Distant Thunders

CHAPTER 5

C aptain Hisashi Kurokawa, formerly of His Imperial Japanese Majesty’s Ship Amagi, followed obediently behind his “masters” as they were escorted through the dark, dank, labyrinthine passageways of what was roughly translated as “the Palace of Creation,” toward the Holy Chamber of the Celestial Mother herself. He remained fully erect as he strode, carefully groomed and outwardly confident in his meticulously restored uniform complete with all his medals and many other meaningless, gaudy decorations he’d added for effect. Inwardly, he was terrified, and he’d learned enough about Grik body language-particularly that of the Hij-to know his masters weren’t quite as collected as they tried to appear. That Tsalka, General Esshk, and Kurokawa had actually achieved this audience and not merely been killed out of hand seemed a good sign. At least the Celestial Mother wanted to hear what they had to say. Chances were, worst case, they’d be allowed to destroy themselves and not simply be torn to shreds. Regardless, he knew his masters had some fast-convincing-talking to do if any of them were to have any hope of survival.

Tsalka, still dressed in the fine robes of his office as Imperial Regent-Consort of Ceylon and “Sire” of all India, had cautioned Kurokawa to say nothing unless directly addressed, and for once, for his very life, he’d better prostrate himself before the Celestial Mother. A formal bow simply wouldn’t do. Tsalka seemed the most concerned, and he nervously fiddled with his robes as they drew closer to the chamber. General Esshk was at least as outwardly calm as Kurokawa. Resplendent in his crimson cape, bronze armor, and polished, crested helmet, he still reminded Kurokawa of a fuzzy, reptilian caricature of a Roman tribune. He alone seemed oblivious to the heavily armed escort that accompanied them and only the occasional nervous twitch of his stumpy, dark-plumed tail beneath the cape betrayed any concern at all.

Of course, to his credit-Kurokawa supposed-Esshk’s concern was more for the survival of his species than for himself. He knew how critical were the observations and ideas the three of them brought to this interview. If the Celestial Mother disregarded their arguments-that to defeat the ancient “Prey That Got Away,” all the Grik must make profound, fundamental changes to their precious culture that had thrived in its present form for thousands of years-the ultimate foundation of that culture was doomed. Worse, from Esshk’s perspective, failure to adapt could mean the extermination of his very species. Somehow, the Celestial Mother, the keeper and protector of that culture, must be convinced that change was essential-at least temporarily-and he, Tsalka, and the Japanese “hunter” named Kurokawa were indispensible as the only possible agents of that change.

Finally, the Holy Chamber opened before them and Kurokawa got his first glimpse of it, and the Celestial Mother herself. The chamber wasn’t much different from Tsalka’s he’d seen in Ceylon, except in size. Flowering ivies carpeted the floor and crept up the walls, the farthest of which was lost in the distant gloom. They constituted the only real decoration besides the throne itself, situated in the center of the chamber and bathed in sunlight that entered through an opening high above. A complex system of ingenious mirrors made sure that whatever time of day it was, sunlight always reflected downward upon the intricately carved and gilded throne, bathing it with its warming rays. Absently, Kurokawa wondered where the monster sprawled whenever it rained.

The Celestial Mother was immense. He’d been told roughly what to expect by Esshk, but he was still taken aback. She was at least three times as big as Esshk, who was big for a Grik, and she was incredibly, grossly, shockingly obese to such a remarkable degree as to defy imagination. He was instantly reminded of the mythical, flightless Chinese dragons, except the Celestial Mother had none of their sinewy grace. More like a monstrous grub, he thought. Rolls of fat bulged beneath her skin and drooped from the saddlelike throne like half-empty sacks of grain. Jowls hung just as alarmingly around her polished, bleached-white teeth, and her carefully manicured and painted claws extended, unused, much farther than normal beyond fat, stumpy fingers. Her fur was unlike any Grik’s he’d seen before, either. Instead of the rather downy, striated, earth-tone covering he was used to, the Celestial Mother was adorned with actual plumage of a reddish gold hue, almost like new copper. It was beautiful. The contrast between the sparkling glory of her coat and the flabby obscenity it covered was striking. He had to remind himself that this ridiculous, virtually helpless creature before him might well be the most powerful being on this earth.

Together, Tsalka, Esshk, and Kurokawa mounted the first step of the triangular stone dais surrounding the throne and the two Grik instantly prostrated themselves. Kurokawa, with a surge of terror, took the gamble he’d been steeling himself for over the months-long journey to this place, ever since the three of them decided what they must do right after the defeat at Baalkpan: still standing, but making an elaborate flourish with his hands, he bowed very low. Tsalka couldn’t see him, but he must have known what he’d done because he emitted a barely audible hiss. The Celestial Mother shifted slightly, causing rolls of gelatinous fat to ripple, and regarded him with her relatively small, bloodred eyes.

“So,” she hissed, in a surprisingly high-pitched voice, “in addition to treason, incompetence, and a murderous waste of my precious Uul, I must add criminal impertinence to the charges against you.” Tsalka practically moaned. Saying nothing, Kurokawa held his pose. “Well, creature, formerly of the “Iron Ship Folk,” what have you to say for yourself?” The question was the opening Kurokawa had been hoping for.

“My most abject apologies, Your Majesty,” he humbly intoned in English-a language he knew she understood, even if she couldn’t speak it. “Among my people, this posture conveys the same meaning as that of Regent-Consort Tsalka and General Esshk. If anything, it signifies even greater respect. True warriors do not crawl on their bellies before any… being… in victory or defeat, and this posture is reserved only for those we consider worthy of our greatest respect and esteem. Forgive me if I have erred in presenting you with the most sincere honor and unreserved respect I am capable of.”

The Celestial Mother leaned back, considering, as surprised by the creature’s ability to speak so fluently in the “Scientific Tongue” as she was by his… interesting excuse. “Arise, Regent Tsalka, General Esshk,” she said, almost as an afterthought. She turned her full attention to the general as he rose and her voice became harder. “The Invincible Swarm is defeated,” she stated simply. “As you were once considered the greatest living general of our people, and particularly since you chose not to gently destroy yourself, but to come before me with an explanation-knowing your destruction here will not be ‘gentle’-I will allow you to speak.” She glanced at Tsalka. “You are blameless for the actual defeat. You are no general, after all, but I understand you were deeply involved in the planning that led to this disaster, so either you meddled inexcusably or Esshk displayed even greater incompetence by heeding your untrained counsel. Regardless, you have attached yourself to his failure and will share his fate… unless you can convince me, as you claim, that you and Esshk, as well as this unwholesome creature you bring before me, deserve to exist.” She paused. “No, in fact you must convince me beyond any doubt that your continued existence is essential not only to our ultimate success, but to our very survival as a species.”

She allowed them a moment to contemplate that and, with some effort, contorted herself enough so that she could reach the basket of struggling hatchlings beside her throne. Seizing one, she popped it in her mouth and began to chew. Selected by the Chooser, they were the rejects from her own nest, and her favorite snack.

Tsalka cleared his throat and began to speak. The Celestial Mother had succinctly laid it out, and as tall an order as it was, the opportunity was greater than he’d secretly suspected.

“I thank you, Giver of Life. It is true that General Esshk and I took a great risk by coming before you, but not merely for our meager selves. Against the knowledge we bear, our fates are insignificant. We risk your wrath because we do believe the existence of our very race is at stake. We have some few advantages, technological miracles our. .. partner in the Hunt has brought us.” He gestured with lingering annoyance at Kurokawa. “Those miracles have already been used to some good effect and we have many more at our disposal, not yet implemented. But truly our only hope for survival, I fear, is that some very fundamental changes be made.”

“Such as?” the Celestial Mother demanded, still chewing.

Tsalka paused, measuring his next words very carefully. Finally, almost resignedly, he pointed at the basket beside the throne and, by implication, the morsels within. “Well, for example, we must stop eating those. The Choosers cull them because they are not fiercely aggressive. They defend themselves fanatically against their nest-mates that attack them, but are not attackers themselves. Thus they are not considered fit for the Hunt. Distasteful as the concept might be, General Esshk has convinced me that defense is something we must learn to do.”

“Defense!” shrieked the Celestial Mother indignantly. “Defense is for prey! We are the predators all other creatures must defend against ! It has ever been thus! You would rend thousands of years of culture, tradition, based on a single defeat by an incompetently underestimated opponent? If that is the counsel you bring, prepare yourselves for the Traitor’s Death!”

Tsalka prostrated himself again, but to his credit, Esshk remained standing beside Kurokawa. Inwardly, Kurokawa trembled with dread, but he knew that if he showed any doubt or fear now, all was lost.

“Giver of Life,” Esshk said quietly, “with respect, and my most fervent worshipfulness, my life is, of course, yours to do with as you please, but I beg you to hear us. The Invincible Swarm was destroyed not only because we underestimated our foe-true enough-but because we were culturally unable to recognize the fact that the simple Tree Prey we met so long ago might have progressed into Worthy Prey. They have become other hunters who, in their fashion, have matched our capacity for the hunt. They had assistance, others like him”-he gestured at Kurokawa-“who taught them new miracles of war, but they adapted to those miracles more readily than we and used them more effectively. If we do not adapt as well, they will sweep us from the world.”

“Prey?”

“ Worthy Prey, Celestial Mother. And like other Worthy Prey, they have become hunters as well. Given time, they will pursue us.”

“Then we must mount another Swarm, greater than the one you wasted, and destroy them forever! Surely they suffered greatly as well. Now is the time to exterminate them!”

“I would agree… but where will we get the Uul, the warriors, for such a Swarm? Our frontiers are vast, and are we not now in contact with other Worthy Prey in the south? And in the west as well? I have heard rumors…”

The Celestial Mother waved a hand. “It is true. We always meet new prey as we expand, and sometimes the great storms deliver others unto us… like your pet, perhaps? This new “Worthy Prey” in the south and west is weak in numbers, and infests a small, chill, and undesirable land. We are in no rush to hunt them, and they are no threat to us. We will manage. We always have.”

“I propose that this time, you won’t,” Kurokawa interjected. He recognized the quaver in his voice and hoped the others didn’t. “Not without us,” he added more firmly.

“And what makes you so indispensable?” The Celestial Mother’s tone was suddenly low, threatening.

Kurokawa forged ahead, counting his points on his fingers. “First, you could probably destroy the Tree Folk-prey-as you said, with one more major campaign, but the losses would be staggering. Where will you get the troops… the Uul warriors? Second, they know your weakness now.” Even Esshk bristled at “weakness,” but Kurokawa continued. “No doubt they have seen and understand your inability to defend. As soon as they are able, they will attack. They must. Most likely, they will do so before you can adequately reinforce your forward outposts, like Aryaal.” He paused and took a deep, tense breath. “Without proper defensive tactics and preparations, those outposts cannot hold. To avoid even further pointless loss of… Uul”-he pronounced it “Ool”-“I most respectfully recommend that you evacuate them. The strategy of trading land for time is no disgrace if part of that strategy is to eventually recover what has been lost. Third, if we gain that time, we can use it to prepare. While the enemy-the prey-flounders along impotently behind us, extending their lines of supply while ours contract, we can build the cannon-armed armored ships I have proposed. We can make the flying machines, the artillery, and train your… our troops, our Uul, in tactics that will succeed.” Kurokawa shrugged imperceptibly, going for broke. “And yes, those tactics must be defensive at first.” He held up a fourth finger. “Finally, when we have built these weapons, trained… our troops, swelled their ranks with an entirely fresh generation that has not known defeat, we wait until the prey is overextended and has stretched his lines of supply to the breaking point…”

“Then attack?” asked the Celestial Mother, suddenly thoughtful.

“Then attack,” confirmed Kurokawa. “The enemy does not breed or reach maturity as quickly as you. Break their Army and Navy and they will have no defense. You can then roll them up with ease and conquer every land from here to the Eastern Sea.”

The Celestial Mother scratched her jowls. “Interesting,” she hissed thoughtfully.

Esshk was staring at Kurokawa. They’d discussed all this before, but it was supposed to be he who presented their argument to the Giver of Life. “Indeed,” he said, equally thoughtful.

Alan Letts stood from his place at the long table in the now almost fully restored Great Hall. The formal reception was intended to commemorate that, as well as the other grand undertakings that would soon commence. In spite of a general mood of joviality and goodwill, there was also a bittersweet understanding that they stood, once again, at a crossroads. The tightly knit members of the Grand Alliance that had hurled back the Grik would scatter again. Some would resume operations against the enemy at long last, while others like Shinya and Saan-Kakja would depart for the Fil-pin Lands, to oversee the development of an even greater arsenal of freedom than Baalkpan could ever be. Laumer’s little squadron would accompany Saan-Kakja on his way to perform the perhaps impossible task Matt had set him. Regardless of their missions, the possibility always existed that they would never all be gathered like this again. They’d lost too many friends in this terrible war to take such things for granted. Letts tapped his mug with a knife to gain everyone’s attention, and raised it high.

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I propose a toast?”

Matt smiled as he released Sandra’s hand under the table and stood with everyone else. He was proud of Letts. Like all of them, he’d come a long way. He’d earned his post as chief of staff and had developed the confidence that went with it. The main reason for that rose to stand beside him. Nurse Lieutenant Karen Theimer Letts, now Sandra’s medical chief of staff, had once been rendered almost catatonic by their situation. Her recovery had inspired Letts to apply himself, and they made a good team. Karen’s pregnancy was also beginning to show, and that had gained her an almost reverent consideration by the same rough men who might once have resented the depletion of the “dame” supply in the middle of the famine her marriage to Letts had made even more extreme.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Letts repeated, “I give you Saan-Kakja, U-Amaki ay Maa-ni-la!”

The diminutive High Chief of Manila and patriarch of all the Filpin Lands regarded those at the table and the rest of the assembly in the hall. She was even more striking than usual with her fiery, golden eyes and polished, chased-golden breastplate. Her yellow and black clan colors decorated her cape and kilt, and a short, ornately hilted dirk hung from an elaborate belt in a golden sheath. The martial ensemble clashed with her tiny stature and evident youth.

“They’re all so young,” Sandra whispered in Matt’s ear, and he squeezed her hand. It was true. He reflected that the veterans of every war probably thought much the same of all the recruits who joined them in battle-even while they themselves seemed young to the veterans of earlier wars. Rarely were the leaders quite so young, however. It suddenly struck him that most of the positions of high authority in the Alliance were held by young, comparatively inexperienced… amateurs. Saan-Kakja was by any definition, human or Lemurian, little more than a child. The strikingly competent and just as exotic Safir Maraan wasn’t much older. Neither was Chack, who’d probably command a Marine battalion before long. Tassana-Ay-Arracca, whose father had perished with Nerracca, had risen to High Chief of Aracca Home after her grandfather fell in battle. The commander of the growing Sularan Brigade couldn’t be much over twenty. General Muln-Rolak was practically ancient, but he wasn’t technically a head of state-although Matt suspected that would change when they retook Aryaal. That meant, as representatives of the Alliance, Keje and Adar were the “geezers,” since they were in their early forties.

On the human side, Matt knew how young everyone was. The Bosun was around sixty and was the oldest human in the Alliance, but at the august age of thirty-two, Matt was the oldest officer, just after Spanky. If the newly minted Ensign Reynolds was eighteen yet, he’d eat his hat. Of all the Allied commanders, Matt had the most combat experience by far-all of about fifteen months-and here he was, Supreme Commander of all Allied forces. Again, he wondered what Tommy Hart would have thought of that.

Conventional wisdom would imply they were all too young for their jobs. The thought was a little intimidating, but Matt wondered if it was true. The old guys back home, commanding their rectangular dreadnoughts, hadn’t been doing so hot. It was their stupidity and shortsightedness, to a large degree, that had made Pearl Harbor such a disaster-and even possible in the first place. Matt didn’t want to think about the hoary old men in Congress who’d virtually invited the attack by allowing the Navy to wither to a point that it couldn’t credibly enforce their threats and policies. Maybe conventional wisdom wasn’t always wisdom at all.

He decided, experience aside, it was probably a blessing they were all so young. Particularly the Lemurians. There’d been numerous times when he’d had trouble dealing with older, more entrenched ’Cats. Saan-Kakja’s own sky priest, Meksnaak, was a prime example.

Nakja-Mur had been exceptional in many ways, but even he’d been a little difficult until his own Home was at stake. Matt knew it had been difficult for the old ’Cat. It was hard for the young ones, watching their whole world change with the exigencies of war, but they could at least comprehend change and feel confident they could absorb it, accommodate it, use it. It occurred to him then that if all the Lemurian leaders had been a bunch of stick-in-the-mud, geezer bureaucrats-like those back home-they’d all be dead by now.

“It’s a good thing they’re so young,” he whispered back to Sandra. “I think it’s made things a lot easier. And besides, it could be a very long war.” He saw her nod, and believed she understood more than he’d said.

“Please do sit,” Saan-Kakja said when the cheers and stamping feet subsided. Obediently, the crowd returned to their stools or cushions. The request was more than a courtesy. With everyone standing, no one could see her. “Tomorrow I must leave you,” she resumed, “and return to my own land. Colonel Shinya and I must oversee a replication, even an enlargement of what you have accomplished here; this ‘in-dustree. ’” She smiled. “Some may not like it. Maa-ni-la has been a refuge for many of the runaways, as you call them, from various lands, and there will be dissent among those who prefer the old ways.” Her eyes flashed and her chin rose slightly. “Their obstructionism will not be tolerated. Fear not.”

There was more cheering, and Matt realized he needed to talk to her again about her own security. They’d already learned that even Lemurians were capable of appalling treachery.

“Even when I depart, do not think Maa-ni-la has left you. Half my personal guard will go with me, to become officers and form training cadres in the new, changing ways of war, but many more of my people have arrived here since the Great Battle and I shall leave you over five thousands.” She looked directly at Matt. “Lead them as you will. My troops are your troops, and I have no doubt you will cherish them as your own.”

Touched, Matt bowed his head, acknowledging the compliment. And the responsibility.

“Soon I will return with even more troops, ships, and many new weapons. I look forward to ‘raa-di-o’ reports from your upcoming expedition, when we will know the enemy’s stance. Regardless, I am confident that if we seize this time that has been granted us by your valor and the Heavens above, when we bring our full, combined might against the scourge, we will stamp it out forever!”

Further cheers filled the hall, and, unnoticed at the far end of the table, Billingsly leaned toward Jenks. It was the first time he’d been ashore for an official function and he’d been haughty and uncommunicative throughout. “And still you do not consider them a threat to the Empire?” he hissed. “The force they are planning will be almost as large, and considerably more advanced than that of the vile Dominion that even now menaces our people back home.”

Jenks looked at him and blinked. “Don’t be ridiculous, Mr. Billingsly. Of course I consider them a threat, but not at present. Look about you! These… creatures”-he’d almost said “people,” and what would Billingsly think then?-“are clearly preparing to renew their war with an enemy of potentially greater menace even than the Dominion. These Grik are possibly even more savage, if not as depraved.”

“They have a Roman priestess among them,” Billingsly reminded him darkly.

Jenks frowned. “I have heard that too, though I haven’t seen her. From what I understand, there is a difference. The Roman ‘faith’ as practiced by the Dominion is an abomination, and as much as our ancestors may have disagreed with the old version, they wrote that it became something entirely different on this world. If she is a priestess of the old version who got displaced here as did the others, her fundamental beliefs are not much different from our own.” Jenks smiled. “Besides, I have seen no temples or altars or any of the other trappings of the perverted faith. If she serves the Roman Church, as we know it, she certainly hasn’t gained many converts.”

“I implore you,” Billingsly said, with a hint of what might have been true sincerity, “with the child queen gone, the Americans and the bulk of their Army and Navy away, and much of their new construction incomplete, we would have our absolute best opportunity to rescue the princess and be on our way.”

Jenks’s expression hardened. “And then we would be at war with them, fool! Do you think we could take her without bloodshed? Do you think they would ever trust us then? I have given my word to accompany their expedition. I could not change that now, nor would I. You think them a threat? Very well. What better way to gauge that threat than by watching how they fight? I would much rather make those observations while they fight someone else than while trading broadsides with them!”

Billingsly’s face hardened as well, and he sat back in his chair. Around them, the festive atmosphere resumed after the speeches were done and the smells of unusual dishes reached them as servers came to the table.

“So be it,” he muttered to himself, unheard.