controlled at all, except through his loyalty to her and Rebecca, but the group as a whole was “under his protection,” as he saw it. Also, his survival judgment might sometimes be extreme and disproportionate, but it had a good record of success. The last thing they needed right then was for him to go into one of his infamous sulks.
Dennis Silva actually thrived on adversity and Sandra suddenly realized that in that sense he was a lot like Matt. Silva was over the top, where Matt was thoughtful-unless he lost his temper-but like it or not, their survival depended on the big gunner’s mate, and for all their sakes, even Rajendra’s, “over the top” was okay with Sandra.
Lelaa finished her knot and hooked on, then slid down the trunk, straightening the tackle as she went. On the ground, she hooked the bottom block onto the eyebolt at the boat’s bow, leaving the fall rope dangling. She scooped up the second tackle and went up the next tree.
“Oh, please do hurry,” Rebecca pleaded. “The sun is almost set!” It was true. The sun was falling rapidly now, as usual, and the trees and the clearing behind them were filling with gloom. Menacing shapes crashed about, and other creatures, much like bats-maybe they were bats-had joined the swirling birds.
“I shall, Your Highness,” Lelaa assured her patiently. As before, she quickly finished her chore, with no distractions from above this time, and scrabbled her way to the ground.
“How we gonna do this, Cap’n?” Silva asked. “One end at a time, or climb in and try to lift her from inside?”
Lelaa glanced at Abel, alert and listening, but virtually helpless in the boat. “It will be dangerous either way, and from within, it will be more so. That is how it must be done, however. We will add weight that we must also lift, but some cannot climb. Besides, if we remove the provisions from the boat-which we must to lift it one end at a time-we will then have to hoist them aboard as well.” She looked around at the twilight. “We must risk a quick ascent or we will be at this for hours. I do not think we have the time.”
“That’s it, then,” Silva said. “Ever’body aboard!”
“This is madness!” Rajendra stated. “We would all be safer to lift from the ground!”
“Captain Rajendra,” Lelaa said ominously, “we have worked together despite our differences, but do not imagine those differences do not still exist. You really must cease your constant objections and observe the obvious. Add to my earlier argument that we cannot secure the down-hauls within the boat if we raise it from the ground. Where would you have us secure them? To the trees here at this level, where any passing creature might gnaw them in two? All aboard.”
Rajendra couldn’t fault Lelaa’s logic, and whereas Silva had promised not to “hurt” him, Lelaa had made no such pledge. She had simply swallowed her anger and done as she had to. Her reminder of a possible reckoning was probably more intimidating than Silva’s harangues because it was the first she’d made in a long time, and she also had a more untainted claim on his honor as far as he was concerned. Besides, he harbored a real, secret… racial… fear of the physically diminutive but powerful-alien-Lemurian captain. He made no more objections.
Working together creditably enough-despite their differences, most of the “muscle” were seamen after all- they slowly, carefully hoisted the battered longboat into the sky between the two trees. There was a bizarre unreality about the whole situation that escaped none of them, but it was indeed their only chance. As the final rays of the sun surrendered to the sea, they saw the water beyond the trees, within the breakers, almost working with humping, splashing shapes, eerily void of color until they gained the shore, and then only briefly until they absorbed the darkening shades of their new surroundings. About thirty feet above the ground-high enough, they hoped-they secured the down-hauls to cleats on the boat’s gunwales. Then they sat quietly, staring at the starlit transformation of the island they’d learned to hate but of necessity called home.
“God a’mighty,” Silva whispered. “It’s like you threw the manhole cover off a sewer an’ looked down on a million man-eatin’ pollywogs swarmin’ in there.”
As usual, he was exaggerating, but not by much. Lawrence had been right. Evidently, they’d made it just in time. They never would have survived another night on the ground. The shiksaks had come to Yap.
“It’s a kind of hell,” Rebecca said, and Sister Audry drew her close.
“How long will it last, Lawrence?” Sandra asked, also whispering. It seemed appropriate. All the creatures on the island, in the trees, had gone silent except for the bellowing, grunting, roaring shiksaks themselves.
“I don’t recall,” Lawrence hissed back. “I stayed in the trees, hungry, thirsty… I don’t know. Long days and nights.”
CHAPTER 19
Talaud Island
I rvin Laumer leaned on the coaming of S-19’s squat conn tower and cast a suspicious eye toward the brooding volcano that increasingly inhabited the expedition’s thoughts. Nobody trusted it, and everyone felt convinced it was “up” to something, but the morning had dawned on a beautiful day, the kind that scoured away stress and fear with its simple charm alone. A brisk, cooling breeze, almost magically free of humidity, stirred the tree fronds and rippled the lagoon. High, wispy clouds moved across an otherwise brilliantly blue sky. The mountain near the center of the island seemed to have simmered down. Only the slightest trace of steam vented from the high, distant peak, and for once, its flanks weren’t shrouded with mist and the workers could see the scars of its recent tantrums. The ground still moved, but not with the violent, jolting shudder it had for many days; now it was more like a steady, sullen grumble than anything else Irvin could compare it to.
“I think we’ll have her refloated today,” Tex Sheider predicted optimistically, appearing beside him. The shorter man scratched his nose with a kinked piece of wire, the braided insulation charred.
The day had clearly affected the man’s mood, but he might be right, Irvin thought. “Technically, S-19’s been ‘refloated’ for weeks now,” he pointed out. “Ever since the basin filled up.”
“Yeah, but I meant floating free,” Tex explained. Irvin nodded. He’d known what he meant. He gazed out at USS Toolbox, securely moored in the lagoon. A pair of boats they’d lashed together with a flat deck between them, like a catamaran, was pulling for the beach laden with the big scooplike device they’d fashioned to dredge the sub clear of the sand. The scoop would be dropped near the submarine, and Toolbox would drag it into the lagoon with a pair of reinforced capstans operated by nearly her entire crew. A messenger line marked the scoop’s position, and when it reached a floating platform, the scoop was hoisted and laid back upon the deck of the twin boats. The thing was a stone bitch to row, and it was hard work, especially against the wind like today, but the crews that rotated the duty didn’t seem to mind that much. They were proud that their labor revealed the most measureable sign of progress toward releasing the sub from the beach. Irvin was proud of them, and by his estimate they were nearly done.
They could probably get the sub out now, by fending off aft and pulling her out nose first, but it would be dangerous work. The spiderlobsters had returned the night before, and they had no idea if any remained in the basin or not. The scary-looking half-skinny-lobsterhalf-spider critters weren’t the menace they’d been when they first appeared. Now that the crew knew they couldn’t climb up on the boat, when they’d come back a few times after the first terrifying battles, most of the crew on the shore simply took refuge on the sub. This time, they’d contented themselves with shooting a few that scuttled around on the beach, tearing at equipment, or some that seemed intent on wrecking the little “fitting-out pier” that Carpenter’s Mate Sid Franks was working on. They needed the pier to finish preparing the boat for sea once they got her loose. Even now, ’Cats were boiling spider- lobster tails for lunch, and savory smells reached Irvin’s nose now and then. The creatures had changed from terror to treat. They were still dangerous in the water, though, and the jet of seawater they “spat” could easily knock an exposed worker into the sea. It would take very exposed workers, standing in water up to their knees on the stern of the boat, to protect her delicate screws. Better to let the dredge handle it.
Irvin saw Franks wave at him from the pier, and he waved back. Franks and a detail were planking it now. If all went well, they might have S-19 free of her enclosure before nightfall. Once that was achieved, they’d inch her toward the pier with her electric motors, tie her up, and begin final fitting-out for their long-overdue and much- yearned-for departure. They might even get the port diesel up and running before they set out, but Irvin didn’t consider it a priority compared to so many other ongoing projects. They had nearly a full load of fuel and the starboard engine ran fine, with every apparent intention of continuing to do so. Right now, it was a matter of “okay,
