massive mushroom cloud of dark ash piled high into the otherwise clear late-afternoon sky above the volcanic mountain that dominated the island’s landscape. The ash resembled a titanic, roiling, spreading blot in the heavens.
“What do you think, sir?” Tex asked. “Maybe it’s just a fart, like all them others.”
“Bigger this time,” Porter said. “Might be just clearin’ its throat for something really big.” That was the closest anyone had come to suggesting that the Talaud Island volcano might “pull a Krakatoa” since Laumer’s own long-ago ill-considered comment.
“Shut your hole, you mindless monkey turd!” Tex demanded. “You’ll jinx us for sure.”
“Maybe not,” Laumer said thoughtfully. “According to reports from Mr. Ellis, and now General Alden too, Krakatoa hasn’t ‘pulled a Krakatoa’ on this world. They said they saw it, and it’s a humongous mother, but all the ’Cats who hang out around there say that aside from spewing a lot of red fire, it never does very much.”
“Well,” Porter said, “ just because Krakatoa hasn’t ‘pulled a Krakatoa’ doesn’t mean Talaud’s not fixing to pop its cork.”
“If you don’t shut the hell up, I’m going to feed you to the spiderlobsters if they come back,” Tex declared.
Laumer put his hand on Tex’s shoulder. “Skip it,” he said. “You’re both right.” He looked at Porter. “You do need to lay off. You’ll upset the fellas.” He forced a laugh. “Shoot, you’ll upset me. You’re right, though; I don’t know anything about volcanoes, but that thing’s starting to give me the creeps.” Even as he spoke, the tremors slowly subsided and the relief he felt around him was palpable. He sighed. “Anyway, we’ve got to find some way to pick up the pace. Adar hasn’t come right out and ordered us off the project, and neither has the Skipper, but I guarantee Toolbox has already reported this latest burp. Her captain isn’t any happier about hanging around here than we are, and I can’t say I blame him. If we don’t wrap this project up pretty quick, I expect we will be ordered out.”
“Maybe the transmission didn’t get picked up,” Tex said. “Comm’s been pretty spotty.”
“Maybe not,” Irvin agreed, “but they’ll send it again. It usually does get through at night.”
“Well, so what’s left?” asked Porter. “We’re afloat and the starboard diesel’s up and running. We could get the boat underway.. . well… today, for that matter, if only…”
“Yeah,” agreed Laumer, gazing at the beach-locked puddle the submarine floated in. “If only.”
“Sid has six boats, nearly a hundred ’Cats, and the whole Toolbox dredging us a channel. They’re going as fast as they can,” Hardee defended.
“I know. They’re all doing a swell job.” Laumer looked back at the mountain and rubbed his face with his hands. “We’re going to get some ash tonight. Make sure everyone’s under cover. Bring them on the boat if you have to. Maybe we can get an early start in the morning.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Irvin took a last look around at the battered submarine that he was determined to deliver-intact-back to Captain Reddy, and the ’Cats working so hard to help him succeed. Then he glared at the mountain in the dwindling light. He was on the very brink of accomplishing his mission-and the almost more important mission he’d set himself: to prove he was worthy to join the “Captain’s Companions,” those who’d been with Reddy from the start. To be considered worthy of that, he’d do whatever he had to-even if it killed him. To accomplish so much only to have it threatened by a volcano, a force of nature, seemed wildly unfair, but he would manage. Somehow, he would succeed. Pacing to the hatch, he prepared to descend the ladder and go back to helping Whitcomb. Before he did, he stood up straight and shook his fist at the distant smoky peak. “You won’t beat me,” he warned. “By God, you won’t.”
CHAPTER 5
Yap Island (Shikarrak)
“ How much longer do you suppose they’ll be?” Princess Rebecca Anne McDonald, daughter of the Governor-Emperor of the New Britain Isles, asked anxiously; her large jade eyes narrowed with worry. Her sun- lightened blond locks had gone horribly astray under the constant battering of the stiff sea breeze, and finally getting some growth, she’d also suddenly begun to sprout from the battered Imperial dungarees she wore. Her waiflike appearance did much to undermine her “princess” status. She glanced fretfully westward, where the sun was making its final rapid equatorial plunge.
Nurse Lieutenant and Minister of Medicine Sandra Tucker’s bad sunburn was beginning to turn tan, but her normally sandy blond hair had gone peroxide. She looked at the bedraggled and somewhat gangly royal teen. “Don’t worry,” she said with a smile. “They’ll be along.”
“But it’s nearly dark!”
“I assure you, my dear,” insisted Sister Audry in her precise Dutchaccented English, “Mr. Silva would be far safer in any wilderness you chose to drop him than any poor creature he might happen upon.” Sister Audry’s words were meant to reassure, but there was a subliminal thread of condemnation in her tone as well. Like the surviving Imperials, she harbored a deep suspicion that Silva was at least mildly psychotic. She stepped from beneath the sailcloth shelter they’d rigged against the daily rains and stood beside Sandra and Rebecca. She wore dungarees now too, although her practically destroyed habit was kept safely stowed in a bundle of oilcloth.
“I’m concerned about poor Lawrence as well,” Rebecca said, “and perhaps ever so slightly about Messers Cook and Brassey.”
“And Captain Rajendra?” Sandra asked dryly.
“Him too, I suppose,” Rebecca conceded. “I really should be, shouldn’t I?” she asked Sister Audry. Rebecca had learned to respect the nun’s moral authority, even if most of the other Imperial castaways still considered her some form of Roman witch. Rebecca knew better. She knew there was no more similarity between Sister Audry’s “Catholic” faith and that practiced by the “Holy Dominion” than there was between night and day.
“One should always try to think charitable thoughts about all people,” Sister Audry replied, but it was clear by her tone how difficult even she found that at times.
A panicked cry arose near the shoreline, where Captain Lelaa and Carpenter Hersh were wrapping up their day’s repairs to the boat. Three other men, armed with muskets, raced to the spot from where they’d been posted along the beach to provide security for the laborers and their important charges. A loud Thump and a jet of fire flashed in the rapidly deepening gloom.
Captain Lelaa, the Lemurian commander and possibly only survivor of the destroyed sloop USS Simms, raced past them, tail curled high in alarm, toward the ranks of muskets they kept loaded and under cover. “Shik-saak!” she shouted breathlessly as she passed.
A large shadow, almost indistinguishable from the color of the sea behind it, lunged up onto the shore, barely missing the overturned boat where it lay chocked and supported on the sand. The carpenter was on his back, frantically scrabbling up the beach on his hands and heels, shrieking as he went. The security detail raced to that side of the boat and fired a volley directly into the monster before fleeing as fast as they could, reloading as they ran. It was a tactic they’d practiced before; get the shiksak’s attention, then lead it away from the boat and camp. They had no real hope of killing it with their muskets, and wouldn’t have wanted to kill it There in any case. Its carcass would only draw more predators. Their intent in this instance was to preserve the boat, protect the camp, and-hopefully-save the carpenter by provoking the beast into chasing them. It worked.
With a mighty froglike leap, the shiksak lunged after them, absorbing its fall with its semi-rigid front legs, or flippers, and the mattresslike cushion of fat on its belly. It emitted a kind of croaking wail when it struck the ground, but immediately gathered itself for another hopping leap. In a flat-out sprint, the security detail avoided being crushed beneath the massive body or taken by the gaping jaws, but they’d learned in a previous encounter that only a flat-out sprint would save them-and they’d practiced the technique against a considerably smaller shiksak. They’d discovered then that the slightest misstep, fall, or stumble would spell their death. It looked as though this larger, more powerful beast would render their tactic moot. Without a word among them, they split up.
Lelaa snatched a pair of muskets and raced into the jungle that paralleled the beach. With a glance that encompassed Rebecca and Sister Audry, Sandra did the same, following Lelaa as fast as she could.
“I must go as well!” Rebecca insisted, “I can handle a musket as well as any!”
