He stared the length of his ship. His Home was unrecognizable now. Where her great tripods and pagoda apartments once stood, there remained only a huge, flat deck. New quarters were under construction below that deck, but no more would Big Sal, as the Amer-i-caans called her, move with the power of the wind and tide that had controlled her every course since her very birth. She was becoming a machine, a ship of war! A thought once so alien to Keje he could never have imagined it. That anyone would build a ship just for war—besides the Grik—seemed unnatural. At least, it had before the Amer-i-caan destroyermen came. But these were unnatural times. Salissa had been all but destroyed by the Grik and their Japanese allies, just as Walker had. He pondered that a moment.
Was Walker not a live thing, even though she was a machine? Captain Reddy and all her people always behaved as if they thought she was. Keje felt she was. When they repaired her, would not her soul return to her? It must. Where else would it go? If a body lived, it must have a soul. If Walker had indeed been “dead” for a while, perhaps her soul was trapped within her. Or maybe it had rested in the Heavens above, with all the people she’d lost? It was all so confusing! Salissa had been nearly as “dead” as Walker, but Keje had never felt her soul had left her. That should mean her soul would remain with her whether she became a machine or was restored completely to what she was before. His tension ebbed a bit. He’d discussed this with Matt, with Spanky, Adar, and even his daughter. All had different thoughts regarding the soul of a ship, but all completely agreed that, whatever it was, Big Sal still had hers. Looking at her now, though, a mere naked hull with a long, flat top, he found it hard to imagine somehow.
“The wings are machines, Father,” his daughter reminded him, easily guessing his thoughts. “By our construction and by our design, they harness the wind—a natural element—to our will. We make them, we control them, they move as we direct them. The wings are machines.” She nodded toward the gaping hole in the aft center of the broad, flat deck. “The engines, when they are installed, will do the same.” She pointed at the shipyard, where the massive contrivances lay covered with sailcloth, awaiting installation. “There they are, Father. They are not wings, but we made them and we shall control them. They will move us as you direct them! They will burn gish, yes, and we will no longer be independent of the land folk, but with this terrible war, that time was already past. Those engines will burn gish to make steam—merely heated water and also a natural thing—and that steam will move the engine and turn the propeller that will soon be installed. Salissa will move like Walker, the very same way!” She paused and chuckled. “Perhaps not as fast . . . but by the same means. If Walker has a soul, then surely Salissa’s is safe. It might even be proud!”
“Proud?”
“Indeed. Have you not seen the aar-planes? They will be Salissa’s! With the guns she still carries and the aar-planes to carry her strength farther than the eye can see, Salissa will be the mightiest ship in the world! Mightier even than Amagi ever was!”
Keje laughed. “You have been talking to Letts again!” He grew thoughtful. “But Captain Reddy says the same. As much as he loves his ship, he loves aar-planes just as much—and hates not having them!” He sighed, then laughed again. “Did you know I must go to school? I must learn how to handle my own ship all over again! And Mallory says we must form ‘operational procedures’! ” He shook his head at Selass’s concerned blinking. Her tail was rigid with tension. “Fear not! I will be a model pupil! It does amuse me, though.”
“What?”
“To ‘relearn’ how to handle my very own Home, I must practice by controlling their tiny launch!”
They stood together in silence as the great vessel was maneuvered entirely into the basin. Huge bumpers dropped into place and a tally was made of every object that had once supported the destroyer so they’d know nothing protruded from the flat, permanent trestle below. Only then were the pumps engaged.
“How long will it take?” Selass asked.
“A day. Perhaps more. Not as long as it took to empty for Walker. Salissa ‘displaces’ a great deal more water! Is that not a fascinating term? It has no real meaning in situations other than this, because Salissa cannot displace enough water to be even noticed in the wide ocean of the world, but here, because of her size, there is far less water in this dry dock, even though the level is the same as before!”
“I have heard the term,” Selass admitted, “when the Amer-i-caans discuss the size of the new construction ships. Evidently, they do not weigh the ships themselves, but the water they push aside! How can they do such a thing?”
“Mathematics. They are fiends for it in all things. Everything you see that they have made involves mathematics and the most precise measurements imaginable. It is amazing and stirring, but it makes me somewhat sad as well.”
“Why, Father?”
“Well, it is yet another example of how things have changed. Nothing will be built by eye again. Artwork may survive, but the talent, the skills passed down from one maker to the next, will be supplanted by mathematics! The guilds are howling, much like our wing clans did when they learned our Home would lose its wings! I am but an example. I have spent my life learning to move Salissa from place to place, and still I do not know everything there is to know about that. Now I must learn to drive a little boat before I will know the first thing about moving my Home again.”
“You agreed.”
“Yes, I did, and it is well. I will move her again, and when I do . . . I am informed”—he grinned—“she will be a weapon the Grik cannot match. I would . . . I have sacrificed much for that. So will Geran-Eras when she allows the same alterations to Humfra-Dar. But what of the builders, the makers of things? Soon, any leeching pit turner will be able to operate a machine that will quickly make things a shipwright has spent his life learning to build!” He shook his head, part in wonder and part in sadness. “What’s more, that pit turner will be able to do it quicker and better and exactly the same every time.”
“You sound as if you wish the Amer-i-caans never came.”
“No. That is ridiculous. They have saved us. We would be filling Grik bellies if not for them. But in a way, as much as we fought to survive, we, the People, also fought for things to remain the same. I know that is what Nakja-Mur fought for, but deep down, even he knew it could never be. I will miss the old ways. It was a good, happy life. If this war ever ends, and it must end in victory, I know not what the world will be like. I do know it will be different. Let us just hope it will be different in a good way . . . and that we will live to see it.”
“She’s up!” Clancy shouted, racing up Donaghey’s companionway. Matt and those gathered with him on the quarterdeck turned toward the exuberant outburst. Donaghey was moored a short distance from the rebuilding dock and many of the AEF’s officers were aboard for a conference of sorts. “She’s up and floating and there’re no leaks worth a mention! Walker’s off the bottom and Lieutenant Tucker sends her love!” There was a resounding cheer and Matt’s ears heated just a little.
“Mr. Clancy,” he said, unable to summon a frown, “that’s wonderful news and I’m glad you shared it with us all, but the last part may have been meant as a private message.”
Clancy halted his dash and his face went white. “Uh . . . oh. Ah, sorry, Skipper! I’m so sorry!”
“Oh, shut up,” Garrett said, grinning. “That part isn’t news!” There was more laughter. “What’s the first part say?”
Jim Ellis retrieved the message form and scanned it. He looked at Captain Reddy and Matt nodded. “It’s true. Walker’s been moved to the fitting-out pier and Big Sal’s gone in the tank.” He chuckled. “Ben saw fit to celebrate with a flyover. One plane had to land on the bay and be towed in! Let’s see. Tassat was launched and has been moved to the new fitting-out pier. The new generators are doing swell, but they’ve had a couple of engine casualties.” He looked at Matt. “Hmm. Hope we don’t have any out here. Says it wasn’t much of a deal, bu
t still.” He looked back at the page. “Still no word from Laumer and ‘Task Force S-19.’ Palmer got that one signal that they were about to try the gizmo, then nothing. He figures it cooked the transmitter.” He glanced at Clancy, who’d suddenly stiffened. He and Palmer had argued a lot over the design. “Anyway, they’re probably fine. Saan-Kakja arrived safely at her brother’s city and they made a successful test transmission of their set—”
“Yes, sir,” Clancy interrupted. “I picked it up.”
“Wow,” said Jim. “Real long-distance comm. Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Well, ah . . . you see, they were transmitting the raising of the ship in a kind of blow-by-blow sort of way. . . .”
“Anything else? What about our report of the Grik prisoners?” Matt asked. Jim looked down and chuckled.
“Yeah, it’s got a postscript. ‘Bradford excited.’ ”
“Ha!”
“I do wish we could speak to them,” Safir mused.
“We can,” Alden said. “They just can’t talk to us. Maybe when we ship ’em home, Lawrence can talk to ’em.”
“I doubt it,” said Matt.
“Why not? Most of the ’Cats understand each other okay, except maybe a few of the ones from southern Australia.”
“Yeah, but they’ve been in contact with one another. Look, we now know there’s Grik all over the place, or something like Grik. They seem to fill the niche humans did where we came from. There’s the Grik we fight, from Africa and Madagascar originally, but there’s Grik-like lizards just about everywhere. Lawrence says his people are ‘Tagranesi’ or something. We’ve managed to squeeze enough out of Rasik to know the dead aborigines we found here were snatched from Java and the neighboring islands as slave labor and, well, food. I’m sure they don’t call themselves Grik.”
“I did not even know they were here,” Rolak admitted.
“Maybe they haven’t been for long, or at least not in any numbers. Our first and only meeting with them on Bali proved to us they were pretty smart. They didn’t carry weapons, but then they didn’t really need them, did they? They may have been leaking over here from Bali or other islands for a long time and just staying to themselves. As primitive as they were, compared to our enemies, they actually displayed even better tactical sense. Courtney’s long believed that Grik behavior has more to do with societal conditioning than anything else.”
“That might explain why the prisoners act so different,” Ellis speculated. “After we licked them here, they wandered on their own for a while. Maybe they had time to think things over a little.”
There was silence for a moment while everyone contemplated the significance of that.
“All the more reason we must not give the enemy more time to think things over,” Safir said.
“If I were a member of this Alliance, I would tend to agree with the Queen Protector,” Harvey Jenks said with a touch of irony. It was the first time he’d spoken, beyond civilities, since he’d come aboard. Something had changed in his demeanor ever since he went ashore and saw the aftermath of the Grik occupation for himself. Aryaal and B’mbaado were unusual cities, perhaps unique among Lemurians. Even before the Grik came, they’d been built of stone with stout walls to protect the inhabitants. The devastated architecture was more similar to Imperial construction than any other he’d seen so far, or than he cared to admit. It was as though he’d experienced a premonition of what would happen if the Grik ever threatened his home.
The rabidly gruesome nature of the enemy the Allies faced had been driven in to the hilt as well, and he felt he understood them and their motives much better now. The heads had been taken down and sent to the sky in the fires and much of the debris had been cleared, but the mental image remained. The thaw in his attitude toward the Allies, and Matt in particular, had continued at an accelerated pace. Still, he’d clearly been surprised to be included in this strategy session. He hadn’t given any assurances that he was at their disposal or that he’d help them in any way. He had begun to consider himself on their side just a little, however.
“Jenks is right,” agreed Rolak. “We cannot linger here. Has that vile creature”—he referred to Rasik-Alcas—“spilled any more beans?”
Matt shook his head. “He’s told us all he knows about what happened here, and a little more about his activities while in exile, but he knows we’ve already measured him for a noose. No matter how fair we make it, the outcome of any trial is a foregone conclusion. He’s guilty as hell and he knows everybody knows it. When he’s not off in the land of Oz, he’s sharp enough to be scary. The guy’s a real psycho.”
“No clues about what he found?” asked Ellis.
Matt shook his head. “The crummy thing is, I think there is something. Everything we thought we knew about the Squall that brought us here is changing all the time. First, we thought it was just us and Mahan. Then the PBY. Then we learned about Amagi. Why wasn’t it there when the Squall passed? Okada said they came out of it in the dark, probably sometime during the night after we did. Unlike us, they were moving with it, not through it. Is it possible that by staying in it longer, they experienced its effects longer too?” He shook his head. “I doubt even Courtney has an answer for that. Anyway, we now know the sub came through as well. It was pretty far away, judging by the log we brought back, but close enough to hear our fight on the surface. How close was the PBY?” He shrugged. “Up till now, we’ve assumed we were it, but what if we weren’t? That was a big squall and the track it took might have sucked up anything. Why some things and not others? No clue. Maybe the energy or local intensity had something to do with that. Anyway, we need to start thinking about the possibility that other stuff did come through, and if it did, we damn sure want to find it before the Japs and Grik do.” He snorted. “His Nasty Highness did confirm that they watched a bunch of Japs get off Esshk’s ship when it stopped here, roam around unattended, then get back on, so I guess they didn’t eat the bastards after all.”
“Pity,” Ellis said.
“Yeah. The thing is, though, Rasik thinks if he tells us what he found, we’ll just kill him anyway. He insists on showing us.”
“We promised him clemency; what more does he expect?” spat Safir. It was the first time she’d agreed to the “deal” that had been proposed. She hated the very idea of letting Rasik live. Chack, who’d remained uncharacteristically silent, put a hand on her shoulder and stroked it.
“It does not matter,” Rolak grumbled. “He still expects to be killed. He views all things in terms of what he would do in our place.”
“I’ll get it out of him,” Alden promised.
Matt laughed. “Pete, I bet you and Boats could get him to confess he painted the moon, but that wouldn’t do us much good.” He thought for a moment, staring at the bleak shoreline. There was a lot of activity: building a new dock, erecting tents, and preparing materials for structures that would serve as forward supply depots. Few would remain at first, when the Allies moved on. They had more pressing business. Aryaalans and B’mbaadans would return, however, and begin the work of rebuilding.
“Here’s the deal,” he said at last. “We have to move. The scout we sent to Singapore reports the Grik are pulling out there too. We need to get there before they leave it like this.” He gestured shoreward. “We also have to know if Rasik’s pulling our chain. He says the things he found are accessible by sea, near Tjilatjap—Chill-chaap.” He looked at Jim. “Not at Chill-chaap, but near it, so your guys would have missed it when they went ashore there.”
Jim winced slightly. They hadn’t exactly been his guys at that point.
“Here’s what we’ll do,” Matt continued. “You take Dowden and a company of Marines and see what Rasik has to show you. If you can do it without puking, try to buddy up to him. He doesn’t really know you, after all. Maybe he’ll let something slip.”
“May I command the Marine company, Captain Reddy?” Chack asked.
Matt hesitated. “I’d rather have you with me
, but I guess so. Just don’t remind the silly bastard you’re the one who trapped him with fire and left him to be eaten by the Grik!”
“He cannot know that,” Chack said.
“Right. Say, talk to Koratin. Maybe he can convince him he’s on his side. Might get something out of him. Anyway, while you’re doing that I’ll take the rest of the fleet and all the troops we can transfer out of Dowden and head for Singapore. You meet us there if you can. Stay in wireless contact. If something breaks down you can’t fix, come back here.”
“Aye-aye, Skipper. We’ll meet you at Singapore,” Jim promised. “If there’s a fight, I don’t want to miss it.”
Chack looked at Safir and caressed her furry cheek. They’d made no announcement at Aryaal after all. They hadn’t had the heart. No one felt much like celebrating the reconquest of Aryaal and B’mbaado. “Do not fear, my love. I shall see you at Sing-aapore.”
Matt looked at Jenks. “Commodore, if you’d care to dine with me, I’d appreciate it. Juan?” he called, summoning the Filipino who always hovered nearby, “if he has no objection, please escort Commodore Jenks to my quarters. I’ll be along directly.”
Knowing he was being dismissed, but not resenting it—he wasn’t a member of the Alliance, after all—Jenks bowed and went with Juan.
Matt turned to Jim. “Take O’Casey with you. I think he’s a good guy and he might be a help. Besides, I expect to be spending a lot of time with Commodore Jenks over the next few weeks, and O’Casey needs a break. He can’t keep hiding forever.”
CHAPTER 13
One of the changes Adar had made during the reconstruction of Nakja-Mur’s Great Hall (he still had difficulty considering it his Great Hall) was the addition of a number of separate chambers. Some of these were offices, such as the War Room, which was usually occupied by Matt when he was present. Letts had a small office of his own as well. There was also a conference room large enough to accommodate a fair number of attendees while still being relatively cozy. He’d been inspired in this by Keje. In Keje’s case, the chamber on Salissa wasn’t partitioned, but he often had informal, intimate meetings around a simple wooden table supplied with crude stools. In Adar’s conference room, the table was bigger of necessity, and there were more stools, but there were also a number of the more traditional cushions for guests to lounge upon. The somewhat uncomfortable stools tended to keep those present awake and relatively alert, but Adar had discovered that often, people he met with needed to contribute only brief reports or accounts. There was no reason for them to suffer while others hashed things out. Many times, for example, he’d watched an exhausted Ben Mallory fall fast asleep on a comfortable cushion while Captain Reddy and the members of his battle line discussed the ramifications of his aerial observations.
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