and heroism of his fine crew, had been for nothing. Whatever lay ahead could only be a very large Japanese ship, and as soon as it saw them they would die. His only plan was to gain the attention of the enemy, fire Walker’s last torpedoes and run like hell under a cloud of smoke back in the direction of Surabaya. Maybe they could distract it from Mahan and the other destroyer would escape.
The talker asked the lookout to repeat himself. “Captain?” he said hesitantly. “Vernon says he’s a little above the haze now and he can see a fair amount of the target, which is also above the haze. He says it ain’t no Jap warship he ever saw. It ain’t nothin’ he ever heard of.”
“Explain!” snapped Matt. Every eye in the pilothouse was fixed upon the talker.
“Sir, he says it’s got sails.”
All binoculars were instantly in use as the bridge crew scrutinized the apparition more closely. Sails. Whatever it was, it was huge and it had sails. Lieutenant Garrett’s voice came over the comm, calling out range estimates and instructing his gun crews. “Range six four five oh. Bearing two five oh. Speed fo-four knots? Captain, I have a solution. Request permission to commence firing.”
Captain Reddy tore his gaze from the ship that was rapidly resolving into something… remarkable, and strode to the intercom himself. “Negative, Mr. Garrett. I repeat, negative! Hold your fire. Continue to track the target, but hold your fire!” He looked at Sandison. “You too, Bernie.” He returned to stand beside his chair and raised his binoculars again. Wind rushed in through the empty window frames and threatened to take his hat, but he didn’t even notice. It was a ship, all right. Bigger than a battleship. Bigger than a carrier. Hell, it was bigger than anything he’d ever seen. And rising high in the air, at least three or four hundred feet, were three huge tripods that each supported enormous semi-rigid sails much like those of a junk, but bigger than any junk’s that were ever conceived. “Engines slow to two-thirds. Left ten degrees rudder. Let’s see what we have here.”
The great ship was threading the channel-with evident care, consideringits size-on a heading taking it into the Java Sea. There was silence on Walker’s bridge as she drew closer and details became more defined. Matt didn’t even notice Sandra Tucker and Mr. Bradford join him to gape at the leviathan. It was double-ended, sharp at bow and stern, and looked like a gargantuan version of the old Federal ironclad Monitor, except the straight up- and-down sides reared a hundred feet above the sea. Instead of a turret, there were three large structures with multiple levels, like wedding cakes, forming the foundations for the great tripod masts. In a sense, they looked like the pagoda-style superstructures distinctive of Japanese warships, except they were larger and were, like the rest of the huge ship, evidently made of wood. Bright-colored tarps and awnings were spread everywhere, creating a festive air, and from what he could see of the deck from his low perspective, the space between the structures was covered with pavilion-like arrangements of brightly striped and embroidered canvas.
The ship was easily a thousand feet long, but most outlandish of all were the hundreds of creatures lining the rails and in the rigging and leaning out windows in the “pagodas” to stare right back at them.
“Bring us alongside, Mr. Scott.” Matt’s voice sounded small, and he cleared his throat, hoping for a more authoritative tone. ”No closer than a hundred yards. Slow to one-third.” He glanced at the talker. “Try to raise Mahan and tell her to hold her horses.” Perhaps they’d repaired her radio. Jim was optimistic.
“Sir!” cried Sandison. “What about the Japs? Won’t they hear us transmit?”
An explosive giggle escaped Tony Scott, but he managed to compose himself. Matt let out a breath he must have been holding and gestured out the windows with his chin. He smiled hesitantly. “Mr. Sandison, I don’t believe there are any Japs. Not anymore.”
The chattering voices grew progressively quieter as the strange vessel approached. Excited exclamations and panicky activity all but ceased. Chack and Risa were on the catwalk above the gardens that ran around the ship. They squeezed through to the railing for a better view. The thing was close now, less than a hundred tails distant. Though small compared to Home, it was longer than any Grik ship ever seen, although maybe not as wide. There was a single tall mast toward the front and a much shorter one at the back, but neither carried a wing of any sort! It had checked its mad dash and now matched their speed, moving parallel to their course. The white froth it threw aside as it dashed through the waves diminished to a whisker.
No wings-and yet it moved effortlessly in any direction, regardless of the wind! As it kept station off their beam, Chack had the impression it was going as slow as it possibly could and strained to surge ahead against some invisible bond. Four tall pipes, or vents, towered from the middle, and occasional wisps of smoke curled away. Perhaps the pipes were wings? He couldn’t see how. If so, must they light fires in them to make them work? When he first saw it, there was much smoke and it went very fast. Now it was slow, but there was little smoke. Perhaps. He felt a twinge of superstitious dread. Fire was another thing the People feared, and only the cookers and lighters were allowed to use it. All it would take was one careless moment and all of Home might be consumed. To harness fire and use it so made him feel uneasy. The thing boasted few colors, except for a tattered, striped cloth that fluttered at the back. Other than that, it was dull, like a stormy sky, with brownish streaks and smudges here and there. It also looked like it had been bitten by a mountain fish, as there were holes, large and small, all over.
Chack’s thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the Guards, who arrayed themselves along the railing every five tails or so, pushing spectators away. Most hadn’t bothered to don their light armor, but all had their axes and crossbows, which they strung when they took their positions. Chack felt a twinge of guilt. He was in the reserve Guard, as was every able-bodied person on Home. But he hadn’t even thought to arm himself, so anxious was he to get a look at the stranger. He thought about fetching his weapons now, and even started to leave, when the chattering grew louder again. He squeezed back through the people that packed the rails. Risa grasped his arm. “They are not Grik!” she shouted over the growing clamor. “Not Grik!”
He blinked rapidly in surprise and stared back across the water. He’d been so preoccupied by the strange vessel, as had everyone, that he’d failed to notice there were people on it. Well, not People, of course, but not Grik.
“What are they?” Risa asked, barely heard.
“What the hell are they?” Matt said softly, barely aloud.
“They look like monkeys! Or cats! Or… hell, what are they?!” blurted Sandison.
“Quite like lemurs, I should think,” said Bradford in an excited tone, “although they do have a strong feline aspect as well.”
“I don’t know what a lemur is, or a feline neither. They look like cat-monkeys to me,” grumbled Scott.
“Silence on the bridge!” Matt said softly but forcefully. “Tend your helm, Mr. Scott.”
Keje-Fris-Ar stepped to the rail, surrounded by his personal guards, and waited for Adar, the High Sky Priest, to join him. Keje was short, even by the standards of the People, and he tended toward a mild plumpness common among the Body of Home folk. His arms were massive, however, as they’d been since his youth, when he’d been the greatest lance hurler in living memory. In his fortieth season, he was still among the best. When the People hunted the great gri-kakka, or “lizard fish,” for its flesh and the oil from its fat, he still often found a place in the boats. His short fur was reddish brown, now salted with white, but his eyes-a much darker reddish brown-sparkled with youthful curiosity, along with a natural concern. As he gazed at the amazing visitor, one of his clansmen-guards dressed him in his war tunic, made of gri-kakka skin and covered with highly polished and beautifully chased copper plates. At his side was his scota, a long, broad-bladed sword used primarily for hacking gri-kakka fat but also a formidable weapon in his practiced hand.
Adar arrived, shouldering gently but firmly through the gathered people. His long purple robe hung from his tall, thin frame and billowed as a gust of wind breathed softly across them. On each shoulder was an embroidered silver star, much the same color as his pelt, which was the badge of his office. He stared intently at the unbelievable ship, but more specifically at the creatures upon it in their outlandish white, blue, and light brown garments. Creatures doing nothing more threatening than staring back at them. They were bizarre, to be sure, and taller even than he. They had virtually no fur at all, just little tufts on their heads covered by strange hats. A few had fur on their faces, but not very many. The most shocking difference, however, at least at a glance, was that the beings had no tails. At all.
Most looked back with as much apparent astonishment as the People displayed. Others evidently communicated with one another in some animated, alien fashion. Generally, though, their reaction to the meeting seemed to mirror that of the People. There was no fear in his voice when he spoke to his leader and lifelong friend. “Tail-less mariners,” he said quietly. “How very strange indeed. Could it possibly be?” He shook his head. “Demons from the East, most likely.”
Keje glanced at him and blinked questioningly. “The Scrolls speak of demons from the East? Specifically? The People are harried sufficiently by demons from every other direction. These must be distinguished demons
