Crusade

Walker, or Big Sal, or, hopefully, Mahan, it would never, could never truly be a live thing.

Matt was grateful for Adar’s assistance. He hadn’t been sure which side of the argument the Sky Priest would take. Nakja-Mur’s aged Sky Priest, Naga, had begun to defer more and more to Adar in matters of «belligerent spiritual guidance.» Big Sal’s «head witch doctor,» as he was sometimes affectionately called by some Americans, had almost visibly swelled in importance and prestige. He didn’t flaunt it, and he certainly didn’t abuse the power, but he did have greater influence than ever before. His approval had been key. In word and deed, Adar had become the most outspoken advocate of this «total war» no matter what it took. He’d taken to heart his vow not to rest until the Grik were destroyed. At Adar’s urging, in spite of their distaste, gangs of workers dutifully, if uncomfortably, toiled on the Grik ship, getting it ready for sea.

Light streamed through the Great Hall’s open shutters and motes of dust drifted in the beams. Loud voices and shouted conversations carried on around Matt, Lieutenant Mallory, Courtney Bradford, Alan Letts, and Sandra Tucker, where they stood beside Nakja-Mur and his entourage, as well as Keje and Adar. Nakja-Mur stood, obese but powerful, dressed in his usual red kilt and gold-embroidered cloak that contrasted with his shiny dark fur. Fur with growing splashes of white. Matt thought of it as his «High Chief suit,» since he’d always dressed thus when Matt saw him. Adar’s purple robe with embroidered stars across the shoulders was an equally constant garment. The hood was thrown back, revealing his almost silver pelt and piercing gray eyes. Matt’s friend Keje was dressed in a warlike manner, as Matt had first seen him after Walker nd, by so doing, joined them in this terrible war. His armor consisted of engraved copper plates fastened to the tough hide of a plesiosaur they called «gri-kakka.» At his side was a short, scimitar-shaped hacking sword called a skota, and cradled in his arm was a copper helmet, adorned with the striated tail plumage of a Grik. He also wore a red cloak fastened at his throat by interlocked Grik hind claws. Beneath the armor, as protection from chafing, he wore a blue tunic embroidered with fanciful designs. Other than the Americans, he wore the only «shirt» in the hall. All the ’Cats the destroyermen had met seemed to wear as little as they could manage, usually just a light kilt. Even the females went disconcertingly topless, and their very human, albeit furry, breasts were a constant distraction for the sex- starved destroyermen.

Large-scale addresses were rare among the People, and there was no way to speak directly to such a gathering from within its midst. Therefore, an elevated platform, or stage, had been constructed near the center of the hall where the Great Tree rose through the floor and soared high overhead to pass through the ceiling. Matt had seen the huge Galla tree many times now, but he was always amazed by its size and by the fact that he’d seen only one other like it. The one growing from the heart of Big Sal. He supposed other Homes had similar trees, and he wondered again if it was possible they were descendants of the trees the Lemurians had known in their ancient home.

The crowd was growing restless, anxious.

At a nod from Nakja-Mur, he stepped onto the stage. Immediately there was a respectful silence in the Great Hall — a much different reception than the last time he’d spoken to this assembly. Of course, he’d given them a «victory» since then — such as it was. He paced the small platform for a moment, staring at the upturned faces while Chack joined him to interpret. Many of those present had actually learned a smattering of English, but Matt hadn’t yet acquired a conversational ability in their tongue and he was slightly embarrassed by that. He’d always thought he was pretty good with languages, but there was something about the strange, yowling words of the People that absolutely defeated him. Bradford, Letts, and even Sandra could jabber away like natives — at least as far as he could tell — but he was just as likely to insult somebody as to tell them it was a temperate day. Maybe it was a mental block, or his mind was too busy. Whatever the reason, he was glad Chack was there.

He gestured at Lieutenant Mallory. «My friends,» he began, «as you know, the flying-boat has returned from its scout in the south.» He paused. He’d hated sending the PBY and its crew off by themselves, but Bradford and the Mice had managed to refine a small amount of high-octane gasoline. They had done it somehow using salt water, of all things. Also, since Riggs had the plane’s radio working, they’d never been out of contact. Ben flew under orders to avoid being seen at all costs, so he didn’t have a firm count of the number of enemy ships that invested Surabaya. The only thing he could verify was that the lizards were definitely there. All the air crew could see from ten miles away and an altitude of 13,000 feet — a distance that should have muted the Catalina’s loud engines — was «lots of ships.» Unrealistically, Matt had hoped Mallory would spot Mahan—even though he had instructed him not to specifically look for her. Judging by how long he was gone and how much fuel he’d used, the Air Corps aviator must have covered as much ocean as he could anyway. There’d been no sign. «What Lieutenant Mallory and his companions have reported confirms our fears,» Captain Reddy resumed. «Aryaal is under siege.» He waited for a moment while the tumult died down. «I must ptime, many minutes passed before he was able to speak again. There were a few shouts of agreement, but many more cries of incredulous protest. The initial response degenerated into a general roar of discussion and debate. «We have no choice!» he shouted over the hubbub. «If the enemy establishes a permanent base as near as that, Baalkpan is doomed!» He picked out a small gathering of High Chiefs and fixed them with his eyes. «Many of you can just leave. Your Homes aren’t tied to the land. But if Baalkpan falls, what then? Where will you replenish stores? With whom will you trade? Who’ll repair your Homes? I know there are other lands that will serve that purpose for a time, but how long will it be before they too are lost? If we don’t stop them now, one day all that will remain of the People will be scattered clans, alone on the sea, without sanctuary and without hope.»

«We have no hope now!» snarled Anai-Sa, Fristar’s High Chief. «We should flee. We’ve seen the charts you took, many of us, and the Grik are as many as the stars above.»

«We must not flee!» Adar bellowed, joining Matt on the stage. The intensity of his glare caused many to flinch. «I was in the belly of the Grik ship not long after its capture. I have spoken to the ‘survivors,’ though such a word mocks them! I have seen the perverted way the Grik twist our faith and use it against us. Speak not of flight! Any who would flee in the face of this scourge is aiding it! They are not only cowards but traitors to their people!» There were shouts of dissent, but some loudly agreed. Anai-Sa brooded in silence.

«Much has happened since we last met like this,» Matt continued when the uproar began to fade. «Since then we’ve accomplished much, in spite of the doubts of some. Most importantly, we’ve won our first real victory over the enemy. I don’t speak of simply destroying their ships. That’s been done before. Besides, I agree it’s now plain that such small victories are pointless in the face of the numbers the enemy possesses. What we’ve won is priceless intelligence!» He smiled. «We’re no longer as ‘ignorant’ as we were before, and so we can begin to plan for greater victories. Victories that will make a difference. The first such victory should be the relief of Aryaal.»

«How can it benefit us to spill our blood for them?» asked Kas-Ra-Ar, Keje’s cousin. The question wasn’t confrontational, but genuinely curious. «The Aryaalans have never helped us before.»

«If we save them from the fate that awaits them in the Grik hulls, I bet they will then,» Matt answered simply. «Don’t you see? The Grik are through ‘probing.’ This is for all the marbles — I mean. polta fruit!» He grimaced, wondering how well that would translate. «They’ve taken Singapore, destroyed Tjilatjap. possibly others. Now they threaten Surabaya — Aryaal. This is it! The conquest you’ve feared since you fled them the last time so very long ago!» He blinked appropriately to convey frustration and anger. «Well, I say this time we stop them! This time we throw their asses back!» He stopped and took a breath, wishing he had some water. He was sweating and he knew he was allowing his own frustration over the litany of events that had brought his ship and her people to this moment to color his argument.

Once again, the long retreat in the face of the Japanese was fresh upon him. The terrifying escape from the Philippines, the lopsided battle of the Java Sea, the doomed retreat from Surabaya and the death of Exeter and Pope and all the others haunted him anew. The fate of Mahan, and the horrors he’d seen in the Grik hold. Not to mention the enigmatic human skull. At that moment, emotionally, it all became one. The Grik had become an arguably far more terrible, but just as youar effort.) There was also the touchy religious angle, which they rightly figured the Baalkpan High Chief could smooth out more easily — with his own people anyway — than either of them could.

Mainly, though, Matt and Keje wanted Baalkpan to have a real piece of the naval war. Most of the landing force were Baalkpans, and most of their supplies came from there. Baalkpan truly was the «arsenal» of the alliance. Despite that, there was no great floating presence that represented Baalkpan in the order of battle, and the way such things were reckoned by their quintessentially seagoing race, the greater share of honor fell to those whose very homes went in harm’s way. Revenge more than satisfied that requirement of honor, since the plan called for her, the physical representative of Baalkpan, to be first in battle and perhaps even the key