"I marvel at their weapons, but I confess greater envy for their speed," Keje said.
"What need we of speed?" Jarrik asked. "We live on the sea and by the sea. If we flew to and fro with such speed as theirs, we couldn't hunt the gri-kakka or even launch the boats."
"They do not always fly, and they slow to launch their smaller craft— which also move without wings or oars," Keje pointed out. "But if we had such speed, we would never have lost so many people. The Grik could not have caught us."
"True," agreed Adar, "but I've been wondering something, and Jarrik's thoughts about the fish hunt reinforce my—I hesitate to call them concerns, but . . ."
Keje frowned at him and blinked impatience. Since the incident with the Scrolls, Adar had become the skeptic. "What troubles you about our new friends now, besides their impious treatment of Scrolls?"
Adar looked uncertain. "I'm not sure, and I'm less concerned about the Scroll issue than I was, although other Sky Priests may be less understanding. I've yet to form an opinion regarding their piety, but it's clear that they have more Scrolls than we. I greedily learn their tongue so I can make sense of them. Bradford has explained much, and although it's impossible, I'm sure he actually believes they have Scrolls mapping the entire world! Even the bottom!" Adar chuckled. "For such a learned creature, he harbors some unusual notions!"
Keje looked at his friend, amused. "What, do Amer-i-caans believe the world is flat?"
Adar blinked a negative, but couldn't conceal a gentle grin. "No, lord, but he—and perhaps others—does not understand the most basic Laws of Things. That sweet water falls from the sky as a gift from the Heavens but, as it sours and turns to salt, it gets heavier and slowly slides off to the side of the world until it falls off." He grinned wider and quoted an old cliche. "No one can stand on the bottom of the world." The others laughed.
"Do their silly notions concern you, Brother?" Keje asked.
Adar's grin quickly faded. "No, lord. Two things brought the question to mind, and before you ask me what question, let me proceed. First, as far as we know, the Amer-i-caans do not hunt gri-kakka, or any fish at all. Nor do they grow crops. As amazing as their ship is, it's very small—which I must say became quite evident after a very short time—and dependent upon gish for fuel. That's the smoke from their pipes. Surely you recognize the stink? It's burning gish. I don't know how it works, but they must have gish, and quite a lot of it."
Keje blinked. "So? That's no problem. We know where there is much gish and they are welcome to it for helping us."
"Of course, but my point is, the Amer-i-caans are tied to the land by necessity. They eat only things of the land, as does their ship. They cannot be a true, self-sufficient, seafaring race such as we. I also know they don't spring from any land I've seen, and together we've seen it all." He held up his hand. "Second, and perhaps most striking, they have only two females. Not only is that obviously far too few, but they are not even mated."
"Most unusual," agreed Keje, "and perhaps unnatural. But I had the impression that the first healer—their `high' healer, I suppose—was mated to their leader. The times we have seen them together, she seems to argue with him enough! Perhaps among them, only leaders may mate?"
"Not so, lord. She and the other female healer are not mated."
They were all silent a moment, pondering.
"Well. I can certainly understand your perplexity, but what about this is sinister?"
"I never suggested it was sinister, lord. Merely strange—and in keeping with my question. When their healer came to help our wounded, she was obviously shocked to learn that many of our warriors are female, that we make no distinction regarding them when it comes to fighting. I asked Bradford about this, and he confirmed that among them, females do not fight."
"Go on," Keje prompted.
"Their ship bristles with weapons and has no obvious means of support. There are no females aboard, except two healers who do not fight because they're not supposed to." Adar looked at the others and paused to convey significance. The sun had almost vanished, but they still saw the destroyer cruising lazily, effortlessly, ahead. The reflected glare from the last rays of light hid her rust streaks and other imperfections. A single wisp of smoke floated from the aftermost pipe, and heat shimmered at the top. The curious piece of cloth they called a "flag" flapped tautly from the small mast that could have little other purpose than to fly it. "With this evidence, the only conclusion I can draw is that the Amer-i-caan ship has only one purpose: it's a ship meant entirely for war." He sighed. "What manner of people, besides the Grik, would build such a ship, and why so formidable? Did you see that many of the holes they patched were larger than the holes in their weapons? It strikes me that they have been shot at by something with bigger `guns' than theirs. The Grik have nothing that would do that, or they would have used it on us. Besides, they claim to know even less about the Grik than we." Adar frowned and his eyes rested speculatively on the dark shape as the sun sank from view.
"So what is this question of yours, after all?" Keje asked.
"Only this: have we befriended a flasher-fish, only to find a gri-kakka on its tail?"
Reveille blared in the forward berthing space at 0400 to signal the morning watch. Sleepy men groused and cursed, rolling from their three-tiered racks. Chack, however, practically vaulted from his—one of the uppermost—and quickly donned the white T-shirt that Alan Letts had given him to make him look more Navy-like than the red kilt alone—his only other garment. "Good morning, good morning!" he chanted cheerfully, weaving through the dressing men and scampering up the companionway.
"Ain't natural," grumped Rodriguez, who'd finally been restored to full duty. "Even monkey-cats can't be that happy to wake up every day. He's settin' a bad example. It'll ruin morale, I tell you."
Elden grinned. "Sleep on deck and you won't have to watch him in the morning."
"Hell, I would! But every time, I get woke up drenched by a squall."
"You'd rather get woke up drenched by sweat?"
Rodriguez shrugged. "This close to the equator, don't much matter where you sleep, you're gonna do that. Sometimes I actually pity those damn snipes. I bet it hits a hundred and forty in the fireroom today."
"Hey, man, God didn't make 'em snipes. If we were in the North Atlantic they'd be toasty warm and wouldn't feel sorry for us, out on the icy deck."
"Icy deck!" moaned Leo Davis dreamily from his rack. Ever since Lieutenant Tucker had applied the Lemurian salve to his leg, he'd rapidly improved. So much, in fact, that some began to suspect him of malingering. He stretched and smiled. "Is it morning already? Which one of you fellas'll bring me breakfast in bed?"
Elden pitched a rancid sock on his chest, and Davis yelped and squirmed, trying to get out from under it without touching it. "Damn you! I'm an invalid!"
Chief Gray poked his head down the companionway. "Move it, you apes! Skipper's lookin' at his watch! If you ain't at your GQ stations in one minute he's gonna throw a fit!"
"I wonder why we're still doin' that?" Elden pondered aloud after Gray disappeared. Every morning watch, Walker's crew manned their general quarters posts until two hours after dawn so they'd be prepared while the ship was most vulnerable—when an enemy might see her silhouette before her lookouts saw the enemy. After that, she steamed under condition III alert, with half her weapons manned all day. "Ain't no Jap subs out there," Elden continued. "Ain't no Jap ships or planes. Ain't no Jap Navy. Hell, there ain't no Japs, 'cept ours!"