“An enemy made stronger with the aid of others of their kind!” Meksnaak rer commitment. That you, a Sky Priest, would counsel inaction during our current, collective crisis, when our race faces extinction at the very hands that drove us from our sacred, ancient home-as described in the same Scrolls you profess to revere-makes me question your commitment!”
Meksnaak sputtered for a moment, then spat: “ Ser-vaabo fidem summo studio! ”
“ Suspendens omnia naa-so! Usus est ty-raannus, usus te plura docebit! ” Adar replied scornfully. “Cucullus non facit monachum. Cul-paam maiorum posteri luunt!”
“Gratis dictum. Honos haa-bet onus, maag-naavis est conscientiae.”
“Oh, Lord.” Bradford sighed. “I do hate it when they do that!”
“What’re they saying?” Matt demanded.
“Let me see, I’ve brushed up my Latin a bit of late, from necessity, but their pronunciation is quite bizarre. Hmm. Well, as you know, Latin is somewhat difficult to translate literally even when spoken well-which makes the Lemurian capacity for it doubly fascinating, since they are so literal-minded! Their own language.. .”
“Courtney?”
“Umm? Well, it seems their Meksnaak has said he only keeps the faith, while Adar says he’s shackled by it, and his people will pay the consequences. Meksnaak says that’s ridiculous, and he has an obligation to his people.”
The argument continued.
“Medium tenuere be-aati,” Adar scoffed sarcastically, “mihi cura futuri. Quousque tandem abutere paa-tientia nostra? Recovate aa-nimos! Aude saapere. Stant belli causa, belli lethaale… belli internecinum. Timor mortis morte peior!”
“Oh, dear,” Bradford said with real alarm.
“What?” eft to burn or drown or be taken by the fish.” For a moment he closed his haunted eyes while he spoke, and no one doubted he was seeing again the events of that terrible night. “I saw Tassana, daughter of Nerracca ’s High Chief, younger even than you, Saan-Kakja, help cut the tow cable that connected her helpless, sinking Home to the wounded Amer-i-caan destroyer trying to drag her to safety. She did it because her father knew Captain Reddy, and feared he might wait too long, hoping to rescue more. As it was, damaged and leaking, Walker nearly sank under the sheer weight of the survivors she managed to save.”
Not a word was uttered in the chamber while he stood silent, contemplating his next words. “I was a youngling before all this started, if not in years, then certainly in experience. Now I am a bosun’s mate, a captain of Marines, and I guard some of the most important leaders of our alliance.” He stared hard at Meksnaak. “Do you dare call me a youngling, or offer further insult to those I protect?”
Saan-Kakja took a breath and realized she’d been holding it. She looked around the table, surprised how much Chack’s words had changed her perceptions of the people there. Particularly the Amer-i-caans. She’d heard the tales, of course, but they’d been told dispassionately. To hear Chack tell them, in his own words, made them real. She pierced her Sky Priest with another molten stare.
Meksnaak’s apologetic blinking was constant now and, from what Matt had learned of Lemurian expression, sincere. He even felt a little embarrassed for the Sky Priest, but he also knew Saan-Kakja needed to get this sorted out. He thought she had. She and Chack had. The new High Chief of Manila might be young, but she was no “youngling.” Not anymore. She finally spoke again, and when she did her voice had lost much of its fury.
“You may one day earn the right to be rude to me, Meksnaak, but you will never be rude to my friends again. They have earned our respect and gratitude. Besides, none of us have the luxury of being rude to anyone who will help us in this fight. Yes, we need their help as much as they need ours. This is our war too. The Grik have come as if our most horrible dreams have been made flesh, and they come to devour us all! Our only hope is to destroy them first, and we must have friends to do it. How can we expect to make those friends when we can’t even be polite at the breakfast table?”
“Hear, hear!” Bradford said, banging his coffee cup on the table for emphasis. It wasn’t quite empty, and much of the remains wound up on his sleeve. “Saan-Kakja for queen, I say!” He looked at the suddenly wary Sky Priest. “She certainly settled our hash! I suppose we’ll have to keep our little arguments more private from now on.” Meksnaak hadn’t had much contact with humans, but he’d learned a nod was still a nod. He nodded now and forced a small smile.
“If that is the will of my chief,” he said quietly.
“Surely she can’t object to a little debate between two scientific beings, though?” He arched his eyebrows once again, and Saan-Kakja couldn’t restrain a giggle. Like the cats-and lemurs for that matter-they so closely resembled, Lemurians had an extraordinarily limited range of facial expression. They were very expressive, through eye blinks, ear positions, and body posture, and their tails added an emphasis to their emotions and attitudes that humans couldn’t hope to match. A grin was a grin and a frown was a frown, a ‘vol-caano’ that rarely sleeps. I have heard the earth moves often, and the very sea sometimes behaves strangely.”
Matt straightened, decision made. “We’ll work south along the coast of Mindanao, checking every nook and cranny, but then, if we haven’t found it, we’ll cross to Talaud.”
“What if it’s not there either, Skipper?” Spanky asked.
Matt shrugged. “We go home.”
CHAPTER 8
It was overcast, but not raining this time when Sandra waved good-bye to yet another destroyer. Now Mahan was steaming toward the mouth of the bay, looking just like Walker from a distance, and fingers of dread clutched Sandra’s heart. Mahan was following in the wake of a pair of fast feluccas that had departed the night before. They’d serve as scouts at first, then transports if the need arose. Nobody really knew how many people remained on B’mbaado-trapped now behind enemy lines.
Selass was with her, come to say farewell to her mate, Saak-Fas. He’d been leaning on the rail, staring, as the ship moved away, but if he saw her in the throng he made no sign. Now the ship had almost vanished against the dreary, light gray sky. They saw a wisp of smoke, a sense of ghostly movement. Otherwise all that marked her passage was a flicker of color at her masthead as the Stars and Stripes streamed aft in the sultry air, stirred only by the ship’s motion. Sandra watched the flag slowly fade with mixed emotions, an elusive memory of something Matt once told her rising to the surface. Something he’d seen a doomed British destroyer do in the face of impossible odds, and then Exeter did the same thing before her final battle. She strained to remember, sure it was important.
“Do you think they will return?” Selass asked quietly.
“They must. We’ll need them desperately when Walker returns.”
“I meant Walker,” Selass almost whispered. “I feel so guilty. I find myself almost hoping Mahan will fail. That would mean the end of Queen Maraan, but then I might have a chance when Chack returns. It would also probably mean the end of Saak-Fas as well.” She paused, then almost pleaded, “But that is what he wants, is it not?”
“I suspect so,” Sandra replied, saddened for her tragic friend, though not shocked that her thoughts had taken such a turn. “If that’s the case, if he truly wants to die, he’ll likely get his chance.” She sighed. “Jim Ellis is a good man and an excellent officer, but I’m not sure he should be commanding this mission. He still blames himself for losing Mahan when Kaufman shot him and took command. He thinks his ship’s honor is stained- his honor too. He feels he has something to prove. Nobody like that should ever command a mission like this, with so much at stake. I know Jim, and trust him, but I can’t shake the fear that he’ll take chances with himself and his ship, hoping to remove that stain, when his most important objective is to get himself and his ship back in one piece.”