B00BPJL400 EBOK (4 page)

“Building our own ‘bony blimps’ now?” Gray asked, looking up at the building as they exited the carriage.

Saan-Kakja sneeze-chuckled. “That would be nuts,” she said. “I have not seen the Grik zeppel-ins, but individually they are no match for any of our flying machines—now we have learned they are armed, and how to avoid their weapons. Cap-i-taan Tikker’s report was most informative.”

“Trouble is, they apparently don’t come individually, but in swarms,” Gray countered, “and I don’t like these suicide glider bombs they’re usin’ at all.”

“True,” Saan-Kakja agreed, turning more serious. “But the notion of two such massive machines bumping into each other high in the sky . . . it amused me. No, I would show you other things.” She paused, looking at Matt, then glanced at his cane. “If you are sure you are up to it?”

“I’m fine,” Matt replied. “Besides, I can’t wait to greet our guests when they get here.” He glanced at his watch—always vaguely surprised to find it still working after all it had been through. “They should be along pretty soon.”

Busaa remained with Meksnaak at the carriage. Meksnaak complained he couldn’t breathe in the great building, but was also making his point that he didn’t intend to associate with electricity any more than he had to. Besides, even though he hadn’t brought it up, he remained somewhat affronted by what he considered the uncivilized tactics used by
Walker
’s team to win the baseball game. The rest of them entered the massive structure through a small door beside a pair of huge ones designed to roll aside. Matt had some idea of what they were here to see. He’d been told of the project headed by a former POW who’d survived
Mizuki Maru
, before the hellish ship was altered into a Q ship and sent against her former escort; the destroyer
Hidoiame
. That mission, commanded by Sato Okada, had failed, resulting in the loss of
Mizuki Maru
with all hands. But it was likely she’d landed some licks first, which possibly saved
Walker
in the long run. In any event, the forty-odd survivors of the ship’s original cargo of mistreated prisoners had joined the Allied cause in various capacities and were beginning to make their presence felt. Carpenter’s Mate Third Class Winston “Winny” Rominger was one.

Winny hurried over himself as soon as they stepped into the giant building. He was tall, with jet-black hair and a big, bushy mustache. He was still thin, and bags showed under his eyes in the uneven electric lighting illuminating the cavernous structure. Matt realized there were a lot of electrical machines inside as well, more than he’d seen in one place on this world before. It was probably much the same in Baalkpan now. He’d been away a while. Motors whirred and rumbled, and sharp cutters and serrated blades blew wood chips all over the place. A fine haze of dust swirled in the shifting air, blown by big fans that roared like
Walker
’s blower. Hundreds of dusty ’Cats and ex-pat female “Impies” operated the machines, heaved taglines on prefabricated structures suspended from hoists like those on the hangar decks of the great carriers, or weaved their way purposefully from place to place.

Matt caught Gray staring at a particularly well-endowed woman pulling on a line, her perfect, naked breasts swaying mesmerizingly with the effort. She wore nothing but a skimpy breechcloth. Lemurians considered clothing ornamental or occupational and wore as little as they could when working. The formerly virtually enslaved human women felt the same. Matt doubted he’d ever grow comfortable with that, but he’d become somewhat desensitized. Of course, he was married now too. Gray wasn’t—and the older man was currently considerably flustered by the attentions of an exotically beautiful young woman named Diania. Diania, now officially a steward’s mate, was Sandra’s friend and, increasingly, secretary. Gray had also been teaching her to fight, with and without weapons, and she was considered part of the Captain’s Guard now as well. Young enough to be his
grand
daughter, Diania had a serious crush on the old Bosun and it was growing clear that Gray was . . . not entirely himself . . . around the girl either.

Matt coughed at him, and Gray blinked. The air smelled of wood, glue, and solvents, and Matt was glad to see more fans mounted high in the walls, providing ventilation. His gaze narrowed and focused on the purpose of the impressive facility. “There they are,” he said, feeling almost surprised. Beyond the closest construction was a long, staggered, double row of amazingly familiar hulls in various stages of completion.

“Yes, sir,” said Winny, his hand extended. Matt looked at it a moment before taking it. “I’m sorry, Mr. Rominger,” he said, smiling. “I got distracted.” They had to speak loudly over the racket.

“He might’a been expectin’ a salute too,” Gray jabbed.

Matt shook his head. “No, Boats, I wasn’t. Mr. Rominger’s elected not to join our Navy, and that’s entirely up to him and everybody else who was in his . . . situation.” He grinned. “Besides, we’re indoors!”

“Uh, no offense, Captain Reddy,” Winny interjected, “none meant at all . . . but I joined the old Navy, and that didn’t turn out too well for me.” His expression grew haunted. “We did our best, even after we ran out of boats. But the brass
made
us surrender to the Japs.” He shook his head and stared at the floor. “They weren’t even on Mindanao yet,” he added harshly. “We should’ve kept fighting, even if they killed us in the end. It would’ve been better than what happened. And a lot of fellas died anyhow.” He looked Matt in the eye. “No, sir. I know the score here and I support your Navy and what you’re doing, but I’d just as soon fight this war as a civilian.”

Matt nodded seriously. “That’s your decision. But nobody’ll ever get an order to surrender to the Grik or Doms, Mr. Rominger, not from me or anybody.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Matt gestured at the hulls with his cane and started forward. “You were in MTB Squadron Five, correct?”

“Ron-Five, yes, sir,” answered Winny as the group moved toward the closest hull. This one wasn’t planked yet and the framework was impressive in its simplicity.

“Well, you’ve certainly captured the lines of your old PT boats.”

“Yes, sir,” Winny agreed. “They’re not as big; only fifty feet, but the planing-type hull design’s essentially the same, with the same diagonally planked, layered construction—a lot like those giant ’Cat Homes and the new flattops.”

Matt scratched his chin. “I thought PTs were made of plywood.”

Winny chuckled. “So many folks always said that, putting them down, that everybody thought it was true.” He shrugged. “We kind of took pride in it after a while, everybody thinking we fought in plywood boats. I guess there’s really not much difference when you get down to it, but we did a lot of good with what we had.”

“What are the specs?” Gray asked.

“Fifty feet, like I said, with a sixteen-foot beam. Not quite just a smaller-scale version. We still need the width for the torpedoes.”

“Just two tubes?”

“Yes, sir. The whole reason for keeping them smaller and lighter is so they can be carried by a ship—a flattop, or maybe a dedicated tender. The internal combustion engine works, or ICE house, is building monster versions of Nancy engines—six cylinders instead of four; something they were fooling with for bigger planes, but they were too heavy for the horsepower. They’ll work for us, though, and with a pair of ’em we ought to get twenty-five knots or better. Maybe thirty. You may have seen some of the small boats outside. Scale models. Anyway, even with only two engines and two torpedoes, they’re going to suck gas. We’ll have to take them where they’re going to fight.”

“Not to mention they’ll be vulnerable to heavy seas and . . . well, sea monsters.”

“Not to mention, sir.”

Matt gazed at the line of boats. “How long until they’re operational?”

“I’m hoping to have the first squadron ready in four months.”

Matt shook his head. “Too long. I want a dozen ready to go in one month.”

Winny gaped. “But . . . it’ll take more than a week for the
paint
to cure!”

Matt looked at Saan-Kakja with a grin. “I want twelve of these PTs finished and ready for transshipment to Baalkpan in one month, Your Excellency.”

Saan-Kakja blinked tentatively. She’d been a little afraid Matt would think she was wasting time and materials on the little boats—especially when their enemies were building such monsters now.

“You approve?” she asked.

“Absolutely.”

“But . . .” Winny interjected, “even if we finish them, we’ll have to train crews. Hell, we haven’t even started building torpedo tubes yet!”

“They have in Baalkpan,” Matt countered. “We’ll mate them up there. Send Bernie Sandison any specific requirements you think they’ll have. I
want
those boats, Mr. Rominger.”

“For the operation you outlined for Adar?” Sandra asked.

“Yeah. If we can get these PTs Mr. Rominger’s so kindly provided, all the heavy stuff building in Baalkpan can go to Keje—or Jim Ellis in First Fleet. Adar isn’t sold on my little ‘sideshow,’ as Commander Herring calls it.” He frowned.

Saan-Kakja snorted. “I do not like that man!”

“So you’ve said,” Matt said wryly. “But Adar’s in charge. He was right about that;
somebody’s
got to be in charge of everything, and he’s the guy.” Matt admired Adar tremendously and considered him a truly remarkable Lemurian. Once a simple high sky priest on
Salissa
Home, Adar was now High Chief and Sky Priest of Baalkpan, and Chairman of the Grand Alliance. Matt knew real efforts were underway to transform at least part of the Grand Alliance into a united nation consisting of land settlements and even the massive seagoing Homes. If the Empire of the New Britain Isles and other allies were not yet interested in joining, quite a few were, and the result was something akin to the United States under the old Articles of Confederation, in which the member states were politically united but retained more independence than was probably ideal. At least as far as the war effort was concerned. Fortunately, the main members—Baalkpan and the Fil-pin Lands, represented by Adar and Saan-Kakja—shared the vision of a united nation, even if they didn’t always agree on priorities, and most of the other allies were willing to follow their lead. “Letting First Fleet have all the heavy stuff should make it easier for Adar to swallow my sideshow,” Matt continued, “and maybe let Keje bring
Big Sal
along. Keje wants to go, and we need
Salissa
for her aircraft.” He pointed at the closest wooden hull. “Now we need her to carry them too.”

Admiral Keje-Fris-Ar was Matt’s oldest Lemurian friend, and resembled nothing more than a short, powerful, rust-colored bear. His
Salissa
Home had been an immense, sail-powered, seagoing city before the war, but had been converted to a steam-driven aircraft carrier. He was CINCWEST, but had been forced to retire to Andaman Island with a battered flagship and a fleet that couldn’t, at present, challenge the monstrous new Grik warships. He didn’t want to abandon First Fleet, but he loved the idea of Matt’s current scheme and desperately wanted to participate.

“But . . .” Winny tried to protest again. “Who’ve you got with PT experience? Who’ll command your squadron?”

Matt looked at him. “Are you volunteering for
my
Navy, Mr. Rominger?”

The carriage driver entered and stood before Saan-Kakja. “The great plane approaches. You instructed me to inform you.”

Saan-Kakja looked at Sandra. “Our guest has arrived!”

2

T
he mighty PB-5 Maa-ni-la “Clipper” circled above its new primary support facility half a mile down the long dock and began its lumbering descent. The aircraft looked a little bizarre. The hull lines of a PBY were still apparent, as was the wing shape, but the hull was deeper and the wing was attached directly to the top of the fuselage. Four Wright Gipsy–type motors were positioned in an even row on top of the wing, elevated by fragile-looking mounts. Five and even six engines had been attempted, but the increased thrust didn’t justify the greater weight and fuel consumption. Air-cooled radials powered the new, dedicated pursuit ships, or P-1 Mosquito Hawks everybody was calling “Fleashooters,” and were already being tried as well. It was hoped their greater power-to-weight ratio would make a good match for the larger planes. The color scheme was the same as the Nancys—blue and white—but this Clipper wasn’t a Navy plane, so there were no “Amer-i-caan” roundels on the wings.

Matt, Sandra, Gray, Busaa, Meksnaak, and Saan-Kakja made the short trip in the carriage and joined the crowd that always gathered to watch the plane touch down on the water. It was a remarkably graceful maneuver for such a large, ungainly aircraft, particularly one whose pilots were doubtless very tired after their long flight. The plane looked tired too, and its wood and fabric wings seemed to sag with exhaustion as it rumbled to a stop on the calm inlet. Ponderously, it turned for the dock and motored toward a jutting pier where line handlers waited. Quickly and professionally, they secured the plane, and the engines muttered to a stop. A hatch opened on the side of the hull, and the passengers began disembarking.

“There he is!” Saan-Kakja said with undisguised glee as the Australian engineer and self-proclaimed “naturalist” Courtney Bradford stepped awkwardly on the dock. He looked unsteady, but quickly covered his balding red pate with a wide sombrero. It hadn’t been long since Matt and Sandra saw him, but Saan-Kakja hadn’t seen him in many months. Courtney was an . . . interesting man; a little odd and absentminded, but still the closest thing they had to a real scientist. His insatiable curiosity, wealth of knowledge, and unconventional approach to discovery had been the driving force behind many of their advances. He had a knack for looking at various sides of any issue, and though thoughtless at times, he was never deliberately offensive. This combination made him a good choice for Minister of Science, as well as the Alliance’s Plenipotentiary at Large. He’d been in the Empire of the New Britain Isles since first contact was made there, and he’d negotiated important treaties and reforms. Most recently, he’d served as a critical advisor to the new Governor-Empress Rebecca Anne McDonald, after the despicable plot that murdered her parents and savaged the Imperial government. Matt was glad to have Courtney back, but things in the Empire remained less than perfectly stable, and he wasn’t sure his return wasn’t premature.

Seeing them standing there, Courtney visibly straightened and tromped up the dock. He had a lot of baggage—enough to reduce the plane’s passenger capacity by half—but he carried only what looked like a cage draped with a bright cloth. The rest of his belongings, mostly odd specimens from the east, would be offloaded and sent to Saan-Kakja’s Great Hall. Puffing up before them, Courtney swept off his strange hat, set his package down, and threw them all a sketchy salute. Then he grinned hugely and advanced to embrace the diminutive high chief.

“Hello, hello! I’m so glad to see you all!” He hugged Saan-Kakja tightly and winked over her head at Meksnaak’s disapproving glare. “And how are you, my dear?” he asked, stepping back to gaze at Saan-Kakja. “I’ve missed you so!”

“I am well, and better now you are here!” Saan-Kakja replied happily. “How are you, and how is my sister Rebecca?” High chiefs on land or sea always referred to their peers as brother or sister—unless they were actual cousins, which wasn’t unusual. In this case, Saan-Kakja actually felt sisterly affection for the Governor-Empress of the New Britain Isles.

Courtney’s smile faded. “I’m fine, as you can see. And our dear Empress Becky has borne her sad burdens bravely, but I’m concerned for her.” He embraced Sandra next, and gave her a hearty kiss. “That’s for the blushing bride, of course—and my, haven’t you turned a pretty shade?” He released her and shook Matt’s hand. “Much improved, I see, Captain Reddy! I’m glad to see you standing on your own two feet! I say, my heart nearly stopped when I heard of your dreadful wound!”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Matt deflected. “Besides, I had the best doc in the world.” He winked at Sandra. “Prettiest too.”

“Of course, of course! But . . . you
are
better?”

“Sure,” Matt said with a hint of suspicion. “I said so, didn’t I?”

“Indeed. I merely asked because I wouldn’t want anything to prevent the lovely mission you’re planning! Things are somewhat at a standstill in the East, I’m afraid, at least until sufficient forces have gathered at the Enchanted Isles to mount a creditable invasion of the Doms.”

“I thought you were set on going to the Enchanted Isles—the Galápagos,” Matt said with a smile.

Courtney’s bushy eyebrows approached one another. “As you once said, it’s not the same place here. And by all accounts the bloody Doms haven’t left much to explore. It will be hustle, bustle, hurry up and wait for some time while enough troops are sent to sink the isles. High Admiral Jenks and General Shinya are planning raids to gain intelligence, but they’d never let
me
tag along.”

Matt shook his head. He’d been discussing those raids with Jenks via wireless.

“I’ve far better prospects for exploration and honest excitement if I accompany you,” Courtney continued.

“And maybe better prospects of getting killed as well,” Matt said with a wry grin. “But you’re welcome—if my mission ever even happens.”

“Nonsense,” Courtney snorted. “And of course the mission will proceed. Adar is a most sensible creature, and anyone can see the advantages from a strategic point of view. Your mission would doubtless relieve some of the pressure on General Alden! He’s in quite a desperate situation, I understand.”

Matt nodded grimly.

“Well. If our dear Adar lacks certainty regarding your scheme, for some unfathomable reason, I shall speak to him myself!”

“Still the ambassador,” Sandra chuckled.

Courtney frowned. “No, my dear, and no strategist either. But as empirical observer—oh! Please do pardon the pun—I’m as convinced as anyone that we can’t simply react to the actions of our enemies. We must keep them off balance and force them to react to us!”

“Damn straight!” Gray agreed.

“In any event,” Courtney continued, his expression still grave, “I’ve done my bit as ambassador and had quite enough of it, I assure you. I’m not cut out for politics. I was most hesitant to leave our dear Governor-Empress, of course, but Prime Factor Bates has everything well in hand. Besides, I’m confident that any remaining traitors in the Empire have far more reason to fear the Governor-Empress than the other way around.” He paused thoughtfully. “In addition, I was not insensitive to the necessity that the reorganization and reforms underway in the Empire should have an entirely
Imperial
face. As it is, the vast majority of the people there have come to embrace them—particularly after all that has happened: the murders of Governor-Emperor Gerald McDonald and his sweet wife, not to mention most of the rest of the government that remained after the Dom-inspired coup attempt! Then there’s this confounded
new
war with the Dominion, of course!”

He smiled sadly at Sandra. “
You
have quite an inquisitive mind, my dear. Do you not find it tiresome how these dreadful wars constantly prevent our uninhibited study of the wonders this world has laid before us?”

He stopped suddenly, blinking. “Oh! Where was I? Yes! As I was saying, I consider it essential that we, by which I mean the Western powers in the Grand Alliance, not appear to be propping up a weak Imperial government and taking advantage of the mere girl—as many there see her—who runs it. We’re the steadfast allies, but beyond those articles we negotiated regarding the institution of indenture, we must not be seen as meddling in the domestic affairs of the Empire!”

“Were you meddling?” Matt asked.

“Perhaps just a bit—as you know. And for a tense time our Marines and naval personnel
did
prop her up, I suppose. But as the new Governor-Empress herself insisted to me, she must be allowed to spread her wings, as it were, and rule her empire in deed as well as name.”

That phrase suddenly struck Matt as familiar; then he remembered Chairman Adar had said much the same thing in a message sent to all commanders—that he meant to be Chairman of the Grand Alliance in more than name, and from now on, he’d make all major strategic decisions and take the heat when things went wrong. It sounded like his intentions were noble, and after Matt had been out of pocket so long, he knew he couldn’t make all the strategic decisions anymore. As he’d said many times, somebody had to be in charge all the time, somebody in a position to see the big picture. But could Adar really see it from Baalkpan? Matt just hoped it was truly Adar talking, and the Chairman hadn’t been influenced to get just a little tactical by Commander Simon Herring.

In fact, Adar’s new stance was the reason Matt’s plan wasn’t complete. He was preparing as if Adar would give him the go order and fully expected him to, but for the first time, the order hadn’t come as a matter of course.

“So, Courtney,” he said, “basically, Empress Becky threw you out.”

“Not at all,” Courtney denied. “But I was . . . somewhat prominent in the aftermath of the dreadful events that resulted in her rise to power.” His expression grew troubled. “She has suffered terribly, and though I’m confident my assistance and personal regard afforded her some comfort, a coldness has settled within her, I fear. It’s as though she’s actually pushing away those who care most about her—Sean Bates made note of it as well—and doesn’t want the love and comfort we tried to give.” He stooped suddenly and raised the package he’d brought from the plane. “A case in point,” he said, removing the bright cloth and displaying the contents of the cage.

“Petey!” Sandra gasped.

“Petey,” a little voice tentatively confirmed. A small, brightly hued creature stirred and gazed at them. It looked like a lizard, and was a little bigger than a parrot, but colored like one. Also, instead of wings it had a finely furred membrane stretched from just behind its little hands back to its hindquarters. The then Princess Rebecca had adopted the little tree-gliding reptile while marooned on Yap Island, a place Dennis Silva still called Boogerland.

“I can’t believe it!” Saan-Kakja exclaimed. “She
loves
that ridiculous creature!”

“Yes, she does,” Courtney agreed grimly, “which makes my point. She said she must ‘dispense with childish thoughts and attachments,’ and in her position could no longer go about with a pet lizard draped around her neck. There may actually be something to that. She will
not
remain sequestered, as other female successors to the throne have done before, and Petey’s constant presence—which he would insist on—would likely only aggravate certain . . . antebellum factions. She practically forced the little bugger on me, and asked if any of her friends would care to entertain the ‘greedy little thing.’ Greedy little thing indeed! She doted on him!” He looked at Saan-Kakja and Sandra. “I believe this act was a cry for help—a kind of help I cannot give, I’m sad to say.” He held the cage out to Saan-Kakja, but the Lemurian high chief backed away.

“
I
cannot care for it!” she objected desperately. “I do not keep pets! I . . . I wouldn’t know what to do with it!”

“Just feed it fairly often and it will be quite happy, I assure you!”

“Eat?” asked Petey, suddenly less despondent.

Chief Gray’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t keep pets. Few ’Cats do. But there’s critters like him runnin’ around Maa-ni-la now. Some common . . . well, housecats, we’d call ’em, have jumped ship from our Imperial visitors too. I’ve seen a couple.”

“You’ve seen creatures like
Petey
 . . . here?” Courtney demanded, suddenly intense.

“Well, yeah, I guess. I don’t know about
exactly
like him, but close enough.”

“Why?” Matt asked.

“Yes, why?” Meksnaak insisted in turn. He’d begun to interpret human “face moving” to some degree, but in this case he caught Bradford’s tone of voice. “Why does this concern you so?”

Courtney looked coldly at Meksnaak. There was no love lost between the two. “I’m
always
concerned when an invasive, destructive species is introduced into an ecology that cannot defend against it.” He scratched his nose. “I doubt that is the case here, however. Housecats are nowhere near the top of the local food chain! Tree-gliding creatures like Petey, however . . .” He paused. “Blast! I’ve been around the little devil for months, and it never occurred to me to name his species! Gluttonous
maximus
 . . .
minimus
might not be inappropriate. The thing is, though, if there are more creatures from Yap running . . . or gliding about
here
, then it follows that there have been unauthorized voyages
there
!” He looked at Matt. “We declared that place off-limits for a very good reason, you’ll recall!”

Matt scratched his chin. “Yeah. I take it you haven’t sent anybody, Your Excellency?” he asked Saan-Kakja.

“Never!”

“I’ll ask Chairman Adar if he did—without telling me.” He shrugged. “Not that he has to . . .”
He doesn’t
have
to,
he said to himself,
but why wouldn’t he?
The thought was troubling.

Sandra reached over and took the cage from Bradford. “I’ll take him,” she said with a worried frown.

“Oh. Well, back to the empress,” Courtney said. “I do hope Sister Audry will be some comfort to her. She asked for her specifically, you see.”

Sister Audry was a Dutch Benedictine nun originally stranded on Talaud Island with Irvin Laumer and the rest of the survivors of S-19. She’d been sent to escort the children of diplomats, senior officers, and other luminaries when the antiquated sub fled Surabaya in the Old War. The surviving children—Abel Cook was one—were almost all midshipmen or -women now. Despite some alarming allusions to Catholicism practiced by the Dominion, Rebecca had grown to like and respect Sister Audry and thought she might be the key to subverting the perversions of the Doms. Her first chore was to go among the Dom prisoners of war on New Ireland and discover if exposure to the True Faith might break their devotion to what it had been twisted to here.