by John Ringo
“I think we’ve waited long enough,” Shedol said.
“No, we haven’t,” Shanol answered, flicking him with his tail.
Shanol Etool had spent plenty of time wondering if he’d made a huge mistake taking a Change to orca form. Admittedly, after the Fall it was easier to survive as a Changed orca; knowing how to climb out of the water carefully and get back in just as carefully had yielded more than he could eat of seals.
On the other hand, an almost continuous diet of raw fish and marine mammals palled quickly. He might have starved in the Dying Time if he hadn’t changed, but while hunting dolphins for sport was one thing, eating them raw was another. And they could be brutal if you got separated from the pod.
The alliance with New Destiny had meant no more hunting, having servants on land to prepare food and take care of the occasional parasite, a comfortable and guarded harbor to rest in. But he knew, even at the time, that the markers were going to be called in eventually.
The pod of Changed orcas were tired and hungry. They had gotten a bluntly worded order to move from their usual grounds near the Asur Islands and make their way to the deep water near Bamude. The problem was that the open ocean between the two areas was nearly devoid of life. They had happened upon one pod of natural dolphins but the damned beasts were hard to catch. Other than that they hadn’t eaten since leaving their home waters. And the swim had been brutal.
But the ships they were meeting were supposed to be bringing supplies, as well as orders. Not to mention the fact that the tersely worded orders had still contained enough to make clear they were not a request. So they would wait.
“Do you hear that?” Sikursuit pulsed. “Sounds like a boat.”
“Yeah,” Shedol said. The second in command was nearly as large as Shanol, and both were outsized for normal orcas. They had both Changed at the same time as various forms of underwater hunting had gotten boring and they decided to try it “au naturale.” It had been their combined energies that had gathered the pod together. They had separated out the female orcas and the females now languished in pens in the harbor, reserved for mating to Shedol or Shanol unless one of the other males in the pod was especially graced. “Waves slapping on the hull.”
Sikursuit lifted himself up to the surface and looked in the direction of the sound but when he came down he shook his head from side to side.
“Still below the horizon,” he said with raised pectoral fins. Like all the Changed he had stubby fingers on the end that were barely capable of holding implements.
“I’m tired of waiting,” Shanol announced. “We’ll go to them.”
* * *
“You’re late,” Shanol squealed from his blowhole, rolling an eye up at the figure leaning over the side of the ship.
“The winds were terrible and this tub isn’t exactly graceful,” Martin replied. He slipped a membrane over his head and dove in the water.
“There, that’s better,” Martin replied. The membrane separated out oxygen from the water column around his head and transferred it as he breathed in a manner that made it seem like breathing air. And as he spoke the membranes converted his words into sonar pulses that were comprehensible to the orcas. “Unless I’m much mistaken, you’re away from the rendezvous.”
“We heard you coming and we were hungry,” Shanol replied as the pod circled the unChanged human.
If Martin noticed the emphasis on “hungry” or the circling orcas he gave no sign.
“The point is that it was a general rendezvous,” Martin pointed out. “Old friends and new as they say. I’m Martin St. John. You’re Shanol Etool.”
“I know who I am,” Shanol pulsed, tightly. “Where’s the food?”
“In time, in time,” Martin replied. “Let’s get things straight, I’m your control from here on out. We’ve got a complicated little problem to work out and you’re going to do it my way.”
“Or?” Shedol asked, clashing his teeth. “You’re in the water with us little landsman; as far as we’re concerned, you’re just slower lunch.”
“I understand your position,” Martin said. “There are many in the sea that take it.” He waved his arms, and up out of the depths rose a kraken, a human who had taken the extreme change into a giant squidlike creature. The kraken whipped out one thirty-meter tentacle and wrapped it around Sikursuit drawing him down into the depths as he squealed in pain and fear.
“I think we should be clear,” Martin continued as the shrieks from the orca rose to a crescendo. “I’m in charge. Now, there are all sorts of theories about leadership and management. But, really, they all boil down to ‘I tell you what to do and you do it.’ You’re not honorable, so I can’t appeal to your honor. You’re not patriotic, so I can’t appeal to your patriotism. You’re not moral, so I can’t appeal to your morality. But fear and intimidation are universally acceptable methods of leadership. As you, Shanol, and you, Shedol, have proven,” he added as the shrieks were cut off in abrupt finality.
He looked around at the orcas who were pulsing into the deeps. The kraken had faded from eyesight but it was apparently still in range of sonar.
“Oh, that’s just Brother Rob,” Martin said. “He was… a compatriot in some… businesses with me before the Fall. He made a couple of minor little errors in, shall we say ‘sexual gamesmanship,’ and decided that taking a very long vacation somewhere extremely unlikely was called for. And while Mother could find him in a deep-sea trench, the busybodies from the Council weren’t able to. But he, too, has decided to aid us in our endeavors. Of his own free will, of course.”
“Of course,” Shanol pulsed. “But I’m now short an orca.”
“Well, we can’t have you short on personnel,” Martin said, waving his hand again. From out of the gloom of the depths rose a school of what appeared at first to be manta rays. But as they approached, the vertically slit teeth made it clear what they were.
“What hell are those things?” Shedol said. “Jesus.”
“No, far from it,” Martin chuckled. “They are ixchitl, a recent little development of the Lady Celine. They will be supporting your endeavors. They, of course, don’t have sonar or vocal apparatuses. But they do hear you quite clearly. You might not want to say anything that would get them angry.”
“Not me,” Shedol replied.
“What’s the job?” Shanol ground out.
“The mer and the UFS are meeting. The UFS wants an alliance. The main group of mer is located in the Isles. We’re going to make sure that the alliance doesn’t come about. You’re going to be our… ambassadors in this endeavor.”
“And the ixchitl?” Shanol asked.
“They’re for if diplomacy doesn’t work.”
* * *
“Chief,” Herzer said.
After getting lost twice he had found the chief supervising some sailors working with a huge mound of rope in a forward compartment. They were coiling it, carefully, and Herzer could appreciate why. The rope was at least two decimeters in diameter and the Bull God only knew how long; it was taking ten of them just to move it and another five to get it coiled properly.
“Lieutenant Herrick,” Chief Brooks replied. He was medium in every way. Medium height, brown hair, brown eyes and the medium-brown skin that was normal after millennia of genetic crossing. If he’d ever had a body mod of any form it was to make him more medium. But he still had a commanding presence that was unmistakable.
“Was wondering if you had a minute?” Herzer asked.
“Sure, Lieutenant, this is under control,” the chief answered, walking away from the working party. “What’s up?”
“Well, when I was but a young lad, my Gunny told me that if I had something I couldn’t handle I should talk to the Gunny,” Herzer said with a grin.
“There’s not a gunny on board,” Brooks replied.
“Yep, but you’re the equivalent. I need some materials and some of them are going to be rare and some of them are going to be hazardous. And I’d bet you’d know wh
ere and how to get them before we weigh anchor.”
“And they’re not coming on this ship without the CO’s permission,” the chief answered. “Not if they’re hazardous.”
“I’ll get the permission, if you can get the materials,” Herzer said, handing the chief a list.
The chief glanced at it and swore. “What the hell do you need this for, sir?”
“A little experiment,” Herzer answered. “But if you can get your hands on a lot, it might be a good idea. If the experiment works out, we’re going to need it in quantity.”
“I’ll see what I can do, sir,” the chief said. “But it’s got to be cleared.”
“Will do, Chief.”
* * *
A sentry had been posted on the duke’s door when Herzer got back but he ignored him as he started to knock on the door.
“Sir,” the sentry said. “You might want to rethink that.”
“Why?” Herzer asked, then he heard what could only be termed a moan through the thick oak doorway. “Oh.” He paused for a moment, then shook his head. “Unfortunately, we don’t have time.” He knocked and waited.
There was muffled swearing from inside the cabin and then Duke Edmund said: “What?”
“Herzer, sir. Just say ‘approved.’ ” There was what might have been a stifled giggle.
“What am I approving, Herzer?”
“Do you want the long version or do you just want to say ‘approved’ and have me go away?”
“Approved, Herzer.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I’ll see you at dinner. Not before.”
“Yes, sir,” Herzer said and nodded at the sentry. “Now, how do I find the skipper again?”
“Generally, he’ll be in his day cabin, sir,” the sentry said, nodding back up the companionway.
This time Herzer only got turned around once. He knocked on the door and entered at the command: “Come!”
“Sir, with the approval of Duke Edmund I’m planning on conducting some experiments,” Herzer said without preamble. “I need your approval to bring onboard some hazardous materials. Chief Brooks will be seeing to their stowage.”
“What materials?” the skipper asked.
Herzer told him.
“What in hell do you want those for, son?” Chang asked.
“You did say you wanted this ship to be an offensive weapon, sir.”
The skipper regarded him for a long moment, then nodded. “Approved.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Martin.”
Martin had been taking a nap in his cabin when Conner’s projection appeared. He had suffered from seasickness at the beginning of the voyage, not to mention getting bounced around in the unhandy vessel. But in time he’d gotten his sea legs and now was enjoying the rocking of the waves, wishing that he’d had the sense to bring a woman along to pass the time.
He opened his eyes and rolled up to sit on the edge of the cot, but didn’t get up since he had an unfortunate tendency, still, to hit his head on the rafters of the low room.
Conner’s projection, normal sized, was “standing” with his head just under the rafters and his feet stuck through the floor up to his thighs.
“I made contact with the orcas and ixchitl,” Martin said. “Thanks for rounding up Rob. He was useful in establishing my credentials.”
“So I heard,” Conner said with a dry smile. “Shanol is not going to be happy.”
“Shanol thinks he’s the biggest fish in the sea,” Martin replied with a shrug. “Disabusing him of that notion was useful. What’s up?”
“We have a new source in the UFS ship,” Conner said. “Obviously I won’t say who; need-to-know and all that. But I can now tell you of their position and plans in something like real-time.”
“Very useful.”
“Indeed. They still don’t have anything like offensive capability; they’re not sure the dragons can get on and off the ship for that matter. There are only a couple of dozen marines on the ship and the crew is hardly trained in combat. You should be able to take the ship, or at least sink it, with only one of your own vessels, much less all six.”
“Good to know,” Martin mused. “That way I can spread them around. I’ve been talking to the captain and even with their position and plans known, finding one ship at sea is, apparently, not an easy task.”
“I’m sure you’ll be up to the task,” Conner replied. “This is using energy I sorely need for the other tasks I’ve been set. If you need me, use the data crystal to contact me. Keep it with you, that way I’ll know where to find you.”
* * *
Herzer was up before dawn to the twitter of bosun pipes and the cry of “All hands weigh anchor.”
He picked an out-of-the-way position, he thought, to watch the crew set sail. Most of it was a mystery, but he was fascinated by the way that the sails were raised.
Much of the crew was up in the rigging letting the sails out, which looked like lunacy from the deck, and another group was engaged in raising the anchor. Since the sails had to be tightened up, this left a relatively small group to do that. And he could tell that the sails were going to be pulling hard, really hard. No matter how many blocks and tackles were involved, and he quit counting at fifty, there was no way that the ten or so men could pull the sails tight.
But most of the ropes attached to the sails ran back to a position by the last mast. And there was the answer; a small, low-power steam engine. At the end of the engine was a metal pulley that was creating a constant turn. Each of the lines was taken, in turn, around the pulley and used for tensioning, sometimes two at once. In a relatively short time, and with very few hands, the sails were set, the anchor was up and the Bonhomme Richard was sailing out of the harbor. As the ship got under way he could see the first of the wyverns lifting off from the beach, accompanied by Joanna.
He walked back to the stern of the ship and climbed a ladder to a position at the rear. The skipper was up there bellowing orders at the crew to get the ship “into the wind” whatever that meant, and Herzer gave him, and the ship’s wheel, a wide berth. But at the very rear of the deck there was another position with a pintle-mounted chair and board table. The XO, Commander Mbeki, was there, occupying the chair and sipping on a cup of sassafras tea, along with Duke Edmund and Evan Mayerle, all of them watching the approaching dragon.
“Welcome to primary flight operations, Lieutenant,” the XO said as he walked up. “We’re going to try to recover them in the bay; if they can’t get onboard in this mill-pond there’s no way they can land at sea.”
Joanna had lined up to try first and the line of dragons half-hovering in the light wind was a sight to behold; he could only imagine what it would be like when the ship got a full wing. Herzer watched her come gliding in but he knew, instinctively, that she was too fast and too low. As she got to within a hundred meters of the craft she realized it as well and tried to correct but she was still too low and almost crashed into the water before flapping upward and spiraling off to their right.
Jerry tried it next and he was too high. He tried to correct at the last minute as well but fell out of the proper glide path and also nearly landed in the drink. Herzer thought he might be riding Chauncey, but the wyverns still looked the same to him.
“This isn’t working,” Mbeki growled.
“I don’t think they can figure out what’s right from where they are,” Edmund muttered.
“No, sir,” Herzer said. “Sir, it occurs to me that it’s got to be something like catching a running prey and I don’t think wyverns do that. We might be going too fast for the first time. If we could slow the ship down, maybe turn it towards the wind…”
“Skipper,” the commander called. “Request you come into the wind, make minimum sail for steerage only.”
“All hands! All hands!”
The sailors, once again, climbed the rope ladders and this time pulled in all the sails but one of the triangular ones on the front. The boat slowed noticeab
ly and the wind now seemed to be coming from directly in front of the ship.
“We can’t point directly to the wind, can we?” Edmund asked.
“No, but we’re still making about four klicks,” the commander noted. “There’s not much wind today so it feels like it’s from right in front of us. But the wyverns will be pushed to one side as they come in.”
Herzer watched Jerry start to line up again and quietly backed away from the group. There was a ladder up to the platform at the rear of the deck and he rapidly ascended it. The ladder was on the outside of the platform and the deck so he found himself precariously dangling over the water three stories below.
When he reached the top of the platform he found it open with no recesses or obstructions of any sort. He moved to the rear of the platform and waved his hands over his head, looking up at the approaching wyvern. After a moment he saw Jerry’s head come up and was sure that he was looking at him. When he was he lowered his arms until they were outstretched and then waved them upward; the wyvern was well below the “right” glide angle to make a landing. There was a moment’s pause then Jerry coaxed the beast upward. The movement got him out of line and Herzer directed him left, then held his arms out straight. As the wyvern neared he, again, dropped low so Herzer ordered him upward. Jerry followed the command and as he swept in in a flurry of wings Herzer dropped to the platform and shielded his head. He was rewarded with a massive “thump” and the platform shook under his body.
Herzer rolled over and looked up at the wyvern, which was eyeing him like dinner.
“There is no way to tell the right way to land from up there,” Jerry yelled. “None!”
“We figured that out,” Herzer replied as the rest of the party from below made their way up the ladder.
“Great landing, Mr. Riadou,” the commander said, smiling. “I thought we weren’t going to be able to get you in.”
“I wouldn’t have made it if it weren’t for Herzer,” Jerry said. Handlers had come forward and were attaching traces to the wyvern. The center-rear of the platform suddenly slanted downward and the handlers walked the wyvern down the slope and into the broad hatch to take it below.
