She was also his only remaining heir. When he died in the Battle of Baalkpan, she was elevated-at the tender age of twelve-to take his place. Lemurians matured more quickly than humans, but she was still considered a youngling even by her own people. She’d been through an awful lot and was clearly aware she had much to live up to, but Matt suspected she’d do all right. Her father’s blood ran in her veins and she had a spine of steel. She also had a lot of help. Keje had practically adopted her, and a better tutor in seamanship and command didn’t exist. Already, Keje loved the tragic child as his own, and Tassana adored him as well. In fact, she had quite a serious case of hero worship for just about everyone present, since they’d all been instrumental in avenging the death of her kin.
As always when he stepped aboard one of the enormous seagoing cities of the Lemurians, an awesome sight greeted Matt. The main deck, with the polta fruit gardens lining the bulwark, was normally a hundred feet above the sea, and three huge pagodalike “apartments” towered above it like skyscrapers. The massive tripods that supported the great sails or “wings” soared another two hundred and fifty feet above the deck. Larger than the new Essex - class aircraft carriers Matt had glimpsed under construction so long ago, Aracca was double-ended, flat-bottomed, and built of diagonally plank-laminated wood that was six feet thick in places. He was always impressed by the incredibly tough, sophisticated design that ensured that she and others like her would last for centuries upon this world’s more hostile seas. Looking at Aracca, he couldn’t imagine any natural force overcoming her. He vividly remembered how vulnerable her daughter Home, Nerracca, had been to ten-inch naval rifles, however.
After the ceremonial greeting, the youngling High Chief embraced Matt. He knew she felt great affection for him and he certainly returned it, but hers always made him feel a little awkward. He couldn’t convince himself he deserved it. Tassana hugged Sandra next, then Spanky and Courtney. Kutas had stayed with the boat.
“Good morning, my dear!” Courtney said, pecking the High Chief’s furry cheek. “We have come to view your progress firsthand! Judging by the increasing quantities of scrap arriving at the shipyard, you must be proceeding beyond our dreams!”
“It goes well,” Tassana admitted with a touch of pride. She had the support and assistance of the vastly more experienced High Chiefs of the other Homes, but she was essentially in charge of the project.
“Anybody hurt today?” Sandra asked solicitously.
“A few, not serious. Torch burns, most. The new ‘a… aa-set-aaleen’ does not, ah, reg… reg-ulate the same as old, and of course we no have gay-ges for new torches either.”
“It takes a little trial and error, I’m afraid,” Courtney commiserated. Raw materials had been their very first priority, so fulfilling their need for more acetylene had dominated all other concerns for a while. The first large steam-powered generator was devoted entirely to the new furnace for cooking limestone, and the stuff was coming in from everywhere. Great, billowing white clouds arose from the crushing grounds near the shipyard, and workers emerged from a day’s labor resembling long-tailed spooks. A still for the acetone was much easier to manage, but just as hard to feed. The volatile liquid resulting from the process also tended to evaporate as quickly as it was made, negating tremendous labor, so the quality control required for the combination and compression of the gas was a little haphazard. Courtney had taken personal charge of the project, with Letts’s logistical assistance, so he felt a little responsible for each injury sustained.
“The burns not serious,” Tassana thoughtfully assured him.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Matt said, a little impatient to see the work. “Mind if we take a look?”
“’Course not.” Tassana led them up a long stair from the catwalk above the polta garden to the amidships battlement platform above. They strode across it to starboard and peered down over the rail. The view they beheld was amazing and terrible, like something from Dante’s Inferno. The water level within the cofferdam was considerably lower than that outside, and pumps heaved great geysers into the bay. The main portion of Amagi had actually settled atop her own amputated bow, and the scene of tangled, twisted wreckage and destruction was horrifying in a visceral way. The once mighty ship lay exposed down below her main deck and was still quite recognizable, but great arcs of molten steel jetted away from dozens of torches, spewing into the sea and causing a haze of steam to linger in the basin. Heavy booms lifted rusty, unrecognizable chunks, and even small structures. They heaved them across the expansive decks of the Homes and placed them on barges alongside.
“Goddamn,” muttered Spanky around his perpetual wad of yellowish Lemurian tobacco leaves. “ ’Scuse me ladies, but… goddamn. Looks like Mare Island down there. Upside down or inside out-whatever-but damned impressive.” He looked at Tassana, the usual fond expression he bestowed upon her mingled with respect. “I’m impressed,” he repeated. “Keje said you could do it, that I should worry ’bout other stuff, but you know, I admit I was a little skeptical. I had a chief when I was a kid who helped cofferdam the Maine, to refloat her, and he told me about it. That was a hell of a job-but this!” He gestured around. “The Maine was a rowboat compared to Amagi.”
“You proud?” Tassana asked eagerly.
“You betcha. You’re going to get a lot of leakage, and I’m not sure how you’ll manage to get her bottom up, but it looks great so far.”
“There already leakage,” Tassana admitted, “but pumps stay ahead. Also, when we get to bottom, we sink holes to pump with you hoses. We get bottom.”
Spanky shook his head. “I bet you will.”
Gray was watching the workers. Now that they weren’t on a moving boat, the day had turned hot, and with all the steam… “Poor devils down there must be boilin’,” he said.
“It… uncomfortable,” Tassana agreed, “but I go down much.. . The workers… cheerful, yes? They cheerful knowing steel they bring up will kill Grik.” She grinned. “Some would like to bring up whole ship.”
“That might make salvage more convenient,” Matt said, “having her closer to the shipyard. But it would take years to fix her. She’s torn in half, and that doesn’t even count all the damage she took before she got here. And everything on her is just so damn big! We still don’t even have cranes remotely big enough to lift her guns.”
“Prob’ly have to cut ’em up,” Spanky lamented.
Matt shook his head. “I’d rather have her steel now than maybe have her a few years from now.” He didn’t add that they’d need some of that steel to restore his own ship-if it could be done-but Sandra heard it in his voice.
They lapsed into silence for a while, just staring at the monumental undertaking below. There must have been five hundred ’Cat workers on the wreck, cutting, unbolting, swinging heavy sledges, and dragging loose objects to convenient locations for the booms to reach. Their old nemesis resembled nothing as much as a murdered beetle on an ant mound being dismantled, ever so slowly, by the proud but remorseless mandibles of its killers.
Matt shook the thought away. Any sailor hated the breaking yard, but he would not attach any sentimentality to that… monstrosity that had tormented his dreams and threatened the existence of everything he loved on this world for over a year. He knew Amagi herself was not to blame; Captain Kurokawa and the Grik had wielded the weapon she’d been. Still, she’d embodied the threat they posed, and he enjoyed the irony that he and his people would now use her against her former masters. She’d been a scourge, but now she was a precious gift. She wasn’t given willingly or received without great cost, but her corpse would provide the bones to which they could attach the sinews of modern war. She’d been the ultimate weapon of the Grik and the Japanese on this world. Now she would help destroy them.
Sandra had noticed the range of expressions that crossed Matt’s face. Some she recognized and her heart went out to him. A few confused her. The strange smile that replaced them all left a chill in her bones.
Dean Laney, former chief machinist’s mate aboard USS Walker, winced and shifted uncomfortably on his stool. Damn, his ass hurt! It had started bugging him a lot lately, and now he had an intermittent case of the screamers, which only aggravated the problem. He sipped his coffee, or “monkey joe,” and gazed around. Large, crude machinery hummed, rattled, and roared loudly all around him. The chassis and casings were mostly copper or brass, but some were even made of wood. Only bearings, shafts, chucks, and tool heads were made of real, precious steel, although more and more iron parts and castings were coming from the foundries. Over his head, high in the ceiling beams, leather belts whooped and whirled and spun in all directions around a precarious clockwork of rattling wooden pulleys of various sizes. Having all that motion right over his head sometimes gave him the creeps, but usually he was able to ignore it.
He didn’t know what his rank was anymore. Everybody had been getting fancy-sounding promotions, but if he had a new title, word hadn’t leaked down to him yet. It didn’t really matter, he supposed. It wasn’t like he’d get a raise in pay. Besides, his domain had certainly been enlarged. Instead of Walker ’s cramped engineering spaces and modest machine shop, he now oversaw a sprawling, impressive industrial complex. Three long buildings and
