Silva winced and took a deep breath. “Yeah. Maybe so.” He looked at Risa and offered a half smile. “Where’s Pam, doll?”
Risa shook her head. “She’s out at Kaufman Field-with the airplanes. She always goes out there when they fly a lot… and sometimes she sees Colonel Maallory.”
Silva nodded briskly. “Good choice. He ain’t so bad for a Army man.” He looked at Bernie. “C’mon, Mr. Sandison! I can’t wait to see all the new toys! I’ll… pay my respects to Pam later. Larry, take my chopper and my sea bag wherever it is they’re stowin’ us bachelor types, willya?”
“Goddammit, Pepper, they cain’t do this to me!” Isak Rueben whined in his reedy voice. He was one of the original Mice, along with Gilbert Yeager, who was now CV-4 Maaka-Kakja ’s chief engineer in Second Fleet. Both had once been simple-and very squirrelly-firemen aboard USS Walker. They’d adopted Tabby, and made her one of their own, but she was the engineering officer of their old ship now, and Isak, at least, resented that a little. He’d been stuck in Baalkpan toiling on “that goddamn floatin’ hog trough” that had once been a beached, abandoned freighter, but everyone else was now proud to refer to as the “protected cruiser” Santa Catalina.
Isak’s intense, narrow face looked beseechingly at the salt-and-pepper-furred Lemurian behind the bar of the Busted Screw. “They cain’t just slurp me off right when I’m startin’ to get my bizness ready ta percolate!” Isak moaned. He and Gilbert had spent a year and a half trying to turn the chewable but utterly unsmokable tobacco of this world into something that could be smoked-without making the smoker puke. Isak thought he finally had it and planned to establish “Isak’s Sweet Smokin’ Tobacco,” and start raking in some of the gold everybody was being paid with now-until he got his new orders.
“Now I’m s’posed to fly- fly in one o’ them clatterin’ death traps-to join Walker once she puts in at Manila, so I can help with her refit!”
“I’d think you would like to be back with your Home,” Pepper observed, wiping down the bar. It was between the morning and midday rush.
“Well… sure I would, but all my makin’s-ever’thing I need to build my smokes-is here! An’ besides, Tabby’ll be my boss! That ain’t right. I taught her ever’thing she knows!”
“And she knows that, Isaak,” Pepper said patiently.
“Well… maybe we’ll still get along, even if she’s a officer. But what about my bizness? With that damn Laney still here, snoopin’ around, he’s bound to swipe my rice bowl!”
“You leave it with me,” Pepper offered offhandedly. “I can handle Laney. Beside, scuttlebutt says Laney’s gonna be an officer soon too; take engineerin’ on Saanta Cata-linaa.”
“Yah,” Isak smoldered. “Ain’t that a gas? Makes me even gladder I’m gettin’ off her.” He winced and shrugged. “Just as well, I guess. He does know her guts inside an’ out, an’ they’ve tried to make his sorry ass work at just about ever’thin’ else. Can’t kill ’im…”
He suddenly peered suspiciously at the ’Cat. “Yah! An’ Earl Lanier left you his bar to watch for his useless, fat ass, an’ you took it plumb over!”
Pepper blinked and shrugged. “He still my partner, if he ever comes back alive.”
Isak’s eyes went wide. “So you wanna be partners, huh? Damn it, Pepper, I’m already partners with so many of yer cousins, I can’t keep track of ’em all!”
“I keep track of ’em,” Pepper said, “an’ I keep bizness goin’ while you’re gone too. You still get your half when you come back. Gilbert gets his half, cousins get one half for all, an’ I take only half for me.”
Isak scrunched up his face in a frown. “I dunno…”
“What else you gonna do? Let Laney take it? I don’t know when Saanta Cata-linaa sails… He might be here a long time after you fly off!”
“No, dammit! I don’t even want nobody sellin’ smokes to him!” He paused, then stuck out his hand. “That’s an awful lotta ‘halfs’ but I guess we got a deal!”
Suddenly, he jerked his hand back with a sharp “Ook!” and vanished below the level of the bar.
“What?” Pepper demanded.
“I just seen Dennis Silva yonder! With Mr. Sandison!”
Pepper turned. Even amid the crowd, Silva stood out. “Yeah! There he is! I heard he was coming to Baalkpan!” He leaned over the counter and peered down at Isak. “Hey! How come you hidin’ from him? Is he going to kill you for something?”
“Not that I know of… but he might have a reason!”
Pepper tossed his rag down on Isak’s head. “Why are you scared of Silva? He’s a right guy. You ain’t scared of Laney, and he’s a jerk.”
“Yeah, but no snipe ever wants Silva to see him!” He looked up at Pepper. “You oughta get down too!”
Pepper snatched his rag back and blinked consternation. It was going to be another strange day at the Screw.
CHAPTER 12
New London, New Britain
Empire of the New Britain Isles
March 12, 1944
Courtney Bradford flapped his strange, wide-brimmed sombrero to cool himself while sweat beaded on his ruddy, balding pate. He was wearing a finely woven maroon wool frock coat cut in the local style, appropriate for the formal event he was already late for, and, except for the hat, he looked fairly respectable in the outfit, which included tan breeches and a black cravat cinched tightly around his neck. The wool was cooking him though, and he suspected that before the day was done, he would probably die. Fortunately, hats like the one he flailed at himself were the style on Respite, and there was enough demand for them in the Imperial capital of New London on New Britain, or the “Big Island,” that they were relatively easy to find here. He’d been relieved to discover it after losing his previous one of similar shape at sea.
He leaned forward and peered out the coach window at the throng of humanity, and despite his discomfort, was utterly charmed. There weren’t nearly as many indentured women on New Britain Isle, at least here in the capital city, and for a time he could push that unpleasant aspect of this society to the back of his mind. Here, for the first time in his travels on this world, was a familiar civilization. The streets were paved with smooth, rounded stones, and the architecture was even reminiscent of the timeless parts of the old London he’d visited many times. There were no automobiles of course, but there weren’t any brontasarries or paalkas either. Real horses pulled carriages and wagons and quaint streetcars with dozens of occupants. Iron tires grating on stone and clopping hooves replaced the sounds of motors and tooting horns, but he was old enough to remember when that had been the case back home as well. He understood there was an impressive library and even several museums, and he couldn’t wait to visit them. One museum contained relics of the Founders, including preserved portions of their ships. Another was devoted to specimens of creatures acquired from other lands the Empire had visited or claimed during a brief exploratory period some decades past. Like Scapa Flow, but on a much grander scale, New London resembled an oasis of familiarity on an otherwise wildly exotic world. Only the superabundance of parrots and small, flying reptiles as ubiquitous as pigeons seriously undermined that illusion of normalcy. He grunted and leaned back in his comfortably cushioned seat to examine his companions.
Sergeant Koratin’s white leather armor practically gleamed, and his red-striped blue kilt was immaculate. He had graying, dun-colored fur, and the manelike beard around his face was almost white. He was an “odd duck,” as Courtney’s American friends would say. He’d been a noble, a lord of Aryaal, on faraway Jaava where Surabaya should have been. There, he’d been a political creature: venal and corrupt, swept along by the winds of expediency, foul or fair. His devotion to the moral and physical well-being of younglings had always been his passion, however, no matter how poor an example he set. The war, the loss of his family-including his own precious younglings-and the consequences of real corruption backed by limitless power, had caused an epiphany.
Sister Audry’s teachings-and Courtney’s explanations of them-had made him a Christian, if not yet a Catholic, and though he was not wild about the political structure emerging within the Alliance, he was devoted to destroying its enemies. Now he was an enlisted Marine, not even an officer, who’d distinguished himself repeatedly in battle.
