"Well," said Matt, "since the charts are correct, that eliminates The Time Machine, according to you, Mr. Bradford. Also, there's the matter of furry people with tails on ships bigger than the Hornet. That leaves The Lost World our most likely scenario." Sandra looked at him, surprised that he'd read those works.
"Actually," said Courtney Bradford, "I think you're both wrong."
"So what do you think?" asked Matt with a half smile.
Bradford looked solemn. "I don't know yet. I expect an epiphany once we've done more than just sail about. The water looks quite the same as before, you know." There was a hint of accusation in his tone.
"Quite the same except for the fish," said Sandra dryly.
Bradford bowed his head to her, conceding the point. "Indeed." He paused and looked down at the table, then glanced at them both. "Have you ever considered how your life might have been if you'd done something different? What a monumental impact some choice or deed can have on the rest of your life? Captain, what if you hadn't joined the Navy? What would you be like today? Would you even be the same person? Some people think, if they think about it at all, that they'd be the same, just doing something different. I disagree. I believe it's our actions, as well as the context and environment in which those actions take place, that make us what we are. But what if? What if your mother had never met your father? Your grandmother, your grandfather? What if the United States had lost its revolutionary war? What if the Roman Empire had never fallen—or never existed? What would the world be like today? Would it be much the same, except for that one small thing?"
Neither Matt nor Sandra answered. Matt just looked at him with a tired, speculative expression. Sandra's face wore no expression at all, but the clenching muscles in her jaw betrayed a growing tension.
"I think the world would be entirely different," Bradford continued quietly, "and the more distance between the moment of change and the present, the more profound the differences would be."
"I've . . . studied history a little," Matt said self-consciously. "I've often wondered `what if ' about a lot of things. I suppose every historian does, whether they admit it or not. What if the South had won the Battle of Gettysburg, for example, or that Serb hadn't shot the archduke of Austria? Things might've been different. Maybe a lot different." He looked at the Australian. "What's that got to do with anything?"
"Maybe nothing," said Courtney Bradford in a cryptic, falsely cheerful tone. "Maybe everything."
The sun rose sharp and fierce in a cloudless sky. The storm, if it could be called that, was over, leaving only a slight chop as Walker eased back into the gap between Bali and Menjangan Island. All through the night they'd searched but found no sign of Mahan, and everyone harbored a forlorn hope they'd find her where they left her. Matt considered it possible, even likely, that if Jim couldn't nurse his ship all the way to their rendezvous, he'd bring her back here, thinking it the first place Matt would look. Unfortunately, when they cleared the shoals and nosed into their previous anchorage, they were disappointed.
Bali remained a clear reminder that they were lost to the world they knew, its shores still teeming with unlikely creatures and its unterraced coastline a vast, panoramic plain broken by copses of unfamiliar palmlike trees. Again the crew lined the rails to stare. Unlike the sea—normally a destroyerman's natural element, but now one that inspired dread—the land seemed populated by comparatively pastoral creatures. They all remembered the lizard that bit Leo Davis and made him so sick, but that was on Menjangan Island. Maybe they weren't on Bali. The pygmy "brontosauruses" and other apparent herbivores browsed, cowlike, in full view and in broad daylight, seemingly content and unafraid of predators.
They crept closer. The outdated charts showed plenty of water, but Matt figured two hundred yards was close enough, and they dropped the hook once more. He peered at the shore and Courtney Bradford already had his "own" binoculars up. Matt wasn't sure whose they'd originally been, but possession being what it was, he doubted the owner would get them back. He shook his head with a little grin.
"Lieutenant Dowden, you have the deck. We'll remain here for the day and hopefully Mahan'll show up. Double lookouts at all times. I'm not really worried about Japs anymore, but anchored, we can't maneuver. I think we've had enough surprises for a while. In the meantime, you'll plot a course for Surabaya. If Mahan doesn't show by dusk, we'll proceed there." He looked at Bradford and saw the desolate expression. His grin returned. "Mr. Bradford, Mr. Letts, and a small party will accompany me ashore. Have Campeti break out Springfields, sidearms, and ammunition for a party of eight. Hmm, better make that ten pistols, and throw in a tommy gun and one of the BARs. We'll leave two men and the Thompson with the boat."
He studied the contrast between Bradford's excited happiness and Lieutenant Dowden's horror. He chuckled. "Don't worry, Larry, we won't wander off. In fact, I don't intend to leave sight of the ship. It's time we saw face-to-face what we're up against. But if we get in over our heads, be ready to blow the hell out of anything we can't handle. Understood?"
Dowden swallowed. "Yes, sir. Aye, aye, sir."
Silva hefted a BAR and a bandolier of ammunition. He flashed his friends a toothy grin. "I'm goin' a'huntin'!" he said as he took his place with the other members of the shore party, climbing down into the whaleboat. They were Carl Bashear, Mack Marvaney, Glen Carter, and Alfred Vernon. Tony Scott and Fred Reynolds would remain with the boat on the beach. They were in it now, waiting for the others. Silva watched Marvaney climb down ahead of him. His expression was wooden, almost vacant. "Cheer up, Mack!" he said. "It'll be a hoot!" Marvaney glanced up at him and smiled, but the expression never reached his eyes.
Reynolds stood in the bow with his Springfield at the ready, and Scott fiddled with the throttle, a Thompson slung on his shoulder. Blue smoke rose from the idling motor as one by one the party descended the rungs welded to the side of the ship. The captain went last and he paused before he did, looking briefly at the faces nearby. Lieutenant Garrett wore an anxious expression, and Matt winked.
"You and Larry take care of my ship, hear?" His eyes flicked toward number three. It was manned, and already trained to port. Stites was its captain and he met Matt's gaze with a confident nod. He nodded back and looked at Garrett. "Carry on, Lieutenant," he said and disappeared over the side. As soon as he stepped into the boat and found a seat, Scott advanced the throttle. With a gurgling rumble they left Walker's comforting side and steered for the mysterious shore.
Immediately, they felt the bumping, and several men exchanged nervous glances. Even Silva gave a start when something hit the hull under his foot. They knew it must be the vicious silvery fish—or something like them—but fortunately nothing bigger saw fit to taste the boat. In spite of the heat, gooseflesh crept along Matt's arms at the very thought of falling overboard. The memory of the feeding frenzy for the shipwrecked Japanese was vivid.
There was a breeze out of the south-southwest and the sea was still choppy. Little packets of spray misted them as they neared land. The sky was almost painfully bright and clear, and its contrast with the shoaling water became less and less distinct. The greens of vegetation were more or less as they should have been and the sun was as bright and hot as always. Letts tried to keep his lotion-smeared skin under the shade of a wide straw hat. The normalcy of the scene only accentuated the striking abnormality of their situation and the impossible creatures grazing along on the coastal plain ahead.