Finally, there were nods in the room, and a few comments of support.
“Very well,” Matt continued, “with that, I’ll let Generals Alden, Rolak, and Safir Maraan enlighten us with their brilliant plan to accomplish all these objectives.” He winced at Pete. “Sorry about the last addition, but I only just heard.”
“It’s okay, Skipper. I think we can add it in.”
“Do you think, General Alden, you might add in some supporting role for
Achilles
?” Jenks asked.
Matt had actually been expecting the offer. He and Jenks might never become friends, but they’d developed considerable mutual respect and even admiration during the commodore’s frequent visits aboard
Donaghey
. Matt also knew that the very savagery of their enemy had gnawed at Jenks since he first set foot on the Aryaal dock. He’d slowly come to the same conviction his princess had: sooner or later, the Empire he served most certainly had a stake in this fight.
Pete glanced at Matt and saw him nod. “Why, of course, Commodore. Always happy for another gun platform, especially one as maneuverable as yours.”
“My Marines are at your disposal too,” Jenks added, “as a reserve if you need it, or possibly as a flanking support of some kind?”
“That’s very generous,” Alden said, recognizing that the offer was smart as well. Throwing Jenks’s untried Marines into a pivotal part of the plan at the last minute might wreck the whole operation, and Pete would never have done it. The Imperial clearly recognized the latter, at least. This way his troops could participate on some level and he avoided the insult of a refusal. Jenks was pretty sharp, Pete decided. “We could use a little more flank security, with all those Grik hunters running around,” he said. He advanced to the chart tacked to the bulkhead. “Now, here’s the deal. The operation”—he grinned—“is called Singapore Swing. At oh one hundred hours tomorrow morning, the fleet elements will be in position off these beaches, here, here, and here. . . .”
CHAPTER 17
I
t was long after dark when Silva’s hunting party neared the environs of Baalkpan. The bearers had dragged the masses of meat on travois down to the original riverside fueling pier and transferred it to square, flat barges. From there, they slowly towed the barges to the city behind Scott’s launch. As usual, Moe didn’t accompany them past the pier, but disappeared into the jungle as soon as the hunt was done. Even Silva didn’t know where he lived, and he was probably the closest thing to a friend the old Lemurian had. The sun went down quickly, as was its custom, and for a time the large, voracious insects pestered them as they traversed the estuary. The breeze of the bay protected them a little as they drew nearer the city.
“What the devil?” Silva asked as they caught sight of the old fitting-out pier. The city was lit up like it hadn’t been in a long time, and a major party appeared to be under way.
“Most interesting,” observed Bradford. “One would like to speculate that they’ve heard the news of our return after such an auspicious and successful venture as ours today, but I honestly doubt that’s the case.”
“Nobody invited you to a party neither?” Silva grumped.
“Indeed not. I can’t imagine what might have transpired in our absence to cause such revelry. Perhaps the war is over?”
Silva grunted. “We musta missed
something
, but I doubt that’s it. Besides, they wouldn’t dare win the war without lettin’ me in on it. I’m gonna personally poke that Sequestural Lizard Mother through the head with one o’ Lanier’s U.S.-marked butter knives. I told the skipper so. If she fell off the pot an’ broke her neck, I’m gonna be mighty sore.”
Abel stirred from where he’d been sleeping curled up next to Lawrence in the stern sheets. “Look!” he said a little blearily. “
Walker
is lit up! Her aft searchlight tower has been reinstalled and they are shining the light about!”
“Ahhh!” roared Silva when the beam rested momentarily on the approaching launch and its train of barges. He shielded his eyes from the painful glare. “Goddamn EMs are horsin’ around! They musta managed to twist a couple o’ wires together an’ thought that was worth a hootenanny!” He chuckled. “Maybe Rodriguez’ll point the light at Laney! He can’t stand that stupid prick. ‘Hey, Ronson, what’s that smolderin’ pile o’ bones?’ ‘Oh, that’s just Laney. Thought I saw a roach on deck!’ ” Silva laughed.
Abel looked at him in the reflected light—the searchlight beam had passed on—and wondered just how serious the big man was. There were persistent rumors that Silva had actually tried to kill Laney before. Abel usually doubted it. He’d discovered that Silva was particularly skilled at killing things that he
really
wanted dead. But he’d also learned Silva was only slightly more predictable than the weather.
“Hey,” Dennis said, addressing the coxswain, “after we drop our load, take us over there, willya?” He was pointing at
Walker
. The coxswain was a Lemurian, one of Keje’s officers learning powered-ship-handling skills so he’d at least have some sort of a clue when it came time for
Big Sal
to join the fleet. “Whatever’s goin’ on, it looks like it has to do with our ship, so I figure anybody that’s anybody’ll be there. We can report in and find out what’s up at the same time.”
“You betcha,” came the high-pitched response.
The launch’s nose bumped against the pier and Silva winced to think what Tony Scott would have said, but he sent Bradford and Abel up the rungs to the dock. Lawrence scampered up without assistance and Silva followed him. There was clearly a party atmosphere, and it seemed as if most of the city had turned out to see the show. It took Dennis only a few minutes to figure out what all the ruckus was about. Through the noise of the revelers, mostly Lemurian but a few human as well, a long-unheard but intimately familiar sound reached his ears. He turned and stared at the ship.
Smoke was rising from the aft funnel, the number four boiler, and the blower behind the still-stripped pilothouse roared with a steady, healthy, reassuring rumble. He’d expected it any day now, just not
today
. He knew the reconstruction of the numbers three and four boilers was almost complete and the starboard engine, that gloriously complicated Parsons turbine, had been carefully overhauled, but the blower motor and both the twenty-five-kilowatt generators had still been in the “powerhouse” when his hunting party set out that morning before dawn. For the longest time, all he could do was stand and stare.
Walker
was alive again. She inhaled, exhaled, and her proud heart stirred once more. Her lifeblood flowed to the boiler, where hellish fires flared and water flashed to steam and sang joyously through the pipes to her turbines. At least one refurbished generator fed electricity to her blower and the spotlight. Silva’s eye patch felt soggy and his good eye quit working right. Someone was calling his name, but it just didn’t register at first. He noticed a slight weight land upon him, pulling his neck forward with small, strong arms. The passionate kiss suddenly inflicted on him finally brought him to his senses and he realized Pam Cross had jumped on him like a kid on a set of monkey bars. The small nurse clung to him and the curves pressed against him brought a smile to his tear-streaked face.
“Why, there you are, my little honeydew!” He still held the massive rifle in his right hand, but his left arm was more than sufficient to support the dark-haired, Brooklyn-born firecracker. “Where’s Risa? I kinda missed you gals t’day. Killed me a super lizard! But I wish I’d’a been here, now!”
“Risa’s on
Big Sal
, but she’ll be heah.” Pam giggled. “Probably give you the same kind of welcome . . . except I ain’t going to lick you!”
“Always glad to oblige my adorin’ ladies!”
Pam hugged him tight. “Gotcha a super lizard with your”—she giggled again—“big gun, huh? That’s swell. I’m just glad you’re back safe.”
Silva pretended innocent confusion. “Say, where’d Bradford run off to? That reminds me. I need to talk to somebody. Mr. Letts or Spanky, I guess. I gotta make a ree-port. We saw somethin’ kinda screwy today.”
Pam kissed him again and climbed down. “He went over theah, with the kid and the lizard. They’re talking to Mr. Letts and Adar already. Hurry back, you big lug.”
Silva bowed theatrically. “A hero’s toil never ends, m’dear. I’ll be back to perform whatever chore you require di-rectly!”
Someone pushed a mug of seep in his hand as he made his way to where Bradford, Letts, Adar, and now Spanky, Sister Audry, and Keje stood. Adar studied him intently.
“Why didn’t you kill them?” Adar asked. “Mr. Braad-furd says they looked quite like Grik.”
“Yeah, well, they wasn’t, was they? Last time I shot somethin’ only
looked
like a Grik, he wound up bein’ one of my best buddies.” Lawrence and Abel had joined them and Silva tousled Lawrence’s young crest. The Tagranesi irritably shook his head. “Call me soft if you like, but I’ve decided shootin’ fellas may not always be the best way to say how-dee-do. ’Specially with guns that won’t leave much to get acquainted with.” He hefted his rifle proudly. “A super lizard with one shot! This thing woulda spattered them little Injun jungle lizards all over the clearin’. Might coulda brung one of ’em back in a snuff can to meetcha.”
“Injun lizards?” Spanky demanded.
“I discovered ’em!” Silva said, stubbornly. “I can call ’em what I want.” He nodded at Adar. “Question is, what’s the dope on ’em? Does his purple presidential holiness think we shoulda killed ’em, captured ’em, or left ’em be?”
Adar was highly accustomed to Silva’s irreverent humor by now. He even shared it in good measure. Besides, if anyone had earned the right to make sport of him, or “josh” him a little, as the Amer-i-caans said, Silva certainly had. He wasn’t the least offended now.
“Actually, I think you did precisely the right thing. As a Sky Priest of the sea folk who has just lately inherited a land domain, I confess I knew nothing of this species. Nakja-Mur never spoke of them, nor did Naga. I suspect your Moe and other hunters may have been carrying on this war of theirs for generations. Only he and others like him often venture into the wilds around Baalkpan. Nakja-Mur was a thoughtful, wise High Chief and a careful steward. I suspect if he had truly known of your ‘Injun lizards,’ he would have told us.”
“Moe said he did.”
“Nakja-Mur never left this city in his life,” Adar said. “Naga did, but only by sea. Nakja-Mur also knew of the Grik threat from the west, but didn’t truly
believe
it until it was upon him. The same is probably the case with those you saw today. All of us know there are aboriginal tribes of Grik-like creatures. Lawrence is proof of that. But no one ever considered the possibility they might not all
be
Grik in anything other than form. Captain Reddy has sent that they discovered the remains of Grik-like creatures in Aryaal that had apparently been used as slaves or worse. He believes they were like the ones that attacked your shore party when you first came to this world.” Adar sighed.
“We have neglected studying these almost mythical creatures long enough—on the islands, and apparently here as well. Perhaps they are yet more enemies, as we have always assumed, but just perhaps”—he glanced at Lawrence and blinked fondness—“they are more like
him
than we could have ever dreamed. We learn more about even the Grik all the time,” he added cryptically. He bowed to Courtney Bradford. “You will have your expedition. I want to make contact with these creatures. Perhaps we can even be friends, if they can forgive generations of violence most of us knew nothing about!”
“The only ‘expedition’ I want is back in the war!” Silva insisted.
“You’ll get that,” Letts said. “And before much longer.” Subtly, during the conversation, Letts and Spanky had turned toward
Walker
so they could stare at the miraculously vibrant . . . living ship. Silva joined them, and eventually, so did all the others. They were here to celebrate her resurrection, after all. Even Sister Audry, who’d done everything she could throughout the day to prevent any spiritual significance from being attached to the event, was moved.
“She still looks a fright, Spanky,” Silva said, “but you’ve done a swell job.”
“Everybody has, you moron,” Spanky replied gruffly. “Even you.”
Silva belched loudly. Seep had that effect on him. So did the local beer, which he’d begun to prefer. Actually, Dennis Silva belched fairly often, regardless. “Try to be nice to a snipe,” he grumped, “and what’s he do? Slanders and insults.” He shook his head. “Where’s Loo-tenant Tucker and the munchkin princess? I woulda figured they’d be here for somethin’ like this.”
Spanky McFarlane looked around. “Well, they
were
here, just a little while ago.”
“They went for a cool drink,” Adar supplied, “and perhaps they have retired for the night. It is quite late.”
“Yeah, well, me and Larry’d better find ’em and report in. I am one of the o-fficial pro-tectors of Her little Highness, after all, and I doubt Larry can stand it much longer without lickin’ her er somethin’.” Lawrence hissed at Dennis through his fangs, kind of a chuckle for him. “ ’Sides, Miss Loo-tenant Tucker’s prob’ly worn out from dealin’ with the little twerp all day!”
The others laughed. Not only did they know Silva was devoted to the girl and considered her anything but a twerp, but they knew Sandra loved the princess like a daughter.
“So long then.” Spanky grunted. “And good riddance. Come back and brag when you kill a super lizard with your teeth!”
“That’s the very next stunt on my list,” Silva called back, heading toward Pam. “And I’ll do it too, right after you build a battleship out of a beer can.” Reaching the dark-haired nurse, he crushed her in another embrace. “You run along home now. Ol’ Silva’s kinda tired. Won’t be good for more than three or four hours o’ labor, I’m afraid. I’ll be along directly!”
Pam giggled and moved away through the crowd.