Distant Thunders d-4

by Taylor Anderson

  “Well… that’s amazing, Courtney,” Matt said dryly, “but what’s your point? I’m afraid ‘lizards’ has pretty much stuck as slang for ‘Grik.’ I doubt you’re going to get folks to start calling ’em ‘birds’ at this point. Be happy with your win over ‘Lemurians.’ ”

  “No! That’s not what I’m saying at all!”

  “Then for God’s sake, for once in your life, say what you mean!” hissed Gray, exasperated. Matt looked at the chief and raised his hand, but couldn’t help agreeing with him.

  “I’m trying to! Aren’t you listening at all?” Bradford asked forcefully, and Gray rolled his eyes. “The thing is, all my various preoccupations pushed some rather more important thoughts from my head. One such was retrieved by your ridiculous comment that the ‘exception proves the rule.’ I know you don’t believe that,” he hastened to add, “and neither do I. That brings us to some rather disturbing thoughts I’ve had regarding our arrival on this world. We already know we must have been given, or been the victims of, some exception to the rules we knew, because, well, here we are.”

  “Clearly,” Matt said.

  “We also now know that exception wasn’t necessarily an exception at all.”

  “Shit, Mr. Bradford-’scuse me, Skipper-but just spit it out. I’m getting an ‘exceptional’ headache trying to figure you out!” Gray whispered, but Matt shushed him. He thought he knew where Bradford was going.

  “Very well,” Courtney continued, a little stiffly. “Jenks’s ancestors came through a… phenomenon much like the one we did. They call it the Passage, and it occurred in relatively close geographic proximity to our Squall. We also agree there may have been other similar such episodes over the centuries. Maybe it happens quite often, in fact, but the transportees are otherwise in smaller, more vulnerable ships with smaller crews, who have no means of protecting themselves in this more hostile world. They either don’t survive the event, or are lost before locals like the Lemurians discover them and give them aid. The mysterious fate of the crew of the Tjilatjap transport, Santa Catalina, and even the original crew of our own lamented PBY would seem to support that theory. As noted, a few men in a fishing boat would have poor prospects of survival.

  “We still don’t know what all else might have come through our Squall with us. Four ships now, counting the transport, plus a submarine and an airplane-that we know of. Now we learn of this Dominion that controls a portion of the Americas. Princess Rebecca is a dear child, but her history is not up to that of Jenks or Mr. O’Casey. They told me that this Dominion was founded by some bizarre combination of survivors from an ‘Acapulco’ or ‘Manila’ galleon and remnants of an even older, possibly pre-Columbian American tribe. I won’t go into the details of that twisted union at present, but it was the Acapulco galleon that rang the first warning bell.”

  “What are you talkin’ about?” Gray asked. “What’s a ‘Aca-poolco galleon’?”

  “What I’m talking about is that whatever phenomenon transported us to this world may not be nearly as unique as we first believed. Whatever conditions arise to trigger it might- might, I say-also ensure that it is a one-way transfer. I don’t begin to understand the mechanics of it yet, but that at least seems certain, since we’ve never encountered any lumbering Lemurian Homes or mountain fish on our world.” He paused. “Or maybe that is the key!”

  Captain Reddy and Chief Gray looked at each other. Evidently, Courtney was on one of his stream-of-consciousness rolls, and they might as well let it run its course.

  “What key?” Matt prodded.

  “Metal! As far as we know, only recently-relatively speaking-has any quantity of metal been abroad on the oceans of this world! Perhaps large quantities of iron contribute some form of electromagnetic aspect to the phenomenon-or the superior conductivity of the bronze guns, copper fittings… precious nonferrous metals of our predecessors… Oh, dear me, Captain, an entirely new avenue of contemplation has opened before me!”

  “Well, let’s finish our little trip down the avenue you were already on, for now,” Gray almost pleaded. “What’s Aca-poolco got to do with anything?”

  “Oh, dear, I do apologize! Let’s see, yes. Only that our little Squall was not unique. Probably not even regionally unique! There might well be other human civilizations beyond those we know of scattered about this hostile world. Perhaps many more. Now you understand, of course!”

  Finally Matt understood. Bradford was right. The question had been sitting there in front of all of them, but they’d just been too busy to notice it and ask. The possible answer chilled him in spite of the warm day. “Acapulco galleons were Spanish treasure ships, Boats,” he explained. “They sailed once a year or so to Acapulco from the Spanish Philippines loaded with loot. We studied Commodore Anson’s circumnavigation at the Academy. He captured one of the things with a fifty-gun ship- Centurion, I think it was-and the loot set most of his crew up for life. At least, that’s the story.”

  “So? I mean, it’s a neat story and all, but what good is a bunch of Spanish treasure to us?” Gray still didn’t get it.

  “None,” Matt said. “None I can think of now, anyway.” He grinned, but then his expression turned serious again. “The problem is, no Acapulco galleon would have ever sailed into the Java Sea. If that’s indeed what it was, that means whatever happened to us could’ve happened in other places and not just other times, all over the world. Might happen again. To think otherwise would be expecting an exception to these screwy new rules.”

  “Indeed,” Bradford said again. “I would think it’s inevitable. Something, some force, connects this world with ours. In the past, our world’s oceans were vast, mostly empty places, yet there have been many unexplained disappearances there. Perhaps some of those unfortunates wound up here as well. But right now, on our earth, a global war is under way and the seas are packed with many thousands of modern, quite seaworthy vessels. If my theory is correct, I fear it’s just a matter of time before we meet another lost traveler like ourselves, and it could happen anytime, anywhere.”

  For a long moment there was silence on the bridge. Chief Quartermaster’s Mate Norman Kutas at the wheel, who’d clearly heard at least the gist of the conversation, finally broke it. “Well, if we do run into somebody else,” he said, “I hope to God they’re on our side. We got enough folks mad at us as it is.”

  Glaring at Kutas, Bradford lowered his voice still further. “There is yet another quite bizarre possibility,” he said.

  “Oh, no,” moaned the Bosun.

  Bradford ignored him. “Just as we’ve discovered beyond any serious possible debate that there are two earths, as it were, how can we assume there are not many, many more?”

  Walker put in briefly at Paga-Daan, long enough only for Matt to go ashore and express his sympathies and for his ship to fill her bunkers from one of the tankers moored there. There were two so far and more on the way. Most would probably take their time, creeping along the archipelago and down the Mindanao coast. Matt couldn’t blame their captains, but he wanted to make sure the commanders and crews of the ships already there, that had taken the more dangerous route across the Celebes Sea, were recognized. Bunkers full, Walker steamed away before sunset, haze blurring the tops of three funnels.

  Churning south-southeast, Matt now had a choice to make. He could continue in Jenks’s wake until he caught the Imperial within two or three days at most, or he could lose another day and swing south to Talaud. Irvin Laumer and his crew had been out of touch since the loss of Simms, and Talaud was a dangerous place. Once he caught up with Jenks he’d be slowed down, regardless, and they had to be closing the gap on Billingsly. Achilles was bigger and faster than Ajax and she’d been replenished periodically, allowing her to steam ahead in the face of contrary or indifferent winds. But where could Ajax refuel? She might have stopped and cut trees for her boiler on any number of islands, but that would have slowed her even more. Matt doubted Billingsly would have done so initially, but chances were the man c
onsidered himself safe from pursuit by now. He knew the Alliance had nothing beyond the Philippines, and Simms and the feluccas were the last gauntlet he had to pass. He would be in for a surprise.

  But what of Laumer? With the full concurrence of his officers, Matt decided he had to check on the young lieutenant’s situation and at least leave him a transmitter. They recrossed the Celebes Sea in the dark of night and a severe rain squall, sonar pounding the depths. It was in these very waters, this bottleneck to the vast Pacific-or Eastern Sea-that Walker had once encountered two mountain fish in close proximity. The sonar had chased one away and they were pretty sure they’d killed the other one, but there was something about the area apparently, maybe the food-bearing currents, that allowed a higher percentage of the monsters to coexist than usual. In any event, in addition to the sonar, they made the crossing with extra lookouts, keen-eyed Lemurians scanning the sea for basking behemoths under the glare of the searchlights. None were seen.

  Dawn revealed Talaud’s hazy outline under an oppressive gray sky. Campeti was serving as Walker ’s gunnery officer for the voyage and he had the deck. He knocked quietly on the charthouse hatch and opened it a crack. Matt had taken to sleeping on a cot inside, intent even in sleep on the green flashes that lit the quiet sonarman’s scope. He liked to be handy if he was needed, but also, even though the new mattresses they’d made for the ship’s crew were comfortable, nobody had gotten around to fixing the fan in his stateroom. It got awfully stuffy in there.

  “Captain, you awake?” Campeti asked.

  “Sure,” Matt said, sitting up. He glanced at the sonarman. A ’Cat was usually in the chair, but Fairchild, Mahan ’s chief sonarman or sound man, had taken the watch for this stretch. “Anything?” he asked.

  “Nothing, Skipper. We’re going too fast to really tell, but since we’re trying to scare stuff off instead of hunting, I guess that’s a good thing.”

  Matt grunted. “What’s up, Campeti?”

  “Talaud’s off the starboard bow. It looks… kinda queer.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  Staas-Fin, one of Ronson’s best electrician’s mates, stood behind the big brass wheel and Courtney and Spanky were on the bridge when Matt joined them, putting on his hat. He hadn’t shaved. Of all the crew, Matt always tried to keep himself clean-shaven, but that was hard to do, sleeping in the charthouse. He needed to see if Staas-Fin, or “Finny,” could fix his fan. Otherwise, he might as well give up and grow a beard like the rest of the men. He wasn’t ready to let Juan shave him on the bridge in the captain’s chair. “What’s up?” he repeated.

  Spanky pointed at the island. “Well, it looks a little different, for starters,” he said.

  “Wow,” Matt muttered, agreeing. The quiescent volcanic mountain he remembered had grown significantly since he saw it last and the thick haze either came from it, or was the aftermath of some action on its part. The air had an acrid taste. The top of the mountain was lost to view, but there were occasional flashes of light, either from lightning or maybe even lava arcing into the sky.

  “Fascinating!” Bradford exclaimed.

  “Yeah. I hope our guys are all right,” Matt said.

  “Hey,” said Spanky, “where’re all the damn birds?” On their previous visit the ship had been swarmed with lizard birds and even some real birds that pestered them constantly and defecated all over the ship. Nobody replied. They had no answer.

  Just before noon, Walker rounded the northeast point of the island and entered the wide lagoon where they’d found the submarine. The sky was even blacker, but the air had cleared with a northerly breeze. At least they could breathe. Anchoring in almost the exact spot as before, they swung out the launch and steered for shore. Matt, Spanky, and the Bosun were accompanied by Stites, Chack, and six Marines. The Marines were the ones Chack thought had gained the most proficiency with their muskets.

  At first glance, the camp around the submarine looked deserted. A lot of work had clearly been done and the sub itself actually seemed afloat in a basin on the beach. No smoke rose from the generator engine boiler, however, and as they drew near they could see a literal swarm of what looked like bizarre lobster corpses on the beach.

  “What the hell?” Gray murmured. The launch’s engine seemed to attract someone’s attention, because as the bow nudged against the sand, a figure stood up from behind hasty-looking breastworks.

  “Captain Reddy, is that you?” came a cry. The men and ’Cats jumped out of the boat and advanced. Other faces, eyes drooping with fatigue, peered over the breastworks as they approached.

  “My God, Lieutenant Laumer?” Matt asked incredulously. The scruffy beard and tattered clothes left the man almost unrecognizable.

  “Yes, sir, it’s me!” Laumer said, grinning. He looked out at the Lagoon. “ Walker, sir! There she is! Boy, is she a sight for sore eyes! Looks almost new!”

  “What happened here, Lieutenant?” Matt asked, glancing at one of the dead creatures. It did look something like a lobster, although it was skinnier, proportionately, and appeared less heavily armored. The head was different and the leg arrangement looked more like a spider’s. The pincers were long and tapered like a scorpion’s. Most of the corpses looked like they’d been blown open fairly easily with bullets.

  “Well, sir, we’ve been making decent progress on the boat. She should be ready for sea before long. We put diesel in her tanks and have one engine running. The problem is getting her off the beach. We were going to use Simms to dredge a channel, kind of kedge it out, but Captain Lelaa hasn’t returned from her mission to intercept Billingsly.” He looked down. “I was sorry to hear about… what happened at Baalkpan.”

  “Yes, well, chasing him is our business now. I hate to tell you, but Billingsly and Ajax destroyed Simms and a felucca commanded by the High Chief of Paga-Daan. Captain Lelaa may have been aboard Ajax when it happened, but there were few survivors otherwise. I’m sorry,” he added when he saw Laumer’s stricken expression.

  “But…” Irvin straightened. “That leaves us in kind of a tight spot,” he said.

  “I’ll say,” said Gray. “What the hell happened here?”

  Irvin rubbed his nose. “A few weeks ago, one of these things got in our basin. Killed one of our guys. We killed it, but it wasn’t easy. Scary as they look, they’re not only quick on their feet, but they can squirt a jet of water like a cannon shot!”

  “Indeed?” muttered Bradford, stooping to examine the head of one of the things.

  “Yeah. Anyway, we didn’t see any more for a while, but then, day before yesterday, the mountain let loose, bigger than it has yet. We had critters coming at us out of the woods and we figured we’d better fort up. Next thing we knew, all these spider-lobsters, or whatever they are, started charging up on the beach. It started slow, just a few at a time, but it kept growing, so we threw up another breastwork here until we had a little fort. Dug like maniacs! We finished just in time, because the next thing we knew, there were dozens, hundreds of the things! Just about shot ourselves dry.” He shook his head. “The situation looked pretty bleak without more ammo. The new loads work okay, but they sure foul up a gun. The Thompson completely seized up a couple of times and we had to dump it in water.”

  Matt took a breath and looked longingly at the submarine. “You’ve done a great job here, Lieutenant, but I think you should prepare to evacuate. We have some ammunition we could leave with you, but not much more than it would take to drive off another assault like this one. Another supply ship is on its way, but it may not arrive in time to kedge out your channel. This mission has already gone above and beyond what I ever expected of you.”

  Irvin set his jaw. Later, Matt would realize that he probably hadn’t chosen those last words very well. “Sir,” Laumer said, “with all respect, I think we’ve earned the right to finish this job.” He looked around at the nods of his crew. “We don’t know if the spider-lobsters will even come back. It might have been a onetime deal. Lots of weird stuff goin
g on.” He gestured at the mountain. “I think it has something to do with that. The thing is, if it blows its top, we’ll never get this boat out of here!”

  “If it does that, there won’t be enough left of any of you to catch in a butterfly net!” Gray said.

  Irvin nodded. “Maybe. But damn it, Captain, we’re almost done! All we need is a couple of weeks with a ship, an anchor, and a windlass!”

  “And no storms to fill everything you’ve done in with sand!” Gray added.

  “That would be nice,” Irvin admitted.

  Matt rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Like I told you once, we need that boat, but we need you and your people more. Here’s the deal. We’ll leave you a transmitter and a receiver. If things get hairy, there’ll be no goofing around! You call for help, understand? Paga-Daan can have a felucca here to pick your people up in just a few days. Leave all the equipment. The same goes for when the supply ship arrives. Use it however you need to, but if things get bad, get the hell out, understood?”

  Irvin sighed with relief. For a moment, he’d seen failure staring him in the face and only Captain Reddy could have pronounced that sentence upon him. No storm or spider-lobsters or even a volcano was going to stop him, but Captain Reddy could have. He saluted. “Thanks, sir. We will succeed!”

  Matt was moody as Walker steamed out of the lagoon and into the open Pacific. He’d begun to realize the effect his words might have had on Laumer, and even though he hadn’t meant to, he’d practically challenged the young lieutenant to stay. He felt like a heel. He got up from his chair and stepped to the chart table. Kutas had marked the spot where they should rendezvous with Jenks, according to the latest position fixes O’Casey sent. One more day, maybe two, and they’d slow their sprint and take station with the Imperial frigate, maintaining visual contact, but sweeping east while covering the widest possible area. Apparently, the Empire had a few settlements in the Marshall Islands, but according to Jenks, they were notoriously independent places. Billingsly would find no haven there. He must be making for one of the main islands of the Hawaiian chain, probably New Ireland, as Jenks referred to it. The island was a Company hotbed and the center of its administration. New Scotland-was the primary naval base, and Hawaii itself was New Britain. None of the islands seemed “right” to Matt, when he’d looked at Jenks’s charts. Their shapes were distinctly changed from what he remembered. Most geographic differences they’d discovered so far were subtle, but the “Hawaiian” chain was more radically altered. He wondered why that was.