“How come these people build everything so high off the ground?”
Chack looked at him blankly, then his eyelids fluttered with amusement and he grinned. “Is, ah, tradition? Yes. Remind us of old ways. Also, keep dry when high water. Bad land lizards not climb good, too.”
Matt grinned back at him. “Makes sense to me!” With that, he made his own way up.
Large as it was, Captain Reddy never imagined that the enormous hall he entered would possibly hold all who came along, but it did-as well as an equal number of locals. The size and shape reminded him of an oversized basketball court, dimly lit by oil lamps that exuded a pleasant, if somewhat fishy smell. Huge beams supported the vaulted ceiling and great gaudy tapestries lined the walls, stirring gently with the soft breeze from banks of open shutters. Dominating the center of the hall, the trunk of the massive Galla tree disappeared into the gloom above. Except for the size of the tree and the height of the ceiling, it looked like the Great Hall on Big Sal. Matt guessed there were close to five hundred occupants, talking animatedly, and for the moment, no one paid them any heed.
Along one wall, a long bar was laid with colorful dishes heaped with food. Every ten feet or so was a cluster of copper pitchers containing a dark amber liquid that smelled like honey and bread. Matt saw others grab pitchers and begin to drink, so he seized one each for himself and Sandra. Bradford took one too, but when the other destroyermen moved in that direction, Lieutenant Garrett scowled and shook his head. Matt peered into his pitcher and sipped experimentally. He looked at Bradford, surprised.
“Tastes… sort of like beer,” he said. “Not bad, either.” Sandra took a tentative sip and Bradford raised his mug. A moment later, he lowered it and smacked his lips.
“Ahhh! Beer! We’ve more in common with these Lemurians than we ever dreamed! I’d think the alcohol content is rather high as well.”
Matt glanced at Garrett and the security detachment and felt a pang of remorse. They looked at him like dogs watching him eat. “Go ahead, men, but just one mug apiece. Mr. Garrett? See to it. All we need now is drunken sailors!” He and Sandra politely moved along the bar with the crowd, sampling small dishes here and there. The spices were different and some were quite brutal. Many of Big Sal’s ’Cats proudly pointed out this or that and made suggestions, but most of the locals just watched, wide-eyed.
“Cap-i-taan Riddy!”
Matt turned toward the somewhat familiar voice and faced Kas-Ra-Ar, Keje’s cousin, and captain of his personal guard.
“Com plees.”
Bradford had obviously been as busy teaching English on Big Sal as Chack had been learning it on Walker.
“By all means,” Matt replied. “Mr. Garrett? Please supervise our protectors. Lieutenant Tucker, Mr. Bradford, would you accompany me?”
They followed Kas through the boisterous throng, threading their way down the far side, away from the buffet. At the other end of the hall, they came to a less-packed space, where Keje and Adar stood near a seated figure dressed in flowing robes of red and gold. The figure was easily the fattest Lemurian they’d seen, but he gave no impression of sedentary weakness. His dark fur was sleek and shiny with just a hint of silver, and he radiated an aura of strength and power despite the massive stomach his hands laid upon. He regarded them with keen, intelligent eyes as they approached and raised his hand palm outward and thundered a greeting in his own tongue.
Matt returned the gesture, and the Lemurian’s eyes flicked to the sword at his side. Keje spoke quickly in Nakja-Mur’s ear. While the Lemurian chief watched them, unblinking, Adar translated to Courtney Bradford.
“Never has he seen someone make the Sign of the Empty Hand when that person’s hand wasn’t empty. I believe he’s referring to your sword, old boy.”
Matt glanced with surprise at the sheathed ceremonial weapon. They’d worn the swords-as before-to seem less exotic. It hadn’t occurred to him that it might cause trouble. Keje would have warned them if they were committing some terrible breach of convention. Wouldn’t he? He thought quickly. “Tell him my hand is empty. Among our people, only the unsheathed weapon is a threat because it shows intent. The sign is given as a token of friendship and reflects more the intent than the actual fact.”
“It is a lie, then?” came the question. Keje seemed uncomfortable and Adar radiated an air of vindication. Matt felt a surge of anger and wondered if they’d been set up. Sandra unobtrusively squeezed his arm.
“Tell him it’s not a lie. We came here as friends, as we came to the aid of Salissa Home. We’d like to be the friends of all the People. Since our intentions are friendly, not making the sign would have been a lie. Among our people, friends may go among one another armed and still remain friends. Is that not the case among his?”
After the translation, Nakja-Mur just stared for a moment, but then slowly, his lips parted into a grin. Matt looked at Keje and saw he was already smiling. “I tell Nakja-Mur you people always armed because you always… warriors. Always. You ship made for fighting only. Not so?”
Finally, they’d come to the point. He’d never lied about it, but he had downplayed it. Now, Matt knew, there was only one possible answer. The truth.
“USS Walker is a ship of war,” he admitted quietly.
“Who you fight?” Adar asked. “Who you fight all the time to need ship only for war?”
Matt realized it was the first time he’d heard the Sky Priest speak English. “We fight the enemies of our people… and the enemies of our friends.”
“You fight Grik?” Adar translated for Nakja-Mur.
“We’ve already fought the Grik.”
“You fight again?”
Matt glanced at Sandra and Bradford. They were both looking at him, realizing that what he said in the next few moments might have grave consequences for them all.
“If the Grik come and you can’t fight them alone, we’ll help. That’s what friends do. But friends don’t ask friends to do all their fighting for them.”
Nakja-Mur spoke to Adar, all the while watching Matt’s face as if curious how to interpret human expressions. Adar repeated his words as carefully as he could. “After battle tale of U-Amaki Ay Salissa”-he paused and looked at Matt-“Keje tell fight. Grik fight bad, but hard. Fight new way, bigger ship. More Grik than see before.” He took a quick gulp from his tankard. “New thing,” he said. “Different thing. Maybe Grik come… bigger, like long ago.”
Matt was concerned about the Grik, of course, but he wasn’t too worried about Walker’s ability to handle several of their ships at once, if need be. They were the “Ancient Enemy,” that much he understood, and he knew the ’Cats held them in almost superstitious dread-with good reason. But he guessed he’d begun to think of them more along the lines of his “Malay pirate” model than as an actual expansionist menace. They’d been “out there” for thousands of years, after all. His assessment was based on his limited conversations, as well as the lack of any evident preparations to meet a serious threat. Especially here. He’d shifted his primary concern to establishing good enough relations with the Lemurians that they would help with fuel and repairs. If a limited alliance, in which Walker chased off a few Grik now and then, was the only way to meet those needs, then he was prepared to agree to one, but he wanted to avoid an “entangling” alliance that left either too dependent on the other.