Blood In the Water (16 page)

In the center and slightly forward, Colonel Svec himself lounged in his saddle, one boot crossed before him, his wild hair and beard rustling in the freshening breeze. Beside him was a mounted trooper with a white streamer tied around the muzzle of his upraised carbine. The trooper's hair and beard were darker and not as wild as his commander's, but Niwa took notice.

“A slightly . . . Oriental version of the older man,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “His, ah, hatchling, I suspect,” he added louder, for Halik's benefit. He shook his head. “There is always something new,” he said cryptically, “and of course the Czechs found women somewhere, at some time. But who were
they
?”

Halik looked at his friend questioningly, but Niwa just shook his head. Together, they and a small detachment, joined by General Shlook, moved through the gate. Ugla remained behind as ordered.

Dalibor Svec was a giant of a man, well suited to the kravaa that bore him, and he wore a perpetual scowl in Halik's experience. He also wore an impressive array of weaponry. A heavy saber dangled from a belt that
also supported at least three flap holsters that could be seen. A bandolier of cartridges was slung over his shoulder, as was a long-barreled rifle Niwa had called a “Moisen Nagant,” which he'd undoubtedly brought to this world. Another pair of swords, like Russian Sasquas, and a pair of Baalkpan Arsenal carbines were fixed to his mount. He regarded Halik, Niwa, and the others through weather-pinched eyes like they were snakes crawling toward him, their fangs bared. Halik knew Niwa actually liked Colonel Enaak and considered him a fine officer. He'd been a soldier even before the first destroyerman ever reached Maa-ni-la and brought his Home into the war. He could always be counted on to be rational and reasonable, Niwa said, whereas he wasn't always sure Svec was either of those things. But Svec and his people had been fighting an incredibly skillful guerrilla war against the Grik in India for decades. So skillful, the Grik hadn't even known it. They'd always thought the secluded outposts, supply trains, and food beast herders he and his people had massacred had been wiped out by local predators. They had been, Halik supposed. Just not by the kind they thought.

Svec urged his beast forward, his apparent son by his side. Halik forced himself to stand firm in the face of the close approach of the large, dangerous beast. It looked just as menacing as its rider. A few yards away, it stopped, and Svec leaned forward in the saddle. “You have company coming,
plazivy
,” he snapped, using the term he always addressed Halik by. Niwa said he had no idea what it meant.

“What kind of company?” Niwa asked. Halik could understand English quite well, but could barely speak it. Niwa always translated whenever they met the enemy and often asked questions or said things he knew Halik would have even before he was told.

Svec looked at Niwa. “More of his stinking kind.
Your
kind. Another army of Grik approaches less than a week's march from here,” he grumbled, then took a deep, frustrated breath. “We never expected they would just turn off the tap. That is why I counseled strongly that
your
force be destroyed before you were ever allowed to cross the Indus River.”

“When you had the power to do it,” Niwa interjected. Svec said nothing. It was no secret that a mere brigade of cavalry, regardless of its quality, couldn't destroy Halik's army by itself, and with the withdrawal of Alden and Rolak's I Corps, there was nothing left to back it up. III Corps still had a division of veteran troops scattered in detachments
along the line of Halik's retreat across India, and General Linnaa-Fas-Ra was supposed to be rushing elements of his VI Corps forward to build forts and secure the river crossings. But Linnaa was a “political” general from Sular, known to be hesitant toward the creation of the new union. He'd been dawdling in the vicinity of the Rocky Gap hundreds of miles away for weeks while his green corps “completed training.” No one really believed he'd be so craven as to not come at all, but he was certainly taking his time.

“Yes, Jap! Damn you!” Svec snarled. There was no use denying it.

“Then why did you come here to tell us this?”

“Only to see if you mean to honor your pledge, not to join such a force if it came,” Svec said, directly to Halik. “I do not trust Grik ‘honor'”—he almost spat the word—“but Colonel Enaak does, and I demand your answer before I report to him.”

It suddenly dawned on Halik that Svec must trust his honor to
some
degree, however grudgingly, or he would never have approached with this news. If Halik meant to join any approaching force, the first thing he should do was destroy Svec and his companions to prevent word from reaching Enaak. He wondered why that realization pleased him.

“I have sworn my intentions to you, Colonel Enaak, and Generals Alden and Rolak,” Halik said slowly through Niwa. “It is my, and I believe my creator's, greatest wish that this army I command should survive to someday return to our sacred land. More is at stake than myself, or even the army itself, but I see the salvation of my very race in what this army has become, separated from the culture it sprang from.” He sighed. “You know this, and may even still consider us an even greater long-term threat for that reason, but I prefer to hope that, even as we have remained in close proximity to you for some time without fighting, what this army has become might represent an opportunity for a more general peace between your people and mine.”

“And you will forgive me if I remain skeptical.” Svec snorted sarcastically. “But Enaak wants to believe,” he added, “and I will take your assurances to him. The question remains, however: how will you
avoid
joining the army that approaches? I doubt its leader will share your ideals.”

“I will insist that I retain full autonomy of action, as specified by the orders of First General Esshk himself,” Halik said.

“And if that is not enough?” Svec demanded.

“I shall insist more forcefully,” Halik simply said.

Svec grunted. “Then I'm sure all will be well,” he said derisively. “But hear this: we could not effectively count the army that comes, but I estimate it numbers nearly two hundred thousand warriors. They come as a mob, so you have the advantage of discipline,” he said grudgingly, “but they are armed with a similar mix as yours: muskets and cannon, combined with crossbows.” He managed a rueful grin. “I hope you are prepared to ‘insist' quite forcefully indeed,
plazivy
.”

“What will you and Colonel Enaak do?” Niwa asked.

“We will not hinder you in whatever you plan to do—unless it appears you won't keep your word. We still have an armistice, do we not? But we will prepare to harass the enemy as best we can. We remain at war with . . . all other Grik, and must fight them whether you rejoin them or not. We cannot retreat back across the river, as you well know. Not now. But rest assured, we will be watching. And much of what we may do depends on what you decide—and whether your ‘intentions' survive your meeting with those who come.” With that, he barked something to his comrades and urged his mount away. The other riders, with long, grim glances back at Halik, peeled off to follow, clods of damp earth rising in the wake of the heavy animals they rode.

“General Shlook,” Halik said mildly. “We have much to prepare and little time.” He gazed westward, as if studying the passes through the mountains in his mind. “I must go meet whoever leads the oncoming force at once, to explain the situation. But the passes all lead here. That is why we chose this place to begin with.”

“And if whoever leads the approaching army will not grant your right to refuse to join him?” Shlook asked.

“Then we may fight him here. Wars between regencies are common enough. Our people constitute no regency of their own as such, but I remain convinced they shall one day form the core of all regencies everywhere, and we must ensure their survival, come what may.”

“What should I do, Lord General? Command me!”

“Call one of the Hij who has learned to control the neekis and have him prepare an animal and cart to carry myself”—he paused, considering—“and a ten of warriors under the command of Captain . . .” He paused again, looking at the captain who'd alerted them. “What are you called?”

“Sigg, Lord General.”

“Captain Sigg,” Halik continued. “We shall leave as soon as it is ready and move as quickly as we can to meet our visitors as far from here as possible. Other than that, you will begin immediately to strengthen our defenses.” Halik coughed a laugh. “Our watchers can only be heartened to see that now, and I expect no complaints. But you and General Ugla must keep all our people ready to march at a moment's notice. Our goal is
not
to fight, after all. And if we do, there may be better places for it.”

“I should go, and you should not,” Niwa protested hotly. Halik coughed another laugh. “No, my friend. I
must
go, and you
cannot
.” He gestured toward the mountains. “They may not even know of you and would likely eat you as soon as you appeared! No, I must go, and you must command here in my stead. Is that understood?” he demanded, glancing at Generals Ugla and Shlook. To Niwa's apparent surprise, both bowed their heads without complaint.

C
HAPTER
10

PT-7
Mangoro River
September 26, 1944

“Buncha chickenshits all run off,” Silva said buoyantly, still grinning, as they motored back toward the beach where they'd last seen the feral Lemurians. “Give 'em a show like that an' you'd think they'd show a little 'preciation!”

“Chickenshits!” Petey agreed, scrambling back to his perch on Silva's shoulder. “Eat?” he pleaded. Silva absently reached up and thumped him on the head.

Chack was staring at the little sandy strip and blinking disappointment. When he heard the locals were gone, Bradford had resumed looking at the place the giant monster sank. The water frothed and splashed with gathering predators of a sort no one had yet seen, and birds and flying reptiles swooped and snatched floating morsels. There weren't any flasher fish—tuna-size equivalents to piranha occupying most oceanic
shallows—in the river. They didn't tolerate fresh water any better than sharks. But there were plenty of other things.

“'ait!” Lawrence hissed. “They return!”

They all strained their eyes to pierce the gloom beneath the trees, hastily taking up weapons once more. Chack's sharp eyes saw the movement next. “There's one,” he said. Sure enough, a single Lemurian stepped tentatively into view. It still held its bow at the ready, an arrow laid across it, but it wasn't drawn.

“Look!” Courtney said. “Look at him!”

“We
are
, Mr. Bradford,” Dennis assured him.

The only way to tell it was one of the same 'Cats they'd seen before was that its fur was slick and wet.

“Go closer,” Chack ordered.

“Aye, aye,” Nat said, easing the wheel over, pointing the bow at shore. The 'Cat drew back, but then stood its ground.

“Prob'ly thinks we're gonna torpedo him too,” Silva muttered to Lawrence, who nodded seriously. Chack took up a speaking tube. “We mean you no harm,” he shouted in Lemurian, his voice carrying loudly. “As you must see, we have even saved some of your people!”

The feral 'Cat on shore responded with what sounded like high-pitched nervous gibberish to Dennis, though he'd grown fairly fluent in Lemurian. In his case, of course, “fluent” meant he could usually understand most of what he heard, as long as it was spoken slowly. And his own pronunciation was often slow and deliberately comical. But he hadn't understood anything the native said. “You get any of that?” he asked Chack.

Chack was blinking to convey uncertainty. “Some, I think. Perhaps one word in three.”

“See?” Silva demanded. “No point in stayin' if we can't even talk to 'em.”

“What do you think he said?” Courtney asked.

Chack looked at Silva. “That if we won't destroy him like we did the monster, a, ah, ‘magician,' a speaker of ancient words, will come.”

“Well, at least tell 'em to quit shootin' at us,” Silva grumped.

Chack did so, and whether or not they understood, the arrows didn't resume. Eventually, the native on shore disappeared. “Did you get any notion of how long we'll have to wait to meet this ‘magician'?” Courtney
asked. Chack sighed and spread his hands. “None,” he said. “I can barely understand him,” he stressed again. “The magician may be nearby—or several days away. Mr. Hardee, you may as well anchor—and shut down the engines to conserve fuel.”

There was no breeze on the water, and they waited in the oppressive heat. Fortunately, there wasn't much of a stink from the dead monster. The water predators and scavengers would probably feed on it for days or weeks, but it had sunk entirely out of sight. The place it disappeared remained obvious, however, the water churning and slapping.

“Well, this is a drag,” Silva finally said, tilting his helmet back and taking a chew. He glanced at Chack. “Say, Mr. Bradford, whaddayou really think about them cross-breed human-Lemurians in the Republic? You an' Inquisitioner Choon gabbled on long enough about 'em, as I recall.”

The “hybrid” Gentaa were reputedly very strange folk: a cross between ancient Lemurians and possibly castaway Chinese. By all accounts, they did kind of look like it. While sharing a number of similarities, they were generally taller than regular 'Cats and had no tails. Their faces were less feline, and their coats tended to paler, shorter fur. Initially believed to be virtual slaves of the Republic, Garrett had reported that wasn't the case at all and the Gentaa had essentially claimed for themselves the distinction of the “labor class,” particularly on the docks and in the heavy industry of the Republic. As such, they exercised very real political power in much the same ways as labor unions. But there'd been no Gentaa on
Amerika
and probably only Greg Garrett and
Donaghey
knew the real dope on them now.

Courtney might've been the only one on the boat who didn't realize Silva didn't give a hoot about the Gentaa, but only raised the subject of human-Lemurian hybrids out of boredom—to torment Chack. Silva and Chack's sister Risa had long engaged in an . . . ambiguous relationship that neither had been willing to define. Most figured they were just great friends and only pretended it was more, to get people's goats. A few, sometimes including Chack, suspected there had, at least at times, been more to it than that.

“Actually,” Courtney replied absently, still glassing the turmoil around the carcass in the water, “I'm not convinced they're hybrids at all.”

“What? Sure they are! Ask anybody.”

Courtney chuckled. “Indeed. Ask Inquisitor Choon. Even he doesn't believe it.”

“But . . .”

Courtney waved his hand. “Oh, he toes the official line, that the Gentaa came about as the result of some ancient union between the species. The Gentaa themselves ardently perpetuate that understanding, possibly in the complete knowledge that it isn't true.”

“But why?” Chack asked with growing interest.

“In my view, the answer's simple. Consider: our society, the one we've so quickly created within the Alliance, has fully integrated its various species to a remarkable degree. Humans, Lemurians”—he nodded at Lawrence—“even creatures that cannot help but remind us of our greatest enemy. There's respect and friendship among us all, a friendship reinforced by shared suffering and strife. I can think of no better way to create the unity, imperfect as it remains, that we've achieved. Do you imagine we'd have all become such great friends so quickly if the Grik or Doms hadn't threatened our very existence?”

Chack looked thoughtful.

“Of course not,” Courtney stated, answering his own question. “Had the Grik not been undergoing a period of expansion, to the extent of threatening Lemurian sea and land Homes as far as the Malay barrier at last,
Walker
wouldn't have had to save
Salissa
from them. We wouldn't have been forced to turn Baalkpan society on its head to repel an even greater Grik invasion, and we ultimately, most assuredly, wouldn't all be here together . . .
torpedoing
natural wonders in the rivers of the Lemurians' ancestral home! Our relationship with the Empire of the New Britain Isles progressed in much the same way: overwhelming need assisted by ability achieved through strife. That is, sadly, always the way of things, I fear.” He looked at Silva. “
Walker
and her people would've survived, I expect, possibly arranging to shoot mountain fishes to death with her great guns and then tow them to a Home for rendering.” He shrugged, blinking. “Who knows. But none of the facilities to repair her would exist and she'd have become increasingly difficult to operate and maintain without, frankly, a war.”

He shook his head. “But I digress. My point is, the Republic had no such unifying force to bring its people together during its early formation. If anything, it was more difficult even than that since the various
factions and species fought against each other from time to time! It took
centuries
to establish the harmony in which they live together today, as opposed to our few short years. And the Gentaa took advantage of that.”

“How so? Why?” Nat asked with growing interest.

“To justify their unique and quite separate status within Republic society, of course! They took upon themselves the very real stigma of the result of, ah, let us say ‘too close a cooperation' between humans and Lemurians. They became the ‘sin eaters.'” He seemed to think about the analogy, then nodded. “Yes,” he said. “And by forbidding further fraternizations between themselves and either of their ‘related' species, they virtually eliminated further, um, intimate fraternization between humans and Lemurians as well, which had never been desirable to either group, truth be told.” Only then did he eye Silva speculatively. The notion that Silva might have been “fraternizing” with Risa had scandalized all the humans in the Alliance, but hadn't really bothered the Lemurians—except for Risa's relatives, and Chack in particular. “Interesting,” Courtney murmured. “But in any event, as the Gentaa grew to represent a past that neither humans nor Lemurians were proud of, they also became a unifying force, don't you see? They were an oppressed, outcast people whom both parents must succor, and they worked together to do it! Ha! And in the meantime, the Gentaa became an entire species of victims who could do virtually as they pleased. Choosing their current role was a brilliant stroke since, though remaining apart from either parent group, they've made themselves essential to them both!”

“Unless either one ever figures out the scam,” Miles said, speaking for the first time, but making it clear he was interested.

“Oh, I think the ‘scam' must be fairly well-known by now. But the system works, after all, and therefore remains the official story!”

“Huh,” Silva grunted. “Well, if that's so, and they ain't crossbreeds, then what
are
the critters?”

Courtney shrugged. “Another distinct species, I expect. I honestly never believed that humans and Lemurians are similar enough to create offspring, but perhaps both—all three, counting the Gentaa—are descended from an ancestor common to us all? Or perhaps the Gentaa are truly the only species indigenous to the region?” He smiled happily. “Or maybe they came later, in much the same way the rest of us did. I do so love to speculate! But it hardly matters. I don't think they're hybrids.”

“Huh,” Silva said again, then “huh,” for a third time, before his one eye slid slyly toward Chack. “Well,” he said with evident relief, “I guess this means that certain folks don't need to worry 'bout, well, you know, ‘complications' no more.”

Chack glared at him, his tail whipping. “‘Certain people'
should
worry about what a certain healer named Paam Cross might think. Or do.”

“She still don't own me,” Silva warned, glaring back.

“She thinks she does, and perhaps more important, Cap-i-taan Reddy and his mate, the Lady Saandra, are now convinced of it as well. Paam is chief surgeon aboard USS
Walker
and prone to . . . fits of temper.” Chack piously blinked extreme disapproval. “To inspire one of those fits might even constitute behavior detrimental to the war effort, in their view.”

Silva just stared at his Lemurian friend . . . then guffawed. “My God, Chackie! You're gettin' good at this!”

“Silence!” Lawrence hissed, nodding his snout toward shore. “Excuse I, 'ut they are returned.”

An old 'Cat, its face and mane bright with white fur, and dressed in a dingy robe cut somewhat like the one Adar always wore, slid down the embankment and halted, glaring at them. Probably the same 'Cat that was there before (it was impossible to tell) quickly joined him and stood at his side, half supporting him. Together, they just stood there, grimly waiting.

“Well,” Courtney said. “Perhaps your unorthodox demonstration has served its purpose, Colonel Chack. Shall we go and meet them?”