not. We’ll have talks, and I’ll use the fact that we had a special relationship with the descendants of Jenks’s ancestors. Maybe that’ll help. But once our visitors know that, we don’t want them to take advantage of it either, buddy up to our guys and pump them for information. That sort of thing.”

  “Aye-aye, Skipper.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Adar, High Chief of Baalkpan, Chairman (by acclamation) and High Sky Priest of the Grand Alliance, paced restlessly in the large conference chamber. He felt uncomfortable in his new role, and truthfully, he would have done almost anything to avoid it. Almost. The problem was, uncomfortable as he felt, there were very few people he personally trusted with the responsibility at this critical and confusing time. Those he did trust already had crucial and possibly even more important roles to play.

  Keje could have done it, even though he’d probably never spent six consecutive months on dry land in his life. He was a hero and he’d nearly sacrificed his Home and his life to defend the “land folk” of Baalkpan. Keje had actually been the first acclaimed as High Chief, but he’d flatly refused. He had a Home. Battered and wounded beyond imagination, Salissa Home was still his responsibility and he was her High Chief.

  Adar understood that. Being Sky Priest of Salissa was all he’d ever aspired to himself. Over the last year however, old Naga, High Sky Priest of Baalkpan, had grown increasingly disassociated and Adar had assumed more and more of his duties. Land folk needed a Sky Priest to help chart their course through perilous times, just as sea folk looked to their priests in perilous seas. With Naga’s death, and that of the great Nakja-Mur, Adar had been Baalkpan’s second choice and he found himself practically drafted to fill the void caused by the loss of both leaders. He really hadn’t had a choice. He’d become a prominent, well-known figure to all the diverse elements of the Alliance and he was one of the few people everyone seemed to trust. Ultimately, he’d concluded, the one thing he couldn’t do to avoid the job was let someone less committed than him or Keje take it.

  He honestly believed Matt could have won the necessary support, even though he wasn’t “of the People,” but there would have been some dissent. They needed unity now above all things, and Matt was far more useful at the point of the spear. They’d never even discussed it, but Adar knew Matt would have agreed. He probably would have been astonished and horrified even to be considered. That left only Adar with the popularity, strength of will, and determination not only to continue the fight, but to carry it to the enemy once more.

  He still wore the priestly robes of his former office, but his responsibilities had expanded dramatically. Though all Homes on land or sea were considered equal by tradition, Baalkpan had taken the lead in the war and its leader had gained at least the perception of being a little more equal than other members of the Alliance. Adar agreed with the arrangement in principle; somebody had to be in charge, but he wasn’t convinced he was up to the task. Becoming a High Chief was difficult enough, but leading the entire Alliance was something else again. Chairman was the loftiest title he would accept.

  He knew he was a better choice than some, since his dedication to “the cause” was unwavering. He spent most of his time convincing less enthusiastic allies that the war wasn’t over and all they’d won at Baalkpan was a single battle. Final victory would be achieved only when the Grik were utterly eradicated. That was an argument he could put his heart and soul into, one he’d advocated ever since they’d discovered the true nature of their enemy. He wasn’t as confident he was the best choice to implement the policy, however. He allowed himself a small grin. Of course, that was what he had Captain Reddy for.

  The conference would soon begin and the chamber was filled to overflowing. It wasn’t as large as Nakja-Mur’s Great Hall had been, but it would be months before that edifice was completely rebuilt. At least the great Galla tree the hall once encompassed had survived the fire. When the first new leaves began to unfold on its charred branches, the People took it as an omen of healing and heavenly favor. It had given them even greater confidence in their choice of Adar to lead them. Adar only wished he were as confident as they. He was beginning to understand the profound difference between strongly advocating a course of action, and ordering that action carried out.

  He continued to pace while the expectant chatter grew ever louder. Nakja-Mur would have lounged on a cushion, outwardly calm. Even when inwardly terrified-as Adar had known he often was-he’d always managed an air of confidence, if not always in himself, then in the people he’d chosen to advise him. Adar had many of the same advisors, those who’d survived, and he’d even acquired a curious new one since the return of the evacuated seagoing Homes: a human holy woman, a nun who’d been with the Amer-i-caans Captain Reddy rescued from the amazing diving ship. Matt called its crew “sub-maa-riners,” and apparently, their wondrous vessel still lay on the beach of Talaud Island.

  The nun, Sister Audry, was an… interesting creature. She spoke the Amer-i-caans’ tongue with a different sound and Adar had learned she sprang from yet another human clan, the Dutch. He understood she was attractive too, by human standards, yet she had no mate and cited an oath to her God to take none. Adar couldn’t imagine why any God-and he was beginning to suspect his Maker of All Things and the human God were one and the same-would require such an oath. Nevertheless, an oath was an oath, whether
demanded or freely given. He didn’t understand it-yet-but he did respect it. With the scarcity of human females in the vicinity, however, he would have thought she’d face resentment. Not so. All the Amer-i-caans appeared to respect her abstinence as a matter of course, and many sought her out just to talk. Adar did too. On the few occasions they’d had leisure to visit, he’d been charmed by her conviction, personality, and philosophy-even as he’d been troubled by the implications of much of what she’d said.

  There was no more devoted servant of the heavens than he, but he was fully aware there were… gaps… in the dogma of the Sky Priests. He’d once theorized the Amer-i-caans didn’t believe that differently than he did. He’d been wrong, but as Matt would say, the devil was in the details. He’d finally concluded that they simply sailed a different path to the same destination. He was learning from Sister Audry that it was a much different path… and yet…

  He shook away those thoughts and tried to concentrate on the business at hand. This was a staff meeting, planned days before the strangers from the east arrived. They had much to discuss before Commodore Jenks and his officers entered for their first official audience. Adar had actually already met them. Instead of waiting for the strangers to come to him, as was traditional among the People when visitors called, he’d greeted them on the dock with the full courtesy and fanfare Matt told him they’d expect. Adar was nervous at first in the presence of those he had no doubt were descendants of the “ones who came before,” since so much Lemurian liturgy was founded on that ancient visit. But he’d been struck by how different they’d been from what he’d expected. Jenks, in particular, had been formal and polite, but also… condescending. Adar quickly shed his initial awe when he realized these representatives of the Empire of the New Britain Isles were mere men, after all: other humans like those he’d come to know. Certainly not holy messengers. They no longer made him nervous, except for whatever… worldly significance their presence might imply. That added yet another dimension to his religious ponderings.

  Adar was anxious to speak to their leader again, but this meeting was for high-level staff only. Even those residents of Baalkpan who’d begun returning after the battle were not allowed. They’d run before; they might again-this time carrying sensitive information. There were foreigners present, but only ones who’d proven themselves steadfast allies.

  Saan-Kakja, High Chief of the Fil-pin Lands, was perched rigidly on an ornately embroidered cushion, attended by several of her closest advisors. She and her personal guard had arrived at the height of the land battle for Baalkpan and had helped turn the tide. Since then, more of her troops, artisans, laborers, and beasts of burden-not to mention precious materials-continued to arrive in an uninterrupted stream. Saan-Kakja herself was a spirited, darling creature. She was quite young for her office, but Adar had discovered she had a will of iron. She’d once been led astray by self-serving advisors and seemed determined that it never happen again. She had the most mesmerizing eyes Adar had ever seen: warm and inquisitive like yellow-gold stars, but woe was he they fell upon when they were touched with fire. Adar thanked the Heavens continuously for the alliance Captain Reddy had forged between them.

  Safir Maraan, Queen Protector of B’mbaado, was striking as always, her jet-black fur and polished silver breastplate complementing her penetrating eyes. She was older than Saan-Kakja, more experienced, and far more self-assured, but she too was an “orphan queen,” and despite the utterly different societies they’d sprung from, she and Saan-Kakja had become fast friends.

  Her betrothed, Chack-Sab-At, accompanied Safir. Once a simple, pacifistic wing runner on Salissa Home, the amber-eyed, brindled Chack was now a scarred and hardened veteran. Somehow, he’d managed to retain a measure of his irrepressible humor, but it had been tempered by a sharp, worldly wit. He’d seen so much of war already that his innocent youngling’s soul was gone forever. He was now a respected warrior, bosun’s mate for sunken Walker, and a captain of Marines.

  General Muln-Rolak, onetime High Protector of Aryaal, also attended Safir. He was old and scarred from many battles-almost to the point of disfigurement. Many of the scars dated from a time when he’d battled Safir’s own father. He stood with her now as a trusted friend and colleague. Their lands had once been bitter enemies, but in this war, they fought together as inseparable allies and their relationship had become almost one of father and daughter. Together, at least until Saan-Kakja’s regiments were up to strength, they commanded the second-largest army in the Alliance. It was composed of warriors and refugees from both their enemy-occupied homelands on Java.

  People of lesser rank stood for the steadfast Sularan regiments who’d remained to fight after the bulk of their own people, across the Makaassar Strait on Sa-leebs, fled in the face of the Grik horde.

  Then there were the Amer-i-caans, of course.

  Beside Captain Reddy, as always, stood Nurse Lieutenant Sandra Tucker, petite, sandy haired, and much shorter than the towering (by Lemurian standards) man she so clearly loved. Despite her size, she was a dynamo, and through her skill at administration and trauma surgery, a truly astonishing number of People literally owed her their lives. Adar had appointed her Minister of Medicine. With the other surviving nurses who’d come through the Squall-Karen Theimer (Letts), Pam Cross, and Kathy McCoy-she’d created, from scratch, a highly efficient and professional Hospital Corps.

  Commander Alan Letts (Karen’s new husband) was still chief of staff, and due to his administrative abilities-he’d been Walker ’s supply officer-Adar had named him Minister of Industry. He’d undergone a transformation from his old Asiatic Fleet days, and Karen was probably responsible for changing the easygoing, arguably lazy, fair-skinned kid from a place called Idaho into one of the most industrious and indispensible logisticians in the Alliance.

  Bradford, who emphatically claimed not to be an Amer-i-caan, was Minister of Science, and served as plenipotentiary at large.

  Commander Perry Brister, Mahan ’s former engineering officer, was Minister of Defensive and Industrial Works. Lieutenant Commander Bernard Sandison, Walker ’s torpedo officer, was Minister of Ordnance. The big Marine, Pete Alden, was General of the Army and Marines, and Tamatsu Shinya was his second in command. Lieutenant Steve Riggs was Minister of Communications and Electrical Contrivances, and Brevet Major Ben Mallory was minister for their still nonexistent Air Corps. Ben, like Bernie, was still recovering from serious wounds they’d suffered in the battle.

  Adar recognized that he’d bestowed lofty-sounding titles upon them, despite the fact they each had other jobs. It was also clear that, except for “Aahd-mah-raal” Keje-Fris-Ar being Assistant Chief of Naval Operations, and a few other People in charge of agriculture, labor, etc., most of the titles belonged to destroyermen. It didn’t matter. After the battle, they were so popular they could all have become kings, but they’d insisted he take the lead. No one would object. Besides, they knew best what they were doing. That being said, everyone except Matt, Sandra, and Pete were new to their “jobs,” including Adar, and though he’d never had any difficulty with public speaking before, he decided to let them go first, to set the tone.

  He began to call on Matt, but briefly wondered what to call him. “Supreme Commander of All Combined Allied Forces” seemed much too stiff and unwieldy for everyday use. Matt had refused the rank of aahd-mah-raal for reasons of his own, but even though there were other aahd-mah-raals now, and many captains, there was no question who was in charge. Adar supposed it didn’t matter. There was only one Captain Matthew Reddy. That was how Adar addressed him now, summoning him to speak: “Cap-i-taan Reddy, if you please. Before we begin this discussion in earnest, what was your impression of our visitors?”

  Matt appeared thoughtful for a moment. “My initial impression,” he began, “was much like Chief Gray’s. I thought they were a pack of arrogant jerks. In fact, the more we talked with them-with Jenks, anyway-the stronger that impression became. If I’d had time to think about it, I’m not
sure I’d have let them send off a ship.”

  “What would you have had us do?” Bradford retorted, sensing a reprimand for his compromise. “Hold them hostage? We were not in much of a position to do that. Or were you thinking of holding the girl against her will?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Courtney. Of course not. But the girl doesn’t want to go with them; she wants us to take her home. We might have used that as leverage to keep all their ships here. As it stands, they’ll know about us, and where we are, long before we’re ready to send an expedition to meet them.”

  “Do you consider them a threat?” Adar asked.

  “Sure. Why not?” Matt sighed. “Mr. Chairman, I consider everyone not in this room a threat, because only these people, and those they represent, have proven they’re not. Do I think these ‘new’ Brits’ll swoop down like the Grik and attack as soon as they know where we are? No. Jenks acted like they had other problems besides us, although neither Rebecca nor O’Casey seems to know what they are. Something that’s sprouted up since the two of them have been gone? Maybe.” Matt shrugged. “And I don’t think they’re a threat like the Grik, either. They certainly don’t eat people, and I don’t think they’re much interested in our real estate. They may see us as a rival, though, which we might be soon enough.” He looked down at Sandra. “To be honest, based on the technology we’ve seen, in the months it’ll take them to get back to wherever they came from and return here with a sizable force-if that’s their intent-we’ll have enough of the new weapons we’ve planned that we’d paste them good. The thing is, they’re a threat in the sense that they’re a distraction. Just the possibility that they’ll send a fleet is enough to pin some of our resources here and in the Philippines when we should be chasing the Grik before they catch their breath.”

  “No one wants to destroy the Grik more than I, but is haste truly so important?” Adar asked.