Deadly Shores

by Taylor Anderson

  “What?” Matt reached to dislodge the creature, which, now probably more awake and suddenly disoriented, bit him. “Damn! You little . . . ,” snapped Matt, and jerked his finger away. Idiot that he was, Petey didn’t think to turn loose of the offending finger until it slung him out over the water.

  “No!” Sandra cried.

  “Noooooo!” Petey screeched, extending his limbs and catching the air with the membranes stretched between them. He tried to glide back around and make the deck, but he didn’t have the altitude or airspeed.

  “Make for the stairs, you lizardy little gnat!” Silva boomed up from below. Petey apparently tried but couldn’t turn that sharply. Instead, he dove for the boat. “Si-va!” he chirped, obviously recognizing the big man.

  “No! You ain’t comin’ aboard here!” Silva protested, just as Petey slammed into his shoulder, digging in his claws.

  “Si-va!” Petey chirped with relief, just as he squirted a foul-smelling stream over the side from a slit on the bottom of his tail. Dennis grabbed him. “God-damn! Leggo, you little creep!”

  “Goddam creep!” Petey wailed.

  “Here, Mrs. Minister, uh, Reddy!” Silva shouted, still tugging at Petey, trying to disengage him. “I’ll flip him back up there by his legs!”

  “No, Silva!” Sandra cried down, just as Petey shrieked, “Noooo! Goddamn!” and fastened onto Silva’s arm as well.

  “Let go!”

  “Pitch him over on the stairs,” Gray griped. “Quit foolin’ around with that thing!”

  “He won’t let go, I tell ya!”

  Above, Sandra began to laugh, both hands covering her mouth. “It seems the Governor-Empress Rebecca McDonald’s little friend has chosen a new playmate!” she managed. “You keep him for a while, Chief Silva. He’ll definitely enjoy himself more in your capable hands.”

  “My hands are about to twist his little head off!” he hollered back. “Beggin’ yer pardon. But . . . what the hell am I gonna do with him?”

  “Now, now. Remember how the Governor-Empress dotes on him,” Sandra warned. “I expect you to take good care of him. And who knows? Maybe he’ll even make himself useful!”

  “But . . . ,” Silva started, attempting to reply.

  Matt was laughing too, when he joined the others in the boat, waving back at his wife. He knew he hadn’t fully absorbed the news he was going to be a father, but his spirits were still running high. “Maybe he’ll come in handy for something,” he said aside, his happy mood crushing Silva’s even further.

  “As a snack for Larry, most likely!” Dennis warned darkly. “If I don’t eat him first,” he added more softly, finally prying the little tree-glider off his arm.

  “Eat?” Petey inquired, a little more politely than usual.

  CHAPTER 21

  ////// The Celestial Palace

  Grik Madagascar

  “General Esshk has arrived, and craves to be admitted into your divine presence,” mumbled the Chooser against the stone steps approaching the massive, saddlelike throne of the Celestial Mother of All the Grik. The Chooser had increasingly become the closest advisor to the Giver of Life, with the death of Lord Regent Tsalka, the absence of General of the Sea Kurokawa, and with Esshk himself most often on the continent. He’d been expanding the training grounds where they formed “new” warriors for the Great Hunt, either elevated or bred as such, for some time. The Chooser considered himself poorly equipped for the task. He was the High Doyen of his order, but his former duties had always been limited largely to choosing which hatchlings had the greatest potential to become aggressive warriors, and designating the rest to be culled for food. That occupation had largely ended with this current hunt, this “war,” for which formerly culled hatchlings were raised and trained for defensive combat—something that had never occurred to any Grik before Kurokawa suggested it.

  The Chooser retained influence by pretending to have the ability to divine further specialties the hatchlings might be suited for, as well as pretending—again—to possess Kurokawa’s trust, and special insights into the creature’s character. That was becoming problematic since no one, least of all the Chooser, had any idea what Kurokawa was up to now, or even if he lived. All they knew was that all the Grik forces in India had been dealt a severe setback. They wouldn’t even know that if a couple of zeppelin crews hadn’t escaped the slaughter of airships and somehow made it to the northern reaches of the Sacred Lands. No ships had returned, and no one had anything like a complete picture of the current disposition of Kurokawa’s fleet, or General Halik’s army. More forces and supplies continued to be sent, but it wasn’t even known if they were getting through.

  “General Esshk is here?” demanded the Giver of Life. The Celestial Mother was an immense creature, easily three times the size of an adult male Grik. Her plumage was a deep, reddish gold, almost copper, and covered a form so majestically obese that the slightest movement had to be remarkably difficult. Her long, unused claws were gilded just now, though they were often painted with amazing skill and artistry. Her teeth glistened, like iridescent pearls, and great jowls drooped alongside her toothy jaws, quivering with each word she spoke.

  “Indeed, Your Magnificence. He just arrived.”

  The Celestial Mother considered that. “I wonder what brings him,” she pondered aloud. “Of course you must allow him into my presence, but I do hope he produces no more tedious speculations!” She rolled her eyes to one of her female attendants, nearly as large as she. “I do so mislike tedious speculations!”

  “At once, Your Magnificence,” the Chooser cried, rising to his feet. “I shall fetch him myself!”

  Shortly, General Esshk, first general of all the Grik, strode into the chamber accompanied by a small escort, all disarmed, and cast himself on the worn stones at the foot of the throne with a soft chink and scrape of armor. The Chooser joined him on the floor once more, and after an appropriate moment for the Celestial Mother to scrutinize his appearance, and sufficient dread to rise in his breast, she waved a taloned finger. “Rise, First General Esshk!” she said imperiously. “All of you. Rise and face me.”

  The visitors complied, and Esshk swept his scarlet cape aside with a courtly flourish that left it hanging down the left side of his tail. He’d already removed the ornate bronze helmet and equally well-crafted sword he usually wore. The Celestial Mother paused, her eyes absorbing his familiar, powerful frame. He’d always been her favorite littermate, after all. As such, it was such a terrible shame he could never become a regent consort himself. . . . When she spoke again, her voice was more congenial.

  “It is good to see you, my general,” she said, “but I must ask why you thought it necessary to come here yourself. The trainers you designated are proceeding competently, are they not? The greater armies in the Sacred Lands surely need you more?”

  “I come bearing news, observations, and impressions. Perhaps now a warning, based on what I learned when I arrived. None of this would I trust to the tongue of another. The greater armies on the continent are secure at present, though one of my observations involves reports of curious activity on the part of the other hunters in the south. We never received a reply from them regarding our offer that they join the Great Hunt, yet it appears their meager armies are massing on the frontier! Most curious.”

  “Perhaps they still mean to join us?”

  “It must be so, for they cannot hope to harm us. I will continue to monitor their movements, and watch for an overture of some sort. We know so little about them!”

  The Giver of Life shivered dramatically, imagining the, to any Grik, frigid wasteland the southern hunters called home. The only reason the Grik had not swept them away long before was that they simply didn’t want their land. “Perhaps they come slowly to the hunt, accustoming themselves to a more reasonable climate?”

  “Perhaps. In any event, I shall wait and see what they do. There i
s no point in going to them if they are coming to us.” He glanced at the Chooser. “Otherwise, the trainers here do seem competent, from what little I have seen,” Esshk allowed. “Though most of the warriors they form are dispatched directly from here to General Halik in India. That is another of the reasons I desired this meeting—besides simply craving your lustrous gaze upon me.”

  The Celestial Mother shifted with pleasure on her throne. “Very well then, General Esshk. Bask in my favor, and explain what troubles you about our current deployments.”

  Esshk bowed. “Of course. Essentially, in light of our having heard nothing from Halik or Kurokawa, I believe we should stop sending elements of the new host to join them, at least until we know more of the situation there.”

  The Celestial Mother leaned away. “You suspect disaster there?” she asked tonelessly.

  “I must suspect it, Your Magnificence,” Esshk said. “We already know General of the Sea Kurokawa suffered an . . . inconvenience, at sea, and we have heard no more from him.”

  “You think he was destroyed?”

  “I cannot know what to think,” Esshk confessed, “but we have long suspected”—he glanced at the Chooser again—“that Kurokawa possesses a means of communication he never shared. I suspect another of his devices, that somehow sends and receives messages of some kind across . . . impossible distances. I am reinforced in this belief by the fact that, even before word first arrived of the battles in India, nearly all the Jaaph hunters that had been supervising our industrial toils suddenly vanished—presumably to gather at their sovereign nest at Zanzibar. I cannot help but think that, whether Kurokawa was destroyed or not, his Jaaphs may know something we do not.”

  “Should we investigate?”

  “Surely,” Esshk said, “but that brings me to my warning. I have heard upon my arrival here of a possibly more pressing concern.”

  “Indeed?” the Celestial Mother inquired.

  “Indeed,” Esshk agreed. He was not surprised the Giver of Life had not heard. Who would tell her? “One of the trainers of the new Host here was part of the Invincible Swarm that accompanied me to the enemy lands and fought as Uul at the Battle of Baalkpan. He has since been elevated, of course, but retains memories of his earlier life.” He paused. “I have often described the flying machine the enemy used in that battle, and compared it to those the Jaaph hunters have designed.” The Giver of Life gestured him to continue. “Well, by reports we received from General Halik early on, he faced similar, if smaller machines in India that were most troublesome at times.”

  “Yes, yes, I am aware.”

  “But you obviously are not aware that such a machine might well have been seen, soaring high above this very city just days ago.”

  The Celestial Mother leaned forward again. “That I did not know,” she acknowledged. “Was this sighting confirmed?” she demanded, staring at the Chooser now.

  “No, Your Magnificence!” the Chooser cried in distress. “I did not see it, nor did any Hij of note. Most of those who thought they saw it were ridiculously unreliable creatures, and it—whatever it was—remained so high that describing it in detail was impossible.” He glared accusingly at Esshk. “Only a very few seemed certain, so it was not worthy of your concern.”

  “Those ‘very few’ were the only ones who had seen such a thing before,” Esshk shot back. He faced the Celestial Mother once more. “If it was a machine of the enemy, I am informed that it cannot have flown by itself from where they are known to be, all the way to this place. They require fuel, just as our airships do, and a place to be when they are not flying. That can only mean that some force, possibly considerable, has drawn near enough to establish, or serve as its base!”

  “Impossible!” the Chooser stated emphatically. “The prey—I mean, the ‘enemy’ cannot possibly have eluded detection all this way along our very coast in a single ship, much less a force of any size sufficient to cause alarm!”

  “I agree,” Esshk said mildly, “but you underestimate our enemy. I shall never do so again. I submit that they may have crossed the center of the terrible sea to come at this place, and we must prepare accordingly.”

  “Crossed the terrible sea!” the Chooser chortled. “How? Nothing and no one can do such a thing. Even if they were so foolish, barely one ship in ten—two tens!—could have survived the passage! There are not enough prey in all the world to sustain such losses and remain a threat to us!”

  “Nevertheless,” Esshk said, “I believe I should remain here for a time and supervise the latest levy of the New Host. Consider it an exercise. We will pretend that the enemy has somehow managed to find its way here, and I will act as though our warriors must quickly prepare to meet an equal force. We cannot leave such a thing to chance.”

  The Celestial Mother growled deep in her throat. “Oh, very well, First General Esshk. Do as you will. No doubt the New Host will benefit from the further training at the very least.” She paused. “But what if you are right? What should we do?”

  “Slay them as they land,” Esshk said simply. “I have never personally designed a ‘defensive’ battle before, but the description General Halik sent some months back of the enemy ‘trenchworks’ in India does interest me. Halik considered them formidable, so I may employ them here.” He paused, trying to imagine how an enemy might attack the Celestial City. Never in his life had he even contemplated such a thing. The trackless jungle beyond the Great Barricade to the south was impenetrable, of course, and there was a powerful fleet at anchor in the bay. It struck him that if the city was vulnerable, it could only be from the east or west. He’d have to split his forces and dig trenches to guard both directions—or would he? Grik were accustomed to launching multipronged attacks, and apparently so was the enemy. But the western approaches teemed with shipping, and they’d surely get some warning if the enemy came from that direction, even if only by an absence of ships entering the harbor. He decided to concentrate his better warriors east of the city, where they’d get no warning at all, and try to keep them ready for anything.

  He’d fortify the western trenches with ordinary Uul warriors and leaven them with thoughtful, “elevated” leaders. There they would stay unless desperately needed. Defending would confuse them enough, and they were far more difficult to move in any case. There should be sufficient warning to shift other warriors to bolster them if the need arose. Designing a defensive battle is not so hard, he thought, once one puts his mind to it. Quite similar to simply blocking an enemy’s blows in combat. One should be able to do it without thinking, with a little practice. He looked at his Giver of Life and practically shivered with a strange foreboding. But what if it is not so simple as it seems? He coughed politely. “As a further precaution, Your Magnificence, I must advise that you move your throne to the Sacred Lands on the continent. Just until these concerns are past. Enjoy a pleasant respite from your duties here.”

  The Celestial Mother managed a gurgling chuckle. “Really, General Esshk! I am the Giver of Life. I shall not flee from fantasies! And besides,” she added cheerfully, “I would never fit through the passageways to board a ship! Such a movement would be most tiresome and uncomfortable!”

  CHAPTER 22

  ////// First Fleet South

  July 29, 1944

  USS Walker eased slowly, carefully shoreward on a calm sea, beneath a meager moon. The only sounds within the confines of the darkened pilothouse were the rumbling blower and soft commands and acknowledgments of Spanky McFarlane, who had the conn, and the Lemurian helmsman. Periodic, muted cries rose from the fo’c’sle declaring the depth Chief Gray’s detail found with the lead. Steaming in column in Walker’s wake were the DDs of Des-Ron 6, now carrying the entire 1st Raider Brigade. Soon they would anchor, and swarms of broad-beamed boats that looked (and stacked) much like dories would pull for the beach. The motorized landing craft, now stowed aboard Amerika and Big Sal would carry Safir Maraan’s II Cor
ps ashore at Grik City, since it was assumed they’d be most likely to face opposition.

  Matt was on the port bridgewing with Chack and Courtney Bradford, anxiously glassing the silver surf that broke upon the forbidding shore the 1st Naval Air Wing had described and Chack had chosen. Beyond the shore was a dark, junglelike forest of tall, broad trees unlike any Matt had seen except perhaps for the Great Tree in Baalkpan. The things were huge! Matt’s companions were aboard because Chack would lead the landing in Walker’s motor launch, since she was the most capable ship to close the beach during the landing operation. Bradford had insistently declared that he must accompany him and be among the first to set foot on this almost holy, if equally evil land.

  “I think this is it,” Matt practically whispered aside to Chack.

  “Yes, Cap-i-taan Reddy,” Chack agreed formally. “I believe you are correct.” Matt looked at the brindled Lemurian he was so fond of, knowing how nervous he must be. Chack had seen a great deal of action and was amazingly capable, but this was an entirely different situation for him. He was in complete command of this element of the operation, and the operation itself was risky beyond anything they’d ever tried. Matt was tempted to pat his arm, but he knew that was out of the question. Instead, he turned and spoke to Spanky. “All stop. Stand by to anchor. Have the launch made ready in all respects.”

  “All stop and stand by to anchor, aye,” Spanky replied. “The launch is already swayed out and ready to lower as soon as you give the word.”

  “Very well.” Matt looked at Courtney. “Last chance,” he said, then shrugged. “It’s really kind of, well, stupid for you to go. You’re not a soldier. And what if something happens to you?”

  Courtney eyed him. “What if something happens to any of us? The assignment you have set yourself is not without risk! Besides, if I was once of some importance, I am no longer—I mean, to the ‘cause’ of course! I remain quite important to me! But this is a moment I have dreamed of as ardently as our dear Adar, if for slightly different reasons.” He grinned. “And besides, who are you to say that I’m no soldier! I’ve been training with Chack’s Raiders these last weeks, and if I’m no physical match for them, I daresay I shan’t slow them down too dreadfully. I’ve never felt more fit! And I still have the Krag Jorgenson rifle I carried about so uselessly during the Battle of Baalkpan! I assure you, I know much more about it now, and Chack still has a similar arm.”