Firestorm

CHAPTER 13

Kaufman Field Baalkpan

“T en- Hut!” cried a shrill, Lemuran voice. The sound didn’t echo in the hangar made of canvas and the oversize Baalkpan bamboo, but at least the building was tight enough to make it loud.

“Oh, ah, ‘as you were,’ by all means,” replied Adar’s voice in his carefully cultivated English.

“Thanks, Your Excellency,” Colonel Ben Mallory replied, and his voice did echo-from within the wheel-well he’d somehow managed to cram an unlikely percentage of himself into. “Just a minute… and I oughta… Eeee! There! Now, if I can just get me outta here!” A pair of wrenches dropped to the hard-packed, concretelike crushed limestone floor, and Ben grunted and squirmed until he extricated himself. “Ahh,” he said, wincing, as he stepped forward and straightened from his crouch. “Gimme a rag, Soupy,” he demanded, his eyes clenched shut over hydraulic fluid and burning sweat. He held his greasy hands out, blindly.

Lieutenant (jg) Suaak-Pas-Ra, acting exec of the 3rd Pursuit Squadron, was similarly buried in the cockpit of the P-40E, with only his legs and tail visible. “Can’t, sur,” came the muffled reply, but somebody hit Ben in the chest with a clean cloth, and he wiped his face. He blinked.

“Wow,” he said when he could see. “What brings the whole back row of the chessboard to my modest little abode?” Not only was Adar standing in the wide opening of the hangar, but quite a few others including Steve Riggs, Perry Brister, “Ronson” Rodriguez, and Bernie Sandison were with him. Those he understood. He was surprised to see Isak Rueben and several “high-up” Lemurians he recognized, but didn’t really know, however. He didn’t understand why Pam Cross and Sister Audry were there at all. Wait, Pam’s a nurse. She’s probably here to check the new arrivals, and make sure the men they sent out to me are really fit to be here.

Adar walked slowly around the big, muscular-looking plane that seemed to crouch menacingly in the still, sultry shade of the big building. As always, he wore what all the humans referred to as his “Sky Priest suit,” despite his lofty status, but the star-spangled, purple hood was thrown back, revealing his gray fur and bright, silver eyes. He’d been there when Santa Catalina limped into Baalkpan Bay, and he’d watched the heavy crates removed from the dry-docked ship. He’d even been out to the infant airfield while it was still under construction and the fighters were being uncrated and positioned for assembly. But this was the first time he’d ever seen one of the “hot ships” in one piece. Even though he had no real grasp of what it was capable of, beyond what he’d been told, he could tell just by looking at it; by the sleek, animalistic, hungry lines, that it certainly appeared capable of more than he’d ever truly believed.

“It is magnificent!” he gushed. “Oh, it is!” He took a breath. “And how many have you managed to save, to assemble?”

“We have twenty, Mr. Chairman, that’ll fly once we finish getting everything hooked up,” Ben said as though he’d failed his task. “Plus one more we can fly with the landing gear fixed.” He shrugged. “I mean to use that one as a trainer, if Bernie doesn’t swipe it and stick those Jap floats salvaged out of Amagi ’s hangar on it. Nuttiest thing I ever heard! A P-40 seaplane!” There were chuckles, and he looked wistfully at the fighter. “We might even cobble one more together, but no promises. It’s not so much a matter of spare parts; we’re actually pretty good there. As I said, we have engines, radiators, gauges, tires… you name it. But some of the airframes were damaged in fundamental ways we didn’t expect just by looking at thm. The crates must’ve taken a real beating, particularly those in the holds, and the crate bracings themselves actually torqued things around.” He smirked. “The good news is, we’ll have plenty of replacement tail assemblies, windscreens, control surfaces, and,” he grunted, “rudder pedals. We’re also using two pretty corroded fuselage assemblies for simulated flight trainers. Got ’em rigged in the trees to respond to stick controls!”

He looked at Riggs, then Ronson. “That was one little thing I was going to see if your guys could do: juice the instruments so we can do some night-flying training-without using one of our batteries… or busting a plane!”

Ronson grinned. “Sure thing, Ben.” He looked at Riggs. “It’ll be good training for the EM flight engineers, and you can use batteries! Homegrown ones! I don’t know when we’ll have anything like Bakelite, but we’re doing good stuff with glass and ceramic, and we finally have batteries that don’t weigh a ton.”

Bernie looked at Ronson. “Just so long as you don’t give us any more of those wood and brass ‘box bombs’!”

Ronson cringed and cut his eyes back at Riggs. “So? I forgot there was zinc in brass! I’m an electrician’s mate, not a metallurgist! Nobody got hurt!”

Ben laughed. “That’d be swell, so long as I don’t have to use any of my batteries for the job!”

“So,” Pam Cross suddenly asked in her heavy Brooklyn accent, “when’re ya gonna fly one?”

“Well, it’s been taking a while to get all the bugs ironed out,” Ben defended, a little self-consciously. “I got almost two hundred ’Cats workin’ on these crates and trying to learn how to fly ’em-without letting anybody fly one! Only guys with flight experience are even allowed into the training program, but”-he took a breath-“nobody but me, Lieutenant Mackey, and those five other poor fellas that came in the other day on the ‘Buzzard’ have any experience at all in P-40s, and honestly, a couple of them have no business flying anything for a long time. The guys are wrecks, and not just physically. Karen says they shouldn’t ever fly again! Those damn Japs

…” He stopped. “Doesn’t matter, anyway, I have to let the guys here have an equal shot, after all the work they’ve done.”

“What about the ground crews?” Sister Audry asked. “Some enlisted men have also arrived from Maa-ni-la, yes?”

Pete was just as surprised to hear her speak as he’d been when Pam had.

“Yeah, they’re doing okay, I guess. Sergeant Dixon, the one who showed up with Mackey, is a lot better now, and he’s pretty much become the senior crew chief around here. He makes the new guys take it easy. Dixon’s a gem. I don’t know if we could’ve done it without him. All the planes came with instructions and I’d seen them put together before, but he’d actually done it.”

“Where is he now?” Adar asked.

“Couple hangars over, doing the same as me and Soupy and these other guys.” He patted the Curtiss green wing behind him. “About a thousand little ‘final touches.’ All the planes are together that are going to be, and thanks to the Corps of Engineer-’Cats Brister loaned me, we’ve got roofs over every one. But we’ve still got to finish checking out the hydraulic systems, which we were just doing here, and make sure all the connections are tight on the Prestone tanks, fill ’em up-and do the same for the oil tanks and Prestone and oil radiators, rec thhe batteries, gauges, triple -check the connections on all three fuel tanks.” He wiped his brow with his rag and grinned at Pam Cross. Gosh, she really is pretty, looking at me like that! he thought. Too bad she’s so stuck on that maniac Silva… or is she? He blinked and looked at the others. “After that, we’ll finally put the props on and do a preliminary run-up on the engines-we just got fuel a couple days ago.” He stopped and looked at Isak Rueben. He knew the scruffy little guy was nuts; all the “Mice” were. He’d never forget watching them chain-smoke cigarettes, covered with oil from head to foot…

“That reminds me. We have a problem with condensation in the fuel tanks. Too much humidity and heat, I guess.”

Isak realized Ben was talking to him. “Uh, just hafta keep them tanks empty-er maybe plumb, brimmin’ full, is all. Nothin’ else for it. Drain off the damn water before you fill ’em… sir.”

“Then you gonna fly?” Pam pressed.

“No. After we run up the engines, we’ll double-check everything again, retighten any bolts we missed, or might’ve wiggled loose, and then we’ll slow-time the engines…”

“And fly?”

Ben grinned again. “Yes, ma’am. Then I’m going to fly each one of these beautiful crates myself!”

“Ha!” Pam yapped excitedly.

Sister Audry looked at the girl and smiled. Pam was an adventurous girl, a “free spirit,” and she’d been concerned about her these last weeks since Dennis Silva didn’t return. She’d been morose, uncommunicative. She was glad she’d suggested they come out to the field that day. Besides, she’d wanted to check on “the boys” who’d been through so much.

“By the Heavens,” Adar murmured. “So many things yet to do! These P-40s are as complicated as any ship! And a single person will control them?”

“Yes, sir,” Ben replied. “That’s why we have to be very careful-and even then, no matter what we do, there’re going to be crack-ups.” He grimaced. “We’re going to lose some planes, just in training, like we’ve lost some Nan… PB-1s. We’re going to lose guys too.”

Adar gazed at the plane. “It is magnificent,” he said at last, “but I remain… uncertain that it-and the others-will be worth the time, effort, and blood that went into retrieving them and finally getting them into the air.” He looked at Ben. “I know you disagree and I yearn to be amazed, to be wrong, but consider this: had all that has gone into these craft been applied to other things, more ‘Naan-sees,’ better, different planes we can build ourselves…” He blinked concern. “You yourself have said we cannot build others like these for some years, perhaps many. I fear the greatest weapon that ever was is of no use when it is spent.”

Ben stiffened. “Would you have said the same about Walker?”

Adar looked at him sharply. “Of course not, but there’s a difference. Walker has already saved our people many times. These craft of yours have as yet only cost us lives. Also, though we may be years away from building ships like Walker, we are not many years away. We need weapons now, and in the foreseeable future, that will carry us to victory against the Grik and our other enemies as well. Honestly, I fear… growing to rely on such complicated, potentially… transient advantages as these lovely aar-craaft, only to finand thgone, used up, when we need them most.”

Sister Audry frowned. “My dear Adar,” she said, “I was not here during the terrible battle in the nearby bay, but I believe Colonel Mallory was.”

Adar recoiled as if he’d been slapped. The old, battered PBY that Ben flew literally to pieces had probably done more, strategically, to save them than Walker had. Without it, they would’ve never known about Amagi and the Grand Swarm until it was much too late.

Ben’s jaw was hard when he spoke through tight lips. “Soupy, which ship is farthest along?”

Soupy’s eyes were wide. “‘M’ ship, a’course.”

“Get Lieutenant Mackey and Sergeant Dixon. Ask them to bring their whole detail.”

“What are you going to do, Colonel?” Bernie asked.

Ben looked at Pam, then back at the Acting Minister of Ordnance. “I’m going to fly, Mr. Sandison.”

“This is ridiculous!” Adar insisted loudly over the sound of the rumbling engine. It had been running for an hour now, slowly taken and held through various rpm ranges and Mackey, in the cockpit, held out his fist, thumb upward. “I have already apologized as sincerely as I know how!”

“This isn’t about that, Mr. Chairman,” Ben said. “Not really. Sure, I was sore for a minute; then I realized you were right. It’s time for you to look in the poke and see what you bought.”

“She’s already run longer than half the ships we sent up against the Japs in the Philippines!” Dixon yelled beside Ben, handing him a parachute. Ben considered the bulky pack for a moment, then shrugged into it. He’d need it to sit on if nothing else, and he wasn’t going over the water. He had no plans of bailing out, short of the wings coming off. Even if the engine quit, he’d get the plane back on the ground in one piece-or die trying. “Just watch your mix, with this weird gas,” Dixon added, “and don’t take her too high!”

“Guns?”

“She’s got two on board, just like you said. They will fire! I cleaned’em, tuned ’em, and bore-sighted ’em myself… You’re up on those hydraulic chargers?” Ben nodded, and Dixon shrugged. “They won’t be dead-on, but they’ll put on a show. Soupy sent to clear everybody away from that banged-up barge down by the ‘Nancy’ hangars. Blow the hell outta that an’ that’ll show ’em!”

Ben gulped a cup of water somebody handed him and pulled on a pair of flight goggles, settling them on his forehead. With a nod at the gathered spectators, he ran to replace Mackey in the cockpit of the plane.

Mackey had throttled back to a rumbling idle and stepped out on the wing root. “Sure you don’t want me to do it, Colonel?” he yelled with a grin. “I did zap three Zeros, you know!”

“Not on your life, Mack,” Ben yelled back, slapping his shoulder. “No Zeros up there today. I’m only going to wring her out a little.”

“Just don’t wring her out too much!”

Adar watched anxiously with the others. He couldn’t help but feel as if he’d forced Ben to do something he and the plane weren’t yet ready for-and he deeply regretted his earlier insinuations. Ben was in the cockpit now, under the bright afternoon sun, and Lieutenant Mackey had trotted past those who were watchig, which, by now, probably included every aviator and ground crewman in Baalkpan. Adar saw Mackey disappear into one of the hangars. Quickly, Ben put all the control surfaces through exaggerated motions, released the brakes, and gunned the engine. Immediately, the green and gray plane accelerated from a standing stop into what struck Adar as a foolhardy speed as it taxied away from the hangars, the tail twitching in short, erratic motions, and headed for the north end of the runway, a light, white dust cloud billowing after it. As the plane drew farther away, Adar was surprised by how rapidly the engine noise diminished.

“This is foolishness,” he proclaimed aside to Perry Brister, but Perry shook his head.

‘I don’t know, sir. It has been months, and there’s a war on. Maybe Ben needed a kick in the pants to get those planes into it before they all become ‘hangar queens.’ God knows he loves ’em like children. Besides, there’s that other little matter we came to ask him about, and if this goes well, he’s more likely to go along.”

The P-40 vanished in its own dust cloud as it stopped and turned, facing south. For a few moments, nothing happened. A ’Cat raced up. “Maa-kee got him on raa-dio in other plane! He say ‘all swell.’ He just careful; check stuff more!”

Suddenly, the distant Allison engine growled deeply with an earsplitting, feral roar that sounded like nothing Adar had ever heard. Maybe a chorus of a dozen “gri-maax,” or “super lizards” might have come close. The plane hurtled out of the cloud, flaps down, tail already rising off the ground.

“There he goes!” Pam cried excitedly.

The hungry drone of the Allison reached a fever pitch, and about halfway down the bright airstrip, Ben’s plane leaped into the air, already moving faster than anything most of those present had ever seen, short of a bullet. The landing gear dangled strangely beneath the wings, twisting, rising, disappearing into their wells one after the other, all while the plane clawed skyward at a shockingly extreme angle.

“Yes!” roared Dixon, his arms crossed over his head. “Yes, yes, yes!”

All around him, Adar heard wild cheering, and his own silver eyes became oddly unfocused.

“How often more must I apologize?” Adar laughed, grasping Ben by the shoulders and shaking him gently. “A glorious exhibition! Such speed, such agility!” He laughed again, almost giddy. “And that poor, poor barge! Ha! I doubt you left enough of it to build one of Ronson’s battery boxes!”

“And that was with only two guns!” Dixon crowed. “Imagine what six would do-and it can carry bombs too!”

They were back in the shade of a hangar, the recently exercised aluminum steed still ticking as the heat transferred from her radiators.

“It wasn’t all peaches and cream,” Ben cautioned. “I spent more time fooling with the mixture and throttle than just about anything else-crummy gas!-and talk about a hog! I bet the spark plugs look like lava rocks!” He shook his head. “She never cut out on me, but she would have, eventually. We can’t mix ethyl with the gas, so we’re going to have to figure out a way to inject it, or something. Jeez, did you hear that detonation when I first climbed out?”

“No.”

Ben snorted. “I did!” He nodded at Adar’s starry cloak. “And talk about stars! PB-1s are swell-but I haven’t pulled any real gees in a while!” Mackey and Dixon laughed appreciatively.

“Still, a most successful, and… gratifying test, no doubt?” Adar asked.

“Sure, for the most part,” Ben agreed. “Showed us what we need to fix, anyway. But mostly I hope it convinced you of the worth of my planes!”

“It did that,” Adar said softly. “So much so in fact that I’m persuaded Mr. Riggs’s scheme may have merit.”

“What scheme?” Ben asked guardedly.

“As you know, Cap-i-taan Jis-Tikkar, ‘Tikker,’ harbors concern the Grik, with Jaap aid, may employ flying machines of their own. Ahd-mi-raal Keje-Fris-Ar shares that concern, as does General Aalden. The plane that once bombed us here is still unaccounted for if nothing else, and the Grik and Jaaps have had just as long as we to… advance themselves.”

“So?”

“Arr-strips, just such as this, have been under construction at Aryaal and Sing-aa-pore. Another builds on Andaman Island. Mr. Riggs wants to put some of your planes there. In fact, once we secure enough of Saa-lon, he wants them to go as far forward as they possibly can-even to the extent of carrying and flying them off our… our carriers.”

“What?” Ben looked at Riggs. “That’s nuts! These aren’t carrier planes. They’d never take the stress of landing on a ship, or catching a cable. Christ, even if we beefed ’em up enough to take an arresting hook, they’d be too ass-heavy to fly!”

“I’m not talking about landing them on a carrier,” Riggs said, “just taking off from one. They’d fly their mission, then set down on land.”

Ben scratched his beard. “Okay. That might work… Mack says Jimmy Doolittle did that with B-25s to bomb Tokyo! Drove the Japs wild.”

“Yeah,” Mackey agreed. “They didn’t want us to know about it, but they couldn’t help taking it out on us, so we knew something fantastic had happened. Gradually, the details seeped into the camp we were in. Cheered us up, despite the extra beatings.”

“Just let me get the planes finished and crewed with good pilots before you throw an operation like that at me, for crying out loud!” Ben demanded.

“That goes without saying.”

Ben eyed Riggs. “No it doesn’t. Say it!”

“That was fun,” Pam admitted as she and Sister Audry strolled back through the bustle of the Baalkpan trading district. They’d left the others, and after checking on the newly arrived survivors of the Japanese prison ship and tending a few small hurts, they headed back in the direction of the Baalkpan hospital. Even in spite of the war-and because of it to a large degree-the open-air bazaars had begun to thrive once more. There was a difference now, of course; there were fewer luxuries, and far more troops-some from distant lands-frequented there. Naked younglings still scampered about, eliciting laughter or chastisement, and the merchants and hawkers had grown more numerous, but most of the trade remained much as it had been, except there were more purveyors of fine blades-and gold had largely taken the place of barter as a basis of exchange. That was still odd, and the values fluctuated wildly as people became used to the new system.

“It was,” Audry agreed. “Perhaps now you see that you needn’t remain cloistered in the ‘em box’ when not on duty?” she probed.

Pam’s face fell. “I suppose. I just miss the big rat, ya’ know?” she said, referring to Silva. “He shoulda’ come home.”

“There are other men,” Audry reminded her. “And other women now as well, at last,” she added with satisfaction, watching some dark-skinned former Respitans being led through the crowd, bearing a long, rolled-up fishing net. The women were mostly young and attractive, she noted, of that adventurous age most likely to strike out beyond the relative free- dom, safety, and security they’d already found in Maa-ni-la. Nearly a hundred had reached Baalkpan so far, and though uneasy, they wanted to work. People stared at them, but there was no hostility, only curiosity and generally pleasure that the “dame famine” was over. Already, a few “old” destroyermen had been seen, in their best shoregoing rig, escorting an exotic beauty around the city, “seeing the sights.”

“You might attend a dance at the…‘Castaway Cook,’ ” Audry suggested, “without worrying about being pestered so much by men like Dean Laney!”

Pam chuckled, but it sounded forced. “I wrote Dennis that I’d marry that big jerk Laney, if he didn’t come home… and he didn’t. He doesn’t care!”

Sister Audry sighed. “My dear, I grant you that sometimes it’s difficult to fathom what Mr. Silva cares most about, but I’ve learned he does indeed care about a great many things.” She paused. “He cares about you, for example, very much.”

“Did he say so?”

“No, but he didn’t have to. Have you asked yourself why he didn’t return?”

“Sure, an’ I know the answer too. He’s gotta kill bad guys wherever the Skipper is!”

Audry pursed her lips. “You’re more than half right,” she conceded, “but I think, in his own way, Mr. Silva follows a calling much like Captain Reddy’s: to protect those he cares about regardless of the cost to himself, in the only way he knows. He must destroy the threat. It is perhaps a simplistic approach, but most effective when successful. The Bible is full of examples.”

Pam stopped and looked oddly at the nun. “You tellin’ me that Dennis Silva’s on a mission for God?”

“I consider it possible,” Sister Audry replied with a straight face.

“You’re serious!”

“God has chosen more unlikely tools,” Audry said, realizing she was again being drawn into a subject she didn’t want to discuss, largely because it remained unsettled-and unsettling-in her own mind. Silva had almost literally performed miracles on behalf of those under his protection, in his own singularly lethal way. She had witnessed them herself. There was often… disproportionate collateral damage, but the Old Testament was packed with examples where even God hadn’t been terribly choosy about who suffered as a result of His actions. She shook her head. “Skip it, as you Americans say, but consider this: by ‘abandoning’ you, Mr. Silva has freed you to make a life… perhaps with one such as that Colonel Mallory? He also continues to protect you-and all of us-from afar, by ‘smiting’ those that might harm us before they can. He may not have consciously realized it at the time-though I constantly underestimate him-but he has given you a great gift; one such as these Respitan women now enjoy: the freedom to do as your heart desires… and the safety to exercise that freedom.”

“Gee,” Pam whispered, then snorted. “Dennis Silva, an ‘Angel o’ the Lord’! That’s a laugh! Sister, you just don’t know that lug like I do!”

Sister Audry smiled back at the now-grinning nurse. “Perhaps not,” she conceded, “but you don’t know him like I do. ”

“So,” Pam continued, changing the subject, “what did Adar think when you showed up back here? I’ve noticed your ‘congregation’ continues to grow.”

Audry laughed, and the sound was like musical chimes in the noisy bustle of the bazaar. “I think he was… discomfited. He is a dear creature and has responsibilities unprecedented among his people. I’m sure he was personally glad to see me, but the Church confuses him and even undermines his ‘True Faith’ to a degree he doesn’t want to deal with just now.” Audry smiled. “I try not to cause trouble, but the Word spreads of its own accord… Perhaps that odd Mr. Bradford was right.”

“’Bout what?”

“Oh, possibly a great many things after all; destinies, for example.” She paused, and changed her tack slightly. “ Chairman Adar is my friend, yet High Sky Priest Adar may have been less than pleased by my return!” She chuckled. “But I had only two other choices. I could have remained in Maa-ni-la, or gone to the Empire with Second Fleet.” She sighed. “Sadly, despite my expectations-it has an even more varied population-Maa-ni-la was not yet the fertile ground for the Church that Baalkpan has become. I believe it more important to continue my work here, for now.” She frowned. “After much prayer, I realized I couldn’t go east, not yet. Even I see the diplomatic risks of extending my work into the Em- pire at this delicate time.” Her voice grew determined. “I will not be the cause of further chaos there that might cost lives. I must-I shall -go there someday to help them understand the very real difference between the Word I profess and the vile dogma of the Blood Priests. As perverted as the Church has become under the Dominion, it desecrates many of the same trappings and symbols. It must be destroyed!” she declared fervently, her face reddening with rage. She caught herself and finally managed a small smile. “In any event, I suspect even were I to demand passage there immediately, I might finally overwhelm our dear Adar’s forbearance!”

“In other words, Adar would rather you keep stirring things up here, where incidentally you’re safe, than raise a stink beyond his reach to keep a lid on it?”

Audry giggled. “Essentially.”

Isak Rueben clomped across the gangway to Santa Catalina, still high and dry in the Baalkpan dry dock.

“Foof,” he said, contemplating the wasted day. He still didn’t know why Riggs wanted him at the airstrip. A skuggik would’ve known what to do about the condensation. They’d talked a little about what to do with S-19 when she arrived, but he didn’t know. He couldn’t imagine any reason to leave her as a sub, and he’d said so. He wasn’t a diesel man, but he could see putting her engines in something, and there was a lot of other stuff they could sure use her guts for. Bernie Sandison also wanted to know what else they could do to improve Santa Catalina ’s firepower. They were making an “armored cruiser” out of her, hanging protective plating over her engineering spaces and building magazines to accommodate the 5.5-inch guns they’d installed. The four they’d used were the “last of the litter,” and they’d been mounted in ai› bemate surrounding the single stack that allowed most of them to be brought to bear in any direction but directly fore and aft. Dual-purpose 4.7s had replaced the discarded guns that had been in the fore and aft tubs, and the tubs had been reinforced as well. The bridge had been armored too, and a fire control platform had been built on top of it. Santa Catalina would still be a creeper, but she’d be faster than a “flat-top Home,” and nearly as heavily armed. Better for long-range work, except for the ten-inch gun sections. She might even get one of those-a twenty-foot section with the interrupted-thread breech! Interrupted-thread breechloaders were the next big thing Bernie was hot for-besides his constant tinkering with some kind of powered torpedo-as soon as they could rifle big tubes.

Still no reason to drag me off, he thought mopily. I ain’t Ordnance. Prob’ly just tryin’ ta get me out an’ around again, he suspected. Ever’body figgers a fella can’t be happy ’less they’s around other folks all the time. Must think I’m pinin’ away without Gilbert an’ Tabby around. He snorted. He did miss them, like a brother or sister, but he wasn’t pining. As far as he knew, to this day, nobody but Tabby-probably-knew he and Gilbert actually were half brothers… or quarter brothers… whatever. He sometimes got their precise degree of bastardy confused. They had the same mother, but different fathers; neither of whom ever married their mother. Isak didn’t really blame either man; his mother had the face of a moose and the voice of a hog… but she’d been a good dame.

“Just me,” he said to the musket-armed ’Cat sentry as he stepped aboard the ship. He flicked a salute aft and padded forward in the gloom until he stood on the fo’c’sle amid the anchor chains that came in through the hawseholes. The wood beneath his feet was no longer spongy and rotten; it was hard and new. Most of the old ship had been repaired, he realized with a touch of pride. Soon, decked out in all her new goodies, she’d be out of the dry dock and back in the war. Well, in the war, anyway-a different war for her. He sighed. Santa Catalina would probably also be the last “normal-size” ship in this dry dock. They were almost finished with a pair of new floating dry docks, like those they’d been building in other places. The new dry docks wouldn’t last forever, but they were… portable, and they’d handle anything but a Home-or a carrier-and that was what this first, biggest, dry dock would be devoted to from now on.

He looked around. From where he stood, nobody was in sight. There was work underway aft, and on the adjacent dry dock wall, but no one could see him. His trip ashore hadn’t been a complete waste. He’d had an opportunity to stop by and see his new “business partner,” a Lemurian called Pepper, down at the Busted Screw. Pepper had been Lanier’s mate in Walker ’s galley, and the two had established the Busted Screw, or “Castaway Cook,” during Walker ’s resurrection and refit. Pepper ran the joint alone now, with Lanier away, and the place was usually jumping. For Isak’s purposes, Pepper had cousins everywhere, including some involved in all the various projects-cousins who didn’t care about human “habits,” but more important, could keep their yaps shut. Isak had been engaged in an ongoing project he wanted to keep to himself. His stop by the Screw that day had left him in possession of the most recent “fruits” of that venture. Inconspicuously, he fished his tobacco pouch and a little hand-carved pipe from his pocket. With another look around, he stuffed the pipe and held a lit Zippo over the bowl.

“Ooo-hoo-ook!” He coughed when the first smoke entered his lungs. He blew it out and trid again. He still coughed, but this time it wasn’t so bad. “Outta practice,” he gasped-and took another puff. This time he didn’t cough, and, with a dreamy expression, he let the smoke drain lazily from his nostrils. It was vile and raunchy beyond anything he’d ever used, even in the Philippines, but it could be smoked! He’d finally succeeded! He’d performed the greatest technological feat of the age! The yellow, waxy, Lemurian tobacco was almost universally chewed now, usually dried and mixed with something like local molasses, but up until now nobody had figured out a way to smoke it without becoming almost instantly, violently ill. “Yur-eeka!” he wheezed.

“What the hell are you doin’ out here?” demanded a gravelly voice behind him. Isak almost squirted his pipe over the rail.

“Nuffin’,” he chirped, trying to hide the smoldering pipe in his hand.

“Nothin’ my ass,” growled Dean Laney, drawing closer. “You been holdin’ out on ever’body! You sneaked out here to smoke a cigarette you’ve been hoardin’ all this time. What’s the matter with you? There’s fellas that’d choke you to death just to breathe your last, smoky breath, and if you don’t share, I’ll be one of ’em.”

“I ain’t smokin’ no cigarette!” Isak stated, seemingly oblivious of the cloud around him in the dank murk.

“Like hell! I can smell it!”

“You can? What do you smell?”

“A cigarette, you freaky little dope! Give it over!”

“An’ it smells like a cigarette?”

“Say, you’re even squirrelier than usual tonight. Sure, it smells like a cigarette ’cause it is one. Maybe not a good one, but I don’t care! Fork it over!”

Isak suddenly jammed his pipe under Laney’s nose. “ There’s yer cigarette, you big, fat, lumpy turd!” he jeered, “’an that’s the last whiff o’ Isak Rueben’s ‘Patented Sweet Smokin’ Tobacco’ yer ever gonna get, if you lay one fat, turdy finger on me, hear? Ha! I’m goin’ in the smokin’ tobacco bizness. Cigarettes, see-gars, a nice arrow-matic pipe blend. Hell, I’ll be the first tobacco magnet in the world!”

It’s ‘magnate,’ you bonehead,” Laney said, but he grabbed Isak’s hand and held the pipe close to his face. “Damn, that smells good. How’d you do it?”

“No way! I tell you, and you’ll swipe the process. If you think I done all this work so you can skim off the cream, you’re stupider than you look.”

“Watch that mouth!” Laney growled, his grip tightening on Isak’s wrist.

“You watch yours, fatso, an’ leggo my arm if you don’t want my new comp’ny motto to be ‘Heavenly Smokes for Ever’body but Laney’!”