Deadly Shores (18 page)

“Come, General Halik,” Rolak said. “None of this is new; we have haggled over these same details before. What is the real reason you asked to speak with us?”

Halik's crest rose and he glared at the old Lemurian. Then he puffed a breath through sharp, clenched teeth. “Two reasons, I suppose. First, to inquire after the health of General Niwa yet again. You have given me no news about him for some time, and I find myself . . . concerned about the possible reasons for this. Second, honestly, to take your measure. Without General Niwa to rely on for counsel, I must keep my own—and at times, I must admit, I feel as if I understand you better than I do my own people. Perhaps I trust my
sense
of you, that you are not poised to strike, better than I trust my spies, or the words of the representatives you usually send in your stead.”

Pete blinked consternation in the Lemurian way, then looked at Rolak.

“What does your ‘sense' of us tell you?” Rolak asked quietly.

“That you are not prepared to attack me yet, but will be soon,” Halik stated simply. He stared at Pete. “
You
now think, ‘Ah! Halik does not expect us, so now is the time!' But after reflection, you will decide that I would not have invited attack by confessing I did not expect it if I was not ready to receive it! Is this not an exciting way to think?” Halik paused. His expression didn't change, but his tone was deeper when he resumed. “I miss talking with Niwa thus, and you, my enemies, are the only ones with whom I can share such conversations and insights. So tell me true, does Niwa yet live?”

Pete and Rolak looked at each other again.
Holy shit!
Pete realized.
The damn thing's lonesome!
Finally, Rolak nodded at him.

“Yeah,” Pete admitted. “He's alive. He ain't out of the woods yet, and he's weak, but I expect he'll live. We visited a minute or two before we came out, in fact, and I guess I was going to tell you that he asked if I'd pass on his regards.”

Halik's mouth opened slightly in what apparently passed for a smile, but didn't seem so friendly with all those teeth. “You would not mistreat him?”

“Of course not!” Rolak stated emphatically. “We question him, of course, and he has told us of his friendship toward you. But even as we care for him, we treat him as the prisoner of war he is. We will not break our agreement about prisoners as long as you do not.”

Halik jerked another nod. “I have none of your people prisoner now, but when I catch them, they will not be eaten!”

Pete grimaced. “Same here. Like in the deal.”

*   *   *

They were silent awhile as they rode back toward their own lines, and through the zigzag trenches and bombproofs at the front. “I'm kinda glad we didn't let that Jap croak after all,” Pete finally said. “I figger he'll stick to the deal on prisoners as long as he's alive.”

“Perhaps,” Rolak hedged. “But we should probably let them meet before we resume the offensive, just to make sure.”

“Good idea. You know? That Halik gives me the creeps. He guessed exactly what I was thinking, damn it! I hope he doesn't guess anything else.”

“Most perplexing,” Rolak agreed. “But your hu-maan face moving gives much away. You must guard against that.”

“I try.”

“Yes, but he has learned it well. Not as well as I,” Rolak bragged, “but well enough, I fear.” His ears stood erect in concentration. “I have noticed that Grik faces move more than Mi-Anakka—Lemurians, but I can make little sense of it. Perhaps, for that reason, the concept of wearing one's thoughts on the face is easier for him to grasp and interpret. What do you think, Hij Geerki?” Rolak asked their Grik companion.

“I ser' you, Lord!” Geerki crowed piously, before quickly answering. “You could say right, though. I don't know. Human faces got thoughts all on they. You ask I, he'd know iv you told he that Ni'a alive and he not.”

“Another good reason he didn't croak, then,” Pete said. “And of course it doesn't hurt that, out from under the Grik's or Kurokawa's thumb, he seems to be coming to his senses a little.” He frowned. “Jeez, what a mixed-up kid!”

“So it does
seem
,” Rolak agreed cautiously. “But whatever common cause he might share with us regarding the Grik in general, and Kurokawa in particular, he also knows he is now ‘under
our
thumb,' as you said. And do not forget, however it came to be, he has formed a very real attachment to General Halik. Most strange.”

“Damn strange,” Pete agreed, “but understandable, I guess, with nobody else to talk to for so long.”

“Perhaps, but we must be careful how we use him. He has told us much about these ‘new' Grik we face, and to truly gain Niwa's trust, we really must attempt to capture Halik alive—as we've promised—when we resume our offensive.”

“
You
promised,” Pete stressed. “And it'll take more than a ‘Yeah, Grik are bad, and I'm sorry I helped 'em kill your folks' before I'll trust Niwa as far as a snail can fly.” Rolak glared at him, blinking reproach. “Oh sure. We'll
try
,” Pete retorted, rolling his eyes. “Hell, I'd like to study the bastard. Figure out how the hell he turned Grik into real soldiers! But if he gets dead in the fighting, that's the breaks.”

“Just so long as we try,” Rolak prodded.

“We will. Let's go talk to Niwa and see if we can squeeze him for what Kurokawa might do now.”

“If Kurokawa actually lives. I find it difficult to believe Halik just let that information slip.”

Pete pondered that. “Me too, but you know? How would he even know we thought he was dead in the first place? We didn't blow, beyond telling him we won the fight at sea. That much he could figure out on his own.” Pete's face hardened. “Halik has to have had recent news of, or contact with the bastard, and maybe that didn't just slip. It's obvious he hates Kurokawa's guts. Understandable, if he actually bumped off the vice regent—or whatever the hell he was—and basically set himself up as king of India, like Niwa said. I'll bet Halik
wants
us to catch him, and that just about clinches it for me that the slippery little bastard really is still out there somewhere!”

//////
Diego Garcia

“Laa-Laanti”

July 13, 1944

T
he sun was setting on Diego Garcia as the last officers of First Fleet South were rowed or motored ashore, to join those already there. The High Chief of the island, more a king really, when his status was compared to the High Chiefs of other Lemurian Homes, had invited his new “allies” to a ceremony meant to bless their endeavors in the eyes of the Heavens. (To them, the stars were the very eyes of their ancestors, watching from above.) The High Chief, Gin-Taaor, had known he'd have many guests for the festivities, but he blinked what looked like near panic from atop his throne of mountain fish teeth when he saw just how many were actually coming.

Only about a third of the people from all the ships had been allowed ashore, but Adar thought it was important for as many of his people as possible to meet the Laa-Laantis, both for cultural reasons, and to quell any “why should we fight for them if they won't fight for themselves” muttering. They could then spread the word through the fleet. It had been a good call from his perspective, and it was clear that most of those who came ashore and saw the small, inoffensive natives for the first time, were beginning to get it.

Gin-Taaor saw it differently. His people anxiously regarded the sheer number of strangers, and strangers were something they weren't used to at all, having met none for as long as their oral history recalled. Some even thought the strangers must be gods, given their size, purpose, and magical technology. Gin-Taaor knew they weren't gods; he'd already been convinced of that in the months since the great “serpent fish ship” (
Amerika
) had arrived, followed quickly by
Donaghey
,
Sineaa
, then an ever-growing collection of visitors. But that didn't mean he was entirely comfortable with their power—or their appearance right out of the most ancient myths. That could pose a problem. He dared not insult his new “allies,” but it was dawning on him at last that just those who'd come today nearly outnumbered all his folk on the island combined. He hadn't grasped that the Allied ships, big as they were, could hold so many people, and he was increasingly worried how he was going to feed them all.

Matt, Sandra, Adar, Keje, Courtney, and Becher Lange were the last to come ashore, in one of
Salissa
's motor launches. They were accompanied by Chief Gray, in his capacity as “commander of the Captain's Guard,” and several members of his detail. For this event, that included Silva—who'd sworn he'd behave—Lawrence, Gunner's Mate Pak-Ras-Ar (Pack Rat), and Diania, who, besides being Sandra's personal steward, had been receiving intensive combat instruction from other members of the guard, including Gray himself. He thought she was ready, at least for this. Together, they gathered with other friends under the trees in the dwindling light and stared around.

“Isn't it remarkable?” demanded Courtney, who'd been ashore almost constantly over the last few days. He and Adar had practically lived among the locals since they arrived, spending most of their time with Gin-Taaor's wiry “wizard,” who served much the same purpose here as a Sky Priest. They'd devoted themselves to learning as much about the locals as they could in the time they had. At present, Courtney was holding out his hands and gesturing around as if he'd discovered the place. “Utterly remarkable,” he emphasized.

The main, central village on the island of Laa-Laanti was a sprawling affair, nearly encompassing the broad, relatively shallow lagoon. Dwellings were simple, framed with the bones of greatfish, and covered with their skins. The basic, somewhat domed architecture appeared nearly universal, but the bones and skins came from a variety of different species. The overall impression was one of ingenious utilitarianism, but it was also quite smelly in an old, dry-fish sort of way. That was understandable, since the People here obviously depended on the sea for the greatest share of their livelihood. Smallish, clinker-built fishing boats with crab-claw-shaped woven mat sails predominated, but there were larger boats, presumably used to hunt the biggest fish. Even so, two of the steam/sail DDs of the Alliance dominated the harbor on a beach near the northwest headland, where the natives had allowed them to be careened to clean their hulls. The rest of the ships of First Fleet South that needed it, would enter the floating dry dock that was
Respite Island
to have their hulls cleaned before the whole small armada finally moved on its objective.

“It's
sumpin
',” Silva groused quietly, and Matt gave him a warning stare.

“Well, Skipper, it ain't exactly Shanghai—or even Baalkpan, for my first step ashore in so long.”

“Quit complaining,” Matt ordered. “You're lucky to be ashore at all.”

“Sumpin' eemarkable!” Petey cawed on Sandra's shoulder. The little tree-gliding reptile had exposed himself more fully than usual. He wasn't comfortable with crowds, but was getting over his reticence—not always a good thing, with him.

Courtney shuffled his notes nervously. “When would it be most appropriate for me to speak, Captain?” he asked. Matt looked questioningly at Adar.

“You speak quite a lot, whether appropriate or not.” Adar blinked fondly, then sobered. “And I do remain unconvinced this is the proper time and setting for you to reveal your theory. There shall be a time set aside for you tonight, as I promised. Even High Chief Gin-Taaor is anxious to hear what you have to say. But for the sake of . . . clarity, I do wish you would consider a postponement.”

Courtney frowned. “But I'm ready
now
!”

“Perhaps, but are you sure your audience is?” Sandra cautioned.

“You may have a point,” he conceded glumly. “I don't mean to be rude, but much of what I have to say assumes a certain level of technical understanding. I've tried to keep it as uncomplicated as possible, ridiculously so, in most respects, but . . .”

“I'm not nearly as concerned that you will cause offense as I am about other things,” Adar said. “These people know we are different, and most of what we do or say requires explanation. Time would bring them to understand what you say.”

“As if
anything
he jabbers on about can ever be understood,” Silva mumbled aside to Pack Rat.

“But in this context,” Adar continued, “at this time, I find it likely that your theory may only confuse the issue when we all have so much more to focus on.”

“You're probably right,” Matt agreed, “but the issue's already pretty confused. These people have had an awful lot to get used to in a short period of time. If Courtney's theory can clear up any of the confusion, for any of us, that might be a good thing. And this could be the best time of all to roll it out.” He grinned at Bradford. “No pressure.”

Adar blinked thoughtfully. “Perhaps. Perhaps you are right.” He looked at Courtney. “Is there
any
chance what you say tonight may more likely reassure folk than alarm them?”

Courtney blinked. “Well, yes, of course! My observations cannot possibly cause alarm! And as Captain Reddy has said, explanations, by their very nature, dispel confusion! Have no fear, my dear Adar!”

The group moved toward the center of the village with more of
Walker
's officers and POs who'd joined them. On the way, they picked up Chack, Safir Maraan, Laumer, Rominger, and several others. Wading through the throng of sailors, Marines, and even quite a few locals, they finally reached the circle around the throne of teeth, just as the sun disappeared completely. Pukaa and Sikaa attended their father, the High Chief, as did the wizard and some of his acolytes, who were lighting a large heap of wood.

“Our way of receiving guests is
much
more dignified,” murmured Keje, referring to the grand processions visitors took to the Great Halls aboard ship or on shore.

“But not terribly different,” Courtney observed. “There's always a great deal of jostling in any event. The traditions obviously spring from the same, ancient source—as do others.”

Adar immediately proved Courtney's point by advancing into the circle of increasing light, provided by the growing fire. His hand was raised in greeting, but also as a sign recognized even here as a symbol that one's hand grasped no weapon. Gin-Taaor returned the sign and stood. He wore a headdress of fish skin, of a type possibly related to the creature Earl had caught, since the polished scales glittered in the firelight like all the colors of a rainbow. Hundreds of small bones dangled from the headdress, jostling softly together to make a sound like the sea. His long loincloth was made of the same glistening skin, and even his tail was decorated with the bones. He wore no other adornments, and was clearly a young, healthy specimen of the Laa-Laanti People. He waited a moment while the crowd's sounds diminished, then grinned at Adar and spoke: “Well-come,” he said, with a self-satisfied blink. He gestured around. “You all well-come here!” He paused, having apparently exhausted his supply of words all the strangers would understand, and leaned down to speak to one of his sons, who nodded slightly. It was Pukaa, the elder and his father's successor.

“The great Gin-Taaor begs you to make you selfs at home. Eat, drink, be happy,” Pukaa said. Matt leaned forward and whispered to Chack. “Is this the same kid that's been hanging around you guys since you got here? He could hardly string three words together when we met him a few days ago.”

“Indeed,” Chack whispered back. “His newfound fluency is surprising.” He shrugged. “But how long did it take me to learn your speech? Less than the months we have known Pukaa, certainly.” He grinned. “That he would hide his fluency actually encourages me to some extent.”

“Why's that?” Matt asked.

“Because, my dear Captain Reddy,” Courtney interrupted, “it shows these people are far more, um, sophisticated, I suppose, than we have suspected before. But that is a good thing! Think on it; they have been listening to and understanding our unguarded speech for quite some time. We have no secrets from them and they know it! They doubtless already fully understand our cause and our goals, and know we mean them no harm. Quite the contrary. I'm sure they've gathered by now that we mean to protect them as best we can!”

Matt nodded, and finally smiled. “I guess nobody likes being spied on, but in this case I suppose it's for the best. At least it eliminates the need for us to constantly reassure them that we come in peace!”

“Toward them, at any rate,” Sandra said.

“Of course,” Courtney agreed.

Pukaa had been speaking in his own tongue during this exchange, and Gin-Taaor had more to say as well, but finally Pukaa invited Adar to speak to the assembly. “I will . . . exchange your words for our people,” Pukaa explained. “They already know who you are.”

“Thank you, Pukaa,” Adar said, throwing back the star-embroidered hood of his deep purple cloak to reveal his silvery fur. He laid back his ears in respect. “And thank you, Your Excellency,” he said, bowing to the High Chief, “for your hospitality and assistance at this historic time.” He stepped forward so he could turn slightly, symbolically addressing all those present. “As you certainly know by now, the people I have the honor to lead, people of various species but of one mind and heart, have embarked on a great quest to smite the Ancient Enemy that drove us from our collective ancestral home.” He waited while Pukaa spoke, quickly translating his words before he resumed. “That terrible enemy, those we call the ‘Grik,' was not content to expel us from that place, but has sought, through the ages, to pursue us to extinction. Great battles have been fought and many victories have been achieved, but the contest remains dangerously balanced and unresolved. Our quest, now joined by other long-lost cousins from the southern lands beyond our ancestral home, is designed to tip the balance and carve a pathway to victory at last. This you know,” Adar stressed to those who'd grown quiet to listen.

“Yet to one not accustomed to the pathways of the Heavens, not steeped in their mysteries or attuned to their purpose, the happy reunion of our peoples here after so many ages might seem merely a fortuitous accident,” he continued, shaking his head. “I do not believe that is the case. That our new friends and cousins from the Republic of Real People should be saved from their distress by finding this tiny island in the uncharted vastness of the Western Ocean is coincidence enough. That our people, led by the intrepid Cap-i-taan Gaar-ett, should then quickly find you
both
here as well, makes me skeptical that mere chance can have been responsible. That the people here can be so willing to join the cause of ridding the world of the Grik menace forever, and that this island, Laa-Laanti, is so perfectly situated as a staging point from which to launch our quest . . .” Adar paused and took a breath in the utter silence that had descended, and raised his hands to the stars above. “Surely only the Heavens themselves could have arranged such a ‘coincidental' convergence of course and purpose!” he stated forcefully, and the assembly roared with delight.

“We fight Grik!” Gin-Taaor bellowed with his fist in the air, and his folk roared even louder.

“No,” Adar said. He hadn't shouted, but the simple word had the same effect. Gin-Taaor spoke harshly to his son, and Pukaa blinked questioningly at Adar.

“The High Chief asks why we not fight. We ‘aallies' now, yes? Aallies fight together, not so? You make aallies with others here”—he waved at the Germans and 'Cats from the Republic—“to fight with you. Why not Laa-Laantis?”

“You
are
our allies, our very firm friends,” Adar assured, “but you are not warriors. I do not doubt your courage. The bones that frame your homes are proof enough that you can and will fight monstrous beasts, but the Grik are different. Far different.” He looked almost imploringly at Matt, then continued. “By the Heavens, I wish I could better explain, but I beg you to accept my word that before you can hope to fight the Grik, you must first learn
how
. We lost . . .” He glanced quickly at the sky. “We lost more people than are gathered on this entire island just
learning
to fight the Grik,” he explained softly, “and many who were not slain were horribly wounded.” He blinked great sadness. “In some battles—the times when we gather to fight—we lose more people than are gathered here in a single
day
even now, all because the enemy has changed how he fights and we must learn again. I would not—
will not
—allow your people here to suffer like that.” He gushed a sigh. “We will leave trainers here, and you can learn to fight if you wish. That is only right, in case the Grik ever find this place. Perhaps some few of you might even join us in distant battles someday, but not many, I . . . I beg you.” He forced a smile. “You are the last, you see. The very last of our people that we know of that remain unbloodied by this terrible war, and we would prefer to keep it that way.”