They still played, but they’d grown utterly absorbed by an invasive game called baseball that, though he had to admit was entertaining, practically encouraged participants to deceive one another to gain advantages! That disturbed him on a visceral level. He wouldn’t come out against baseball, but often preached against its subversive, corrosive effects on morality. And when he officiated at games around the city as an “um-pire”—something else he grudgingly enjoyed—he leveled many dark looks upon anyone who “stole” a base. The rules might allow it, but that didn’t make it right. There were five large ballparks around the city now, and countless little ones wherever space could be found to cram one, and they were constantly in use by younglings or off-duty workers.
And that was another thing! Maa-ni-la had been destroyed by the war! Maybe it hadn’t been attacked or damaged by their enemies, as had Aryaal, B’mbaado, Chill-Chaap, B’taava, even Baalkpan itself, but it had been just as surely ruined by the unimaginable scale of industrialization. The bay was always full of ships, many belching dark smoke that choked his lungs or burned his eyes. Factories were everywhere, spewing just as much bitter smoke or the foul stench of disagreeable chemicals. The new glues reeked horribly, and even the fresh-wood smell in the aircraft, boat, and gunstock factories disturbed his sensibilities because so many trees had fallen to make the things. Metal shops were the worst, he thought; foundries, mills, and hearths that spewed frightful chick-ashish sparks and gouts of smoky flame night and day. Machine shops stank of hot metal and oil, and were so dreadfully loud! The people (foreigners, most of them, and many not even Mi-Anakka) worked too hard, drank too much, debauched, and used foul language. Worse, they were so rude to one another!
And the Chiss-chins! Most humans from the Empire, and the few survivors of Mizuki Maru still in the city, openly espoused heretical doctrines similar to that misguided, if not otherwise wholly offensive, Sister Audry, who’d gone to the war in the East. Adar had battled that himself, Meksnaak knew, but had decided that the middle of a war wasn’t the time to push divisive restrictions. Meksnaak reluctantly bowed to that wisdom. It took time for faith to find the truth, particularly if it came later in life and competed with set beliefs. But it was bewildering and disturbing that so many people—Mi-Anakka—had veered from their own enlightened faith to embrace the new doctrines! It was difficult to bear, on top of everything else, and he hated how intensely that affected him personally, how . . . betrayed he felt.
Because of all this, by extension, he didn’t particularly like the Alliance his people had joined, and more especially the new Union. He even disliked the original Amer-i-caan destroyermen to a degree, who’d forced so much change upon them. Their arrogance grated and they were always in such a dreadful hurry. Not to mention, they—and all humans, to his sensibilities—were so very . . . unsightly. They had no tails, which he simply couldn’t approve of, and their practically furless, naked bodies revolted him, as did their stunted, malformed ears and tiny, beady eyes. He knew they considered his people unexpressive—utterly ridiculous—and their bizarre face moving meant almost nothing to him. Many had learned to interpret it, just as some humans could observe deeper meaning in Mi-Anakka faces now. Meksnaak had forced himself to try. His suspicious nature left him no alternative but to learn the language called English extraordinarily well. But the face moving . . . The only straightforward things about it were that a grin was a grin and a frown was a frown. That was all he could tell with certainty. Sometimes he guessed right, but a guess was all it was.
And of their various allies, he disliked the Empire of the New Britain Isles the most because they constantly wanted things! Their prewar industry had been impressive; broader based in many ways than all the Mi-Anakka combined. But they’d been late to gear up to make all the disturbingly modern things like lex-tricksy, and even flying machines, for the Maker’s sake, that this war required. They were finally starting to carry their weight, but the Filpin Lands had borne a disproportionate burden for them, and still did in Meksnaak’s view. And the vast majority of Filpin Lands’ troops and ships were still in the impossibly distant East, fighting Doms instead of Grik—which even Meksnaak recognized required opposition. And that was what he hated most of all: that his High Chief, Saan-Kakja—to whom he was utterly devoted—had chosen to fight her war against the Dominion, alongside Governor-Empress Rebecca Anne McDonald of the Empire of the New Britain Isles.
Only recently had Meksnaak figured out exactly why she’d gone in the first place, why she’d chosen East over West, and specifically why she left him, of all people, in charge. The last was easy; because he was so committed to her and hated her absence so much, he was the perfect person to be her steward in the Filpin Lands. The clan councils couldn’t object, nor did they dare defy him as they might once have challenged her because of her age. For the same reason, her presence in the East was useful to the war effort there because he couldn’t refuse anything she or the allies protecting her asked of him. It was terribly unfair, of course, to use his loyalty so, but at the same time, deep down, he couldn’t help feeling a measure of pride in her for how well she was manipulating him. His high chief, still hardly more than a youngling in years, had grown up most agreeably equipped to lead her people—if she could only manage to survive.
He and his guards neared a group of men and ’Cats who’d obviously just arrived on the big, four-engine, weather-beaten Clipper. The flying boat’s hot engines ticked as they cooled after the long flight from Respite Island, and lizardbirds swarmed and skirmished along the leading edges of its wings, feeding on dead insects. The visitors noticed his approach and smiled wearily. He could tell that much as well, he noted; the body language of fatigue was also universal. One of the men, a very large one, in Meksnaak’s estimation, with the huge tuft of upper-lip fur so common among Imperials, but with only one arm, advanced toward him, holding out his hand.
Oh, by the Heavens! Meksnaak thought with dread. He wants to do that thing they do . . . shake hands, I believe. How can I avoid touching him without seeming rude? Saan-Kakja had been quite clear that she’d never tolerate rudeness toward their allies. He stopped several paces away and raised his own hand, palm out, in the sign of the empty hand. That almost-universal greeting among the people had diminished in use, probably because so many went about armed all the time. Another fundamental cultural change, he thought bitterly. Unless perhaps it has only temporarily faded due to a sense of hypocrisy among those who refrain, he reflected. The big man stopped as well, as did his companions, and all raised their hands in return. Quite ridiculous, Meksnaak grumped. Most are obviously armed with something. A blade at least. Then again, there are my guards. Perhaps I am being hypocritical?
“Lord Meksnaak!” the big one boomed. “I’m glad indeed ta’ make yer acquaintance at last.”
“Sir Sean Bates, prime factor and chief advisor to the Governor-Empress, Lord,” Meksnaak’s assistant whispered in his ear. “Your, ah, counterpart in their government, as he has been left to rule in her stead as well.”
“I know who he is,” Meksnaak hissed back. “They said he was coming!” He looked to the delegation and switched to English. “Welcome, Sir Sean, to Maa-ni-la. Welcome to you all,” he said, managing to keep his tone cordial. “Sadly, you will never see my city as it once was, but I hope you enjoy your stay regardless. There remain a few distinctive diversions, and the martial activities at the Advanced Training Center on the far side of the bay must rival those at Baalkpan, though I’ve never seen the other. This is my foreign advisor, Heraad-Naar. I assume he is the one most of you are here to see?”
Sean Bates grinned. “Not at all, though he’s the one most’ll end up with, no doubt. Yet our priority is ta thank ye, yer city, yer state, an’ yer nation for yer commitment ta the cause.” His grin turned to a knowing smile. “The Governor-Empress an’ yer own dear Saan-Kakja herself both said ye were a prickly one, opposed to what we do. Yet that only makes me gratitude to ye personally all the mor
e profound.”
Meksnaak was taken aback, both by the boldness of the statement and the apparent sincerity of the compliment. “Indeed,” he said, with a creeping trace of genuine warmth. “But since we’re being so forthright, so quickly, let me ask the question foremost in my mind: Why else are you here, aside from a desire to extend your gratitude? In short, what do you want now?”
Sean grinned broadly again. “Can we nae at least refresh ourselves an’ have a drink, er even a wee morsel, before we get down ta business?”
Meksnaak actually barked a spontaneous laugh, completely astonishing everyone, particularly himself. He’d heard Bates was an engaging man, but he’d never instinctively liked any human on sight. He was uncomfortably suspicious that might be the case in this instance. He quickly controlled himself, however, and gestured toward the city, and the great hall at its heart. “Of course,” he said, a genuine smile touching the lips still tight across his teeth. “Forgive me. And to think I was once the one most given to promoting delay when it comes to getting to the point!”
• • •
If Maa-ni-la had been destroyed, in Meksnaak’s estimation, a theme he harped on as they wove their way through busy workers and mooing paalkas pulling heavy carts all the way through the factory districts, at least the Great Hall had been preserved. For one thing, it hadn’t been burned to the ground around the sacred Galla tree it encompassed as the one at Baalkpan had. And apparently, all the new offices required by the burgeoning industrial and military power of the state had been erected elsewhere and not allowed to intrude. Sean Bates (as the fugitive Sean O’Casey) had seen the Great Hall of Baalkpan in all its glory, and this one gave him a powerful sense of déjà vu. The tree, barely two hundred feet tall, was not quite as large, but, then, Maa-ni-la was a younger city. And the hall itself, massive and high, with a broad porch wrapping completely around, might’ve been transported directly from that older city and earlier time. And it brought back other memories. True, he’d been a fugitive of sorts from the Honorable New Britain Company and forces striving to supplant the throne, and a great battle had been looming that no one seriously thought they’d survive, but it had been a simpler time as well. He’d been just Sean O’Casey, a one-armed but quite capable protector of then Princess Rebecca, before she’d endured all the torment to come and accepted the mantle of Governor-Empress of a nation at war. He and Meksnaak were sitting on comfortable cushions on the west side of the hall, watching the sun descend toward the distant isle of Corregidor across the bay. Both drank nectar from large tankards, though Bates had flavored his with rum from a flask in his weskit pocket. Meksnaak had reverted to his earlier reserve to a degree, as they waited for a meal to be brought to them. Sean sighed deeply.
“I understand yer bitterness far better than ye may comprehend,” he said at length, and Meksnaak glared at him, blinking astonished denial. “Aye,” Sean assured. “This is me first time here, o’ course, though Her Highness spent a good while among yer folk, an’ described the city—and you—quite well. An’ ye fergit I lived in Baalkpan before it became like Maa-ni-la now is, so I know well what’s been lost.” He took a long sip of nectar while Meksnaak absorbed that. “The beauty of the New Britain Isles has been spoiled just as surely in many ways, by the same rapid industrialization. Its major isles, New Britain, New Ireland, an’ New Scotland—all part of what Captain Reddy called the Hawayee where he came from—have all been torn by war as well. Both against the bloody Doms an’ ourselves. Count yerself fortunate that, from that at least, Maa-ni-la’s been spared.”
Meksnaak rubbed his chin, blinking thoughtfully. “I knew all that,” he confessed, “but had not much cared, to be honest.” He waved a hand. “The Grik are terrible and must be stopped. I know that now. Even before we joined the Alliance, the city was flooded with refugees. A sure sign that war snapped at their tails. I finally agreed we should aid Baalkpan, lest we stand alone in the path of that scourge.” He looked intently at Bates. “But refugees also came from the East, to escape your nation,” he emphasized, referring to the women fleeing the indentured servitude that had prevailed. “And war pushed them as well. So I’ve reluctantly concluded that your fight is one we cannot ignore either, Sir Sean. It is just . . . much harder to fear a threat as unimaginably distant as the Dominion—on the very bottom of the world!—or to summon the same urgency to confront it in my heart.” He snorted. “Particularly since we never believed it possible to even stand only as far to the east as your islands lie. I still find that a wonder. How can ‘down’ change directions?” He shook his head. “Courtney Braad-furd once tried to explain, but it seems so unnatural!”
“I understand how ye feel. Ye should travel. I believe the notion grows easier to accept with experience. But the war—our war against the Dominion, as ye’ve referred to it—has only remained distant because we’ve kept it so,” Bates reminded gently.
“That is what my dear Saan-Kakja insists,” Meksnaak agreed, then stiffened on his cushions. In that moment he reminded Sean more of Adar than ever before. “But I cannot travel. I wonder that you can. We are both in much the same boat, as you say.”
“I cannae follow my Governor-Empress ta war, as I long ta do,” Sean agreed, “but in her stead, I can an’ must keep the alliance strong. Comin’ here ta meet ye at last is part o’ that, as I see it.”
“I have no desire to see the war my high chief rushed to join.” Meksnaak almost shuddered. “But my soul understands why she went. Her people are in it, so she must be with them, sharing their perils and hardships. It is one of the things that will make her a great high chief—if she lives.”
“Me Governor-Empress feels the same, no doubt, an’ if we win, her line an’ rule’ll never be challenged again. If she survives,” he added grimly, echoing Meksnaak’s sentiment. His gaze had drifted out to sea as he spoke, but now turned back to the Lemurian. “Sure,” he said, “I want things, above an’ beyond what ye’ve already gifted: more of the new gasoline engines ye use in yer torpedo boats, to start. We havenae made ’em yet, an’ there may be weapons o’ mutual interest they’ll let us build. An’ more ammunition for the machine guns we’re startin’ ta build on yer patterns. We’re makin’ some, but we’re just now gettin’ production of fifty-eighty ammunition for Allin-Silvas an’ forty-fives for the Blitzers runnin’ smooth. We havenae enough thirty caliber ta even test the guns we make as yet. I need a thousand things, Lord Meksnaak, an’ have a lengthy list. But most of all, with us both ‘in the same boat,’ left behind to fight the war at home against sarpent-tongued skuggiks, wi’ interest for naught but themselves . . .” He finished his nectar and frowned. “An’ with the lasses we care about most in all the wide world beyond our protection, it just seemed ta me that ye an’ I have far too much in common not to be great friends.”
CHAPTER 4
////// Mahe Island
Aboard USS Tarakaan Island
Three utterly massive ships were securely moored in the center of the picturesque bay on the northeast side of Mahe Island. One was USNRS Salissa (CV-1), the very first aircraft carrier in the Allied arsenal. Rebuilt from one of the great, thousand-foot-long seagoing Homes after her near destruction in the Battle of Baalkpan, she could carry up to eighty aircraft and had been the backbone of Allied naval aviation in the West. Her high chief and the ranking naval officer at Mahe was Ahd-mi-raal Keje-Fris-Ar, a bearlike Lemurian with a dark, silver-shot, rust-colored pelt. He was also Matt Reddy’s dearest Lemurian friend.
Anchored beside her was the nearly as massive USS Andamaan, a protected troopship rebuilt from a captured Grik ironclad battleship, or BB. She didn’t look much different than she had under her previous owners except she only had two funnels now, all that were required by her better boilers and engines. And her armored, angled sides, once pierced for many huge muzzle-loading smoothbores, were now covered by a hundred stacked, gasoline engine–powered landing dories. Four DP 4″-50s squatted in tubs at the narrow
peak of her casemate, as did several protected machine gun nests.
Between Andamaan and the busy docks, still under hasty construction, lay the SPD (self-propelled dry dock) USS Tarakaan Island. Not as large as Big Sal, she was bigger than Andamaan; even longer and displacing as much as a fleet carrier. And she represented still greater technical ingenuity. At a glance, from abeam, she most resembled a Great Lakes ore carrier, which some of Walker’s human crew might’ve remembered, but any similarity ended there. She was, essentially, an 820-foot-by-150-foot wooden hull built around a massive 100-foot-by-650-foot repair bay large enough to accommodate anything in the Allied inventory—except a fleet carrier, or seagoing Home. And Big Sal herself, of course. Tarakaan Island and her sisters had been meant to handle fleet carriers, but they wound up just a tad too big. The next class of Allied flattop, and everything else under construction in Baalkpan, Maa-ni-la, and the Empire of the New Britain Isles, should fit just fine.
Lemurian shipbuilding techniques, particularly considering they’d always relied almost entirely on wood, had been a source of astonishment and respect. Their system of diagonal, cross-laminated planks laid on heavy, latticelike frames most closely resembling those of a monstrous Wellington bomber made their hulls incredibly strong and allowed them to build on an otherwise impossible scale. As the Alliance eased into the construction of iron-hulled ships, Lemurian structural designs had been evolving as well, combining lessons learned from the strengths and weaknesses of both materials into plans for hulls that were, though admittedly complex, probably stronger than anything of similar displacement ever to cross over from another world. Tarakaan Island was one of only three of her kind likely to be built, however, and after the loss of Respite Island, one of two in existence. There’d be more SPDs, made of iron and built along the same basic lines and dimensions, but they’d be lighter, faster, and probably go together quicker.
Devil's Due Page 10
