Firestorm

CHAPTER 4

Maa-ni-la Fil-pin Lands

“For the last time, I’m tellin’ you to take it back!” Dennis Silva practically roared. The raggedly clad, one-eyed, sun-bronzed giant loomed menacingly over a much shorter, but entirely unintimidated (brevet) Colonel Tamatsu Shinya. Shinya no longer wore his ruined Japanese Imperial Navy uniform, having traded it for the blue kilt, white leather armor, sandals, and bronze greaves of the Lemurian-Amer-i-caan Marines. The only real difference between his appearance and that of many others on the broad “parade ground” on what should have been the Bataan Peninsula, was that he still wore his old, Imperial Navy hat, and he had no fur-or tail. He also had the vertical red stripes of an officer on his kilt instead of horizontal NCO stripes around the bottom above the hem.

“And for the last time I’m telling you, Mr. Silva, that I will not… unless you force me to prefer charges of insubordination!”

“Then do it! I ain’t never seen me this insubordinate before!” Silva ranted.

“What on earth is going on here?” demanded Sandra Tucker, arriving with a small escort including the Grik-like, “ex”-Tagranesi, Lawrence, Captain Lelaa-Tal-Cleraan, Lieutenant Irvin Laumer, and a small group of “graduated” Marines. Sandra had recovered considerably from her recent ordeal, as had the others, and her once-red, peeling skin was turning a dark tan. Her normally sandy brown hair still looked almost bleached blond, however. Irvin was much the same, but he’d cut his hair very short and shaved his beard. Lelaa and Lawrence looked the same as always, but they’d physically recovered from their adventure. All except Sandra (and Silva) used the brief pause in the argument to exchange salutes, even Lawrence. Trading salutes with the strange, furry/reptilian creature still seemed ridiculously odd.

Silva and Shinya were silenced by Sandra’s appearance, and she took a moment to gaze at the adjacent parade ground portion of the Advanced Training Center (ATC) established here, away from the city, where troops could perform large-scale maneuvers, as well as small-arms, artillery, and mortar practice without disturbing or hazarding the Maa-ni-la inhabitants. It was actually quite a scenic spot. The Maara-vella mountains loomed over the closest thing to a coastal plain she’d seen since Aryaal and Baali. Herds of paalkas grazed the grassy, rolling foothills in the distance, inured to the thousands of troops and their noisy weapons. Maa-ni-la Bay stretched broad and peaceful to the south beneath a warm, clea sky. The island fortress of Corregidor was a fortress here as well, even more imposing due to the lower sea level. The small, almost-quaint town of “Maara-vella” was the only settlement on the peninsula, and it often shook with the thunder of live-fire exercises and mock battles, but the town had no cause for complaint. It had more or less evolved to support the training facility, as well as the harbor defenses. Sandra liked it. Baalkpan was too enclosed by the surrounding jungle; she preferred open spaces. She always felt lighter of heart when she visited there.

Belatedly, she noticed the staring Lemurian faces; Marine officers and Maa-ni-los in their black and gold kilts. “Silva,” she said with a sigh, “what have you done now?”

“I ain’t done nothin ’ this time-honest! It’s what this damn, jumped-up Jap’s tryin’ to do to me!” he almost whined.

“Mr. Silva!” Shinya warned, his tone angry.

Somewhat shocked, Sandra realized she believed Dennis. He’d done many… questionable things during their acquaintance, but he’d never really lied about it. She honestly doubted he’d ever lie to her . After some of the stunts he’d pulled-and told her about-she couldn’t imagine why he would. Few imagined atrocities could compare to his very real, common-knowledge deeds. She looked at Shinya. “What have you done to him?”

It was Shinya’s turn to project a defensive expression. Sandra Tucker was a tiny thing, but her authority, moral and official, had few limits. Not only was she Minister of Medicine for the entire Alliance, and few veteran soldiers hadn’t been treated or saved by her hands, or those she taught at one time or another, but she enjoyed the profound friendship of Saan-Kakja, High Chief of all the Fil-pin Lands. In addition, she had-and deserved-the daughterlike worship of Princess Rebecca Anne McDonald; only heir to the Empire of the New Britain Isles. She was also, incidentally and famously, the fiancee of Captain Matthew Reddy.

“Against my better judgment,” Shinya explained, sourly, “I informed this ridiculous oaf he’s out of uniform-still-and someone about to be decorated and promoted should set an example.”

“See?” Silva demanded. “He said it again! ‘Promoted’!”

“What’s the matter with that?” Lelaa asked, blinking confusion.

“What’s the matter with that?” Silva mocked. “He’s tryin’ to make me a officer! A-a loo-tenant!” He smoldered. “I can’t be a officer! Hell, I might as well drown myself.”

Lieutenant Laumer’s face reddened. “And what’s wrong with being an officer?” he asked darkly. He was also to be promoted to full lieutenant from a jg, a move he much appreciated. In his defense, he really didn’t know Silva well at all.

“Well… nothin’-for a officer,” Dennis tried to explain. “They squirt up the ladder all the time. They start out officers-born to it, you might say, with no offense meant-and that’s what they do. But I ain’t a officer; never have been, and never wanna be. I don’t know how ! I swear, I’ll screw it up so fast, it’ll make your heads spin smooth off!”

Sandra nodded. “I think I get it,” she said. “Mr. Silva, you must apologize to Colonel Shinya this instant! I don’t believe he’s the one who… inflicted this honor upon you; the confirmation came from Acting Chief of Staff Steve Riggs. I guess he thought your recent.. . accomplishments desrved recognition and reward. I doubt he expected you to react so negatively, though. Spanky’s a ‘mustang,’ after all. So is Mr. Chapelle now, as well as Campeti. It’s not as if you’d be a freak.”

“Yeah, but… Spanky’s a different sort!” Dennis insisted. “An’ he ‘jumped up’ before the war. Ask the Bosun how he’d feel to get bars pinned on! You think he’d consider it a promotion?” He shook his head. “With gobs of respect, I’m good at killin’ things and blowin’ stuff up. If I was a officer, they’d wind up puttin’ me in charge of somethin’ I got no more business bein’ in charge of than a fried chicken’s ass!” He blinked. “Um, ’scuse me, ma’am… but it’s a fact!” Silva’s expression changed; it became dark-and something else. He looked hard at Sandra. “Miss… Minister, Lieutenant… whatever you want me to call you, you know me. You know what… I’ve done… an’ what I’d do again in the same situations. Give me a squad of Marines; a handful o’ mugs with guns, and that’s fine. Make me chief over a division; I can handle that.” He paused, then continued quietly. “But don’t ever put me in charge of more fellas than I can ever get to know before I wind up gettin’ ’em killed.”

It hit Sandra then. The mighty, monolithic, irrepressible-arguably psychotic and inarguably depraved-Dennis Silva was afraid. He feared no man or beast on this entire messed-up world, but he did fear himself and his own shortcomings. He’d become an incredibly valuable and resourceful man, but not because he was necessarily “good.” A number of times in fact, as he’d alluded, he’d done some very bad things no “proper” officer could have condoned, much less done, but they’d been the right thing to do, regardless. More than once, he’d saved Sandra’s life, and Rebecca’s and Lelaa’s, and no telling how many others-maybe the whole Alliance-by naturally and ruthlessly doing what had to be done without hesitating to consider the morality. In Sandra’s opinion, that made him a dangerous but indispensable asset. He was right, she suddenly realized. He had no business being an officer, and regardless of his excuses, it wasn’t because he couldn’t lead-Sandra knew he could. He might be sincere about his fear of being responsible for more than a handful of men or ’Cats, but in reality, he simply couldn’t be an officer, and all that implied-morally and behaviorally-and still be Dennis Silva.

Sandra looked at Shinya. “You know, let’s give him this one for now.” She lowered her voice. “For a number of reasons.” She spoke up again. “Captain Reddy’s considering creating a ‘bosun of the Navy’ post for Chief Gray. Maybe we need something similar, within that hierarchy, for gunner’s mates who reach Silva’s lofty status. Bernie Sandison gushes about Silva’s work in the Ordnance shops back home, and the Lord knows we need gunnery instructors, here and in Baalkpan!”

“That’s somethin’ else!” Silva interjected. “I got orders back to Baalkpan to slave away, cookin’ up shi… stuff in Bernie’s shops! Hell, I can’t do that!”

“Mr. Silva!” said Shinya. “I’ve heard quite enough of what you will or won’t, can or can’t do! You’ll follow orders for a change, beginning with your apology to me, and all those present here!”

“Well, I’m sorry, Colonel, damn it, but I can’t keep Riggs, way off in Baalkpan, from givin’ boneheaded orders! The Skipper’s in the east, and Walker ’s in the east.” He nodded at Sandra. “Miss Minister Tucker and the Munchkin princess is goin’ east to the Empire. My standin’ orders from the Skipperself are to watch out for ’em, and that’s what I’m gonna do. You don’t think, after all this time pertectin’ ’em from Imperial traitors, rampagin’ sea monsters, and natural catastrophes, the Skipper’d want me to just quit, do ya? ‘So long, ladies. Run along back into the mercy-less unknown! My pertectin’ days are done!’” He put his hands on his hips and shook his head. “No, sir. You may be a colonel now, an’ Riggs may think he’s somethin’, but Captain Reddy is my boss!”

Sandra and Lelaa both chuckled, and Laumer shared a look of consternation with Shinya. The two had become friends, and he sympathized with the former Japanese officer.

“Now I’m sorry, Colonel Shinya!” Sandra apologized, “But the lug’s right. At least he used to be.” She gestured at her companions. “In fact, one reason we came out here was to find Mr. Silva and relieve him of his responsibility to the princess-and thank him again for saving all our lives.” She looked at Dennis. “I’m sorry Mr. Silva, but your new orders stand, confirmed by your ‘boss,’ Captain Reddy. Princess Rebecca- and I-will have more than sufficient protection on our voyage to the Empire of the New Britain Isles, and they really do need you in Baalkpan. You’re to continue your excellent work in the experimental ordnance division with Bernie Sandison and await further orders. I’m sure it won’t be long before you have another combat assignment, probably with First Fleet.”

Silva’s jaw dropped, leaving him wearing an uncharacteristically stunned expression. “But…”

Sandra smiled sympathetically. “You should know that the princess objected to this order. For some misguided reason, the child’s quite taken with you. That may have something to do with your having saved her so many times. Frankly, believe it or not, I’m not in complete agreement with it either, but we’ll be perfectly safe aboard the new, purpose-built carrier, Maaka-Kakja, and there won’t be anything she or her battle group can’t handle that you’d have to protect us from. You’d be bored out of your mind.”

“Thank you, Minister Tucker,” Shinya said, bowing rather stiffly and casting a triumphant glare at Silva. “Certainly your new escort will behave more… responsibly.”

“I’m sure,” said Sandra, dryly. She turned back to Silva. “Now, I may be other things too, but I’m still a naval officer, and I’m giving you an order you’d better obey!” She wrinkled her nose. “While your attire may strike you as fashionable, you’re no longer on ‘convalescent leave,’ and it’s time for you to rejoin the Navy! You’ll march directly from this place, down to the Navy Yard supply depot-without passing the compound housing the female immigrants from Respite Island! Nurse Pam Cross does not need to hear about shenanigans of that sort. She’s angry enough you’ve been gone so long, pretending to be dead.”

“She don’t own me,” Silva said sulkily. “Besides, even if she did, what’s the harm in lookin’? There’s been few enough female critters-ladies-to oogle…”

“You’ll draw an entire new duffel,” Sandra continued steadfastly. “Hopefully, they can fit you. I don’t know if the Maa-ni-los have ever tried to outfit anyone of your proportions before.”

“Yes’m,” Silva said, apparently conquered at last. His woeful expression was already beginning to fade, however. In its place, his customary, lopsided, somewhat unnerving grin began to reappear. He scratched his faded, crusty eye patch. “You reckon they can replace this thing?”

“I’m sure they will, once they see it, if they have to make one on the spot!” Sandra said, growing a little concerned about the grin, and Silva’s sudden surrender. “Now go!”

Silva saluted sharply, and when all present returned the gesture, he did an about-face, and began striding toward the ferry that would take him across the bay.

“What a horrible man,” Lelaa said fondly, watching him go. “I’ve heard… rumors, that Nurse Paam Cross is not the only female who awaits him back home.”

Sandra snorted. “You mean Chack’s sister, Risa-Sab-At?” She shook her head. “There’s no question she and Silva-and Pam!-are great friends. Beyond that, I refuse to speculate. Besides, Risa’s with First Fleet, and too busy to pine away over anyone, I suspect. And she’s not the ‘pining’ sort.” She turned back to Shinya. “Again, Colonel, I’m sorry. Sorry for my rudeness, and sorry you had to deal with Silva. He heard about the ‘promotion’ after the morning wireless traffic-I don’t know how. Scuttlebutt, I suppose. Anyway, he just.. . panicked, I guess. Somehow, he got the idea you recommended him.”

“Well…” Shinya hesitated. “I suppose I did. Mr. Silva and I have rarely seen eye to eye in the past, but he’s a magnificent warrior. I thought, particularly after his recent exploits on your behalf, that we need such warriors in leadership positions.” He gestured at the parade ground. The officers had long since stopped gawking, and the NCOs had never allowed the enlisted troops to start. “We have new weapons, new tactics, and new troops who’ve not been tested.” He shrugged. “I’d hoped to persuade him to take a company of Marines.”

“You do him great honor, Colonel Shinya,” Sandra said seriously, “and though I suppose he deserves it, take my word; Dennis Silva should never become an officer. It would ruin him.” She took a long breath. “It might ruin all of us, in the end.” She paused, staring back over the throng of troops, ignoring Shinya’s curious expression. “With that issue settled, I’ll turn to the other thing I came to see you about. You have orders as well-of a sort. Captain Reddy specifically asked me to deliver them, and get your honest appraisal.”

“Of course.”

“As you know, we have a whole new war on our hands. We can’t let up on the Grik, but we must help Captain Reddy and our new Imperial allies. I’ll be departing aboard Maaka-Kakja, and there’ll be plenty of green sailors aboard.” She smiled at Lelaa. “For example, Lelaa will command, and she’s never even conned a steamship! Her aircrews have only just learned to fly, and she’ll be working up her wing en route. My question to you is, in your honest opinion, how many troops can we send with her, and are you free to lead them?”

Shinya concentrated. “Most of my best troops are still involved in search and rescue activities, in response to the effects of the tsunami. Even if I could send them now, ‘best’ is a relative term.” He waved at a regiment of Maa-ni-los rapidly moving from a column into line. “Their drill is good, their execution almost flawless, but only a very few of the NCOs have ever seen action; some were volunteers at Baalkpan, you’ll recall. You asked my honest appraisal, and I must say I hesitate to send any of these troops to Captain Reddy. He’s grown accustomed to leading veteran soldiers.” He paused. “Regardless. He wants Marines, I understand, but their amphibious training is not yet complete. Perhaps two of the Fil-pin regiments might be up to the task. Of course,” he added wistfully, “much as I’d like to, I lead them.” He hesitated. “Honestly, I’d prefer that we had time to draw some force from General Alden, then plug these regiments into his larger force as originally planned.”

“Colonel Shinya, Matt currently has less than thirty effective Marines. More may still recover from wounds, but he needs troops- our troops -rather badly right now. He said the Imperial Marines fight well, but our tactics are superior-the tactics you’re teaching here. For Chack, or even Matt to have a real say regarding Imperial land tactics, he must have a credible force. Even if the Imperials are inclined to listen to Chack-and Matt thinks they are-he needs more than thirty instructors!” She paused. “Tell me, Colonel: are these troops more or less as well trained as those who met and defeated the Grik at Baalkpan?”

“More. Much more-with one glaring exception.”

“Yes. Combat experience. But how many had that at Baalkpan? A quarter? A third at most?” She shook her head. “How much combat experience did you have the first time you went into combat? Look, I get it. These are your troops, and for all practical purposes, this is your army. You formed it, trained it like a child, and you love it, don’t you?” Shinya didn’t respond, but Sandra knew she was right. “You’ve done a good job. You’ve set the wheels in motion and established a sound regimen here.” She gestured back at the parade ground. “These ’Cats, these Lemurians, don’t really much need us anymore, you know. Sure, we showed them the way, but as far as the basics are concerned, there’s not much left to teach them. They’re building and flying airplanes, operating steamships, building muskets, and sending Morse! Now that the various industries are starting to hit their stride, they’re even improving on designs we’ve given them.” She took a breath. “They’re also fighting their own battles now.” Her voice softened. “Colonel… Tamatsu… most of these troops will soon be going west, to First Fleet and General Alden. He’ll take good care of them-and they don’t need you anymore. Training will continue here just as well without you. You’ve said yourself that things around here pretty much run themselves. Captain Reddy-Matt- does need you, and so will the troops you need to lead east to his assistance!”

Shinya suddenly brightened. “Perhaps you’re right,” he allowed. “You are right! It would seem I’ve been wrong about everything today!” He shook his head. “It’s this constant training,” he said. “Each day is the same for me, while far away, my friends continue the struggle. I’ve been away too long, and it’s almost ruined me!” His expression became concerned. “It might have ruined these fine troops if I’d continued to delay their deployment.” He looked at Sandra. “Thank you. Forgive me, but… how did a nurse ever become so wise in the ways of war… and men?”

“You mean how does a girl know these things?” Lelaa asked before Sandra could answer. “That’s easy. All girls know. ’Cat girls or Hu-maan. Males are all the same.” She glared at Irvin Laumer. “We girls fight because we have to. Males too, maybe, but girls get sick, wounded, have younglings; they go home and forget the war until they maybe have to fight again. You take males out of the war and it eats them from the inside out, like a nugli woodworm, as long as others still fight! Back before the Grik came, before we had this war, I knew males were silly. Now I know they’re all a buncha’ dopes!” She laughed, and Sandra-and even Laumer-joined her.

Lawrence sniffed. “I a ’ale, and no ‘nuglis’ eat Lawrence!”

“Nonsense!” Irvin. Yotill chuckling. “Look at you! You’re in uniform now!”

It was true. Lawrence had been “with” the Alliance for quite a while, primarily as Princess Rebecca’s friend and protector. He’d even gained respect and notoriety despite his resemblance to the Grik “Ancient Enemy.” It was becoming increasingly recognized that not all “Grik-like” creatures on the world-far more widespread than previously known- were Grik, and many races that resembled them had wildly different societies. Lawrence’s own people, from an island they called Tagran, had some rather bizarre cultural practices concerning their young-by human or Lemurian standards-and the matriarchal system they practiced was rather extreme as well. In fact, the recent tidal wave caused by the catastrophic explosion of the volcanic Talaud island had so devastated Tagran that the matriarch had banished all but a handful of the island’s population so a few might survive the starving times to come. Of the hundreds set adrift to find another home or die, only seventy-odd survived the later waves that overwhelmed the southern Fil-pin Lands. They’d been rescued with Sandra, Silva, and the others by the remnants of Task Force Laumer and the battered S-19.

High Chief Saan-Kakja gifted the “ex”-Tagranesi with the virtually uninhabited Fil-pin island of Samaar to possess as a Fil-pin territory-as Fil-pin subjects. There’d be no independent matriarchy of such a despotic sort as to condemn so many of its own people neighboring her Home! This was a complete departure from any previous Lemurian customs, except for a few now-extinct cultures that had inhabited Jaava. Before, all “daughter” colonies, like their seagoing Home counterparts, were independent. The Tagranesi-“Sa’aarans” now-could have the land if they could conquer it, but Saan-Kakja was their sovereign. Sandra wondered if Saan-Kakja, with the Imperial example, was taking a step toward empire herself, but she rather doubted it. More likely, she merely intended to keep a closer eye on this daughter colony than others in the past, simply due to the nature of its inhabitants. That was understandable.

Ancient Chinakru, leader of the Sa’aarans, and governor of the new colony, wasn’t offended. Saan-Kakja had become a surrogate matriarch in the eyes of his people to an almost-worshipful degree. He’d immedi- ately proclaimed all his people subject to her military service and command. Saan-Kakja knew the Sa’aarans couldn’t fight a war and build a colony at the same time, but agreed to accept four, including Lawrence, as a token force. They had no military training, but like Lawrence, they were innately, possibly instinctively skilled at fieldcraft. They’d become army scouts, and their “uniform,” like Lawrence’s, was a modified version of that worn by the Fil-pin regiments, altered to fit their different shapes. The leather armor was dyed in a camouflage pattern, and gray kilts had been tightly twisted and redyed in green. The result was near invisibility for the otherwise brown-and-orange-striped Sa’aarans when they melted into the woods. The three other Sa’araan warriors were preparing to leave for Baalkpan, in fact, to participate in an “expedition of discovery” led by Abel Cook and an old Lemurian hunter called “Moe.” Cook was a protege of Courtney Bradford’s, and the mission was a long-delayed effort to find-and hopefully peacefully contact-some feral Grik-like creatures known to roam the dense jungles of north Borno.

“I in uni’orn,” Lawrence agreed. (He could understand Lemurian or “American” quite well, but there were some sounds he simply couldn’t form.) “I go where I sent, I kill who I told, ’ut no nuglis eat I when I here, where ’riends are!”

“Well said!” complimented aa. “There’s plenty of war to go around, for all of us. There’s no point in longing for it when it is far away.”

“True,” Sandra agreed, “but even I’m a little anxious to get underway-the better to keep the war as far from here as possible.”

“I know why you’re anxious,” Lelaa proclaimed, “and it has nothing to do with war! Tell me, now there are human females, ‘women,’ coming here from the east, are you going to finally mate… ‘marry’ with Captain Reddy and stop torturing each other, yourselves, and everyone around you?”

Sandra blushed visibly, even through her tan. “That, Captain Lelaa, is privileged, ‘secret’ information. While I may allow that you have a ‘need to know,’ for various reasons”-she straightened and stuck out her chin-“this gossipy, tale-bearing pack of pubescent males surrounding us, does not.”

Irvin chuckled, and even Shinya smiled. Lawrence glowered as best he could. Of them all, he truly was a-rapidly and visibly maturing-“teenager,” and he took the jest a little more personally than the others.

“As we speak, USS Maaka-Kakja is being loaded and provisioned for her voyage,” Lelaa said. “Her sea trials were necessarily brief”-she blinked embarrassment at Laumer-“but the very… awkwardness of those trials should have revealed any major flaws.” It was Irvin’s turn to blush. No decision had yet been taken as to what to do with the old S-boat he’d raised from the dead. She might be broken up for her priceless steel and other components; her diesels, electric motors; the list was endless. He was against it and hoped she might eventually be returned to duty as a submarine-despite the added hazards lurking in this world’s seas. For the time being, she’d be stabilized and towed to Baalkpan before any decision was made, and that released Irvin Laumer to serve as Lelaa’s exec, or “salig-maastir” since he did understand the fundamentals of maneuvering a ship-albeit a much smaller one-under power. Lelaa would continue to teach him the consummate seamanship she’d learned from a lifetime on the waves, while he taught her how to operate a ship without sails. Saan-Kakja admired them both and thought they’d make a good team.

Lelaa’s reference to their handling of the massive vessel was not exaggeration, however, and while Irvin blushed and Lelaa blinked, both readily admitted they had a lot to learn. Neither had a clue about flight ops, for example. A few instructors from the Army and Navy Air Corps Academy in Baalkpan had been arriving periodically to teach Fil-pin cadets to fly the “Nancys” being built in Maa-ni-la, and each improvement made in the standardized model was forwarded immediately with detailed explanations. Ultimately, a few improvements cooked up in Maa-ni-la started going back to Baalkpan. Some of the most important training information was constantly being updated as well, and Captain Jis-Tikar, or “Tikker,” COFO (Commander of Flight Operations) aboard Big Sal, and ultimately First Fleet, forwarded every new, real-world combat technique his fliers learned-sometimes the hard way. Although Tikker’s and Mallory’s tables of organization had been established, there was no COFO for Second Fleet yet, and if they couldn’t swipe one of the Baalkpan instructors, Lelaa and Irvin didn’t know where they’d get one.

“In any event,” Lelaa continued, “ Maaka-Kakja must sail within the week. She’ll be accompanied by Pu-cot and Pecos, the two new, ‘fast fleet oilers.’ ”

“What of warships and transports?” Shinya asked.

“They should e unnecessary. Maaka-Kakja carries fifty of the new fifty-pounder smoothbores for serious pounding at close range, and she has four of Amag ’s five-point-five-inch secondaries, tied into one of the functional fire control computers that were located above the waterline when Amagi sank.”

Shinya nodded. “You’re right. She should have little to fear. But what of the troops? How many can we take and where will they be put?”

“ Maaka-Kakja has sufficient space for three full regiments, all their field artillery, pack train, and supplies,” Lelaa said proudly. “It will be crowded, of course, with thirty assembled aircraft and another thirty stowed, but you forget; the ship was built for this, not merely converted from a Home. Her hull dimensions are much the same, as you can see”-she pointed at the distant shipyard, and the monstrosity dominating the fueling pier-“but inside, she’s laid out much differently and needs only a crew of about a thousand, including flight crews and support elements.”

“We can also carry another full regiment, split between the oilers,” Sandra prompted.

“I should think so,” Shinya said thoughtfully, gazing at the troops on the parade ground. “Roughly four thousand Fil-pin soldiers and Marines,” he mused, “would initially outnumber the existing Imperial troop levels, if Captain Reddy’s assessment is accurate. What are Saan-Kakja’s thoughts regarding sending such a large percentage of her army to this ‘other’ war?”

“She doesn’t like it,” Sandra admitted, “but backed by Matt’s and Princess Rebecca’s arguments, she recognizes the necessity. The Empire and the Holy Dominion are very far away-impossibly far, Meksnaak, her Sky Priest, still says-but there’s nothing but the hostile sea between them and the Fil-pin Lands, and now they know we’re here. She’d much rather have a friendly Empire of the New Britain Isles as a beholden, distant neighbor, than this… perverted, expansionist, ‘Holy Dominion.’”

“I see,” Shinya said. “In that case, four regiments it shall be.” He turned from the group and raised his voice. “Orderly! Pass the word to all commanders; I don’t care if they’re here or on maneuvers in the mountains! Mandatory officer’s call at my HQ tent at”-he glanced at his watch-“nineteen hundred hours-that’s fifteen hand-spans from now! I’ll be choosing ‘volunteers’ for a mission, and if they aren’t here, they’ll definitely miss the show!” He looked at Lelaa and grinned. “Now, tell me truly; not even a ‘girl’ could ignore such an attractively phrased invitation!”

Suddenly, they were all alarmed by the distant, insistent gonging of a harbor alarm bell, coming from the direction of Fort Maara-vella. It was quickly echoed by others, and the wind-muffled thud of one of the great guns in the fort, firing a warning. Shinya ordered another orderly to assemble all officers immediately; then he, Sandra, Lelaa, Irvin, and Lawrence quickly followed the roughly mile-long path Silva had taken earlier down to the ferry pier. They arrived, breathing hard, to find Silva and a group of assorted prospective passengers still waiting for the wide-beamed steam ferry only now approaching from across the bay.

“I bet you’re wonderin’ what all the fuss is about,” Silva grumped as a greeting. He pointed at the mouth of the bay, beyond Corregidor. No one but the humans had ever seen anything like it. Creeping along, black smoke wheezing into the sky, was a medium-size freighter, a Japanese “maru” by the look of her, beneath the easily defined white flag with a red circle in the center, streaming from her foremast. She was low by the bow and seemed somewhat the worse for wear. “Goddamn Japs is inva-din’ the Philippines,” Silva growled. “Again!”

Shinya rapidly collected an armed party of about forty Fil-pin troops and commandeered the ferry to take them out to the wounded ship. Silva went, of course, even though he didn’t have his trusty BAR, or even his giant “Doom Whomper” musket, made from a 25-mm Japanese antiaircraft gun. He did have his M-1911. 45, ’03 Springfield bayonet and the pattern of 1917 Navy cutlass he always carried. For him, those weapons should be sufficient for nearly anything. Lawrence, Irvin, and Shinya all accepted Maa-ni-la Arsenal “Springfield” muskets, and black leather cartridge boxes of ammunition. Shinya was annoyed to see Sandra and Lelaa take muskets for themselves, naturally intending to accompany him to investigate the intruder. He fumed. If those on the strange ship were hostile, a single machine gun… He had to put it out of his mind. It wasn’t as though he could order them to stay behind. Lemurian females and the few American women could be so… infuriatingly uncooperative! The women beginning to arrive from the Empire behaved more as he was accustomed to, but then he was as horrified as anyone by their formerly “indentured” status. He wondered what that said about him.

“Take in all lines,” Silva roared, effectively taking command of the ferry’s small deck crew.

Shinya stepped into the cramped, offset, pilothouse directly in front of the single, smoldering funnel. Inside, the small vessel’s equally small captain stood alone. The little guy was blinking nervously. “Steer to intercept that ship,” Shinya said. In the background, he heard Silva’s loud command, “Shove off!”

“But… maybe we let Navy ships, closer in, deal with it!” He gestured at one of the speaking tubes beside the wheel. “My signalman already report!”

“Good. Then tell him to send that we’re investigating the visitor before it has a chance to study our harbor defenses!” The defenses he referred to were already manned, their heavy guns trained on the apparent Japanese ship. Except for the warning shot, none had fired, however. Their crews were under standing orders not to fire on any “anomalous” vessels that might appear without direct orders-unless they were fired on first. “You might also recall that this ferry is a naval auxiliary and you hold a reserve Navy commission.” Shinya waved at another voice tube. “If that connects you to the engine room, do tell your engineers to ‘step on it’!”

With the loud, monotonous, whackety-whack, whackety-whack of the early-model compound engine belowdeck, the relatively new, but already hopelessly outdated little ferry turned toward the strange intruder that seemed to be slowing in response to their approach. “Lay us as close alongside as you can,” Shinya instructed, and taking the ’Cat’s speaking trumpet, he moved back outside.

“What do you make of her?” Silva asked.

“Probably the same as you,” Shinya replied. “She’s a Japanese freighter from our ‘old’ world. Most likely, she arrived here the same way we did. When is the first question that strikes me. When and where she ‘came through,’ as well as how much trouble those aboard her will cause for us.”

Silva looked at the dilapidated, heavily damaged ship, and grunted. “She don’t look in any shape to cause much trouble, unless she sinks in the main channel and we have to steer around her from now on. Look at all them bullet holes!” Dennis couldn’t hide the glee the sight of a shot-up Japanese for the wve him. “I bet she got strafed by planes!” he chortled.

“You may be right,” Shinya agreed as they drew closer. Many of the holes did appear to have been caused by heavy machine-gun fire. He let Silva’s attitude wash over him with as little notice as a clam gives the marching waves. He knew it wasn’t personal, not anymore. He’d long since become almost as “American” as the Lemurian recruits who joined the Navy. He hadn’t taken the oath they took, the same oath every human destroyerman had once taken, but he was still “one of them,” sworn to the same cause they fought for on this world. If Silva had been given to considering his words before they flew out of his mouth, even he might have been more careful of his tone. The others joined them.

“It’s a Jap ship, all right,” Silva announced. “A ‘ma-roo.’ You can kind of tell, even without that damn meatball she’s flyin’. Jap-built ships always have a sorta funny look to ’em, like you’re lookin’ at regular ships through the bottom of a beer bottle. Not ugly, like Dutch ships,” he hastened to add, glancing at Shinya, “just

… weird.” His expression changed. “Say, I never got a chance to ask… anybody who’d know. How come Jap freighters an’ such always hang ‘Ma-roo’ on the end of their names? Seems like it’d be confusin’.”

A little startled by Dennis’s unusual chattiness, particularly with him, Shinya tried to explain. “There’s a… spiritual root I’ve never closely studied, since I’ve not been particularly spiritual. I suppose the simplest translation of ‘maru’ to a sailor might be something like ‘beloved home,’ but the term also implies an invocation of spiritual protection.”

“Didn’t work,” Silva observed, poking a yellowish wad of Lemurian “tobacco” leaves in his cheek. The local stuff was even worse than the Aryaalan substitute he’d used before, but if there might be a fight, he wanted a chew. “Looks like she’s been through a shredder.”

“Who knows?” Shinya replied absently, as the damage to the ship became more apparent. “Maybe it did.”

Dennis looked at him. “I thought you just said you didn’t believe in all that. You gettin’ religion, after all?”

Shinya managed a chuckle. “I said, ‘I’ve not been’ spiritual, and that’s true. I didn’t say I am not.” He shifted uncomfortably, just as unaccustomed to sharing his inner thoughts with the big man, or anyone-with the occasional exception of Pete Alden, Adar, Captain Reddy, and maybe Lieutenant Laumer-as he was to hearing them. “When I consider all we’ve been through and accomplished, in the face of such a clear distinction between our cause and the evil we resist… I find it… difficult to imagine there has not been some… divine force at work,” he admitted.

“Me too,” Silva proclaimed with pious conviction, and sent a yellowish stream arcing over the rail. “Say, I see folks movin’ around on her now.” He squinted his good eye. “None of ’em seems to be pointin’ anything noisy at us.”

“It may be a ‘Jaap’ ship,” Lelaa said, squinting her far better eyes, “but those ‘folks’ on her are People-’Cats, like me.” She paused. “At least most are. Some are hu-maans.”

The battered ship slowed thankfully to a stop just as the ferry came alongside. From the raised letters on her old, straight-up-and-down bow, she was the Mizuki Maru, and the battle damage, rust streaks, and cracked, pustulent paint gave the lie to her name, as Shinya translated it. Her appearance wasn’t the only ty at us. that made a mockery of “Beautiful Moon,” but those on the ferry couldn’t know that yet. To their surprise, an oddly familiar face appeared at the rail, peering down at them. The face was all that was familiar about the man, however. He wore leather armor, similar to that used by the Alliance, but the style was more reminiscent of a traditional samurai.

“Commander Sato Okada!” Shinya cried incredulously.

“Yes, I am Okada, although ‘Commander’ is no longer appropriate.” The man shook his head. “That does not signify at present. I am here regarding a matter of utmost urgency, and I must speak to the highest-ranking representative of your Alliance immediately. I presume, in this place, that would still be High Chief Saan-Kakja?”

“That’s correct,” Shinya answered, “although you must be satisfied with Minister Tucker and myself before you enter the inner harbor. Forgive me, but you made it quite clear you have no allegiance to the Alliance, and your personal animosity toward me and other prominent members gives sufficient reason to question your arrival here, even under such”-Shinya gestured at the ship-“extraordinary circumstances. I must insist this party be allowed aboard before you proceed.”

Okada grimaced, but nodded. “Very well. I understand your caution, perhaps more than you will believe.” He looked away. “These are indeed dreadful times.” He stared back at Shinya. “You were right,” he said woodenly, “long ago, when you warned that my honor might yet make heavy demands upon me…” He stopped, nodding at a group of Lemurians who’d gathered to lower a cargo net. “Please do hurry aboard,” Okada snapped, “so you can quickly establish my benign intent. In addition to the urgency of my errand and information, you may have noticed this ship has a leak.”

Saan-Kakja’s Great Hall

“The world we left has gone so terribly wrong,” Sato Okada almost whispered, “I have begun to wonder whether our coming here might have been a merciful escape for us all.”

Okada was the only one standing in Saan-Kakja’s Great Hall. He refused to sit, didn’t seem able, and paced almost continuously during the interview. There was a small audience for this… momentous event, despite the furor at the dock when Mizuki Maru tied up and the boarding party marched tensely ashore with Okada, his officers-and three bedraggled, almost-emaciated human passengers. Sandra’s and Laumer’s faces had been stormy as they helped the two weakest men down the gangplank. Silva’s one eye glittered murderously as he watched from the ship. He’d stay aboard and supervise the placement of more pumps and hoses, but he wouldn’t go down in the holds again. He might claw through the steel with his fingernails and sink the hideous abomination he stood upon.

This initial gathering was only for senior personnel so they could absorb what Okada had to say and take measure of his tale before deciding if it had any bearing on current priorities. The story, or part of it, would emerge, of course; Saan-Kakja kept few secrets from her people. But sometimes a thing had to be examined before it was allowed to run loose. Her Sky Priest, Meksnaak, disapproved of this “naive” policy and sat on a cushion to her left, brooding. Saan-Kakja-s new “best friend,” Princess Rebecca Anne McDonald, heir to the Empire of the New Britain Isles, was poised on a comfortable chair to her right, her skin restored with curative lotions and her blond curls carefully coiffed. An expression of concerned distaste distorted her elfin face. Shinya and Lelaa were the silitary representatives present, although Irvin Laumer, “Tex” Sheider, Colonel Ansik-Talaa, and Colonel Busaa of the Coastal Artillery had been allowed. Okada’s officers, two Japanese “rescued” from the Grik at Sing-aa-pore, and one Lemurian, all dressed like Okada, remained silently seated. Two of the three “passengers” remained seated as well, attended by Sandra and a corpsman. They wore soft robes in place of tattered remains of what had once been uniforms. One of the men had been too weak to attend.

Saan-Kakja watched Okada now, with her mesmerizing, ebony-striated, golden eyes. Her silky, gray-black fur lay as smooth and perfect as skin. Her ears twitched with compassion for the man. “Perhaps it was an escape for you, but your arrival also saved us from the Grik,” she said in her small, satin, but determined tone.

“Not my arrival,” Okada denied bitterly. “I aided the Grik, as first officer of Amagi!”

“And ultimately, it was you who warned Baalkpan that she and the ‘invincible swarm’ of Grik were on their way,” Shinya reminded patiently, but with a strange new brittleness, “and thereby saved the city.”

“At the cost of my ship-and how many Japanese lives?” Okada retorted. It was the old argument again, the burden that had tortured Okada since his initial “capture” after that terrible battle. Shinya was concerned for a moment that he might retreat into his armored lair of self-pity and remorse, and for the first time, he almost didn’t care. But Okada suddenly straightened, and his face bore a new determination.

“As I said, the world we left has gone insane, and that madness continues to spill into this one.” He practically seared the Americans present with his stare. “It appears… the war we were taken from, that showed such promise for my people, my Empire… all of East Asia… has turned against us. The Americans managed a few surprising, costly victories, and now their industrial might has begun to tip the scales.” He paused. “In response, it seems some of my countrymen have begun to behave… dishonorably.”

One of the gaunt “passengers” struggled to rise, his pale face beginning to flush, but Sandra held him back.

Shinya saw this and stood. “Dishonorably?” he demanded, incredulous. “Please spare us the nationalistic rhetoric of another world,” he said harshly. He’d seen the ship too; he’d entered that stinking, hellish hold, and the same smells he’d endured in the lower decks of captured Grik ships almost drove him to his knees. From that moment, all his doubts and uncertainties about the path he’d chosen melted away. His people “back home” had run mad. They’d become Grik in human form, much like Captain Reddy described the Dominion. He’d caught himself praying to whatever force he’d begun to suspect existed that his people’s madness might be cured by defeat.

“Start at the beginning and tell us everything!” he demanded. His attempts to assuage Okada’s conscience were over, and he was building a towering rage. “Do not dishonor yourself with further ‘patriotic’ excuses, or I’ll counsel Her Excellency”-he nodded at Saan-Kakja-“to have you and that… diseased vessel expelled without delay!”

Somewhat chastened, but with a resentful expression, Okada began. “When I first came to Maa-ni-la prior to ‘repatriation’ to my beloved, but sparsely inhabited ‘Ja-paan,’ the city teemed with Lemurian ‘runaways’ from other Homes. With the addition of the Fil-pin Lands to the Alliance, those malcontents had few places left to go other than the Gt South Island that, so far, hadn’t joined the cause. I interviewed thousands. Some were merely cowards, but others had honor, and simply wanted to be left alone. I took the hundred or so with warrior skills-some even disillusioned veterans of the Grik war-who were attracted to the traditional, militantly isolationist Japanese lifestyle I described to them. Together, we established a bakufu-a shogunate-near what would have been Yokohama.”

“A shogunate!” Shinya interrupted Okada’s narrative. “You are ambitious! And I presume you are the Seii Taishogun?”

Okada didn’t flinch or apologize. “Someone had to be, and I rule no settlements that do not desire the protection of my Lemurian samurai! We are not an imperial government! As I said, I based the system on ancient precedence modified by hindsight, to glean the more benevolent aspects of that culture. I teach Bushido and Kendo-you will not find better swordsmen than my samurai-but I stress the obligation to serve not only myself, but their fellow beings. Also, my samurai are not nobles, but commoners with noble ideals, perhaps more like a militia, dedicated to defending their people from the terrible predators that lurk upon our land-and invaders, of course. They train for these duties diligently, but they hunt and kill the great fish for their oil and flesh. They are not the aristocratic, bureaucratic leeches they once became on our world!”

“So you say… for now,” Shinya muttered. “Tell me, do you have female samurai?”

“Yes,” Okada said simply, and Shinya blinked. “As you know, female Lemurians can be formidable warriors. With their size and agility, few males can match them in ‘the way of the sword.’ ”

“Please continue your tale, of the pertinent events,” Saan-Kakja directed.

“At first, things went well. Most of the preexisting settlements around the Okada Shogunate willingly fell under its umbrella and enjoyed a new security and prosperity. According to their wishes, many of the Japanese sailors rescued from the Grik at Singapore were sent to us, and our society began to thrive. Then, in a single day, war found our new Ja-paan, and everything changed.”

“What happened?” Princess Rebecca asked, her gaze intent.

“A short distance up the coast from our tiny new Yokohama, we saw dense smoke rising from Ani-aaki, a ‘protected’ settlement,” Okada reported somberly. “A me-naak rider brought news of a most bizarre invasion. Iron ships had appeared off the coast, and humans came ashore. At first they seemed friendly, only afraid and confused. They spoke Japanese, a tongue many of my people have begun to learn, but did not know where they were. The people of Ani-aaki tried to explain what might have happened to them, based on our experience, but they didn’t want to hear. They didn’t believe it at first. Then they did believe, and officers came ashore to talk some more. The boat went back to the ships, and dozens returned, bringing many, many humans.” He gestured at the two weak men. “Back and forth the boats went, until the beach before the village was packed.” His face darkened. “Then things went very bad. Troops with rifles, Japanese troops, began taking food, supplies, anything they could find. Some of the local samurai tried to resist…” He paused. “They were shot. A panic ensued, and many people fled into the forest.” Again he gestured at the two men. “So did a number of the people brought ashore.” He shook his head, his face contorted with grief, rage, and shame. “The troops began shooting everyone! They killed the young, old, males and females, all while still looting befo Even the humans they brought ashore tried to help the People, but they were weak and easily killed.” He looked around the chamber at the horrified faces and agitated blinking.

“Two other boats came ashore with what must have been heavy machine guns… and killed everyone they saw! Many more tried to flee into the forest, but most were shot down. Finally, when nothing and no one remained, they set fire to the village and left.” He took a deep breath. “They transported the crew from Mizuki Maru to other ships and simply abandoned her there.” He shrugged. “She was badly damaged, as you’ve seen, and slowing the other ships down.”

“What other ships?” Sandra demanded with an edge.

Okada looked at her grimly. “A quite-modern Japanese Imperial Navy destroyer, I’m afraid, and one of the tankers she was sent to escort-to Yokohama. The destroyer is the Hidoiame, and she’s less than a year old.” His face wore a strange expression. “She is the newest thing in anti-submarine warfare, I’m told.”

“Who told you?” Sandra and Laumer both demanded at once.

“One of Mizuki Maru ’s crewmen who elected to remain behind, and also fled into the woods,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Well… who’s he, and why would he do that?”

“He was the ship’s cook,” Okada said simply. “And he is likely the reason they killed all the people they brought ashore.” He looked at the uncomprehending faces. “You see,” he added bitterly, “when asked if he could, if it came down to it… he refused to cook them!”

There was a collective, horrified gasp in the chamber, but Okada continued remorselessly on. “His act probably kept the officers from slip- ping entirely over the edge, and they decided to just kill all the ‘useless’ mouths instead.”

“Defenseless prisoners, you mean!” grated the tall, skinny man at Sandra’s side. He looked much older than he probably was; his hair prematurely white and his eyes and cheeks sunken in. He’d given up trying to stand, but there were tears on his face and he clearly intended to talk. “All those men were prisoners of war, not as if you could tell it by the way they treated us. More than five hundred men, slaughtered!” He glared at Okada. “And that’s not the half of it!” He paused to collect himself. “I’m Second Lieutenant Jack Mackey, forty-one-C, from Big Spring, Texas. I was in the Thirty-fourth Squadron of the Twenty-fourth Pursuit Group.” He nodded at his companion. “This is Second Lieutenant Orrin Reddy of the Third Pursuit Squadron, out of San Diego. He’s also forty-one-C-we were ‘newies’ together.” He looked apologetically at Sandra as the tears began to pool at his feet. “The Thirty-fourth was almost all Texans,” he said. “There were other Southern boys too, but only one Yankee, out of Illinois… I don’t know what happened to him.”

“There were fellas from everywhere in the Third,” whispered the man beside him, but that was all he managed to say. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off Saan-Kakja, however.

Mackey nodded. “Look,” he said, “I don’t know much about what’s going on here. Sometimes I think I’m still in hell and this is just a dream. I hope somebody besides him”-he jerked his head at Okada-“can fill us in, but I guess something weird happened to us, and some of you too.” He shook his head. “Tin cans, submarines, PBYs-all that stuff you said after you met us with the ferry-seems as if this joint’s a regular dumping ground for folhis nd stuff that disappear where we’re from…”

“ When are you from, Tex?” Sheider asked anxiously. “I mean, sure, you were in the Philippines when the Japs came, but when did you get, you know, here?”

Taken aback, Mackey looked at the submariner. “Well, we figured, once we saw Japan was all goofed up, it must’ve had something to do with a screwy storm we went through a week or so before. What? Did the same thing happen to you?”

“Yeah. Well, the destroyermen saw it; we were underwater,” Laumer supplied. “Said it was a big, scary green squall of some kind.”

Mackey shook his head. “We didn’t see it. We were all belowdecks on that damn, nasty tub. We felt it, though. Queer.”

“We ‘came through’ around March first, ’forty-two. You’ve got almost two years on us. What happened to you… and how’s the war going?”

Mackey blinked and looked disoriented. “Gosh, I don’t know where to start! I’ll tell what happened to us; then maybe I can bring you up to speed on the war later.” He looked at Okada. “The Jap’s right, though. We didn’t get a lot of news; I was in a camp outside of”-he shrugged-“well, I guess not far from here,” he said oddly. “But sometimes, Filipinos on the outside who had radios stashed snuck in the big headlines to us when they could, to keep our morale up.” He glared at Okada again. Apparently, the man’s earlier comments still rankled. “The Jap’s goose is cooked, and we’ve got ’em on the run. That was why they started shipping us prisoners out of the Philippines to Japan where they could keep working us to death. We got on that damn maru-you should’ve seen the sign they posted! Everything you can imagine, basically breathing at the wrong time, would get you shot and thrown over the side! Anyway, we were some of the first ones sent. More than a thousand got on another ship, just a few hundred on the one that brought us here-it was just stopping through. Had a bunch of Brits, Aussies, Dutch, and Javanese slaves already in her. Neither ship was marked to show there were prisoners aboard, and the other ship got torpedoed and sunk by a sub. We got strafed by planes and took an aerial torpedo, but the fish just poked a hole in the bow and didn’t go off. Drowned a bunch of guys down in the forward hold-hell, the Japs on deck shot fellas trying to get out! It was unbelievable!”

Okada stood still at last, staring straight ahead, his face granite. Shinya looked almost ill.

“They kept us down in the holds like animals, cattle-worse! Hell, nobody would ship animals like that! I don’t know how many died every day; starved, sick, thirsty, covered in filth…” For a moment, he couldn’t go on. “Finally,” he said at last, “we got to Japan-only it wasn’t there! We didn’t know what was up, but the Japs on deck got all screwy and yelled a lot. A couple of our guys were China Marines, out of the Fourth, and had some of the lingo. They said the Japs kept jabbering that ‘the world was gone,’ or something. Anyway, there was nothing we could do but wait in the dark until things sort of settled down.”

One of Saan-Kakja’s attendants brought refreshments, and Mackey took a mug, staring at the ’Cat the whole time. Like most Lemurians, she wasn’t wearing a top, and because he was seated, her breasts were prominent and right at Mackey’s eye level. Sandra understood his reaction; it had been universal among Walker ’s crew when they first met the “People.” Mackey had seen Lemurians before now, among Okada’s folk, but he couldn’t be used to it yet. She nodded, and he took a tenative sip from the mug.

“Uh, thank you, ma’am,” he said to the ’Cat, a little self-consciously.

“What then?” Sandra pressed gently.

“After that, things went pretty much like Okada said. They herded us ashore and just started shooting.” Mackey looked at his companion. “Orrin and I and a bunch of other fellas lit out as best we could.” The tears started again. “Most were too weak or too far gone to even try, and of those that did, just a few made it.”

“How many?”

“All told, maybe sixty out of five hundred,” he said, taking a long gulp from the cup and holding it tight in both hands. “Mostly Americans and Filipinos, I guess, but a few Brits and Aussies too. And some of those poor Javanese.” He shook his head. “I think those poor devils had it worse than any of us. They were animals, far as the Japs were concerned, and were practically dead when we first saw ’em.”

“Didn’t they chase you?” Laumer asked.

Mackey shook his head. “What for?” He sighed. “I don’t know. They couldn’t feed us, they’d decided not to… eat us, and they damn sure didn’t want us. Maybe they figured killing us was a mercy.”

“So, sixty-odd survivors,” Sandra said hopefully.

“No, ma’am. Not now. Some were wounded, and others just… died. Too far gone, I guess. I’ll give Okada’s people that. They did their best to save us. Took pretty good care of us, as a matter of fact.” He passed Okada an almost-apologetic glance. “I was mainly mad about that ‘happy East Asia’ bunk he was spouting earlier…” He considered. “I guess there’re maybe forty-five of us left, or there were. He brought Orrin and me along to prove his story, and because we were some of the fittest officers for travel. Sergeant Cecil Dixon-he’s the other man-saved us too many times to count. We insisted he come too. There’re other guys in better shape than us; some Filipino Scouts, some Army footsloggers”-he shook his head-“and those China Marines. Weird ducks, but talk about survivors! We left them in charge.”

“No other officers?”

“There are; even a captain and a major, but most are in pretty rough shape. Everything from dysentery to malaria. Some of them are probably goners too, unless you have quinine.”

Sandra shook her head. “No quinine, I’m afraid, but we have other things that may help. We’ll do everything we can.” A bolt of terror suddenly slashed through her. “Commander Okada! Malaria!”

Okada was already nodding grimly. So far, the mosquitoes of this world, at least in the areas they’d touched, didn’t carry or transmit anything they’d noticed. Animals and ’Cats did get sick with evident viruses, but nothing seemed to pass to humans, or vice versa, and mosquitoes left nothing but large, itchy welts that sometimes got topically infected. Some of Walker ’s crew had suffered from malaria before, but there’d been no recurrences. Sandra theorized mosquitoes here had evolved a means of “decontaminating” the blood they took. After all, passing diseases among one’s food supply seemed a rather illogical evolutionary adaptation. Or maybe it wasn’t that at all. Maybe something in the diet here, perhaps even the various inebriating or curative products derived from the amazing polta fruit once again played a role? Regardless…

“Those with diseases of that sort are kept inside at all times, smeared evident protective lotions, and surrounded by a cordon of smoky fires.” Okada said. “It is all we can do.”

Sandra noticed he didn’t blame the sick men for this new threat to “his” people. Furthermore, he’d already considered the risk, and he took it anyway. That spoke well for him.

Throughout this exchange, Saan-Kakja had remained silent, absorbing all. Like her friend Rebecca, she was a mere youngling, even by her people’s standards; yet she’d displayed a level of maturity, wisdom, and determination far beyond her years in many respects. She continued to do so now by cutting to the heart of the matter.

“You have made your report… Mr. Okaa-daa. Forgive me if I’m not yet familiar with this new title you claim. I will try to learn how to speak it. You have my gratitude, and that of the Alliance as a whole, I’m sure. Not only have you rendered assistance to friends of our friends, but you bring warning of this… rogue force that wanders waters the Alliance considers its own. As I said before, we must decide how this news affects our priorities-and what we can do for you in return for this service.”

“With respect, Your Excellency, I might make a few recommendations-and a request.”

Saan-Kakja glanced briefly at her advisors and bowed her head.

“First, beyond a perhaps-increased patrol, equipped with the wireless gear you possess, we were not challenged short of your harbor defenses ourselves,” he inserted pointedly, “you should not significantly alter your plans. I understand you suffered sorely from the tsunami that also lightly affected my land, and in addition to the Grik menace, you also confront a new enemy in the east.”

“That is true,” Saan-Kakja conceded, “and with the demands of war and disaster, few resources have been spared for patrolling waters we considered secure. That must change. But surely, with this ‘Hido-i-aame’ full of murderers on the loose, we cannot ignore it!”

“You must not,” Okada agreed, “but it is alone and isolated for now. I trust you have monitored no transmissions of unknown origin?”

Shinya’s face reflected some doubt, but he shook his head. “There’s always… noise that sounds tantalizingly like communications, but nothing definitive from any but expected sources. If Hidoiame or her consort transmitted, they’d be heard.”

“I’m sure they can transmit,” Okada said, “Even Mizuki Maru has serviceable, if antiquated communications gear.” He blinked. “I’m frankly astonished they didn’t take it with them, or destroy it. Possibly, they were still somewhat overwhelmed. Regardless, you can be sure they’ve been monitoring your transmissions. Most likely, your code is secure, but they will recognize it as an American code. They will be cautious. They have no idea what they face, and no real understanding of their situation beyond what the people of Ani-aaki tried to tell them.”

His face clouded. “They will search for a place to stop, refit, consider their circumstances-much as we… or the American destroyers did when they arrived. Though powerful, I doubt they will seek heavily populated areas, at least with the same aggression they displayed at my Home. That said, even with the tanker, one of their most pressing concerns will be fuel, and that narrows the regional choices their commanders might make. The American defenses at Tarakan Island should be strengthened, for example. It was well-known in our world to be rich in petroleum. If they arrive here, or at other well-defended Allied ports, they could stand off beyond the range of your heavy guns and do much damage to your forts, but not enough to survive a forced passage, I suspect. Hidoiame is no Amagi. Consider her a more modern, more capable version of Walker. Even she couldn’t enter Maa-ni-la if you didn’t want her to. If Hidoiame does come seeking assistance, enters within range of your guns, you will know her. You can pound her to scrap or force her surrender, and capture the murderers aboard. In any event, as long as she does not slip so far away as to join your”-he paused, and his jaw muscles worked-“ our enemies, there are only so many places she can hide without our learning her whereabouts.”

Saan-Kakja blinked. “And should we learn her whereabouts, what do you propose we do?”

“I have a request, several actually, but they all serve the same end. First, I beg membership in the Grand Alliance on behalf of my people. I understand there are elements who desire to create a more formal-even permanent-union of the member states, and I-we-do not wish to be considered part of that faction at present, but I will guarantee loyal service for the duration of the current hostilities, however long they last. To facilitate that service, I beg that a medical mission be sent to Yokohama to tend those injured in the recent invasion, and to transport the former prisoners back here where they may be more properly tended, and perhaps employed by the cause. Finally, I ask that Mizuki Maru be immediately moved into your new dry dock so she might be properly repaired and sufficiently modified with increased bunker capacity, armor, or protective structures for her machinery, and as much of Amagi ’s salvaged secondary armament as can quickly be dispatched here from Baalkpan. These modifications will be undertaken with an eye to retaining Mizuki Maru ’s original, helpless appearance.”

Saan-Kakja hesitated only a moment. “O-kay,” she said, and the col- loquialism sounded strange from her lips. “The work you speak of will require considerable time and resources, but I will grant them if you tell me… why I should?”

Okada took a breath and his eyes flashed. “I’m sure you already suspect the answer, Your Excellency. Hidoiame is a threat to the Alliance. Moreover, her officers at least are responsible for the murder of helpless prisoners and more than a hundred People of Ani-aaki who were under my protection. I desire that my first assignment as a member of the Grand Alliance be to hunt down and take or kill Hidoiame and the tanker accompanying her, as well as everyone aboard them.”

“Very well, Mr. Okaa-daa. I accept your offer, your counsel, and your request.” Meksnaak stirred himself to protest, but Saan-Kakja silenced him with a glare. “It will be done,” she said. “I will request the arms you ask in my next dispatch to Chairman Adar. I don’t know what remains to be spared, but there should be something. A new frigate is currently being coppered in the dry dock, but the task will be complete in a few days. Your… Maa-ru will be the next ship to go in.” She looked at Shinya and Lelaa. “Second Fleet will depart as scheduled, but remain extra vigilant for this Jaap destroyer.”

“Thank you,” Captain Lelaa said. “Maybe we’ll find her. With our planes and long-range guns from Amagi, I hope we do! She can be no match for the mighty Maaka-Kakja,” she boasted.

“You’re probably right,” Okada said, but added ominously; “unless she has torpedoes!”

That thought sent a chill through everyone. It had been so long since Walker had anydoes, they’d almost forgotten about the weapons. There were few enemy targets worthy of the complicated machines. Bernie Sandison had a program dedicated to creating more, but it had received a low priority. Saan-Kakja determined to recommend he “get on the stick.”

“Colonel Shinya,” she continued, “I’m glad you’ve decided to go east yourself. Please inform the quartermaster which regiments you will take, and what their requirements are.” She gazed at him fondly. “I’ll miss you.” She looked at Rebecca, Sandra, and Laumer. “I’ll miss you all. But Captain Reddy needs you, and we will be fine here.”

The meeting began to dissolve. Okada looked at Shinya, gave him a brisk nod, and turned toward the chamber entrance, followed by his officers. Sandra, Laumer, and the corpsman helped the two former prisoners to their feet, and Shinya started to join them. Apparently, he thought better of it, and moved to speak further with Saan-Kakja.

“You’re both fliers, correct?” Sandra asked the men.

“Yeah,” Orrin answered, speaking directly to her for the first time. “Used to be. Probably not much use for us in the fight you’ve got here-although when there weren’t any more planes, Mack and I both fought with the Forty-fifth Philippine Scouts. We were in an antiaircraft crew on Corregidor when Wainwright threw in the towel too.”

“You might be surprised.” Laumer grinned.

“About what?”

“We have planes, homebuilt mostly, and pretty good ones. But also a few you might recognize.” Now Orrin remembered the one called “Captain Lelaa” referring to “planes,” and his ears perked up.

“No kidding?” Mackey demanded. He took on an almost-dreamy look. “Boy, it’d be swell to fly again.” Irvin Laumer looked significantly at Sandra. “Air Minister” Colonel (after his latest escapade) Benjamin Mallory was about to get yet another present.

“No kidding,” Irvin confirmed. “As a matter of fact, one of our new long-range jobs’ll be here tomorrow on its semiweekly run. It’s a goofy-looking beast; kind of like a PBY with three engines.”

The Baalkpan and Maa-ni-la “Internal Combustion Engine factories,” or “ICEhouses” as they’d come to be known, had virtually perfected the manufacture of a ridiculously simple, and even further simplified, Wright-Gypsy-type engine. The Alliance relied on them for everything from aircraft power plants, to “portable” generators and boat motors. So many were being produced that they had enough to send out spares-and experiment with multiengine aircraft. The little engines performed well and were extremely reliable since there was so little to go wrong with them. Mallory took them so much for granted now that he’d started bellyaching for bigger, lighter, air-cooled versions, and had begun to experiment with radials. “Officially, they’re PB-2s,” Irvin continued, “but everybody calls ’em ‘Buzzards.’ You’ll see why. Anyway, they carry ten passengers, or about two thousand pounds of freight. If you guys are up to it, we can get you and your buddy on its return flight to Baalkpan. That’s where the real ‘air stuff’ is going on.”

“That’d be swell,” Mackey repeated, “as long as I know everybody we left behind’ll be taken care of.”

“Of course they will be,” Sandra assured him. Suddenly, she remembered something she’d meant to ask earlier. “Excuse me, Lieutenant Reddy-Orrin. You said you’re from San Diego?”

“I don’t suppose…” She shook her head. How common was the Reddy name?

“What?”

“Well, you wouldn’t happen to be related to a Matthew Patrick Reddy, of the Navy?”

Orrin looked at her, astonished. “Sure. Tall guy? Brown hair, green eyes?”

Sandra nodded.

“He’s my first cousin! Six, seven years older than me. Used to take me hunting and fishing on his dad’s place. A good guy, but always bossing me around. I guess I needed it, though… Say, you don’t mean

…?” Sandra was still nodding, a grin spreading across her face. “I swear. The last letter I got from home, Mom wrote that he and his whole ship were MIA.” The sudden excitement seemed to tire the young man, and he slumped. “Of course, I’ve been MIA since shortly after that. Where is he?”

Sandra sobered. “Right now, he’s halfway around the world.” She managed a grin. “I’ll be going to join him with our new aircraft carrier within the week.”

“You his girl?”

Sandra hesitated, but only for a moment. Old habits die hard. “Yes,” she said. “I am.”

Orrin shook his head in admiration. “I figured you must be, soon as I realized what you were talking about. You’re the best-looking dame around, and Cousin Matt always could pick ’em!”

Sandra’s face heated, but the grin stayed. “There aren’t many ‘dames’ to choose from, but that’s starting to change. There are almost none where you’re going yet, but some will be along once they’ve been processed. There are plenty where Matt is now.”

“Maybe that ’s where we should go?” Mackey suggested hopefully.

Sandra laughed. “Maybe one of you, if you’re fit, but not all. Captain Lelaa might need someone with combat experience to advise her on air operations, even if our carrier aircraft are seaplanes.” She looked at the two pilots appraisingly. “And neither of you fly until you’ve got some meat back on your bones. That’s a medical order. Beyond that, if one of you feels up to the job, take it up with Captain Lelaa. The rest of you belong to Colonel Mallory!”

Orrin still seemed tired, but more engaged-far more so than during the conference. “Well of course I should go!” he said. “Matt Reddy’s family, after all.”

Mackey seemed philosophical. “Okay,” he said, “but there has to be a trade-off, if I go to this ‘Baalkpan’ place.”

“Sure,” said Sandra. “Good people, a relatively secure rear area to rest up, and a lot hotter aircraft!” She looked at Orrin. “And I hate to tell you, but Matt’s still going to be bossing you around!”

The next morning, the PB-2 flew over Maa-ni-la Bay when the purple-gray sky was marred only by an orange-pink slash. It rumbled over the water as if searching for a roost amid the haphazard cluster of masts and ships moored close in. Immense, seagoing Homes rested at anchor with their “wings” stowed diagonally across their decks like massive, snowy ridgelines, and Lemurians went about their morning chores aboard them. The two steam oilers that would accompany USS Maaka-Kakja east were jockeying for position at the fueling pier the carrier had abandoned during the night. They looked a lot like Allied frigates, but they weren’t as heavily armed and had broader beams.

Like the “Buzzard” she did resemble, with her fixed wingfloats that gave her a droop-winged appearance, the PB-2 lumbered slowly in, banked, and settled for a landing on the water short of the new pier dedicated to her visits. Line handlers awaited her approach as the pilot killed all but the center engine and maneuvered her expertly to a stop.

Sandra, Lawrence, and Irvin Laumer watched all this from the pier. Irvin was there to greet the tired passengers that crawled from the cramped waist of the plane. Most were “newies” from the Baalkpan Army-Navy Air Corps Training Center, and he’d take them to Maaka-Kakja . He didn’t have to be there, but the ship didn’t have a COFO yet. Besides, he liked to come down and look at the old S-19, moored nearby. She’d been his first command. There was just a skeleton crew aboard now, including Danny Porter and Sandy Whitcomb. Both had other jobs during the day, but they still slept on the boat. They’d accompany her to Baalkpan. Irvin knew the sub was a wreck, and her problems were almost insurmountable. Still, he couldn’t help thinking they’d need her someday.

Sandra was there to meet the PB-2’s copilot, or still more appropriately, her spotter/wireless operator who’d sent that he had a letter for her from Karen Letts, and after the traffic they’d begun picking up late the previous day, she felt compelled to get it herself. Lawrence came along simply because at some point, however briefly, Sandra might be by herself. She refused a protective detail, but he and a number of others had determined that nobody “important” ever be alone again. There was no mad “Company” warden in Maa-ni-la, but there were dissatisfied elements.

Tremendous activity was already underway at the waterfront. Troops had been crossing from Bataan all night and marching through the bustling shipyard district to bivouac on the plain beyond the city to prepare for embarkation. The predawn departure of the Maa-ni-la fishing fleet had caused some disorganization, but everything seemed back under control now. Mizuki Maru was still there, floating much higher in the water with the aid of shore-based pumps.

“Okay, dammit!” came a surly cry from within the passenger compartment of the plane. “I’m gettin ’ out! Quit pokin’ me!” A last, unexpected passenger crept carefully through the tiny hatch, and Sandra was surprised to recognize Gilbert Yeager, one of the bizarrely eccentric, original “Mice,” from Walker ’s firerooms. He was a chief now, but at heart, he’d always be a boilerman who loved nothing more than the music of steam and forced-draft fires. Despite his exalted status, he still looked like a rodent, sniffing the air and squinting his eyes. “Joint’s changed since I was here last,” he declared disapprovingly.

“Mr. Yeager!” Sandra exclaimed. “I never dreamed they’d pry you away from your… colleague, Mr. Rueben, once you’d been reunited!”

Gilbert snatched the new, somehow already grimy “Dixie cup” from his head and clutched it in his hands. “Beggin’ yer pardon, Miz Tucker,” he said, “but it was my damn turn, I s’pose. Isak went off last time, an’ he’s busy helpin’ to overhaul them jug-jumpers on Santa Catalina. He’ll prob’ly go back to First Fleet after that. They figgered there oughta be somebody in this new flat-top, might could light a fire in her guts an’ make her go.”

“I guess that means you belong to me,” Irvin said with a neutral expression. He was ecstatic to have Gilbert for his ex-juence, but.. . along with that experience, there was Gilbert to consider. He didn’t know the man well, but his reputation was widespread. Oh well, at least he wasn’t as weird as Isak…

“You say so, sir,” Gilbert replied forlornly. With the weary fliers and the unexpected addition in hand, Irvin took his leave of Sandra and Lawrence.

The ’Cat aircrew scrambled ashore, their new goggles pushed up between their ears, resembling another pair of darker eyes. They saluted Sandra. “Min’ster Tukker,” one said, “this for you.” He handed over a folded, rumpled sheet, sealed with a blob of wax. “We got more mail too!” he added. The other ’Cat, probably the pilot, saluted again and went to oversee the refueling of his plane. When he was satisfied it was in good hands, the aircrew would snatch a few hours of sleep before taking off again.

“More?”

“Yes! We bring new mail, person-aal!” The Lemurian seemed more excited that people could send personal letters so quickly than he was about wireless. “Whole big saack. I bring aa-shore, now I know somebody offish-aal here to see it get here!” He blinked seriously in the growing light. “I s’posed to waatch mail till then with one eye. No foolin!”

It wasn’t really a very big sack, and Lawrence took it. Sandra unfolded the letter from Karen as they walked away from the pier. They were finally making real paper in Baalkpan. She smiled at the hurriedly written note from her friend, describing the antics of her new daughter, Allison Verdia, but frowned when she noted Karen’s complaint about her husband, Alan, going “off to the war” when he didn’t have to. She felt a surge of irritation. Ultimately, it could be argued none of the “old” destroyermen, the humans, had to fight this war. When Lemurians took the same oath to join the same Navy the humans served, it wasn’t really the same, and everybody knew it. The United States of America didn’t even exist here. Though Matt considered the oath very real and essential, any ’Cat would tell you that ultimately, their oath was to Captain Reddy; the High Chief of the Amer-i-caan Naa-vee clan. Maybe Matt really didn’t see a difference. Sandra knew the meaning of his oath hadn’t changed-although it had been expanded considerably to encompass his new people. Still, if any of his “old hands” wanted to “retire” and go off in the jungle and live in a hut somewhere, Matt would probably let them.

She quickly forgave her friend. Karen had come a long way from the sobbing wreck she’d been when they first “got here.” If she was feeling put upon because her husband ran off to the sound of the guns, leaving her with a new baby and all her responsibilities as Deputy Minister of Medicine-doing Sandra’s job in her absence-it was understandable.

Sandra’s attention snapped back to the moment at the sound of a horrified shriek.

In their path stood a dark-haired, dusky-skinned woman in the loose-fitting, somewhat immodest working garb of the recently arrived immigrants from Respite Island. Sandra knew that, as they were “processed,” the women-virtual slaves within the Empire-were encouraged to wander the city at their own pace to grow accustomed to their freedom and this new culture. The processing consisted of little more than a checkup, a few short lectures about the laws and customs of Maa-ni-la, Baalkpan, and the seagoing Homes, and the assurance they could stay in their arrival compound where food and shelter were provided for a “reasonable” period while they decided whether they wanted to find a life in Maa-ni-la (there was plenty of work in the factories and shipyards), go on to Baalkpan(this was encouraged), or even join the Navy. (As far as Sandra knew, this last option hadn’t been seriously discussed with Matt; it was simply assumed. Female Lemurians joined the Navy, after all.)

The woman gave only the one cry, but stood ready to bolt, staring at Lawrence, her dark, pretty face contorted by an expression of terror.

“Don’t run, scared lady,” Lawrence said as softly as he could. “I not eat you!”

“Yes, please!” Sandra said. “He’s a friend! Perfectly ah… tame.” Sandra immediately regretted the inappropriate term. Lawrence wasn’t an animal. She hoped he wasn’t offended. “Do you understand?”

The woman assumed a doubtful expression, but some of the tension left her. “Course I do. Yer speakin’ ainglish, ain’t ye?”

Sandra was taken aback by the weird, almost-Cockney accent coming from what looked like a Polynesian princess. “Why, yes I am.”

“An’ he ain’t a dee-min, then? Looks loik a dee-min, er divil!”

“He’s neither, I assure you. He’s my good friend, and a friend of Princess Rebecca McDonald, daughter of the Governor-Emperor. His name’s Lawrence, and mine’s Sandra Tucker. What’s yours?”

The woman began to relax, but seemed to realize how brusquely she’d spoken to someone she shouldn’t even have addressed where she came from. She almost fled again, but maybe the lectures had gotten through, and she went to one knee and bowed her head instead. “Diania,” she whispered.

A burst of anger jolted Sandra. She hadn’t had a chance to visit the immigrant women, and now she knew she should’ve made time. The now-dead “Honorable New Britain Company” had long fostered a system of virtually perpetual indenture of women in the Empire to such a degree that even “free” women had little status. Matt had sent reports that seethed with his own disgust regarding the situation, and inflamed Sandra’s indignation, but this was her first real encounter with what he’d been talking about. “Stand up, Diania, and face me!” she demanded.

“Aye’m,” said the woman, and hastily stood, but kept her head bowed. She might have been slightly taller than Sandra if she stood straight, but Sandra wouldn’t press or berate her-yet.

“Remember,” she said more gently, “it’s different here than where you’re from. Soon, it’ll be different there,” she swore. “You may always bow your head as a sign of respect, if you choose, but never kneel to anyone!” She gestured ahead. “Lawrence and I were just heading back to Navy headquarters-to deliver the mail.” She smiled. “Would you care to walk with us?”

“Ah…” Diania said, teetering, but nodded. “Aye’m, if ye wouldnae mind. P’raps ye may halp me wi’ me thoughts.”

“Of course,” Sandra said, encouraged. Together, the trio resumed walking. “Maybe you’d like some advice about what to do next?” she guessed.

“Aye’m,” Diania mumbled. “I labored in tha Comp’ny repair yard on Respite. I’m a carpentress by trainin’.” She held out her small hands, proudly displaying the calluses. “I kin go ta the Manilly shipyard fer work, but I know naught aboot Baalkpan.” She seemed amazed she had a choice to go there.

“It’s much the same,” Sandra said. “Not quite as large, and surrounded by thicker forests. Hotter too. But there’s more innovation, more experimentation. It’s becing more iron and steel oriented, however. I suspect the machine shops are the finest in the world and the foundries are probably beginning to rival anything in the Empire.” There was still much steel being salvaged from sunken Amagi in the bay, but Commander Brister had Baalkpan’s first Bessemer process foundries turning out real steel now as well. He had both open hearth and electric arc blast furnaces to play with.

Diania looked dubious. She knew little about metals, except some made better tools than others.

Sandra suddenly smiled inwardly. “Of course, you could join the Navy. They’re always looking for good carpenter’s mates,” she said in a casual tone.

That afternoon, many gathered at the “Buzzard’s Roost” to witness the departure of the PB-2. Lieutenant Mackey and Sergeant Cecil Dixon would be making the trip to Baalkpan, leaving Orrin Reddy to go east with Sandra and Task Force Maaka-Kakja. Sister Audry, the Dominican nun who’d endured the same captivity, travails, and terrors as those abducted by the criminal Billingsley, was going back to Baalkpan too, along with Sa’aaran “scouts” and Abel Cook. Now that it was time to go, Abel was reluctant to leave despite the exciting mission that awaited him. He had a fair-size, long-standing crush on Princess Rebecca, and there was no telling when he’d see her again. Sandra, Rebecca, and Captain Lelaa hugged Audry, and Tex, Laumer, Lawrence, and Midshipman Brassey gave her respectful salutes. Audry smiled wistfully, then made her way carefully into the cramped fuselage. The ground crew scampered out on the broad wing and spun the dorsal engine until it coughed to life.

“Now all that remains is that ridiculous Dennis Silva,” Rebecca said. Her tone belied the words. She was sorry to see Abel go, and wasn’t at all happy Dennis was leaving. Drooped across her shoulders was a small, strange, brightly colored, feathery reptile named Petey, who’d adopted the princess on Shikarrak Island. He had membranous wings of a sort, and though he couldn’t fly, he could glide considerable distances. He also had a very foul mouth since he could imitate speech like a parrot-and some of the first words he’d heard were spoken by Dennis Silva. His vocabulary had improved somewhat, as had his possible understanding of the significance of a word or two. The only word he was known to understand entirely was “eat.”

“Rid-culus Silva!” the creature chirped, acting suspiciously as if looking for the man.

“Here I am, you little creep!” boomed a voice.

“Creep!” Petey screeched. “Goddamn!”

“Shush now, dear,” Rebecca said, stroking the little lizardy head. Her tone became more severe when she saw Silva bowling through the crowd. “Here you are at last! Everyone is waiting for you!” She paused, almost speechless. “What on earth have you been doing?” she finally managed. Silva was literally covered from head to foot with thick, dark grease.

“Uh… well, I was over at the bearing works, helpin’ some ’Cats play machinist, see? Somethin’ happened, an’… we had us a calammitus grease-packin’ dee-zaster. Well, I realized the time, an’ figgered I better light along here before I was listed AWOL an’ hanged.” He held up a tiny rag. “I’ll wipe this goop off on the way. It’ll give me somethin’ to do.”

“Silva… you’re… indescribable.” Sandra giggled.

“Aw shucks. Thanks,” he said with his lopsided, signature grin, which always made Sandra a bit nervous. Seems ever’body’s always either wantin’ me hanged, or heapin’ me with praise!”

“Or grease,” Laumer inserted.

Silva opened his arms wide and advanced toward Rebecca. “Gimme a hug, li’l sis!”

The princess backed away. “I will not! Go away this instant, you filthy beast!”

Dennis shrugged, then turned to Sandra and the others and snapped a sharp, greasy salute. “So long,” he said. “Don’t never say I didn’t warn ya, when vicious sea monsters is pullin’ yer ships down to doom, the beer’s too warm, and ever’thing’s goin’ awry ’cause ol’ Silva ain’t there to save the day!” He darted for the plane, and just before he vanished through the tiny hatch, he tossed something at the water, but it took a wrong bounce on the dock and rolled to a stop on the wooden planks.

Its last passenger aboard, the ground crew spun the outboard props and scurried back to the pier. With the newly started engines at idle, the strange seaplane wallowed away and made for a clearing in the harbor traffic.

“He is a spiteful, senseless beast,” Rebecca said sternly, tears streaking her face.

“Yes, he is,” Sandra agreed with a small smile. Brassey had gone to retrieve whatever it was Silva tossed. He brought it to them, carefully unwadding a sheet of paper. “It would seem Mr. Silva got some mail as well,” Sandra observed, taking the page. “I probably shouldn’t read it.” She did. Lughead:

Now you’re not dead anymore, Mr. Riggs say’s you’re coming home. I know you won’t want to, probably because something needs doing, but I miss you so bad. Risa’s gone, you’re gone, and I’m stuck here all alone. Our whole little family has fallen apart. You’re MINE, you big goon, and if you skip out on me, I swear I’ll marry that stump Laney, just to spite you. Love and lots of kisses,

Pam

She wished she hadn’t. The reference to Risa still didn’t prove or disprove any of the theories regarding that part of the… relationship, but Pam’s feelings were clear, and Sandra’s heart went out to the nurse from Brooklyn. She also had the strangest feeling Pam Cross probably shouldn’t have claimed ownership of Dennis Silva. She looked at the curious faces around her and quickly wadded the note back into a ball, then tossed it into the sea.