he’d been close enough to death himself, from exposure, that their loss had dimmed, and become somehow remote. Since his rescue, however, and during his gradual recuperation, he’d grown to realize that he’d stumbled into perhaps the most bizarre situation yet encountered on this strange world.
He hadn’t seen it himself, but someone once told him about an odd book they’d read before the war about a place called Shangri-La. Somehow, he thought he remembered that the tale was set in China or Tibet, or some such place, but he’d honestly begun to wonder if he hadn’t actually found it here on what had to be the south coast of Africa, despite the chill. He hadn’t spent any time out of doors yet, or really even out of the room he’d been recuperating in, but there were windows, and he spent a lot of time staring out at the strange city. Never in his life had he seen such an… extraordinary combination of peoples-and not all of them were human! — yet they commingled and appeared to get along as well amid the bustle, as any similar number might in Tokyo!
And the architecture! He knew of nothing to compare it to. He was young, and before the Navy he’d never traveled before, but the substantial buildings he saw from his window combined what he considered ancient traditional, eastern design with what he supposed was some kind of equally ancient western construction-and something else completely different-in an amazingly complementary fashion that he wouldn’t have thought possible. The result was a harmony of wood and stone, columns and high pagodas that had clearly been blending together long enough that it seemed somehow right. Curved, ornate roofs predominated, covered with tile or copper, but the columns that supported them flowed as well, sometimes tapering toward the center, with admirable stonework at the top and bottom.
Bright colors abounded beneath the often-overcast sky, and teeming throngs surged in the open markets in equally garish costumes. Stunningly bizarre animals, the like of which he’d never seen among the Grik, pulled long trains of carts loaded with goods or passengers. Several times he saw columns of troops dressed in a warmer, more practical, but also more ornate version of what some of his comrades had termed the Grik Roman-style military garb, march past his window, the crowd parting before them. Just as among the civilian populace, all manner of beings were in their ranks. It was outlandish and amazing and disconcerting all at once.
His nurse-a female human! — appeared normal enough, and was clearly of Asian descent, though he had no idea what other blood she carried. She was nice, attentive, and even beautiful, he thought, but he didn’t understand a word she said. It was all so confusing. His nurse was Asian, but his “rescuers” spoke English-and he would have sworn one of them had a German accent! He didn’t think he was a prisoner-no one seemed to guard him-but what was he? Probably not exactly a guest. He believed he was recovered enough that he might be ready to explore, but hesitated to push his bounds without talking to someone first, and as far as he could tell, except for the nurse, he’d been forgotten.
He was alone at the moment, and heavy, booted footsteps sounded in the corridor beyond his chamber. He tensed, expecting visitors at last, and stood from his chair. He wished he could meet his benefactors in his uniform, but its remnants had been destroyed, he was sure, and he tried to affect a stoic expression while dressed only in the ankle-length woolen robe he’d been given.
Two men appeared in the broad doorway, accompanied by what looked exactly like one of the Lemurian allies of the Americans! All regarded him intently for a moment before stepping inside. He remained standing, stiffly at attention.
“You look better,” said a tall, bearded man in accented English. He wore a battered dark blue, or maybe black, hat with a scuffed leather brim with an embroidered cockade Toryu didn’t recognize. He also wore an equally battered dark blue jacket, but his white shirt, trousers, and heavy boots were clearly much newer. Toryu thought he recognized the German who’d found him. The man spoke to the others in what sounded like the same language the nurse used, then turned to face him again. “I am Becher Lange,” the man said, and shrugged. “My kapitan calls me kapitan leutnant now, but I was only a fireman in SMS Amerika when she staggered into this world, so it makes no difference to me what the old man calls me. You and I have met, though you may not remember. Call me Becher.” He extended a hand, and Toryu saw a bright metal oval on his wrist, held by a leather band. He also noted how matter-of-factly he spoke of how he got here, obviously fully expecting Toryu to know what he meant.
“Thank you, sir,” Toryu replied, he hoped properly, in his imperfect English. Awkwardly, he shook the hand. He’d never done that before. “You and your companion doubtless saved my life, for which I am grateful, but the news I carry is of great importance to you, I assure you.”
“ Ja. That is what you said.”
Toryu blinked. He had no memory of what he’d said to the man.
“I will introduce these others,” Becher said, “and you will tell them your news.”
Toryu bowed. “Of course.” Never did it occur to him that talking to any enemy of the Grik might be treason. He knew almost nothing about his current situation, but he’d somehow managed to escape the Grik-and that madman Kurokawa. He was dead to them, and if he didn’t help these people, they would all be dead, eventually.
The other human with Becher was introduced as General Marcus Kim-and what kind of name was that? — who represented the military high command of this… Republic of Real People, Becher called it. The Lemurian was “Inquisitor Kon-Choon.” The term “inquisitor” made Toryu nervous, until it was explained that he was actually a high-level intelligence officer. That made sense.
“What do you know of us here?” Becher translated for Kim.
“Personally, nothing, sir. The Grik may know more, but I do not think so.” There was further discussion in the strange tongue, and Toryu caught the word “Ghaarrichk’k.” Apparently, that was the local name for the implacable, barbarous creatures he’d escaped. This was quickly confirmed.
“We know of the Ghaarrichk’k, the Grik, here,” Becher confirmed. “We maintain a frontier against them, and patrolling it is how I found you.” He paused. “We know of them, and know they will not talk. All contact with them has been hostile. Beyond that, we know little. Are they numerous? How vast is their territory? Can we talk to them?”
“You can talk to them,” Toryu admitted, frowning. “In fact, I was sent here to speak with you on their behalf.” He shook his head. “They want an alliance with you-against other people like us.” He waved his hand to include the Lemurian. “All of us.”
“What kind of alliance? What are their terms?” Becher asked for the Inquisitor.
“A military alliance, sir, and the terms are simple: Join or die.”
“That is a… bold ultimatum to make against people they do not know,” Becher growled. “Can they make good on their threat?”
“That is their way,” Toryu stated simply. “Sir, I know nothing of your land, its population, resources, or military capability.” He pointed at the window. “All I know is what I have seen through that, so I cannot say if they can conquer you or not. I will tell you everything I know, however. I was sent here with a message, a message I have delivered. Having escaped them, I will not return, so it is in my interest to counsel you as best I can.” He paused. “The Grik are without number, and their empire stretches from just north of here to India, at least along the coasts. You do know the shape of the world?”
“ Ja,” Becher said, and Toryu nodded. Whatever the others were, Becher was a sailor, and obviously a relatively recent arrival.
“They had conquered their way as far as the East Indies before they were thrown back by those other people I mentioned,” Toryu continued, “but I fear that is only a temporary setback, since their numbers are almost infinitely greater than their enemies.” He looked Becher in the eye. “They are involved in the biggest war they have ever known, but whether they can conquer you or not, they will eventually try. And if they succeed… they do not take prisoners, but for food.”
Becher spoke animatedly with the others for several long moments before turning back. “Why, then, do I feel that joining them is not what you recommend?”
“Because they will surely destroy you then,” Toryu answered softly, “starting with your souls. I hate them, you see. I hate them for what they are and what they do-and because they have already destroyed the souls of my people they hold in their power.”
“Who are your people?” Becher asked, also softly, and Toryu stiffened.
“I came to this world aboard the Japanese Imperial Navy battle cruiser Amagi almost two years ago. At that time, we were allied with Germany and Italy against virtually the rest of the world, but most especially the British and Americans.”
“The Japs have joined the kaiser? And the Italians?” Becher laughed. “When last I knew, you both were
