Distant Thunders (42 page)

With considerable relief, they noticed the jungle begin to thin as they approached one of the many clearings probably created by lightning fires. This one was recent, and blackened stumps protruded through the lush, fresh undergrowth. The foliage was really a type of long-leafed grass, Dennis realized, and it was damp and clingy to walk through, even though it was barely calf-high. Lots of herbivores probably frequented places like this, he thought. They heard a squeal. Then another. Lawrence’s fur bristled and his eyes became intense as he sniffed the air.

“Just ahead!” Moe told them.

“Not just rhino-’ig,” hissed Lawrence with a note of caution.

“What else?” asked Dennis.

“Not sure. Strange, ’ut’ a’iliar.” He shook his head in frustration. “Like thing I should know.”

As quietly as possible, they picked up the pace. There was a little rise, probably formed by burned and rotten deadfall, and they crept up to the peak.

Below them, little more than sixty yards away, three rust-colored Grik, or lizards . . . or something stood around a dead rhino-pig. Their clawed hands held spears that were no more than sharpened sticks, but the points were black with blood. They seemed to be resting from their exertions, or complimenting one another on their prowess, and for the moment, at least, their guard was down.

With a Lemurian curse, Moe brought his crossbow up.

“What the . . . Hey, wait a goddamn minute!” Silva said, pushing the crossbow down. “What the hell? There might be dozens of the bastards!”

“No, just those,” Moe said, trying to wrench his weapon free. “They steal our meat! They just big skuggiks!”

“You mean they
live
here?” Silva whispered savagely. “You never said there was jungle Griks on Borno!”

“Like Griks, but not!” Moe insisted. “I tell. Others tell! There not many on Borno, but we kill them when we see them! Let them live on little islands! Not here!”

Suddenly, Silva did remember. He remembered Nakja-Mur mentioning that the Grik on Borneo were primitive and didn’t know tools, and they’d been hunted to near extinction. Only on islands like Bali—small or far away—were they left alone. They
had
been told, but he, at least, had forgotten.

“
I
like Grik, ’ut not,” Lawrence hissed.

The ground beneath them seemed to shake and the foliage near the trio of lizards exploded into the clearing. Within the confetti of leaves and brush charged a young super lizard! The “Grik,” or whatever they were, scattered in three directions. Apparently more interested in live prey than the dead pig, the monster fixed its gaze on one rusty shape and bolted after it with the amazing speed Silva knew the things were capable of.

“Shit!” growled Silva, and rose to a knee. He cocked his big gun and pulled it to his shoulder, raising the stock to his cheek. For an instant, he honestly didn’t know what he was doing, but he didn’t really need to. Threat assessment had always been one of his strong suits, whether the question was whom to throw the first punch at in a bar, or which target to engage. There
was
that little incident when he’d shot Lawrence, but it was a perfectly understandable mistake and the little guy didn’t hold a grudge. . . . His sights found the pocket behind the super lizard’s right arm. He eased a little right to lead the target and squeezed the trigger.

The recoil nearly tossed him on his back. It
did
put him on his butt. It was the first time he’d ever fired the Doom Whomper from a kneeling position. Quickly, he reversed the rifle and blew down the barrel, sending a jet of smoke out the vent. Even as he reached for another charge, he was looking to see the results of his shot. At first, there seemed to be no effect. The rusty lizard running for its life dropped to the ground, cowering from the shockingly loud report, most likely. On the other hand, it may have been a final instinctive act of self-preservation. The super lizard was almost upon it. Suddenly, the huge monster just stopped running, as if remembering it had forgotten something in the woods. It swayed a little, caught itself, looked at its prey, and even glared around the clearing. With no further ado, the bulb went out and the beast plummeted to the ground with a rumbling crash.

“Hot damn!” Silva crowed, pouring the charge and seating the bullet atop it. “He may not be a trophy as such critters go, but one shot’s one shot!”

“Have care,” Moe cautioned. The red-brown lizards were gathering near the one who’d almost bought it, helping it to its feet. Dennis didn’t miss the significance of that. All the while, the trio of lizards was staring at them inscrutably. “Those vermin is easy to kill at a . . . far. Up close, they dangerous.”

“You leave them lizards be,” Silva said.

“Why? We no kill them, them stay here. I telled you, them . . . they steal! They dangerous scavengers. Dangerous to hunters. They stay, more come. Be dangerous to city.”

“Did ol’ Nakja-Mur know you was killin’ ’em whenever you saw ’em?” Silva asked.

“Of course. We always kill them when get so close to Baalkpan. Borno is big; them no need be here.”

“Does Adar know you’re killin’ ’em? Does he even know about ’em?” Silva asked. “Bradford woulda had puppies just to gawk at ’em if he’d’a known there was anything so much like Griks right here on Borneo.”

Moe didn’t answer at first. Even he seemed to realize Dennis was right. “I no see them,” he said at last. “I no see ‘ungle Griks,’ you call them, for five, six seasons. They gone. Good gone, say me.” He looked at Lawrence, comprehension dawning. “But they not Griks. Like Griks, but not.”

“Larry here looks enough like a Grik that I shot him once,” Silva said. “Here you are huntin’ with him. Then you rear up and start to kill some lizards that look more like him than they do Griks. I guess I’m sorta confused. Did it ever occur to you to try to
talk
to one of them buggers?” he asked, pointing at the trio still standing, staring back at them. “Did it ever occur to
anybody
? Lord knows I’m not much of a talker myself and I sure ain’t one to judge. Killin’ a problem’s a quicker, more permanent way to solve one than talkin’ to it any day, you ask me, but knowin’ Larry has made me a little more selective about the lizard problems I kill on sight.”

The rusty lizards seemed to decide it was time to go. They gathered their spears but made no move to retrieve the rhino-pig when they went near it. They did look at their multispecies benefactors quite often, however. One of them, maybe the one Silva had saved, pointed at the super lizard with its spear and then pointed it at Silva, adding a resonant cry like a choking goat. Dennis nearly jumped out of his skin when Lawrence replied with something that sounded similar. All three lizards stopped then, looking back, black crests rising on their heads. Another moment passed and then they melted into the trees.

“Goddamn, Larry!” Silva exclaimed. “Don’t do that! Most of the time, you talk better than me. That lizard lingo gives me the creeps!”

There was movement in the jungle behind them, but it was only the bearers coming to the sound of Silva’s gun. Bradford and Abel were with them. All knew Moe would have finished the rhino-pig with his massive crossbow, so Silva must have found them a more substantial load.

“What did you shoot?” puffed Courtney, leading the others and hastening to join them.

“Teenage super lizard,” Silva said offhandedly.

“Splendid, splendid! I do hope you didn’t damage the skull this time! I so want an undamaged skull! I wish I’d been here to see it!”

“Honest to God, I wish you’d been here too,” Silva said. He went on to describe their encounter.

“Amazing, remarkable!” Courtney looked at Moe. “Does Adar know of these creatures?” he asked, echoing Silva’s unanswered question.

“Maybe yes, maybe no,” Moe conceded. “Adar is of sea folk. Sea folk know lizards on Bali and other places . . . maybe not here.”

“I must speak to him about an expedition to make contact!” Bradford declared.

“That may be a little tough,” Silva said. “Ol’ Moe here says he and other hunters been killin’ ’em on sight for years. Kinda like Injuns.” He brightened. “Injun jungle lizards!”

“Oh, dear!” Courtney exclaimed. He turned to Lawrence. “But you spoke to them! What did they say?”

Lawrence flared his new, longer tail plumage and tried to shrug. “I don’t know. They could have said, ‘Thanks ’or killing the ’ig lizard.’ ”

“Well . . . what did you say to them?”

“ ‘Good day.’ ”

 

 

“So, what do we know, sir?” asked Chack. He was sitting as close as—probably closer than—was “decent” to Safir Maraan. His reunion with the Orphan Queen had been brief, but almost electric with suppressed passion when Safir arrived on the flagship for the conference.

Matt glanced at Jim and sighed. “Damn little. A week ago, we put a squad of Marines ashore here.” He indicated the east-southeast coast of the island on a hand-drawn copy of a Navy chart tacked to the bulkhead. “They’ve moved to about here.” He pointed to the vicinity where the map oddly showed the old British fortress garrison buildings. Whoever had drawn it had made an almost exact copy of
Walker
’s old chart. “Of course, none of this stuff is there.” He paused. “In fact, the shoreline’s not even exactly the same, and some of these little islands are bigger single islands now. Maybe more proof of Courtney’s ice-age theory. Anyway, we’ll have to watch the depth going in.” He looked around the cramped compartment. “The Marines have set up one of Mr. Riggs’s little generators and have been in intermittent contact. Intermittent because they have to move a lot. Evidently, supplies are running pretty low and the Grik are doing a lot of hunting. That doesn’t mean they’re not expecting us, but it does mean they’re spread out a little. Maybe a lot.”

“
Are
they expecting us?” Jim asked.

“They have to be expecting
something
. Most of the ships we’ve captured or destroyed were headed out, probably for Ceylon. Those ships were
packed
, friends. That’s why most had to be destroyed. A few supply ships have tried to make it in, but to my knowledge, none has gotten past us. That alone is enough to alarm a savvy Grik Hij that we’ve cut his sea-lanes. Our spotters say there’s a large concentration of enemy troops here.” He pointed again at the chart, near where the British repair facilities would have been. “Apparently, it’s a burgeoning port facility here as well.” He shrugged. “You know, I used to wonder why Lemurians—and this was originally a Lemurian colony of Batavia, I understand—always seemed to pick the same spots for cities that humans did.” He scratched his chin. “The old Scrolls might have had something to do with that, but mainly I figure if a place is a good spot for a city or a port, it’s a good spot for a city or a port, no matter what species you are!” There were a few chuckles. “Anyway, the spotters also say there are a lot of ships anchored off those facilities, more than they can account for.”

“What do you mean?” Jenks asked, speaking for the first time.

“Well, first you have to understand the sheer number of Grik we killed when they came against Baalkpan.” He shook his head. “Lots of ships got away, but they were mainly the ones that offloaded their troops on the south coast. I bet they came home nearly empty. They didn’t leave them in Aryaal, so they must have brought them here. Second, like I said, the ships we’ve destroyed were packed, maybe with twice their usual number. That convinces me our scouts have been right all along. They’re pulling out of Singapore too.”

“Well, that’s excellent news, certainly,” Jenks proclaimed. “All you need do is wait for them to leave and then take the place over.”

“It’s not that simple. First, and I really don’t expect you to understand this yet, but the Grik don’t act that way. They attack. Period. If they’re pulling out, somebody up the chain has started thinking
strategically
, and that bugs me. If that’s the case, it lends even more importance to our objectives, or eventually, we’ll be right back where we started.”

“And what are those objectives?”

“Foremost is to kill Grik, of course. The more we kill now, the fewer we’ll have to face later. Second, I want as many of those ships as we can get. They may be foul and full of the . . . remains of their sick practices, but they’re relatively well made. We need them and I’m afraid they mean to destroy them. Why else send so many troops out on so few ships? Some may have been damaged fighting us, but if they made it here, chances are they’re fit for salvage. Third, again according to our spotters, the Grik spent a lot of time and effort on the port facilities. They may not have a dry dock, or otherwise be up to Baalkpan’s standards, but they’re better than anything in Aryaal. I want those facilities intact.” He looked around the compartment, meeting every gaze. “Finally, the spotters have seen a little compound where a few Japs are being held. We have to save them.”

There were a few mutters of protest and others looked uncomfortable. A few tails swished indignantly. Matt held up his hands. “I know what you’re thinking: what for?” He sighed. “Two reasons, really. No, three. First, chances are, if they were helping the Grik of their own free will they wouldn’t be in a compound. Second, we might be able to get some information out of them. They’ve been to Ceylon and they know what the defenses are like. They’ve had a far different experience than Commander Okada, and they might even be willing to actively help us. Finally, and most important . . . we just
have
to, is all. If the spotters had seen a compound full of ’Cats, we’d have to save them, wouldn’t we?”

“Of course,” Safir replied. “But these Jaaps are the enemy too, are they not?”

“Maybe not. Just because some Aryaalans once followed an evil king, are they evil too? Maybe some are, and I’m sure Lord Rolak has his eyes out for any such, but not all. And personally, I’d rather kill each and every one of them with my bare hands than leave them to the fate they might face at the hands of the Grik.”