“Indeed,” Bradford said again. “I would think it’s inevitable. Something, some force, connects this world with ours. In the past, our world’s oceans were vast, mostly empty places, yet there have been many unexplained disappearances there. Perhaps some of those unfortunates wound up here as well. But right now, on our earth, a global war is under way and the seas are packed with many thousands of modern, quite seaworthy vessels. If my theory is correct, I fear it’s just a matter of time before we meet another lost traveler like ourselves, and it could happen anytime, anywhere.”
For a long moment there was silence on the bridge. Chief Quartermaster’s Mate Norman Kutas at the wheel, who’d clearly heard at least the gist of the conversation, finally broke it. “Well, if we do run into somebody else,” he said, “I hope to God they’re on our side. We got enough folks mad at us as it is.”
Glaring at Kutas, Bradford lowered his voice still further. “There is yet another quite bizarre possibility,” he said.
“Oh, no,” moaned the Bosun.
Bradford ignored him. “Just as we’ve discovered beyond any serious possible debate that there are two earths, as it were, how can we assume there are not many, many more?”
Walker put in briefly at Paga-Daan, long enough only for Matt to go ashore and express his sympathies and for his ship to fill her bunkers from one of the tankers moored there. There were two so far and more on the way. Most would probably take their time, creeping along the archipelago and down the Mindanao coast. Matt couldn’t blame their captains, but he wanted to make sure the commanders and crews of the ships already there, that had taken the more dangerous route across the Celebes Sea, were recognized. Bunkers full, Walker steamed away before sunset, haze blurring the tops of three funnels.
Churning south-southeast, Matt now had a choice to make. He could continue in Jenks’s wake until he caught the Imperial within two or three days at most, or he could lose another day and swing south to Talaud. Irvin Laumer and his crew had been out of touch since the loss of Simms, and Talaud was a dangerous place. Once he caught up with Jenks he’d be slowed down, regardless, and they had to be closing the gap on Billingsly. Achilles was bigger and faster than Ajax and she’d been replenished periodically, allowing her to steam ahead in the face of contrary or indifferent winds. But where could Ajax refuel? She might have stopped and cut trees for her boiler on any number of islands, but that would have slowed her even more. Matt doubted Billingsly would have done so initially, but chances were the man considered himself safe from pursuit by now. He knew the Alliance had nothing beyond the Philippines, and Simms and the feluccas were the last gauntlet he had to pass. He would be in for a surprise.
But what of Laumer? With the full concurrence of his officers, Matt decided he had to check on the young lieutenant’s situation and at least leave him a transmitter. They recrossed the Celebes Sea in the dark of night and a severe rain squall, sonar pounding the depths. It was in these very waters, this bottleneck to the vast Pacific-or Eastern Sea-that Walker had once encountered two mountain fish in close proximity. The sonar had chased one away and they were pretty sure they’d killed the other one, but there was something about the area apparently, maybe the food-bearing currents, that allowed a higher percentage of the monsters to coexist than usual. In any event, in addition to the sonar, they made the crossing with extra lookouts, keen-eyed Lemurians scanning the sea for basking behemoths under the glare of the searchlights. None were seen.
Dawn revealed Talaud’s hazy outline under an oppressive gray sky. Campeti was serving as Walker ’s gunnery officer for the voyage and he had the deck. He knocked quietly on the charthouse hatch and opened it a crack. Matt had taken to sleeping on a cot inside, intent even in sleep on the green flashes that lit the quiet sonarman’s scope. He liked to be handy if he was needed, but also, even though the new mattresses they’d made for the ship’s crew were comfortable, nobody had gotten around to fixing the fan in his stateroom. It got awfully stuffy in there.
“Captain, you awake?” Campeti asked.
“Sure,” Matt said, sitting up. He glanced at the sonarman. A ’Cat was usually in the chair, but Fairchild, Mahan ’s chief sonarman or sound man, had taken the watch for this stretch. “Anything?” he asked.
“Nothing, Skipper. We’re going too fast to really tell, but since we’re trying to scare stuff off instead of hunting, I guess that’s a good thing.”
Matt grunted. “What’s up, Campeti?”
“Talaud’s off the starboard bow. It looks… kinda queer.”
“I’m on my way.”
Staas-Fin, one of Ronson’s best electrician’s mates, stood behind the big brass wheel and Courtney and Spanky were on the bridge when Matt joined them, putting on his hat. He hadn’t shaved. Of all the crew, Matt always tried to keep himself clean-shaven, but that was hard to do, sleeping in the charthouse. He needed to see if Staas-Fin, or “Finny,” could fix his fan. Otherwise, he might as well give up and grow a beard like the rest of the men. He wasn’t ready to let Juan shave him on the bridge in the captain’s chair. “What’s up?” he repeated.
Spanky pointed at the island. “Well, it looks a little different, for starters,” he said.
“Wow,” Matt muttered, agreeing. The quiescent volcanic mountain he remembered had grown significantly since he saw it last and the thick haze either came from it, or was the aftermath of some action on its part. The air had an acrid taste. The top of the mountain was lost to view, but there were occasional flashes of light, either from lightning or maybe even lava arcing into the sky.
“Fascinating!” Bradford exclaimed.
“Yeah. I hope our guys are all right,” Matt said.
“Hey,” said Spanky, “where’re all the damn birds?” On their previous visit the ship had been swarmed with lizard birds and even some real birds that pestered them constantly and defecated all over the ship. Nobody replied. They had no answer.
Just before noon, Walker rounded the northeast point of the island and entered the wide lagoon where they’d found the submarine. The sky was even blacker, but the air had cleared with a northerly breeze. At least they could breathe. Anchoring in almost the exact spot as before, they swung out the launch and steered for shore. Matt, Spanky, and the Bosun were accompanied by Stites, Chack, and six Marines. The Marines were the ones Chack thought had gained the most proficiency with their muskets.
At first glance, the camp around the submarine looked deserted. A lot of work had clearly been done and the sub itself actually seemed afloat in a basin on the beach. No smoke rose from the generator engine boiler, however, and as they drew near they could see a literal swarm of what looked like bizarre lobster corpses on the beach.
“What the hell?” Gray murmured. The launch’s engine seemed to attract someone’s attention, because as the bow nudged against the sand, a figure stood up from behind hasty-looking breastworks.
“Captain Reddy, is that you?” came a cry. The men and ’Cats jumped out of the boat and advanced. Other faces, eyes drooping with fatigue, peered over the breastworks as they approached.
“My God, Lieutenant Laumer?” Matt asked incredulously. The scruffy beard and tattered clothes left the man almost unrecognizable.
“Yes, sir, it’s me!” Laumer said, grinning. He looked out at the Lagoon. “ Walker, sir! There she is! Boy, is she a sight for sore eyes! Looks almost new!”
“What happened here, Lieutenant?” Matt asked, glancing at one of the dead creatures. It did look something like a lobster, although it was skinnier, proportionately, and appeared less heavily armored. The head was different and the leg arrangement looked more like a spider’s. The pincers were long and tapered like a scorpion’s. Most of the corpses looked like they’d been blown open fairly easily with bullets.