discovered him sooner or later. He grows weary of hiding. I do worry about him, though.”
“He’ll be fine,” Matt assured her. “And he wanted to go. Like you said, he’s tired of staying out of sight. Aboard ship he can do something, and the only time he has to be scarce is if Jenks comes aboard.” Matt grinned. “Besides, he has full confidence Silva could protect you from a super lizard with his bare hands.” He raised an eyebrow. “Where is Silva, by the way?”
“Sulking,” Sandra said, wryly. “He wanted to go too. Talk about bored! God knows what mischief he’ll cause! Until I let Mr. Sandison have him full-time, he was always either trying out his ‘toys,’ or down at the Busted… I mean, the Castaway Cook.” She tousled the princess’s hair. “Right now, I have ‘the duty.’”
Suddenly, Rebecca lunged forward and embraced the captain. He was so surprised that he stood there a moment, hands away from her. Slowly, he lowered them to encompass her and returned the hug. “Do be careful, Captain Reddy,” the girl said blearily. “I know your cause is just and I shall miss you, miss you all, terribly. But you must take care! I cannot help but feel you are protecting my people as well as your own, and somehow, all our fates are tied to you in the end!”
A lump had mysteriously formed in Matt’s throat. “I’ll take care, Your Highness,” he muttered self- consciously, “and I’ll watch out for your Mr. O’Casey.”
He shook hands with the other men and embraced Keje and Adar. That was their way, like Russians, he supposed, but it was like hugging a. .. well, he didn’t know what. “We’ll see you soon,” he said to Keje. “I’ll look forward to seeing the first flattop this world has ever known come steaming over the horizon!” He stepped back, but before he could compose himself, Sandra was in his arms. Wolf whistles and howls of delight came from Nakja-Mur, tied nearby.
After a reluctantly chaste kiss, Sandra looked up at him, her eyes swimming. “Do be careful, Captain Reddy,” she said, repeating Rebecca’s words.
I love you, he mouthed, then turned for the launch.
Walker had always gotten under way with an almost spastic energy, as if straining at her moorings like a dog on a leash. The 2nd AEF proceeded more ponderously. The steamers in particular seemed almost reluctant to get under way. Donaghey was much quicker. As soon as her cable was up and down, she snatched her anchor from the bottom and surged ahead with the quickening breeze, flag streaming to leeward. She piled on more sail, and soon she was slanting down toward the mouth of the bay. Tolson and the corvettes followed in her wake and it was clear the corvettes would be fast, handy ships. Then came the swift feluccas and slower transports. Finally, the steamers began to move. Nakja-Mur and Dowden slashed at the water with their single, center-mounted screws and began to gain headway with a lot of activity, shouted commands, and considerable noise from their engines and boilers. Steam jetted. It was clear their crews were learning as they went. Achilles gained far more efficiently, with her paddle wheels helping her maneuver, but didn’t pick up speed as fast. Soon, the entire fleet was steering for the Makassar Strait-and whatever awaited them beyond.
CHAPTER 7
T hey came for him as he stepped away from the morning feeding trough. Somehow, on some level, he’d been expecting it. Feeding sounds continued unabated, punctuated by frequent snarls as Uul contended over a particularly choice boiled, meaty bone. He watched as the four specially armored warriors of the Chooser worked their way in his direction through the hissing horde that jostled to and from the trough, and for the slightest instant, he contemplated resistance.
That alone was enough to stun him into immobility. That, and the fact that he realized- realized -his sated torpor would allow the warriors to make short work of him. He was armed with only the weapons the Mother had given him. Alone, they would be no match for the armor. There was no mistake. Harshly, they called his name and their eyes were fixed on his. He was the only Uul within the stone feeding chamber who had a name, and, resignedly, he moved to meet them.
It was time. He’d had a good life, but now he was old-he knew it was so-and his joints ached and he’d lost several teeth. He’d been just slightly slower in the arena of late and if he noticed it, certainly the Chooser had. He’d still been victorious, and his surge of exultation had been affirmed by the hissing approbation of the Hij spectators, but he knew each of his victories over the last few cycles had been more difficult than the last. It was time for his boiled flesh to fill the feeding trough of the Sport Fighters. At least many were his own get, and the tradition would be unbroken. Better to feed his own here than strangers on some distant battlefield, he decided, in an uncharacteristic burst of insight. Still, it would have been better to die fighting.
He’d been a fighter all his life and he’d tasted the chaos and mad joy of major battles often, usually against his own kind. First, he’d merely been one of ten. Through skill he’d eventually become first of ten, then second of twenty-all Grik could count that high; they had two arms, two legs, and sixteen fingers and toes, after all. Time and many battles passed and he was elevated to first of twenty, first of two twenties, and ultimately first of five twenties, as high as any Uul could aspire. That was when he’d been taken to the arena for the pleasure of the Hij and given a name. He had little sense of the passage of time or how many victories he’d won. Tens of twenties, certainly. All he knew was that he’d been in the arena a long, long time. He’d enjoyed it. But all good things, like life, must end.
“Greetings, Halik-Uul,” spoke one of the armored warriors, less harshly than before.
“In the name of the Mother, I greet you,” Halik replied easily. Less certainly, he continued, “The Chooser time, now?”
“Indeed,” stated another of the warriors. “Your time has come. Your destiny awaits.”
Halik didn’t know what a “destiny” was. It was probably elevated speech for “cook pot.”
“Come,” commanded the one who seemed first of four.
Obediently, Halik followed as the warriors led him through the now quieter, staring horde. They passed through the locked gate to the underground chamber and up into the light. Halik blinked as they strode across the arena he’d fought in so many times. He couldn’t help but gaze around. He’d never seen it empty before. They reached another gate, and through it, they ascended a gradually spiraling stair. Halik grew slightly confused. He didn’t know where the cook pots were, but the smells never reached them when the wind was from this direction. His heart quickened. Maybe they were taking him to a female! Sometimes warriors who’d shown greater strength and skill were allowed that honor before they faced the butchers. If that were the case, it would make his death slightly less unpleasant, at least.
He’d been paired with a female only twice before, and the result had been dozens of squabbling young he’d never seen, for the most part. Some of the survivors, a fair percentage actually, had eventually appeared in the warrior dens destined for the arena. He’d been ordered to train them himself and he’d complied, though at the time, he’d felt no real connection to them. Two he’d ultimately killed in the arena himself. Recently, however, he’d begun to feel a subtle attachment to those of his that remained. Perhaps it was pride of a sort that he’d sired such well- developed and cunning warriors. He didn’t think much about it; it was just something he felt.
“This way,” ordered the first of four when they reached the top of the stair and a passageway forked away from it. They took the passage to the left. It was dimly lit and there was no sound but the clack of claws and footpads on the stones. The passageway continued for a considerable distance and his excitement grew. He could smell females! Oddly, he didn’t think any were present now, but they had passed there recently. Perhaps one awaited him in a chamber nearby? Suddenly, the guards halted him at a chamber entrance that had strange scents, but not those of females, and he was confused, disappointed. Regardless, he entered at their command and stood where they placed him.
His eyes had grown accustomed to the dark passage, and the torches that drew his eyes blinded him to the rest of the chamber. He sensed there were others in the room, and one that smelled… wrong. Suddenly, one of the guards grabbed him from behind, holding his arms at his sides. Another grasped his feet. Without warning, yet another guard draped a cloth over his eyes and quickly wrapped it around them and over his snout, tying his jaws securely shut. An instant later, he was released.
Rising terror threatened to overcome him. He’d never expected it to be like this. That they would destroy him he had no doubt, but he’d never expected them to make sport of him when they did. He could see nothing, but oddly, they’d left his hands and feet unrestrained. He waited, gaining control of his fear.
