off.
At first Spanky didn’t understand. Why continue the fight? Intellectually, he expected an interesting match. Several Dominion liners were disabled or destroyed, so the numbers would be nearly equal. The contest between the two fleets would pit ships with many guns, propelled by sail alone, against ships with fewer, bigger guns, powered by sail and steam. There were advantages and disadvantages inherent to the philosophies behind each fleet, and Spanky knew Matt would be fascinated. But then Spanky did understand. The remaining third of the Dominion fleet, a little hard-used and frigate-heavy now, was gathering to approach Walker. Apparently the old destroyer had made an impression on the enemy commander, because the major battle shaping northeast of her position seemed designed solely to ensure that nothing beyond the now battered Tacitus and Euripides could come to Walker ’s aid.
“Oh, shit,” he muttered. “Tell Tabby the boilers might be ‘fixed when they’re fixed,’ but we need at least one of ’em fixed right damn now.”
“She trying!” cried the talker. “She not know why there no steam to engines!”
Spanky looked around, frustrated. He needed to be helping out with engineering, but right now he had to be on the bridge. He thought furiously for a moment, battling the various necessities in his mind. The simple fact was, even if the Skipper and the others hadn’t been ashore, Walker ’s bench just wasn’t deep enough for this anymore. There were plenty of good, professional ’Cats aboard, but dealing with situations like this could be learned only by experience. He could put Bashear back in charge, but the Bosun was knee-deep as it was. Campeti was busy too. He thought Norm could handle it, but he’d already been taken to the wardroom. He finally came to the conclusion that, however unprepared for overall command he considered himself, he was the only remotely qualified person available. He had to stay where he was. With Miami dead, that left only Tabby to do his job. She knew Walker ’s boilers inside and out, literally. He just hoped she’d picked up enough of the rest of the ship’s engineering plant, and how it all worked together. He sighed.
“Tell Tabby she better find out, and quick. This ship and everybody aboard needs her to be a chief engineer right now. If we’re not underway in ten minutes, we’re all dead.”
The talker gulped, tail swishing, and relayed his words. Tabby didn’t reply.
“ Euripides is coming out of the smoke of that burning liner-off the starboard beam now!” Palmer cried. “She looks pretty chewed.”
The Imperial frigate had lost her mainmast and its remains had been cut away. Black smoke poured from a dozen holes in her tall, skinny stack, and bright splintered wood glared from her dark-painted hull. Both her paddle wheels still churned vigorously alongside, though, and she was approaching at a respectable clip. A few moments later, Tacitus appeared as well, and if anything, she looked worse than her sister. Only her mizzen and bowsprit still stood, and she was kind of crab-walking around a battered starboard paddle box, but somehow she was managing to keep pace with Euripides. Shredded Imperial flags still proudly streamed from both ships.
“Have Campeti pass the word! ‘Friendies’ on the starboard quarter, do not fire on them!” Spanky ordered. The command probably hadn’t been necessary, but Spanky didn’t want any mistakes in the chaos.
“ Euripides signaling to make for our starboard side,” the talker echoed the lookout. “ Tacitus angling aft; she come alongside to port.”
Shortly afterward, Euripides backpedaled, her paddle wheels throwing up a mountain of foam as she arrested her forward motion alongside the wallowing destroyer. Tacitus was still coming up, more laboriously, but bundled hammocks, sails, and other items were being slung over her shattered starboard bulwarks, like bumpers on a tug.
“What the hell?” Spanky muttered.
“Ahoy there, Walker,” came a cry from the catwalk between the paddle boxes on Euripides. Spanky grabbed a speaking trumpet and dashed onto the starboard bridgewing, avoiding the jagged metal there. He saw a man he recognized as a friend of Jenks’s pointing a trumpet at him. He’d actually given the man a tour of Walker ’s firerooms, but he couldn’t remember his name.
“Ahoy, Euripides!” he cried. “It’s good to see you after such a. .. busy morning. I hope we’re still friends after all the trouble we’ve gotten you into.”
“Nonsense! Wouldn’t have missed it!” came the reply. “I did notice that your wondrously complicated internals seem a bit out of sorts.”
Spanky grimaced at the gentle jab. “We’ll get our ‘internals’ sorted out,” he said. “But I appreciate your concern.”
The figure on the catwalk shrugged. “I’m not terribly concerned, actually. Not after the way you tore through those Dom ships of the line-well done, that-but I do bear orders from the Governor-Emperor himself, via Commodore Jenks, to do whatever may be in my power, regardless of cost, to prevent serious damage to your ingenious, but frankly, somewhat… ill-favored ship. I do hope ‘ill-favored’ is not too provocative?”
Spanky laughed. “Beauty’s a matter of perception and opinion. Your ship don’t look too pretty herself right now.” A mighty splash erupted off Walker ’s bow, and the number one gun, now trained out to port, replied at one of the closing enemy ships with a loud crack and a long tongue of smoky yellow flame.
“Indeed,” agreed the man, unperturbed, “but more enemies approach, and judging by your current inconvenience and the lurid dents in your side, it might be said I’ve failed my mission in one respect, if not all. Together, we’ve accomplished our primary task-to disrupt the enemy invasion.” The man paused. “I’m honored to have assisted you in that. This was not your battle, and yet you’ve suffered on our behalf. That will not be forgotten, and thankfully I remain in a position to at least attempt the next most pressing instruction of my sovereign.”
“So? What’s that?” Spanky yelled.
“To prevent the sinking-or worse, capture-of your ship by the enemy. To that end, Euripides and Tacitus will protect her with their very bodies, and the bodies of their crews-so please forgive me if I entreat you to ‘sort out’ your engineering problems as quickly as you possibly can!”
CHAPTER 28
West Eastern Sea
T he flotilla of formerly Tagranesi proas skimmed along in a westerly direction with a favorable wind at a much faster clip than Ajax ’s longboat ever could have managed. The moon was high and cast plenty of light upon the dappled sea to spot any looming leviathans, or mountain fish, that might lie in their path. Silva had the tiller of the “command” proa, enjoying the feel of the water sliding past, and his conversation with Chinakru-through Lawrence-in the stern sheets. “Petey” sat carefully, inconspicuously, perched near him, barely moving and without a peep, as he watched Lawrence and the former “Tagranesi” with profound suspicion. Nearly everyone else aboard, and on the other proas nearby, was asleep, except for their helmsmen and a pair of keen lookouts.
Captain Lelaa had calculated, by the moon and stars, and longitudinal observations she’d made at Talaud, that they had just enough food and water to complete their voyage in the swifter vessels-weather permitting. The ex-Tagranesi, soon to be “Sa’aarans”-hopefully-had been excited and friendly to their human and Lemurian guests, but, with the exception of Silva, Sandra, and, to a lesser degree, Abel Cook, the rest of the former castaways kept to themselves. Lawrence was happy to be back among his people, and while his “homecoming” hadn’t been what he’d expected, he was warmly welcomed. He was sympathetic to the… mild discomfort of his friends, however. When he’d been alone among them, they hardly thought about his resemblance to their mortal foes, but now, surrounded by so many, some seemed reserved, pensive. Even his dear ’Ecky was affected.
Sandra and Silva didn’t care at all. They’d used Lawrence shamelessly as a portable translator, to talk to anyone who grabbed their attention. Lawrence’s “Tagran” was rusty at first, but soon he was fluent again. Silva was most interested in the surprisingly fast, stable, and forgiving sailing qualities of the proas. Almost sixty feet long and nearly ten feet wide, their hulls were shaped from a single massive tree. The outriggers were big too- sharp, hollow, and relatively airtight. (They were raised from the water once a day or so, by counterbalancing, then drained and replugged.) At some time in the past, their designers had even added a long, submerged keel that reduced their leeway amazingly. Silva pronounced them “neat little boats.” He also pestered Chinakru incessantly about how his people killed shiksaks, and how they made war if other groups-usually refugees like themselves, it
