"I'll teach you to kick my 'Cats, you unnatural sons-a-bitches!" Silva screamed.
Keje-Fris-Ar felt dazed as he sagged with his hands on his knees, panting. The world was upside down. He'd been wounded superficially in many places and was faint with fatigue and perhaps loss of blood. His tongue was swollen, his lips cracked and bleeding, and he'd lost his voice hours ago. He blinked thanks when Selass gave him a large copper mug, but his hands shook uncontrollably and he couldn't drink. From the gloom, Adar was beside him, helping to hold it still. Pridefully, he tried to shake off the Sky Priest's hands, but didn't have the strength even for that. Instead, he drank greedily with closed eyes as the tepid water soothed his throat. But even with eyes closed, his mind still saw the momentous things he'd witnessed.
He'd seen things that day that rivaled the epic power of the Scrolls themselves. Acts of courage and horror without compare—without precedence—as far as he knew. And he'd seen wonders beyond comprehension, such as the power of the Tail-less Ones who'd so unexpectedly come to their aid. Without whose aid they'd have surely perished. But beyond even that, he'd seen what that power did to the Grik. The People helped, of course, but it was the power of the Tail-less Ones that worked the miracle he could hardly believe, even now. The Grik had broken.
They hadn't been merely repulsed; he'd seen that before. They'd utterly and completely broken and fled in absolute terror from the combined assault of the Tail-less Ones' magic and the vengeful ferocity of the People. There'd been confusion on both sides at first, when suddenly there raged a hammering sound like nothing ever heard and the Grik—but only the Grik—began dying by the score. Hundreds fell, horribly mangled, in the space of a few short breaths, and they couldn't fight—couldn't even see— whatever was killing them! The panic began in their rear, behind the fighting, and Keje first noticed it as a lessening pressure in front of his fighters. Wary glances of alarm became shrieks of rage and terror, as the Grik saw their comrades dying and fleeing behind them. Keje saw it too, and despite his own shock, grasped the opportunity. He led the charge that swept the enemy entirely from the decks of Home.
The killing had been wanton and the victory complete. He couldn't count how many Grik were cut down from behind, or hacked and clawed one another to death as they fled back to the ships still lashed to Salissa. Hundreds simply leaped into the sea, so total had their panic been. One Grik ship got clear, so the victory wasn't entirely complete, but the other tried to flee in full view of the Tail-less Ones' amazing ship, and two thunderous booms from their strange tubes left it a sinking wreck. The ship then surged forward, apparently to chase the other, but almost immediately slowed and came about, back to the side of Home. The strange beings rushed to and fro, dragging heavy ropelike things around their deck, and then, to the further amazement of all, water surged upon the fires raging in the forward part of Salissa.
A gentle, refreshing mist still descended on Keje as dusk slowly ended this momentous day and his People gleefully rolled Grik corpses over the side. With an effort, he disengaged from the supporting hands of his oldest friend and daughter and crept painfully to the rail. There below, he saw the same figure looking up he'd seen just days before. Fighting pain and weariness with nothing but will, he raised his right arm and gave the Sign of the Empty Hand. He hoped, somehow, the gesture would convey a fraction of his gratitude.
In the glare of the dwindling flames, he was sure the creature raised its hand as well, and he slumped into the arms of his friend and his daughter—and others. As they carried him away he realized that tomorrow the sun would rise on a different world. One in which the Grik were more bold and more numerous than their worst nightmares could have foretold, but also a world in which the Grik had been broken, and his People had powerful friends.
CHAPTER 5
The battle was over—at least the fighting part was. Like all battles, the aftermath looked as gruesome and painful as the strife. Walker's searchlights illuminated the continuing toil on the deck of the huge ship that floated, still smoldering, less than a hundred yards away. The Lemurians tending their many wounded and throwing their enemies over the side appeared hesitant to enter the powerful beams at first, but they quickly recognized the friendly gesture, if not the power behind it. They now took full advantage of the unusual illumination. Very practical creatures, Matt observed. He'd hesitated to use the lights, concerned that they might perceive them as some sort of threat or an unwholesome act on Walker's part. His concerns were quickly put to rest. Even if the Lemurians were uneasy, after what Walker had done for them, they were evidently prepared to accept her benevolence.
"Secure from general quarters," he said quietly, and joined Sandra, Bradford, and the torpedo-director crew on the bridgewing. The torpedomen were unplugging their headsets and securing their equipment. He glanced up and behind to see Garrett and several others leaning on the rail of the fire-control platform, watching the labors of their "allies." A tiny meteor arced over the side as Chief Gray, on the foredeck below the splashguard, guiltily flicked a cigarette away. "The smoking lamp's lit, Boats," Matt called down with amusement. The number one gun crew chuckled, and Gray turned on them in a vitriolic frenzy. Matt listened to the humorous tirade and shook his head.
"We should help them," said Sandra, referring to the scene on the wounded ship. She paused, remembering her meager resources. Their supplies were limited, and so were the personnel of her "division." Karen Theimer was increasingly withdrawn, and Jamie Miller was just a kid. Besides, they couldn't all go. Still . . .
"I should help them. I should go across immediately and offer assistance, Captain." She'd turned to face him, her words changing from an observation to a formal request.
He looked at her thoughtfully, but reluctantly shook his head. "That might be a good idea," he temporized. "It wouldn't hurt our rйsumй with our new friends either, as long as they recognize your efforts for what they are. But it's just not possible."
"I'm afraid I must insist, Captain. We had no casualties and I'm sure I can make my intentions known. Pain has no language. Even if I can't speak to them or know their physiology, I can help bandage. My God, they may not even know about germs!"
He nodded sympathetically and spoke very gently. "I admire your courage and compassion. But it really is impossible and you must not insist." He gestured over the side. The sea still churned with the silvery, tuna-sized fish. Whenever another lizard hit the water, it frothed and thrashed anew. Sandra followed his gaze and bit her lip. "There's no way I'm risking you or Nurse Theimer—not to mention a boat and crew— until things settle down. By morning the fish may have had their fill, and in daylight we might give it a try."
"There's no other way?" she asked, almost plaintively.
"No. In daylight, if those things are still down there, and we can get the Lemurians to understand, we might shoot a line across and rig a bosun's chair. But that'll take coordination and some very careful station-keeping. If one of those plesiosaurs shows up, we might have to maneuver . . ." He stopped. "That won't work either. Hopefully by then we can just use a boat."
He spoke no more and just stared across the water. His face was troubled, frowning. He was anxious to meet the Lemurians for a number of reasons. First, he certainly agreed with Sandra: if they could render medical assistance, they should offer it. More important, they'd just waded into a war in a big way, and he had no idea where they stood or how big a war it was. Possibly the lizards were simply raiders, the local equivalent of Malay pirates. Maybe the Lemurians represented the greater power, and even if there was a general war going on, they'd just ingratiated themselves to that power and all their problems were solved. But it was equally possible that the reverse was true. One of the lizard ships had escaped, and however powerful they might be, there was no doubt about the role Walker played in the battle. What's more, they might not be so easily discouraged by modern weapons again. He wanted answers. And there lurked another problem: how in the world would they communicate? Perhaps Bradf
ord would have suggestions.
After a while Sandra tentatively put her hand on his in the darkness. "I'm sorry again," she said.
He looked at her, genuinely surprised—by the words and the touch. "What for?"
"For . . . a lot of things. For pressuring you. Doubting you. I know how hard it was, how much you wanted to avoid this. But you did the right thing."
He looked at her very frankly and sighed. "I think so too, or I wouldn't have done it. I hope we're both right." He smiled. "I guess we'll find out."
With the dawn, the sea regained its deceptively mild appearance and Captain Reddy ordered the larger motor launch prepared instead of the whaleboat. It was safer, and he wanted as many observers as possible. Sandra, Bradford, Gray, McFarlane, and Letts would go with him, along with two carpenter's mates and an armed security detachment consisting of Silva, Felts, Reavis, and Newman. Tony Scott was coxswain. On a whim, more than for any other reason, Matt accepted Lieutenant Shinya's request to go, although he would be the only one without a sidearm. He wasn't really worried that Shinya would do anything untoward, but he believed—and even took time to explain to him—that the crew wouldn't approve.
Again, he left Larry Dowden in command. "I don't expect any trouble," he told him, "but that's what I thought last time. Remain at general quarters while we're away. They've got to be expecting to say howdy in some fashion, but I'd rather do it on their ship first. If we wait around too long, they might decide to visit us, and I don't want them roaming around my ship until we know more about them."
"Understood, Captain, but I still ought to be the one to go," Dowden said with a frown.
Matt grinned. "May be, but I'm the captain, so I get to do what I want. Seriously, though, I agree in principle, but—well, we've already been through this. You can be the first to meet the strange alien creatures next time, Larry. I promise."
He climbed into the launch, which was already level with the deck. That was another good thing about the launch, he thought: it could be lowered with them in it. Slipping and falling into the water was no longer just an embarrassing gaffe; it was a death sentence. The keel smacked the waves and, with a burbling roar, they started across. The sun was up, but it was still early and Matt hoped they wouldn't catch the Lemurians in a crabby mood before their version of morning coffee. More important, he didn't want to surprise them. He needn't have been concerned. Evidently, they'd been watching his ship very closely because, as soon as they approached, many of the creatures stopped what they were doing and scampered to the rail. Strange, excited cries alerted others.
"Hail the conquering heroes," the Bosun growled.
As they drew nearer, the ship's sheer size was even more impressive from their lower perspective. The rail was easily a hundred feet over their heads, and there was no question that the thing was as large as one of the new fleet carriers. Maybe bigger. That made the damage it had sustained even more amazing. The forward superstructure was completely destroyed, and the foremast tripod stood naked and charred. The pagoda-like tower had collapsed upon itself to become a mere heap of smoldering rubble. Clouds of ash billowed to leeward like gouts of steam. The forward part of the hull was scorched as well, though there didn't seem to be serious damage to its structural integrity. It was massive, and while it was clearly made of wood, there was no telling how thick it was. Matt was surprised to discover that the bottom was copper-clad, much like Walker's sailing-navy ancestors. No doubt the copper extending several feet above the sea served the same purpose here—to protect the hull from wood-eating organisms.
They coasted alongside, approximately amidships, until the launch almost bumped. But Scott was an excellent coxswain even with the more unfamiliar launch, and he avoided actual contact by the thinnest margin. They saw no way up, however. There were no steps or ladders for them to climb, and for the moment they could only stare at the numerous heads, high above, peering back down at them. Suddenly, a very familiar-looking rope-and-rung arrangement unrolled down the side with a clatter and jerked to a stop almost upon them.
"Well," said Bradford, "not exactly a red carpet, after all, but certainly a warmer welcome than they gave their last visitors." There were several chuckles, and Matt took the ladder in his hands.
"Ordinarily, I always say `ladies first,' but this time I'll break that rule." There were more chuckles and a few uneasy glances at Lieutenant Tucker. Her reputation and stature had reached an unprecedented level, for a non-destroyerman (and a woman). She possessed undoubted skill as a healer and was genuinely friendly to those in her care. But she'd flown signals of an equally unprecedented temper, and her sense of humor had yet to be tried. She didn't take offense at the captain's attempt to seem lighthearted about his protectiveness of her, however.
"Boats, you're next, then the security detail. Once they're up, everyone can follow as they see fit." He started up the ladder, but then stopped. "Everybody stay cool and friendly, and remember who you are and what you represent." With that, he resumed his climb. He tried to appear brisk and confident and hoped no one detected his nervousness. He wasn't afraid, exactly, but he had to admit to some anxious uncertainty. Never in his most bizarre dreams had he imagined that he would be doing what he was right now. Nothing he'd ever done had prepared him for this moment, and he didn't have the slightest idea what to do. The only thing he was sure of was that nobody else did either and he'd better not screw it up.
Finally, he reached the rail and paused for a moment before jumping to the deck. Many of the creatures had gathered around, and they drew back at the sight of him, their inscrutable faces staring with large, feline eyes. They were every conceivable color, like three generations of kittens from a wanton barn cat. Long, fluffy tails twitched behind them, seemingly independent of their owners' stoic immobility. And they were short. He hadn't realized it, watching them through binoculars, but they were much shorter than he'd expected. The tallest he saw came only to his chin, and it was considerably taller than the others. He? She? He assumed it was a he, though he had no basis, yet, to make that guess. The majority of the creatures were dressed haphazardly, in what appeared to be a mixture of daily garb and the occasional piece of leather and copper armor. All seemed weary and many were wounded, but most were still armed with an axe or a short scimitar-like sword. Significantly, none were brandishing those weapons at him.
What set the tall one apart, aside from his height, was that he was covered entirely in a dark purple robe with large stars sewn across the shoulders, and the long-tailed hood was pulled tight around his face so that only his piercing gray eyes could be seen. The creatures nearest him seemed more alert than the rest, more detached from the moment, and they had a protective, proprietary air about them. Because of this, and his dress, Matt took him for a leader, or at least an authority figure of some kind. Gray clambered over the rail to join him and as he did, he put his hand on one of the enormous backstays supporting the center tripod. He took it away and looked at it. The stay was coated with thick black tar. He arched an eyebrow at his captain and Matt nodded. He'd seen it too. He stepped forward and the two of them, the robed figure and the naval officer, quietly faced one another while the rest of the party boarded. All the while, there was silence. Matt couldn't even fall back on Navy custom and salute their flag, for there was none, at least at present, but maybe . . . maybe that didn't matter. Tradition was tradition, and he expected even if they didn't understand it, they would recognize it as such. Maybe they would appreciate the respect that went with it.
Abruptly, he pivoted to his right, facing aft, and snapped a sharp salute. Then he turned to the robed figure and saluted him as well.
"Lieutenant Commander Matthew Reddy, United States Navy. I request permission to come aboard, sir."
The Lemurian blinked rapidly with what might have been surprise, and his lips stretched into what looked for all the world like a grin. Matt held the salute a moment longer, and then on impulse slowly lowered his hand until he held it, palm outward, toward the
creature in the purple robe. Very deliberately, it pulled the hood from its face. It was still "grinning" broadly, although the expression didn't extend beyond its mouth. Matt suspected that, like cats, their faces weren't made to display emotions as humans did. The "grin," if that's what it was, spoke volumes, however, and now others nearby grinned too. To the amazement of the humans, the one in the robe carefully imitated Matt's salute and held up his hand as well. Matt heard a gasp behind him, as well as Gray's gravelly chuckle.
"Permission granted, Skipper," he said quietly.
The Lemurian clasped both his hands to his chest and spoke: "Adar."
Bradford pushed his way next to the captain. "Upon my word! Do you suppose he means he is Adar, or that's the name for his people?"
Matt sighed. "I was about to . . . ask him that, Mr. Bradford. Please, let's have no more outbursts. It might confuse them and I'm confused enough for us all right now." He pointed at the creature. "Adar?" he asked.
The Lemurian blinked twice and, if anything, his grin grew broader. He spread his hands out from his sides and bowed.
Matt clasped his own hands to his chest and said, "Matthew Reddy."
The creature struggled to wrap his mouth around the unfamiliar sounds. Then he made an attempt.
"Maa-tyoo Riddy."
Matt grinned back at him. "Pretty good." He turned and proceeded to name those who accompanied him, and then pointed across the water where the destroyer kept station. She really was a sight, he reflected. Streaks of rust covered her sides and the patched battle damage was made conspicuous by the fresher paint. The lizard firebomb had scorched a large section of her hull just aft of her number, and the paint was bubbled and flaking. Most of the crew was on deck at the moment too, watching them. The tattered Stars and Stripes fluttered near the top of the short mast aft.
"USS Walker," he said.
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