“What will he do?” Matt asked, alarmed. Not because he believed Shinya would turn on them, but because he had, after all, become such an integral part of Walker’s family—not to mention the war effort as a whole—and he was worried about him.
“What will he do, indeed?” Adar blinked rapidly. “In any event, I apologize. I did get horribly sidetracked. I believe your original question was ‘why would the Jaaps help the Grik?’ not ‘how will Lieutenant Shinya deal with his conscience?’ ” He shook his head. “Until we learn more about the Grik, we may never know. They have obviously communicated with each other—which is something we could never do. Perhaps I was right before and they do have something in common? You said Walker and Mahan damaged Amagi in battle?” Matt nodded. “Well, Walker has certainly done a great deal of damage to the Grik.” He stopped and looked at the captain with a strange smile on his face. “Perhaps the thing that unites them now is their mutual hatred of you.”
Lieutenant Sandison appeared behind them, clambering up the ladder from below. A short, dark-colored Lemurian was with him. A female. She was the liaison from Humfra-Dar. Sandison saluted and the little Lemurian imitated the gesture. Matt returned it solemnly.
“Geran-Eras says if she takes on another soul, they’ll be standing on each other’s heads.”
“Very well. She has permission to get under way.” Matt had agonized over the decision whether the ships should wait to depart together, or sail independently as soon as they were loaded. He settled on the second alternative. It meant less time they’d be crowded so uncomfortably, but mainly he thought it would actually give them a better chance of escape. If they all headed out together, it increased the possibility that the enemy would catch them together. The mutual protection afforded by numbers would be meaningless against Amagi’s guns. Better to split them up. He wasn’t worried by the threat posed by any advance scouts. With their big guns, the Homes could repulse even a small squadron of Grik attackers.
“Keje and Salissa are next in line,” he said. “I want him in Baalkpan as soon as possible to help coordinate the defense. You too, Adar,” he added. “Besides, she’s the only ‘tanker’ we have. We’ll rig hoses and top off our bunkers while she’s taking on passengers. We’ll load up on fuel for the PBY while we’re at it, just in case. When Big Sal gets to Baalkpan, have her fill up again. We might need all the mobile fuel reserve we can get.”
A wailing rose from the dock as the ramp to Humfra-Dar was blocked. Many might have been separated from their loved ones, or not known there would be other Homes to take them. A panic began to build and several shots were actually fired in an attempt to control the crowd. Adar blinked his distaste.
“It is difficult to believe Amer-i-caans could be as different from the Jaaps as we are from the land folk,” he said. “I cannot imagine my people behaving so.”
“Give them a break, Adar. They’ve just lost everything they had in the world. They’re at the mercy of people they’ve distrusted throughout their history to protect them from creatures that’ll eat them if they can. Pray you never find out how your people act in a similar situation.” Matt gestured at the seething mob. “Besides, those people are the ones that are going to save yours in the end. After we make an army out of them.”
“Land folk females do not fight. Many of their males will not.”
“They will when they see what’s coming,” Mallory interjected quietly.
Matt noticed the female Lemurian was still standing there, holding her salute. “You may dismiss your friend now, Mr. Sandison. She’ll miss her boat,” he said with a small smile. “Do you have a report for me? About progress with the propeller?”
“Ah, yes, sir. Just a moment, sir.” He quickly spoke to the ’Cat, and she darted down the ladder. “Lieutenant McFarlane says, ‘It’s going,’ sir. The flashies started chewing through the sail we rigged so the men could work. We’re going to have to rig another one. He thinks it’s the lights. They’re drawing the fish and making them attack the canvas.”
“What about the torpedoes?”
“Yes, sir, sorry, sir,” Sandison answered guiltily. “We’ve started back to work on them too.” It had been weeks since anyone had tried to figure out what was wrong with the two condemned torpedoes they’d salvaged from Surabaya so long ago.
Matt nodded. “Not your fault. I’ve handed you plenty of other chores and it didn’t look like we’d need them that bad. Until now. Any problems with our three good torps?”
“No, sir, they’re fine. All we have to do is wind ’em up. ’Course, we still have the same problem,” he added worriedly. “We don’t know why they won’t hit anything, or if they do, why they won’t go off.”
“Figure it out, Mr. Sandison.”
“We’ve been trying. We’re fooling around with the dud again and Shinya has a couple of ideas.” Sandison shrugged. “It’s worth a try.” Matt frowned slightly and glanced at Adar.
“Shinya?”
“Yeah. He showed up in the workshop ready to work as soon as he came aboard. Said Chack had command of the Marines around the palace, and”—Bernie shrugged, waving at the pandemonium outside—“there’s enough troops on the docks.” Sandison looked at the captain and read his mind, or he thought he did. “He’s okay, sir. He just needs to sort things out.”
“By helping you fix torpedoes to sink his countrymen.” Matt muttered darkly.
Bernie’s eyes widened. “You don’t suppose . . . !”
Matt shook his head. “No, but I don’t want you leaving him there by himself right now, either. Let him help if he wants, but remind him that by the terms of his parole he’s not required to.” He looked at Adar again, impressed as usual by the Sky Priest’s sensitivity to matters pertaining to human nature that Matt hadn’t even noticed. He took solace in the fact that he had quite a lot on his plate just then, but still . . .
“He say anything to you about Amagi?” he asked Sandison.
“Well . . . no, sir. But he knows that’s why we’re working on the torpedoes again. Why else?”
“And you’re absolutely certain he’s not pulling your chain?” Matt had to ask.
Sandison shrugged. “I know it sounds strange, but he didn’t really say anything. Right now he acts like he doesn’t care that there’s other Japs on Amagi. The only thing that seems to matter to him is that she might help the lizards sink the machine shop.” The machine shop had been Shinya’s refuge ever since being rescued from the sea.
Matt blinked, and Adar barked a laugh in spite of himself.
“You see, Cap-i-taan Reddy? In some ways, much more simple to understand!”
Matt shook his head. “Adar, a while ago you probably described the differences between us and the Japs to me better than anybody ever has, and then you make a comment like that. I’ll tell you right now, whatever Shinya’s going through isn’t going to be simple to understand at all. Least of all to him.” Sandison looked worried. He had grown very fond of the Japanese officer.
“Maybe we should, you know, put a guard on him? Shoot, Skipper, he might . . . hurt himself . . .”
“I’m glad you feel that way, Bernie, because on top of everything else, I want you to stick to Shinya like glue. Don’t let him ‘hurt himself.’ Understood?”
“Understood, Skipper.”
For a while they all stood quietly, staring at the inferno breeding before them—the seething, dying, shattered fragments of all they’d hoped for when their “crusade” began.
“I guess I can understand the Japs wanting to continue their war with us, no matter where we are. It’s stupid, but I understand it. Hell, I even sort of feel the same way. Maybe we’ve just cut each other too deep.” Matt shook his head, amazed. “But there’s no way you can get me to understand why they’d help the lizards.”
CHAPTER 4
Hisashi Kurokawa, captain of HIMS Amagi, stalked slowly back and forth across the battle cruiser’s bridge. His hands were clasped behind his back and the red nighttime light
ing transformed his round, cherubic features into those of a dark, grimacing Buddha. He paused briefly behind the helmsm who stiffened nervously under his scrutiny. With a barely audible growl, Kurokawa paced on. If he noticed the tension radiating from each member of the watch as he drew near, he made no sign.
Commander Sato Okada had the watch and he peered warily at the captain as he prowled from station to station. Any minute now he expected Amagi’s stocky commander to explode into a fit of rage, triggered by some slight or imagined transgression. Almost twenty minutes had passed since the captain came on the bridge, and lately that seemed to be about the limit. The fits had become so commonplace that they were almost a part of the ship’s routine. No one was spared their fury, and Sato himself had probably been on the receiving end of more vitriolic harangues than anyone else on the ship. That was because he often—delicately—told the captain what he actually believed instead of just what he knew the man wanted to hear. More often than not, the disagreements provoked titanic tantrums, and the things the captain said to him in front of other officers and crew were sometimes difficult to bear. But Sato withstood the onslaughts as stoically as he could. The captain believed it was Sato’s duty to agree with him, but Sato suspected more and more that his real duty lay in protecting the ship and her crew from the captain.
Right now, for example, he knew Captain Kurokawa was most displeased about their speed, and Sato couldn’t make him understand the engineers were doing all they could. The captain wasn’t satisfied. Recently, he’d even gone so far as to charge that there were traitors in the engineering spaces. Sato had done all he could to stanch the loss of morale after that accusation came on top of everything else, but the crew was lost, dispirited and afraid. The fear was feeding on the captain’s attitude and spreading like a caustic acid.
The lights of their “allies’ ” ships were all around them on the broad expanse of the sea, clustered about them as if shepherding them along. That infuriated Kurokawa more than anything else. Amagi was the most powerful ship in the world. By rights, she should be leading this task force—not groping along trying to keep up. The Grik had slowed their advance so Amagi could remain with the fleet, but “keeping up” wasn’t what he wanted to do.
Sato glanced at the captain and noticed with a rush of alarm that he was moving in his direction. He braced himself for the onslaught. To his surprise, the captain’s voice was quiet, even mild when he spoke.
“I hope you are feeling better, Commander Okada.”
Sato gulped and bowed his head slightly. “Yes, Captain. Much better, thank you. It must have been something I ate.”
“Of course. I know you are not timid.” The captain’s face clouded slightly. “Either in the face of the enemy, or my own.”
“It is my duty to advise you, sir.”
“It is your duty to obey me!” Kurokawa snapped.
“I have always obeyed.”
The captain’s face clouded still more but, forcibly, he pushed back the threatening storm. When he spoke again, his voice was controlled once more. “Very well. Since you see it as your duty to advise me, how„ would you do so now?”
Sato looked at the captain, appalled. It was the first time since Kurokawa assumed command that he’d ever asked anyone what they thought. That might be entirely appropriate under most circumstances, but since the Strange Storm, things had been anything but normal. Still, for Kurokawa to actually ask, let alone care, what Sato thought about their situation was most uncharacteristic. It was probably a trap. Something to get him to commit to a course of insubordination.
“On what subject would you seek my advice?” he asked carefully.
“Ah. Of course. I assumed you would have a differing opinion than I on everything we have done. I was correct. Your reports seethe with discontent! Let us limit our discussion to strategy so I might get some sleep tonight!” His face became grim. “I am frustrated with these barbaric ‘allies’ of ours, as you know. Dreadful creatures, but useful.”
Sato had to suppress a shudder at the thought of the Grik. They’d encountered them first at Singapore when they went there for repairs after their battle with the retreating American force. It was then that they discovered something extraordinary had happened to them. Singapore wasn’t there! In its place was only a strange village of some sort with a harbor filled with sailing ships—which had attacked them immediately and as apparently automatically as a disturbed hive of bees. Throughout the day and night they fought, killing thousands of the hideous creatures, which continued the assault even as Amagi tried to steam away. But the ship had been too badly damaged by the American destroyers and it couldn’t outrun the red-hulled ships.
Finally, after they repelled what seemed like countless assaults, a single ship approached but did not attack. Negotiations were established and a bizarre alliance was struck. Amagi would join the creatures that attacked her so fanatically such a short time before. In return, she would be provided with fuel, food, and labor for repairs. At the time, even Sato had seen no other alternative. Since that day, however, not a moment went by when he did not regret the choice.
Communication was still difficult, and rudimentary at best. Neither race could form the sounds to actually speak to one another, but had to rely on written English, of all things, in order to converse at all. Not that Sato wanted to talk to them. The Grik were loathsome creatures. Vicious and almost mindless in their obsessive ferocity. As far as he could tell, their one motivation was to conquer the world and kill everything else that lived upon it. In spite of how many his forces had killed, he never got any impression the Grik were afraid of them, or even much cared about those that had fallen. There were no funerals, no ceremonies, no mourning for the dead. He never knew for sure—he didn’t want to know—but he suspected that they . . . harvested the carcasses of the slain that were not consumed by the suddenly terrible sea. It was surreal, and it was far too much for many of the crew to accept.
And just as quickly and matter-of-factly as the Grik accepted their losses, they accepted the alliance with Amagi. They were appropriately appreciative of her power and recognized her as a useful tool. As promised, they assisted in making what minor repairs they could. Once Amagi was relatively seaworthy again, the Grik escorted her to Ceylon for further repairs.
Ceylon was another surprise. Okada remembered the great natural harbor of Colombo on the west coast of the island as a major bastion of British empire. Except for a general geographical resemblance, it was gone. Grik architecture tended toward unimaginative utilitarian slabs, contrasted with occasional terrifyingly rendered art relief, reminiscent of some of the more troubling ancient Mexican art he had seen. He was strangely saddened by the absence of the Galle Face Green, the historic promenade used for horse racing, and one of the most ostentatious manifestations of British colonialism in Ceylon. But most striking of all were the hundreds of Grik ships packed into the huge protected bay. At first sight it had been blindingly obvious that a massive buildup for some monumental offensive was under way. An offensive that Amagi was now clearly expected to participate in.
Amagi’s stay in Colombo amounted to a strange sort of exile. No one went ashore except the captain and a small entourage, and then only when absolutely necessary. The Grik were extremely terrifying. Powerful, consummate predators that gazed upon you always as if speculating on your flavor. Some visits were unavoidable if repairs were to be coordinated, but nobody ever wanted to go twice, and Okada was convinced that the captain used the detail as a punishment. Why else had he been sent so often? In any event, Sato learned much more about the Grik than anyone else, probably even the captain, and began to realize with sick despair just how cheaply they’d sold their souls. Sato and most of the crew detested the Grik, but his initial hope that they would just steam away from their new “friends” was dashed by the realization that Amagi could never outrun them in her present state and there was no doubt they would be attacked if they tried.
Amagi had originally been d
esigned to burn coal, so the reconversion wasn’t too difficult. But there was so much damage to the engines and boilers that fully repairing them with the facilities at hand was out of the question. The ship’s top speed was gone forever. When they saw the size of the fleet in Ceylon, the impossibility of escaping to make their own way was driven dramatically home. For now, there was nothing to do but repair the ship and, in Sato’s mind, wait for an opportunity.
So they joined the Grik in their current war of conquest against strange furry folk that resided at sea on large ships, and in the Dutch East Indies. To make matters even more bizarre, the “tree folk”—he believed that was the best translation—seemed to have allied themselves with one of the American destroyers they’d been fighting when they were swallowed by the Strange Storm. It was that discovery, Sato thought, that finally drove Captain Kurokawa mad. If he’d ever had the intention of slipping away from the Grik, it had now certainly passed.
The captain blamed everything that had happened to them on the two destroyers that so arrogantly charged them right before the Strange Storm brought them here. Sato had been secretly stirred by the courage of their crews, but Kurokawa took their escape and the damage to his mighty ship quite personally. Each wound to the ship was matched by one to the captain’s pride. That two such outdated and dilapidated vessels could wreak such destruction on Amagi was as if house cats had savaged a tiger. And then, as if in punishment, Amagi was taken from the world she knew. That was the Americans’ fault too. The fact that one of the badly damaged destroyers still existed in this twisted world struck Kurokawa as a personal insult. He was now obsessed with its destruction in an almost Grik-like way, and if it took alliance with such unpleasant creatures to accomplish that goal, so be it.
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