Destroyermen its-1

by Taylor Anderson

  Matt leaned over the desk, trying to see better by the light of the swaying lanterns. He was painfully reminded he'd discovered unknown muscles that day.

  "Skipper, look at this!" exclaimed Alden. He held a tablet close to his face to see in the dim light. Reversing it, he displayed the page. Sandra cried out and sprang to her feet. Matt managed only a short bark of incredulous laughter. There, on the yellowish paper, was a highly stylized but clearly recognizable drawing of USS Walker, down to the "163" on her bow.

  "Son of a bitch!" Alden breathed. "This must be the one that got away!"

  "Maybe," murmured Matt, "but does that make it the same one in company with the other two we destroyed? Why was it with two more so fast—if it's the same? I wonder how many others it came in contact with."

  "Quite a few," said Sandra, leaning back over the chart. Her voice was brittle. "Look. Many of these coastlines have been updated or redrawn periodically, like survey corrections. Also, see this dark splotch here?" She pointed at a spot on the map. "I'm no navigator, but that's almost the exact place we came to Salissa's assistance."

  Garrett squinted. "Looks like . . . blood, Captain. And look! Next to it there's a little drawing of us! Just a thick line with four small lines sticking up, but I bet that's supposed to be Walker."

  Shinya nodded. "It does look like blood. Possibly representing a place of battle? If that's the case, you may note there are many such spots on this map."

  "There's one at Tjilatjap," Sandra confirmed. "Mr. Shinya may be right.

  There's dozens of `spots.' If they denote battles, and the picture of Walker seems to confirm that, this ship couldn't have engaged in them all, or surveyed all these coastlines alone."

  "That means they communicate among themselves, even from one task force to the next." Garrett's brow was creased with concern. "That means . . ."

  "Right." Matt finished for him. "This may not be the one that got away.

  They might all know about Walker."

  There was a contemplative, nervous silence as they considered the implications.

  "Okay," said Matt, pointing back at the chart. "Battle here, battle here, battle here—each battle mark is accompanied by this thing that looks like a tree. Maybe that's their symbol for the 'cats." His finger traced the coast of Borneo. "Nothing at Baalkpan, so maybe they don't know about Nakja-Mur's People yet."

  "There is such a symbol at Surabaya," Shinya pointed out, "although no battle mark."

  "I bet it won't be long," Alden growled. "I wonder what these little triangle symbols mean."

  Matt felt a chill, despite the dank, oppressive warmth of the cabin. "I bet those are Grik ships. And the circles around them represent their areas of operation. See? There're three in the Makassar Strait."

  "Not anymore," Alden quipped.

  "They're everywhere, then," Sandra murmured, her voice quiet with despair. "There must be a dozen triangles in the Java Sea alone. And all those other charts we've looked at—there're scores of triangles on them!"

  "My God," muttered Garrett.

  Alden was idly tracing the procession of battle marks up the coast of Java and Sumatra. Suddenly he stiffened. "Look," he said, his finger beside a brownish stain near the Banjak Islands. There was another thick line, but with only three smaller lines sticking out. With a rush of realization, Matt remembered a funnel that fell across a davit.

  "Mahan," he breathed.

  The storm dwindled to nothing as the night wore on, and its only remnant in the boulder-strewn approaches to the refloated Big Sal was a disorganized chop. Otherwise, the sun rose bright above Celebes and the sky was blue and cloudless. All was back to normal aboard the huge ship, fake debris was cleared away and the stores that littered the beach returned. Water still coursed over the side, and it would for some time, since so much had been required to "sink" the great vessel. That was the part of the plan Matt had been most concerned about, but Keje himself suggested it as bait for the trap. He'd assured his friend that sinking and refloating Big Sal wasn't difficult, or even unusual. They did it all the time.

  Once a year it was deliberately done to cleanse the lower decks and "sweeten" the air. A suitable, sandy bottom in sheltered shallows was all they needed, and water was let in until Big Sal gently settled to the bottom of the sea. After a few days passed, she was pumped out and all hatches were laid open, allowing the interior to dry. This routine cleared the ship of vermin and insects, and washed away the foul smell of gri-kakka oil that seeped from barrels and grew rancid in the bilge.

  The periodic "sinkings" were times for festivities and merriment, and contests in which younglings captured and tallied vermin that escaped to the upper decks. They never got rid of them entirely, and the little ratlike creatures were fruitful if nothing else, but for a long time afterward their numbers were diminished and Big Sal's cavernous hold smelled fresh and clean. None of her previous soakings were accompanied by as much merriment and jubilation as this one, however, particularly when Walker appeared early that morning towing the dismasted hulk over the horizon.

  Big Sal 's forward wing still wasn't erected, but otherwise she was good as new when the great sweeps propelled her through the obstacles and into the open water to rejoin her ally. Hundreds of People crowded the shrouds and lined the catwalk to welcome Walker with thunderous roars and cheers of greeting. The great guns were loaded and fired in salute as the destroyer bore down with her prize.

  Walker responded with repeated whoops from her horn. Destroyermen, Marines, and Lemurian cadets lined her rail, as did the prize crew on the captured ship. A makeshift flagstaff had been rigged atop her shattered mainmast, and an American flag streamed to leeward above the red and black pennant of the enemy.

  For the first time since he'd seen the curious cloth, the meaning of the destroyermen's flag, and what it could represent, was driven home to Keje.

  He felt a surge of pride at the sight of it, even if it wasn't a symbol of his own People. There was also a twinge of something close to envy, and he determined then and there that one day his own People must have a flag.

  They had symbols aplenty that represented their clans, on the tapestries that adorned their great halls, but nothing they could look to that represented all the People everywhere. In addition to his heady dreams of the day before, it was a legacy that he thought the great uniting prophet, Siska-Ta, would surely approve of. The Americans had their flag and so did the Grik. It was time the People had one.

  To cap the magical excitement of the moment, the great flying-boat descended out of the northeastern sky, thunderous motors adding to the joyful tumult of happy people. Keje watched as it skimmed low over the waves and made a proper landing for the first time, and the grace and power of the huge, flying metal contrivance took his breath away. It was a great day!

  Walker hove to, her people returning Big Sal 's cheers. The launch went over the side and a few moments later arrived in Salissa's lee, crowded with passengers who immediately climbed the netting lowered for them.

  An honor guard of excited Marines met them when the party reached the main deck, and a twitter of bone whistles simulated bosun's pipes.

  Captain Reddy saluted aft, as he'd always done, and again Keje wished there was something to salute. Regardless, he fervently returned the gesture Matt offered him and then enclosed him in a mighty embrace.

  "We were worried about you, my Brother," he said.

  "We were worried about us too," Matt replied. "I never doubted the outcome of your battle."

  Keje barked a laugh. "So certain were you? I was not! Not until the great guns spoke! It was . . . glorious!"

  Matt couldn't help but catch Keje's infectious grin, but he asked a serious question. "Was the price very high?" Keje only smiled and allowed Jarrik-Fas to answer.

  "We had no losses, lord. None! We slew the enemy with contemptuous ease! Our warriors never even drew their blades!"

  "I'm grateful for that," Matt said, his smile fading. "We sustained . . . serious l
osses, I'm sorry to say, but the Marines and cadets fought bravely and well."

  Keje lowered his voice in condolence. "Of course you had losses.

  Yours was the more difficult task and the People who were slain will find honored places awaiting them in the presence of the Maker and their ancestors!"

  "Of course."

  "Now!" said Keje, practically rubbing his hands together in anticipation. "What have you learned?"

  Matt forced a smile, and glancing at the throng encircling them, he lowered his voice. "We have much to discuss, Keje-Fris-Ar, and unless you want to destroy the celebration, we'd better do it alone."

  "You were right to suggest privacy." Keje sighed, shaking his head. "The world has fallen upon me." He sat on his favorite stool beside his simple table in Salissa's Great Hall. Upon that table lay a Grik chart. He was revolted that the vile thing was in physical contact with the dark, warm wood. Other stools were occupied by his personal advisors, as well as Captain Reddy, Lieutenant Tucker, Lieutenant Garrett, and Sergeant Alden.

  Adar hovered over the chart, sputtering with rage and indignation.

  "Blasphemy!" he hissed. "Unrepentant, black blasphemy! They desecrate the Heavens by their very existence! These . . . counterfeit . . . things must be burned! Destroyed! To think they take the gift of Knowledge of the Path of Stars and do . . . what they do with that knowledge! It is a violation! A rape! I—" Adar was incapable of further speech.

  Matt shifted uncomfortably. "Certainly you may destroy them, Adar," he temporized, "but first let's learn as much from them about the enemy as we can."

  The Sky Priest looked sharply at him, and a terrible intensity burned in his eyes. "By all means, Cap-i-taan Reddy! Study them well! Do whatever you must to destroy the makers of this abomination and the doers of these evil deeds! When you have done, then I will burn these loathsome pages and I won't rest until I've helped you bring that day to pass."

  Keje sighed. "You will lose much sleep." He looked at Matt, and his eyes almost pleaded for some reassurance that things weren't as bad as they appeared. Matt couldn't encourage him. "You say these three-pointed symbols represent their ships? Possibly hundreds more of their ships?"

  "We think so. Their strategy seems clear, at long last. It's conquest, of course, but I always wondered why, if they were such a big deal, they were just trickling in." He sighed. "Your ancestors were right. They're scared of the water—at least the deep water." He pointed at the Indian Ocean on the chart. There were none of the small islands depicted. Just a large, scary-looking fish.

  "Their version of `here be monsters,' I bet," Garrett offered.

  "The Western Sea is vast and deep," Adar said. "And there are monsters there. That is why the enemy hugs the coast and why they have taken this long to find us—to conquer their way to us—it would seem."

  Matt nodded. "That's exactly right. They seem to have all the territory bordering the . . . Western Sea, all the way to Singapore, although that seems a relatively new addition. Ceylon's their closest major concentration.

  The tree symbols seem to indicate settlements of the People they know about. A few even have blood spots beside them. We think that shows where a battle took place."

  Keje traced a claw slowly from one spot to the next. "A tree," he said bleakly. "They use a tree to represent us. How appropriate and how . . . wrong." He looked up. "You said you found a human skull as well?" Matt jerked a nod. "I'm sorry to hear it, but how can that be?"

  "The same way it happened to your people, Keje," Matt replied woodenly. "He was eaten."

  "Saak-Fas saw it?"

  Matt nodded. "He described a human being brought aboard—`one like you,' he said—but he had no idea where it happened."

  "But how did they . . . get this person?"

  "We don't know." Matt gestured at the chart. "They know where Mahan is—or was. But judging by the position fixes the lizard captain noted on the chart, the ship we took was never anywhere near Mahan's last position."

  "You think they got this person from another ship?"

  "That seems likely, as well as the information where Mahan was."

  "Do they have her?" Keje asked.

  Matt could only shrug. "They will look for her, if they have not found her already." It wasn't a question but a statement of fact.

  "They must not have her!" Adar cried. "For them to have the power you possess . . ." He trailed off.

  "They must not have her," Matt agreed.

  "What will you do? What must we do?" For the first time since Matt had met Keje, the Lemurian looked afraid.

  "Two things," Matt responded. "First, we need help. Baalkpan's in it—they can't leave. But we need more help from Homes like Big Sal." He shook his head. "I really don't know what to do about that. Talk about isolationists! Otherwise, I suggest you put aside your differences, whatever they are, with the Surabayans. It looks like they're next on the list anyway. The enemy doesn't know about Baalkpan, but that can't last. The ships they sent to chart those seas have gone missing, and sooner or later they'll send more. If we help the Surabayans, it'll add depth to our defense and might gain us an ally."

  "And second?"

  "Find Mahan," Matt said, grimly determined. "We have to get her before the enemy does—or destroy her if they have her."

  Keje still seemed overwhelmed. Well, that was understandable. "I never guessed the Grik could be so numerous," he whispered and glanced at Adar. "This map shows lands we never even knew to exist and all are in the realm of this evil!" He looked sadly at their faces. "Yesterday was a great day. A great victory. Or so we thought. Now I see it was less than nothing compared to that arrayed against us. We've won nothing! The fight has not begun!" He gestured vaguely toward the unseen Grik prize floating nearby. "Together, we've destroyed ten of their ships only to learn that is nothing compared to the strength they have! They were mere scouts!" He slammed his hand down upon the chart, claws extended.

  "Mapmakers!"

  "It doesn't look good," Matt agreed, "but we have won a victory. We've learned what we're up against, which is more than they know." He smirked.

  "More than I've ever known."

  Keje snorted derisively. "Yes, they face a disorganized mob that numbers less than one to their ten. An unpleasant surprise that will be!"

  "No!" said Matt sharply, standing. "They face soldiers! Brave and determined! We boarded their ship with half the numbers we'd hoped—my fault—and fought them one to four! Our losses were grim, but we killed ten for one—in their kind of fight, not ours. They also face cannon, which will be a very unpleasant surprise. And they face Walker. While she floats, she'll never abandon you! I've seen evil before—at least I thought I had— but nothing in my experience compares with what I saw in the bottom of that ship. We've been friends and allies since we met, but honestly, I've often regretted getting my people involved in your war. And that's how I thought of it: your war. I felt kind of like a mercenary, and my men didn't sign up for that. But after last night—and not just because of the human skull—this war against the Grik became just as much ours as yours." He sat, leaning back in his chair.

  "Now, we can sit around and mope and whine `woe is me' or we can get ourselves in gear, make the tough decisions, and figure out how to win!" He saw Adar's predatory grin and knew he'd finally won him over.

  The Sky Priest probably had more swing with the other Homes than Keje did anyway.

  But Keje wasn't out. He leaned forward. "Were you not overwhelmed when first you learned the odds?" Matt was guiltily aware that he'd been "overwhelmed" for the last six months. But this time it was different. The steamroller was coming and his tricycle had a flat, but he'd thrown the blindfold off. Keje huffed. "You'll hear no whining from me!"

  Matt stood with Sandra on Big Sal 's battlement, leaning on the rail and watching the setting sun. Below, the victory celebration was still under way. Time enough later for the full extent of the challenge to make itself known. For now, let them enjoy themselves. They'd earne
d it. Adar swore the weather would remain fine for several days at least, so Matt hadn't ordered the PBY back to Baalkpan. It floated now, bouncing a little on the choppy sea but safe and snug in the sheltering lee of the massive sides of Home. Bradford cut short his safari. For such large creatures, super lizards were surprisingly difficult to find—particularly since his guides had been instructed by Nakja-Mur not to lead him anywhere near one. He'd arrived with the plane and was, even now, examining the "prize" with Spanky, Chief Gray, and a group of Naga's and Adar's acolytes. In the middle distance steamed Walker, festively alight from stem to stern but still screening the revelers against any approaching threat. As it should be.

  As she'd always done.

  Matt blinked and looked around. It struck him odd that he and Sandra would have the vast expanse of Big Sal 's battlement all to themselves.

  Others had been there—Keje, Garrett, Pete, Jarrik—but he hadn't noticed when they left. Weird. Neither had spoken for quite some time, enjoying the companionable solitude.

  "It's so sad about Chack," Sandra said, breaking the silence.

  "Yeah, Keje's daughter too. I think she was expecting wedding bells when she saw Chack come aboard."

  "Her name's Selass," Sandra reminded him. "We spoke before we left Baalkpan, and she told me her hopes and the understanding she had with Chack. She wondered what I thought he'd decide." She shrugged. "I had no idea. Now . . . she's in for a rough road. She loves him, but they can't mate, no matter what he had decided."

  "Why not? I thought 'cats got married and unmarried whenever they felt like it."

  "Sometimes, but they seem to take `sickness and health' pretty seriously. Selass can't `divorce' Saak-Fas until he's well—which I doubt he'll ever be—or until he dies, of course."