“But if they were British,” interrupted Sandra, “why teach the Lemurians Latin?”
“They’d probably already figured out how messed up everything was, just like we did. According to Naga, they’d already run into the Grik too. They didn’t want anybody knowing too much about them and, ultimately, where they went. But they had to communicate, just like us, and it probably seemed safe to teach the Lemurians a language no one knew. That would still leave them, or anyone else, unable to read their charts or get much information from the crew at large.”
“That makes sense, I suppose,” said Bradford, nodding. He glanced at Keje, who looked a little annoyed they were talking so long among themselves, but the other Lemurians just stared. “Thank God they didn’t take cannon with them,” he said fervently.
“That seems clear,” Matt confirmed, “just like their Scrolls say. No weapons, or at least no extraordinary weapons, are mentioned to have been encountered since. I think it’s safe to assume they must’ve removed the guns from the westbound ship. If they hadn’t, the Grik would be using them and the Lemurians would damn sure know about them. Ask their old priest how long they’ve been fighting the Grik this round, and how long the Grik have been using this type of ship.”
“The Grik have pushed us this time for only the last generation,” Naga answered. “Until then, they were content to remain upon the land to the west. They’d still been mostly creatures of legend. But now they come again. It’s just like the ancient times. The Grik come slowly at first, just a few at a time-but there are always more.”
Keje spoke and Adar translated, since his English still wasn’t up to the task. “During fight you help us, was first time we see such ships. Before, they look same, but… smaller.”
“It seems a stretch that their naval architecture hasn’t changed in three hundred years, except to enlarge an existing design.”
“The Grik are not innovators,” Keje said savagely. “They only take. If they’ve taken nothing better since they learned the three-masted ships, they would see no reason to change. Now they know where we are, though, they will keep coming. We will fight, and we will kill them, but they will keep coming until we are all dead or forced to flee these waters just as we fled our Ancient Home.”
So much for the “Malay pirate” model. They’d need another one. The “slow creep” that Naga described left too much to chance-like “when.” They must get more information about the enemy. A familiar feeling crept into his chest. It was like the days after Pearl Harbor all over again, when he knew they stood almost alone, in the face of… what? Something Big was all they knew, and they didn’t know when or where. They’d been expendable then, an insignificant cog, and he was just following orders. He remembered how helpless and frustrated he felt that their fate was so arbitrarily sealed by unknown policies and strategic plans that seemed to make no sense. Now he was the one who had to make policies that might kill all his men-or save them. The crash transition from the tactical to the strategic left him overwhelmed. Sandra must have seen the inner desperation reflected on his face, because he again felt her reassuring hand on his arm. Finally, he looked at Keje.
“If they come, we’ll help. I said that already. But we can help you now, better, before they come. Baalkpan’s vulnerable, and no one seems ready to fight. If you prepare to fight now, you’ll be better able when the time comes. Believe me”-he forced a half smile-“my people learned the hard way about being unprepared. Maybe this time it’ll be different.”
“I have not seen your amazing ship up close,” said Nakja-Mur, “but Keje and Adar tell me of its wonders. Still, what can one ship do in the face of the Grik multitudes?” The word “multitudes” sounded bad, Matt thought with a sinking feeling.
“Not enough probably, by herself,” he said flatly, “but a lot. The main thing Walker and her crew can do right now is help you prepare. And the first thing we need for that is fuel.”
Walker swung at her anchor as the tide dragged her around until the busy, festive city of Baalkpan was off the port beam. It was totally dark and the lights cast an eerie, almost Oriental glow that reflected off the restless wave tops. Occasionally, sounds from shore reached Alan Letts as he leaned against the rail beside the number three gun. A party of men quietly worked on it, preparing to dismount it if they were allowed, so they could get at the balky traverse gear. Larry Dowden stopped by and spoke to Campeti, who supervised. “… in the morning…” was all Alan heard.
Screeching metal on metal and a string of obscenities came from the torpedo workshop. Letts was surprised to hear a hoarse Japanese shout respond to Sandison’s tirade, followed by a crash of tools on the deck. When there was no further sound or cry of alarm, he chuckled. “That Jap’s either going to make the best torpedoman Bernie has, or get fed to the fish.” It still struck him strange having a Jap help with any sort of weapon, but Jap torpedoes worked just fine. Maybe Shinya knew something about them. He knew about machines; that was why Letts had suggested the appointment in the first place. If he had to work-and everybody did-that was as good a place as any. He stretched. It was nice to be on deck, breathing real air without the sun blasting the skin right off him. He scratched his forearm, rolling a ball of parched skin under his fingernails. I’m starting to get just like the Mice, he thought. I can only come out after dark. God, I wish I was home.
Off to the west, lightning rippled through dark clouds. It’ll probably rain, he thought dejectedly, and then I’ll start to rot. There’d been several days of uninterrupted sunshine-hot, as usual-but it normally rained once or twice a day. He didn’t know which he hated worse, the hot sun that burned his skin or the hot, miserable rain that caused his skin and everything else to rot and mildew. All things considered, he’d really rather be in Idaho.
He lit a cigarette and let it dangle between his lips like he’d seen others do. It was an affectation he imagined they got from movies, but it looked cool, so he did it. Wouldn’t be long before there weren’t any smokes, he reflected. That wouldn’t bother him as much as others. But some of the things they were running low on were important to their very survival, and he didn’t have the slightest idea where to get more. He was the officer in charge of supply, but unless the lemur monkeys, or whatever they were, came through, there was no supply for supplies. He was a whiz at organizing and allocating and sending requisition forms through proper channels. In the past, if the stuff came, it came. But if it didn’t, they always managed to make do or get by because there was always something to make do with. If the snipes needed a new feed-water pump, he would pick one up at the yard in Cavite or from one of the destroyer tenders like Black Hawk. If it was “the only one left” and they were saving it for Peary or Stewart because their supply officers did them a favor, then he could roll up his sleeves and swap and bid with the best. But when it came to getting something that wasn’t there and never had been, and the only choice was to produce it themselves, he didn’t have a clue what to do. He hoped the captain did.
He glanced to his left when someone leaned against the rail a few feet away. It was that nurse, the other one, with the auburn hair, the one that never said much. Karen something. Karen Theimer.
“Hi,” he said. She glanced at him, but then looked back at shore. She put a cigarette to her lips and drew in a lungful.
“What do you think’s going on?” She gestured at the city.
Alan shrugged. “Big Chief Powwow,” he answered with a grin. “How should I know? I’m a meager lieutenant jay gee. Mine’s not to reason why. I hope they come up with some supplies, though. Me being the supply officer, I always like to have supplies to be in charge of and, right now, there ain’t much.” She didn’t grin or laugh, or say anything at all. She just took another puff. Standing so close, with the moon overhead and the flashes of lightning in the western sky, Alan was struck for the first time that she was really kind of cute. Of course, she and Lieutenant Tucker might be the only human females in the world-talk about a supply problem! He guessed it wouldn’t be long before she started to look good if she had a face like a moose.