Distant Thunders

by Taylor Anderson

  “It remains to be seen whether we are indeed destined to be friends,” Jenks replied, again glancing at Gray. “That is not my decision to make. For now . . . if—if—we join you, it will be solely because it is in the best interests of the Empire.”

  “Of course we shall be friends!” Rebecca insisted. “We already are. Mr. Flynn and his submersible-boat sailors rescued us from the sea and shared all they had.”

  Jenks looked at her, even more incredulous. What had she said? Clearly, there was still far more to the princess’s story.

  Rebecca turned to Matt. “And our ships might make more difference than you think, Captain Reddy,” she protested. “There are several hundred armed Marines between them as well.”

  “Armed with muskets, and with no experience fighting the Grik,” Matt mused aloud. He knew the girl had seen their own weapons, but wondered if she truly appreciated the qualitative difference. As an historian, he wasn’t sure muskets were much of an advantage over Grik arrows, either. They were probably more lethal and there might be a psychological effect, but arrows reloaded faster.

  “Perhaps I might offer a compromise,” Courtney Bradford said, speaking for the first time.

  “Excuse me,” Matt interrupted, risking embarrassing Jenks still further, but it was also possible they needed a brief pause to defuse the mounting tension. “May I present . . . the honorable Courtney Bradford, esquire.” Silva barely contained a snort. “He’s Minister of Science for the Allied powers. He also has broad diplomatic experience and influence.” He shrugged. “And I may as well present the others here. Chief Gray I think you know?” Jenks nodded and worked his jaw. Matt continued. “I understand Mr. Gray’s status may have been unclear during your previous meeting. We apparently share some of the same rank designations, and ‘chief bosun’s mate’ doesn’t reflect the extent of his responsibilities. He’s also my chief, personal armsman, and commands the Captain’s Guard. He’s not a commissioned officer, but he’s the highest-ranking noncommissioned officer in the Alliance. He has commanded detachments including commissioned officers, and in those situations he acts as my direct personal representative.”

  He waited with some satisfaction while Jenks digested that. “Beside me is Keje-Fris-Ar. Admiral Keje-Fris-Ar. In addition to being High Chief of Salissa Home and a head of state in his own right, he’s assistant chief of naval operations and answers only to me in military matters. His people are not ‘Ape Folk.’ They call themselves Mi-Anaaka, but our term, ‘Lemurians,’ doesn’t offend them. They were once peaceful, unwarlike people. That’s probably how your histories remember them. They’ve since become some of the best warriors in the world. I wouldn’t call them Ape Folk if I were you, because that does offend them. I honestly don’t know why, since they’ve never seen an ape, but there it is.” Matt suddenly wondered if Jenks had ever seen an ape. Later. He started to introduce the other members of his party, but they weren’t officers. Besides, then he’d have to name Silva, and how would he describe him? The most depraved, dangerous human on the planet? He stifled a chuckle.

  Jenks—somewhat reluctantly, it seemed—introduced his officers then. None smiled or offered his hand and most appeared to regard the entire party, the Lemurians in particular, with disdain. Matt dismissed them all as junior copies of Jenks—except the one who’d spoken up. His name was Billingsly, and judging from Rebecca’s distasteful glance, he decided to remember him.

  “Now, Mr. Bradford, I apologize for the interruption. Please continue.”

  “My dear,” Bradford continued, addressing Rebecca, “you once said when the time came for you to return home, you wanted us, Captain Reddy in particular, to take you. Do you still mean that?”

  “Of course.”

  “Very well. Then I propose that Captain Reddy and other dignitaries escort you home as soon as either Walker is . . . repaired . . . or other suitable ships are ready to take you.” Bradford realized Jenks knew about Walker, their “iron ship,” but doubted Captain Reddy was ready to admit that, right now, she was underwater. “That may take some months, but what is that compared to the time you have been gone, after all? The mission will be a diplomatic one with the goal of securing a true alliance. In the meantime, Jenks might dispatch one or two of his ships to bear the happy news of your rescue, but he and Achilles, at least, could remain here to augment our fleet until you are ready to leave.” He smiled. “That should certainly not interfere with his imperative of protecting you. He should then, of course, accompany you home. Hopefully to return here with reinforcements.” He glanced around owlishly. “What do you think?”

  “I think this is all a waste of time,” Keje growled unexpectedly. He’d learned a lot about the curious face moving of humans and didn’t much care for what he saw. He looked at Matt. “They do not want to help us, and now that we have slaughtered the cream of the Grik horde, we have sufficient allies who do. Saan-Kakja has promised many thousands more of her warriors and artisans. Many who fled are now returning, eager to fight. Our fleet is rebuilding and we have more than sufficient iron for our needs, at least for now.” He turned back to Jenks. “You have apparently formed the mistaken assumption that we came to you today as supplicants. Not so. Now we have met, it matters little to me if you stay or go, but Adar, High Chief of Baalkpan, chairman and High Sky Priest of the Alliance, would meet with you. He desires friendship, true, but his primary interest in you is . . . historical. He is not naive. We will always welcome friends, but we will not suffer vipers in our midst.”

  Matt was surprised by Keje’s outburst. Who had been warning whom about tempers?

  Jenks was also taken aback, as much by Keje’s attitude as by his near-perfect command of English. And by what he said, of course. He scrutinized Keje. He’d met other Lemurians on the massive ship coming out from the Philippines. They’d all seemed glad to see him and treated his people with something akin to reverential awe. Just what he would have expected of the simple wogs he thought they were. Wogs extremely talented at building fantastic ships, but wogs. Now he wasn’t so sure. He didn’t think there was much chance of a real alliance—he glanced at Billingsly—particularly if the Company had anything to say about it. The very word “ally” was too closely associated with “equal partner,” and that was out of the question. However, perhaps an arrangement might be made. Besides, speaking of vipers, it might be a very good idea, in the interests of the Empire, for him to learn as much about this Alliance as he could. The Empire had enemies of its own, and though they were preoccupied for now, he suspected these Lemurians and their American friends might someday become formidable enemies indeed, if given reason enough—or allowed.

  “Mr. Bradford has made an interesting proposal,” he said at last, carefully. “And it might provide the basis for negotiations. I would be . . . honored to meet with your chairman.” He glanced at Matt. “I have your word of safe conduct, of course?”

  “Of course. We’ll escort you under the guns of the fort and provide you with an anchorage. Your people may even have liberty if you give your word they’ll behave themselves—and some parts of the city are off-limits. That’s not subject to discussion or debate at this point. Perhaps later. In the meantime, any of your people found screwing around in restricted areas will be shot. Understood?”

  Jenks bristled again, but calmed himself. “Understood.” He turned to Billingsly. “I assume you will want to remain? Very well. Choose someone from your . . . department. He and Ensign Parr will transfer to Agamemnon and proceed home with the happy news about the princess. Ajax will remain here for now, with Achilles. I will draft orders and a brief dispatch.” He turned to Matt. “Is that acceptable?”

  For some reason, Matt was hesitant. But that had been part of Bradford’s proposal, after all. “Sure.”

  “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 dis
tressed 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.