“God has chosen more unlikely tools,” Audry said, realizing she was again being drawn into a subject she didn’t want to discuss, largely because it remained unsettled-and unsettling-in her own mind. Silva had almost literally performed miracles on behalf of those under his protection, in his own singularly lethal way. She had witnessed them herself. There was often… disproportionate collateral damage, but the Old Testament was packed with examples where even God hadn’t been terribly choosy about who suffered as a result of His actions. She shook her head. “Skip it, as you Americans say, but consider this: by ‘abandoning’ you, Mr. Silva has freed you to make a life… perhaps with one such as that Colonel Mallory? He also continues to protect you-and all of us-from afar, by ‘smiting’ those that might harm us before they can. He may not have consciously realized it at the time-though I constantly underestimate him-but he has given you a great gift; one such as these Respitan women now enjoy: the freedom to do as your heart desires… and the safety to exercise that freedom.”
“Gee,” Pam whispered, then snorted. “Dennis Silva, an ‘Angel o’ the Lord’! That’s a laugh! Sister, you just don’t know that lug like I do!”
Sister Audry smiled back at the now-grinning nurse. “Perhaps not,” she conceded, “but you don’t know him like I do. ”
“So,” Pam continued, changing the subject, “what did Adar think when you showed up back here? I’ve noticed your ‘congregation’ continues to grow.”
Audry laughed, and the sound was like musical chimes in the noisy bustle of the bazaar. “I think he was… discomfited. He is a dear creature and has responsibilities unprecedented among his people. I’m sure he was personally glad to see me, but the Church confuses him and even undermines his ‘True Faith’ to a degree he doesn’t want to deal with just now.” Audry smiled. “I try not to cause trouble, but the Word spreads of its own accord… Perhaps that odd Mr. Bradford was right.”
“’Bout what?”
“Oh, possibly a great many things after all; destinies, for example.” She paused, and changed her tack slightly. “ Chairman Adar is my friend, yet High Sky Priest Adar may have been less than pleased by my return!” She chuckled. “But I had only two other choices. I could have remained in Maa-ni-la, or gone to the Empire with Second Fleet.” She sighed. “Sadly, despite my expectations-it has an even more varied population-Maa-ni-la was not yet the fertile ground for the Church that Baalkpan has become. I believe it more important to continue my work here, for now.” She frowned. “After much prayer, I realized I couldn’t go east, not yet. Even I see the diplomatic risks of extending my work into the Em- pire at this delicate time.” Her voice grew determined. “I will not be the cause of further chaos there that might cost lives. I must-I shall -go there someday to help them understand the very real difference between the Word I profess and the vile dogma of the Blood Priests. As perverted as the Church has become under the Dominion, it desecrates many of the same trappings and symbols. It must be destroyed!” she declared fervently, her face reddening with rage. She caught herself and finally managed a small smile. “In any event, I suspect even were I to demand passage there immediately, I might finally overwhelm our dear Adar’s forbearance!”
“In other words, Adar would rather you keep stirring things up here, where incidentally you’re safe, than raise a stink beyond his reach to keep a lid on it?”
Audry giggled. “Essentially.”
Isak Rueben clomped across the gangway to Santa Catalina, still high and dry in the Baalkpan dry dock.
“Foof,” he said, contemplating the wasted day. He still didn’t know why Riggs wanted him at the airstrip. A skuggik would’ve known what to do about the condensation. They’d talked a little about what to do with S-19 when she arrived, but he didn’t know. He couldn’t imagine any reason to leave her as a sub, and he’d said so. He wasn’t a diesel man, but he could see putting her engines in something, and there was a lot of other stuff they could sure use her guts for. Bernie Sandison also wanted to know what else they could do to improve Santa Catalina ’s firepower. They were making an “armored cruiser” out of her, hanging protective plating over her engineering spaces and building magazines to accommodate the 5.5-inch guns they’d installed. The four they’d used were the “last of the litter,” and they’d been mounted in ai› bemate surrounding the single stack that allowed most of them to be brought to bear in any direction but directly fore and aft. Dual-purpose 4.7s had replaced the discarded guns that had been in the fore and aft tubs, and the tubs had been reinforced as well. The bridge had been armored too, and a fire control platform had been built on top of it. Santa Catalina would still be a creeper, but she’d be faster than a “flat-top Home,” and nearly as heavily armed. Better for long-range work, except for the ten-inch gun sections. She might even get one of those-a twenty-foot section with the interrupted-thread breech! Interrupted- thread breechloaders were the next big thing Bernie was hot for-besides his constant tinkering with some kind of powered torpedo-as soon as they could rifle big tubes.
Still no reason to drag me off, he thought mopily. I ain’t Ordnance. Prob’ly just tryin’ ta get me out an’ around again, he suspected. Ever’body figgers a fella can’t be happy ’less they’s around other folks all the time. Must think I’m pinin’ away without Gilbert an’ Tabby around. He snorted. He did miss them, like a brother or sister, but he wasn’t pining. As far as he knew, to this day, nobody but Tabby-probably-knew he and Gilbert actually were half brothers… or quarter brothers… whatever. He sometimes got their precise degree of bastardy confused. They had the same mother, but different fathers; neither of whom ever married their mother. Isak didn’t really blame either man; his mother had the face of a moose and the voice of a hog… but she’d been a good dame.
“Just me,” he said to the musket-armed ’Cat sentry as he stepped aboard the ship. He flicked a salute aft and padded forward in the gloom until he stood on the fo’c’sle amid the anchor chains that came in through the hawseholes. The wood beneath his feet was no longer spongy and rotten; it was hard and new. Most of the old ship had been repaired, he realized with a touch of pride. Soon, decked out in all her new goodies, she’d be out of the dry dock and back in the war. Well, in the war, anyway-a different war for her. He sighed. Santa Catalina would probably also be the last “normal-size” ship in this dry dock. They were almost finished with a pair of new floating dry docks, like those they’d been building in other places. The new dry docks wouldn’t last forever, but they were… portable, and they’d handle anything but a Home-or a carrier-and that was what this first, biggest, dry dock would be devoted to from now on.
He looked around. From where he stood, nobody was in sight. There was work underway aft, and on the adjacent dry dock wall, but no one could see him. His trip ashore hadn’t been a complete waste. He’d had an opportunity to stop by and see his new “business partner,” a Lemurian called Pepper, down at the Busted Screw. Pepper had been Lanier’s mate in Walker ’s galley, and the two had established the Busted Screw, or “Castaway Cook,” during Walker ’s resurrection and refit. Pepper ran the joint alone now, with Lanier away, and the place was usually jumping. For Isak’s purposes, Pepper had cousins everywhere, including some involved in all the various projects-cousins who didn’t care about human “habits,” but more important, could keep their yaps shut. Isak had been engaged in an ongoing project he wanted to keep to himself. His stop by the Screw that day had left him in possession of the most recent “fruits” of that venture. Inconspicuously, he fished his tobacco pouch and a little hand-carved pipe from his pocket. With another look around, he stuffed the pipe and held a lit Zippo over the bowl.
“Ooo-hoo-ook!” He coughed when the first smoke entered his lungs. He blew it out and trid again. He still coughed, but this time it wasn’t so bad. “Outta practice,” he gasped-and took another puff. This time he didn’t cough, and, with a dreamy expression, he let the smoke drain lazily from his nostrils. It was vile and raunchy beyond anything he’d ever used, even in the Philippines, but it could be smoked! He’d finally succeeded! He’d performed the greatest technological feat of the age! The yellow, waxy, Lemurian tobacco was almost universally chewed now, usually dried and mixed with something like local molasses, but up until now nobody had figured out a way to smoke it without becoming almost instantly, violently ill. “Yur-eeka!” he wheezed.
“What the hell are you doin’ out here?” demanded a gravelly voice behind him. Isak almost squirted his pipe over the rail.
“Nuffin’,” he chirped, trying to hide the smoldering pipe in his hand.
“Nothin’ my ass,” growled Dean Laney, drawing closer. “You been holdin’ out on ever’body! You sneaked out here to smoke a cigarette you’ve been hoardin’ all this time. What’s the matter with you? There’s fellas that’d choke you to death just to breathe your last, smoky breath, and if you don’t share, I’ll be one of ’em.”
“I ain’t smokin’ no cigarette!” Isak stated, seemingly oblivious of the cloud around him in the dank murk.
“Like hell! I can smell it!”
“You can? What do you smell?”
“A cigarette, you freaky little dope! Give it over!”
