And, of course, the people. He looked from face to face until he recognized Matt. Then he grinned a very human grin and faced aft and saluted the flag that stood out from the short mast. He turned to Matt, still grinning, and saluted again. With evident difficulty, his mouth formed the unfamiliar words: "Meeshin ta caamaa-burd, zur?"
There were incredulous murmurs, and Matt realized his jaw had gone slack. Sandra, standing behind him, leaned forward and whispered in his ear. "We spent about an hour on that yesterday. He wanted to do it. He said he owed it to our people."
Soon the entire Lemurian party, numbering almost a dozen, was aboard. To the surprise and delight of the assembled destroyermen, all saluted the flag and the captain. It was an important and very moving moment, and the Lemurians couldn't have done anything that would have more thoroughly ingratiated themselves with Walker's crew. Grimaces and glances of suspicion disappeared, and a mood of camaraderie prevailed as Matt led the delegation under the amidships deckhouse, where refreshments were laid out. It wasn't much, but Juan, Earl Lanier, and Ray Mertz had done their best with what they had. On the stainless-steel counter running the length of the galley, a variety of light dishes were arrayed, along with carafes of iced tea.
After a brief hesitation, Keje himself tasted the tea and a grin of delight crossed his face. Whether it was the tea, the sugar, or just the novelty of ice that did the trick, it was extremely well received. Soon all the Lemurians were standing in the shade, drinking tea and exclaiming loudly in their chittering, yowelly voices, much to everyone's delight. Gray grudgingly offered Adar a Coke. After a trusting gulp, the dignified Sky Priest spewed foam from his mouth and nose, and the crew roared with laughter. Gray patted him hesitantly as he coughed, and then took a quick gulp from the same bottle to show their visitors he hadn't meant to poison their priest.
Ignoring the spectacle, Keje stood with the captain, eying a Vienna sausage rolled up in a slice of cheese with a toothpick stabbed through it. Bradford stood nearby, as did Shinya, ready to interpret. The Japanese officer still wore the dark blue uniform he'd had on when he was rescued, although it had been cleaned and mended as much as possible. He was the only one dressed in blue, and he stood out. Matt had contemplated having more men wear blues, in spite of the heat, to avoid drawing too much attention to the fact that Shinya was different, but he decided the men might resent it and he didn't want to add any fuel to that fire.
"Mr. Bradford," Matt said, "why don't you remain here as interpreter for the crew to the Lemurian party while Lieutenant Shinya accompanies me?" They'd already decided the crew would have Mr. Bradford. "Perhaps Captain . . . uh . . . His Excellency . . ." Matt stopped, at a loss.
"He is correctly referred to as U-Amaki," Tamatsu supplied.
"Yes. Well. Perhaps Captain U-Amaki and some of his officers would like to see more of the ship?"
Shinya spoke to Adar, but Keje blinked assent even before the translation was complete. He couldn't speak the Ancient Tongue, but through his lifelong association with Adar, he'd learned to understand it well enough.
"He would be delighted," Shinya said. "But his name is Keje-Fris-Ar.
U-Amaki is his title—like `Captain.'"
"Oh."
Keje, Adar, Jarrik, and Chack followed the leader of the Tail-less Ones. They were accompanied by the fat one, the female, and the dark-skinned one—who seemed different, besides just the color of his clothes. The rest of the group was left carousing and drinking the wonderful cold drink in the shade with many other Tail-less Ones.
Chack was enjoying himself, and was happy that the strange beings seemed so friendly, but he was unsure why he was there. He was proud to be chosen, of course, but he didn't know why. He still ached from his many small wounds, just as the High Chief did, but he knew he'd fought well in the battle. Perhaps Keje honored him for that? If so, it was an honor indeed, for he'd done no more than many others. At least it was a sign that Keje harbored no ill will toward him over Selass. At the moment Selass was a subject he didn't care to dwell on.
As the Fat One raised a heavy lid of some kind on the deck and gestured inside, Adar translated: "The Fat One—Gray is his name—says the fires that move the ship burn in that hole."
Keje bent over and peered within, but he saw nothing except darkness. When they'd all looked, Gray fastened the lid with a spinning wheel, and they moved toward steps leading to the deck above. Chack was conscious of constant motion as the small ship moved on the water. Up and down and side to side. It was enough to make him queasy, despite living on the water all his life. He wondered how the Tailless Ones stood it all the time. He was unaccustomed to anything this small and cramped. He was a wing runner, and he rarely ventured forth on the barges or other small vessels, so it was disconcerting. He suppressed a shudder and tried to think of something else.
Inevitably then, his thoughts returned to Selass as they mounted the steps. Evidently she was again without a mate. Saak-Fas had disappeared in the fighting, and no one had seen him since he delivered the message sending Chack into battle. He wasn't among the slain, or anywhere else on Home. He must have gone over the side. Chack wouldn't mourn him, but his loss left Selass available. Strangely, he wasn't sure how that made him feel. He wasn't the same person she'd toyed with and rejected so short a time ago. Everything was changed. His home in the forward tower was gone. Risa, always the strong one, was weak with injury. His mother was well, but without a home for her clan. The Grik had come, but been destroyed and put to flight, and of course, they'd met these strange . . . what was the word? Amer-i-caans. So much that he had known and expected to remain constant was suddenly different or gone—and he'd changed perhaps most of all.
Preoccupied, tramping up the noisy steps, he nearly bumped Jarrik-Fas, who'd inexplicably halted. Shaking off his reverie, he peered around the guardsman at Keje, who'd paused at the top of the steps. Everyone else stopped, including the Amer-i-caans, to watch him. With one of his finger claws, he scraped at a reddish streak on the rail and raised it to his tongue. His eyes widened with astonishment.
"It is metal, as I suspected," he murmured to his companions, "but what it tastes like . . . cannot be."
"It is, my lord," confirmed Adar quietly. "Iron."
Chack's mind reeled and he looked around in shock. "But surely, lord," he stammered, "it cannot all be iron?"
Adar blinked sharp displeasure at Chack's outburst. "It's iron. All of it.
It must be, for the red streaks are everywhere. Now speak no more unless you are given leave." He sniffed. "They will think us rude."
Keje muttered something that Chack didn't catch and joined the Amer-i-caans waiting above.
Gray was scandalized by the Lemurians' preoccupation with the rust. He took it as a personal affront that they should be so obvious about noticing the lack of maintenance. Shinya had spent more time among them, and he thought he understood. He spoke aside to Matt.
"Captain Reddy, they've just realized your ship is made of steel."
"I think you're right. Must be a shock too. They have iron weapons, so they know what it is, but the idea of making something this size . . ." He paused. "They had to know Walker was metal, ever since they set foot on her. I wonder what they thought it was?"
"Copper, most likely, Skipper," said Gray, simmering down. "Who knows? I sure as hell don't know how they made something the size of their ship out of wood!"
"Point." The captain stepped into the wheelhouse and beckoned their guests to follow. Once inside, with the self-conscious bridge watch going about their duties, Keje looked through the windows, at the wheel, at all the strange and mysterious devices and the maze of conduits overhead. His eyes swept everything, recognizing the utility, if not the function, of what was clearly the control area for the American ship. He was puzzled that the utilitarianism was so extreme as to preclude decoration of any kind, but everything seemed laid out with profound practicality. To his seaman's eye there was an aesthetic quality in that.
His
gaze fell upon the chart table, and with quickening heart and mounting incredulity he recognized immediately what he saw. Adar saw it at the same instant and was staggered by the implications. With a cry, he rushed to the table and leaned protectively over the chart, his eyes sweeping back and forth, taking in the strangers' reactions. They showed no concern except perhaps for his inexplicable behavior. He tried to grasp the chart, but something was there—something clear—between his claws and the paper he sought. What is this magic? he thought desperately. Why would they do this? Do they mock us with their power that even the Sacred Scrolls themselves are nothing but curiosities for all to gape upon without the training to understand? He looked at Keje's stricken blinking, and the Amer-i-caans behind him, staring. They seemed bewildered. Adar sensed no hint of gloating or malice, only curiosity and concern. Even after his sudden outburst, none seized a weapon. Perhaps there was no mockery here. Perhaps there was something else? Perhaps they understood. Could it be?
Keje edged closer and peered at the chart Adar hovered over. "Their Scrolls are better than your Scrolls, Adar," he said dryly. "Really, you must control yourself. We are their guests. They will think us rude," he quoted.
"You go too far, Keje-Fris-Ar!" Adar retorted sharply. He glanced at the chart again. The detail was amazing! "The value is in the thing, not what is on it! You flirt with apostasy!"
"Wrong. I'm no Sky Priest, but wisdom is wisdom, regardless of the source. Is it apostasy to recognize the value of this Scroll, as they obviously do, and put it in an honored place where all may gain its wisdom? Or is it apostasy to suspect, like you do, that they might be as those Tailless Ones of old who passed us this wisdom before?"
Matt and the others had gathered round and were watching the exchange. Clearly, the Malay Barrier chart had created a crisis of some sort, but they were at a loss to understand what it was. The 'cats plainly knew what the chart represented, but why should Adar throw such a fit?
"But to have them here, where all can see . . . " sputtered Adar. "It's not right!"
"Where is it written only the Priests of the Sky may know the mysteries of the Heavens?" Keje softly asked. "Among our people, only Sky Priests can interpret the drawings in the Scrolls because they alone have the Ancient Tongue, but anyone may strive to become a Sky Priest, not so? I've looked upon the Scrolls myself—you showed them to me! I can even read some of what is written. Does that make me a Sky Priest—or an apostate?"
Adar was quiet for a moment while he thought. Of course Keje was right; it just didn't seem right. He sighed.
"I apologize, my lord. It's just . . . " He'd been gazing at the chart while he spoke, his eyes taking in the shapes of the islands he knew so well, when he felt he'd been physically struck. "The words!" he managed to gasp. "The words are not in the Ancient Tongue!"
Keje saw it was true. Some of the island names were the same, but there was much more writing than he remembered and it was totally unfamiliar. "Their own language?" he speculated. Adar could only nod. It must be. The Amer-i-caans still watched them, and he suspected they were becoming impatient. He would have been. "Ask them where they come from. Maybe they will even tell us."
Adar cleared his throat and spoke the ancient words. As soon as Shinya translated, Captain Reddy peered at the chart himself. Adar knew their home couldn't be anywhere on the scroll he saw. The Scrolls of the People were more comprehensive. Less than a third of the known world was laid out before him, and he had at least passing acquaintance with all the places shown. The meaning of his question was clear, however, because Matt put his finger on what Adar recognized as their current position and then paced away, far across the wheelhouse, to stand on the opposite side. He pointed at the deck, looking intently at Adar with his small green eyes.
"They are from the East! Beyond the world, beyond even the Great Empty Water, perhaps! The way no vessel can go!"
"In case you haven't noticed, Brother," Keje said with heavy sarcasm, "this vessel goes wherever it wants!"
The humans were intrigued but not overly concerned by Adar's behavior. They assumed that he'd recognized the chart, and an example of commonality had been found.
"Ask them where they're from," Matt instructed. There was muttered conversation in their own language, and finally Adar pointed over the water at their ship. Matt nodded. "Of course, we suspected as much. It certainly seems self-sufficient enough for long stretches away from land. But your people must have some place, on land, where such things are built?" He spoke directly to them, even though Lieutenant Shinya was obliged to translate everything he said. "Wood only grows on land and other things—copper, cordage, things like that—can only be found ashore. Your people must have settlements where you can make repairs?" All four Lemurians looked at him for a long time after Shinya finished speaking. They seemed hesitant to answer.
Matt understood that they might not want just anyone to know where their settlements were, but he and his crew had saved them from the Grik. If they wished them ill, that was not the simplest way to show it. This logic was apparently not lost on the Lemurians, because finally Keje leaned back over the chart. Adar said something, but the Lemurian leader shook his head and placed one of his clawed fingers on the map.
"Jesus Christ!" blurted Gray. "Borneo!"
Several crewmen on the bridge muttered in surprise. Matt looked over the shorter Lemurian, where his claw touched the chart. "Well," he said, "I believe we've been there once before." He straightened and looked meaningfully at the Bosun. "Balikpapan."
He turned back to Keje. "You have damage," he said, and then gestured around him. "We have damage too, and need supplies. Besides, the Grik may return. We'll help you get there, if you have no objection."
Matt led the Lemurians on a quick tour of the rest of the ship. The only attractions he avoided were the engines and the main armaments. They passed the guns and torpedo tubes several times and, plainly, the Lemurians were interested, but despite Bradford's advice, Matt thought they shouldn't focus too intently on the fact that Walker was a warship. And besides, what they didn't know about her capabilities, they couldn't tell to others. The same was true regarding the engines. It seemed to him that the Lemurians were sophisticated enough not to attribute everything they didn't understand to magic. But it wouldn't hurt to let some things remain mysterious. Particularly when that mystery protected the only two advantages Walker had in this strange, screwed-up world: her speed and her weapons.
Inevitably, not all the Lemurians were content to let Walker's secrets unfold with time and trust.
Jarrik-Fas insisted that they ask the Amer-i-caans about their amazing weapons that could destroy the Grik from afar with such speed and efficiency. Keje was reluctant, since he could tell their hosts were less than willing to discuss it now. Ever since he'd seen the chart, however, Adar had assumed Keje's pragmatic skepticism. The reverse was true for Keje. That the Amer-i-caans had Scrolls of their own meant they almost certainly had some understanding of the Heavens. To him, that was reassuring. As different as they were, it was a sign that they were perhaps not all that different after all. Adar was in a mood to find fault, though, it seemed.
"I dislike secrets. If they would avoid speaking of their weapons, what else might they conceal?" he asked as they neared the amidships deckhouse again, with its squat four-inch guns, trained fore and aft.
Keje blinked exasperation. "A short time ago you were displeased that they display their Scrolls for all to see, and now you accuse them of being overly secretive? Brother, you contradict yourself."
Adar grunted and showed his teeth with a youngling's chastened grin. "I suppose you're right, my lord. Perhaps I was dismayed by the way they display their Scrolls as if just anyone can understand them. What struck me hardest, in all honesty, was that perhaps among them anyone can. Particularly if they're written in their own tongue. No one likes to think their life's work is un-needed, even by another species."
"Perhaps not all understand their Scrolls. Any one of them may be
your counterpart, for all we know," Keje speculated. "But your knowledge and value are not limited to the Scrolls. You're a Sky Priest, after all. I doubt they could all be as conversant with the Heavens as you. It's one thing to read a Scroll. It's another to know the meaning. Yet another fascinating thing to learn about these creatures, in time. Besides, if they are as the ones who came before . . . of course they have Scrolls of their own!"
"Does that mean they are . . . gods?" Chack almost squeaked.
"Of course not!" snapped Adar. "There is but one God, silly creature! Even the `others' were merely beings, as ourselves, who brought the wisdom of Heaven. They are to be exalted, but not worshiped. They admonished as much themselves. These creatures are wise as well. As wise as the others? Who is to say, but still merely beings."
"Whatever they are, I'm glad they like us." Keje grinned.
"I still want to know more about their weapons," Jarrik insisted.
"Oh, very well." Keje relented. "Ask if you must, Adar, but be discreet. I am usually the worrier, but after yesterday I'm inclined to trust these `Amer-i-caans.' For now, I'm content to let them keep their weapons' secrets, as long as they use them on our behalf." His warning spoken, he had to admit he was as anxious to learn about the amazing weapons as they. He listened intently while the translations took place.
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