Into the Storm (42 page)

Nakja-Mur had joined them. “What is that dreadful thing?” he demanded in a shrill voice.

“I suspect it’s a friend of ours,” Matt replied when Chack translated. The pilot cut the engine about fifty yards away, and the noise abruptly lessened as the propeller wound down. Matt felt the relief around him. “Prepare to fend off!” he shouted as the plane drifted closer. “Launch the whaleboat!” In less than a minute, the boat slid down the falls and slapped into the water. As they watched, a windscreen on the side of the pitching aircraft’s cockpit slid back and a grinning, bearded face emerged.

“Another Amer-i-caan!” Nakja-Mur exclaimed. “One that flies!
Flies!
” He was silent for a moment of sheer amazement, then turned to Matt and grinned. “I suppose I will have to feed that thing as well?”

“How many more . . . unusual friends are you expecting, Cap-i-taan Reddy?” Keje quietly asked.
Big Sal
’s “captain” was staring at the PBY with open wonder, but it was a serious question.

“I wasn’t expecting this one. C’mon, let’s meet our mystery aviator.”

Lieutenant Benjamin Mallory’s entire lower body felt numb and tingly from the long hours in the thinly padded metal seat of the shuddering aircraft. He had difficulty with his feet on the rungs as he ascended to the deck. He couldn’t stop grinning, though. An hour before, he’d shut down the starboard engine and feathered its prop to stretch their fuel enough to reach this very bay. It was their final hope. They’d checked Menjangan, and pushed all the way to Alor before turning back. If
Walker
hadn’t been at Balikpapan, he, Perry, and Ed would have been doomed, at best, to a lingering, miserable existence of solitude and privation without hope of rescue. More likely, some unfamiliar denizen would have quickly saved them the trouble. The sight of the old four-stacker nestled snugly against the pier amid the bustle of native people and shipping brought tears to Mallory’s eyes. The smoke curling lazily from her aft funnel and the proud flag over her deck convinced him that, whatever the situation,
Walker
was here voluntarily and therefore they were safe.

He made it to the deck with the help of eager hands and threw a shaky salute at the flag, and another at Captain Reddy. He was startled by the sight of the . . . natives, but not like he would have been a few weeks before.

“Lieutenant Benjamin Mallory, United States Army Air Corps. I request permission to come aboard, sir.” He took a wobbly step to make room for those behind him as they also gained the deck.

“Ed Palmer, Signalman, glad to be back aboard, sir,” said the second man, his voice hoarse with emotion. The blond-headed signalman from Oklahoma had expected to remain on
Mahan
only until they reached Perth. His inclusion in the unlucky destroyer’s odyssey had taken a toll.

The third was a dark-haired man in ragged khakis who looked vaguely familiar. “Lieutenant jay-gee Perry Brister, request perm—”

“Brister! You’re engineering officer on
Mahan
—you all came from
Mahan
! Where is she?” Matt demanded.

“We don’t know, sir,” Mallory replied. “The last we saw, she was off the west coast of Sumatra.”

“Sumatra? My God. What was Jim Ellis thinking?”

All three men shook their heads together. “Not Mr. Ellis, sir,” Brister said.

“Right,” confirmed Mallory. The aviator’s grin was gone. “Captain Reddy, it’s a long story and you need to hear it now.” He gestured at himself and the others. “Could we have some cold water? Or . . . maybe even a Coke?”

“Certainly. Let’s carry this conversation to the wardroom and you can tell me all about it after some refreshment.” He turned to Dowden as the exec approached. “Is Mr. McFarlane back aboard? No? Then pass the word for Mr. Bradford—he returned from the well site this morning, did he not?” Dowden nodded. “Very well. Ask him, Mr. Letts, Mr. Tolsen, and Mr. Garrett to join us in the wardroom. Better ask Lieutenant Tucker and Lieutenant Shinya as well.”

“Sir, Lieutenant Shinya and Sergeant Alden are drilling the militia.”

Matt nodded. “Of course.” He glanced at the Lemurians. He’d practically forgotten they were there. For a moment he contemplated excusing himself, but realized that if he did, they might suspect he was keeping secrets. That might not be best. They knew something important was going on; after all, it wasn’t every day a PBY flew into Baalkpan and landed in the bay. “Our guests may accompany us, if they please, but space in the wardroom’s limited. They’ll have to leave their escorts behind.” He spoke to Dowden, but his words were for Keje. They implied that this needed to remain an upper-level meeting. Keje understood, and spoke to Nakja-Mur.

Carafes of iced tea were on the wardroom table when they filed in. Like Keje and Adar had been, Nakja-Mur and Naga were unfamiliar with human chairs, but watching Keje’s more experienced motions, they managed to make themselves relatively comfortable. Of more interest to them was the egalitarian way the Americans gathered around the same table and drank from the same carafes. Lemurians prided themselves on their social tolerance, and they knew the Americans operated within a system of strict official stratification. For the first time, Nakja-Mur and Naga saw that the American hierarchy had more to do with tradition and institutional discipline than with a concept that anyone, even their captain, was intrinsically superior. Somehow, in spite of their surprise, they were strangely comforted.

They sat for a long moment, drinking, while an oscillating fan stirred the tepid air. The Lemurians drained their tea with relish and then waited patiently while the haggard newcomers rehydrated themselves. Finally, Mallory wiped his mouth and cleared his throat.

“My God, sir, that was welcome. We only carried a little water, to save on weight. Enough to last a few more days, but . . . Anyway, thanks, sir. Your ship was a sight for sore eyes!”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. Seeing that plane was pretty exciting for us. But what about
Mahan
? Where the hell is she and what happened?”

The three men glanced at each other, then haltingly, together, told how Kaufman took over the ship. Matt and the other humans listened in stunned amazement. They just couldn’t believe it. Not only was it blatant mutiny, but under the circumstances it was insane. Brister told how Jim tried to take Kaufman’s gun away, and he saw the rage on Matt’s face when he told him Jim had been shot.

“He didn’t kill him, sir,” he hastened to add. “In fact, I think it was more an accident than anything.” He almost smiled. “I heard Mr. Ellis was beating the shit out of him, if you’ll pardon the expression. But Kaufman did shoot him. In the leg.” There was a pause while the lieutenant’s words sank in around the table.

“Go on,” Matt ordered harshly.

They told how the mutiny had proceeded, and of Kaufman’s obsession with Ceylon. Jim Ellis lapsed into fever and they put into Tjilatjap for fuel—only Tjilatjap wasn’t there, and they told of the horrors they saw.

Keje stiffened in his seat. “Chill-chaap? This Amer-i-caan speaks of Chill-chaap?” Larry Dowden had excused himself, and now he hurried back in with a chart that showed South Java and the waters nearby. Nakja-Mur and the Sky Priest fairly bristled at the way he spread the chart across the table, condensation rings and all, but Keje and Adar had prepared them somewhat, so they didn’t cry out in protest. Brister was looking at Keje when he put his finger on the South Java port of Tjilatjap. “Here, sir,” he said.

“Gone,” muttered Keje. “Chill-chaap is gone.” He spoke to the other Lemurians in his own tongue. Nakja-Mur rose to his feet and shouted something at Keje, then continued shouting at everyone in the compartment. “He is . . . excited,” explained Keje in a subdued tone, barely audible over Nakja-Mur’s rant.

“Well, tell . . . ask him to control himself! We must hear what else these men have to say!”

“I will try, Cap-i-taan. But forgive him . . . us. Chill-chaap is nearly as large as Baalkpan. It was one of the oldest colonies, and the only one on Jaa-va that remained friendly to us. Many thousands of people—our people—lived there.” Keje turned to Nakja-Mur and spoke in soothing tones. Slowly, the High Chief of Baalkpan eased into his seat. But his rage had only been contained, not extinguished. A moody, uncomfortable silence filled the compartment, and the quiet, after Nakja-Mur’s outburst, was particularly profound.

“Lieutenant Brister,” Matt prompted.

“Sir,” continued Brister after a last look at their guests. “Tjilatchap, or Chill-chaap, is gone. Nothing left alive. And it looked like the people there were eaten, and not just by scavengers.”

“My God,” gasped Sandra.

“Yes,” Keje growled. “Did I not tell you? We are mere prey to them.” He looked at the nurse. “You asked once why we threw them into the sea.” He shook his head.

Brister cleared his throat and resumed his tale. With Mallory’s help he brought them through the storm and the discovery of the plane. Then he spoke of the monsters.

“Grik,” Keje snarled.

“How many ships?” Matt asked.

“Three, sir.”

Matt looked at Keje. “They can’t have been the same ones we tangled with. It was at least two weeks later and hundreds of miles apart!” He turned back to Mallory. “What happened then?”

Ben described the hair-raising effort to get the plane off the beach. Between the three of them again, they told how they ultimately fought clear of the “monsters” and finally flew back to
Mahan
.

“They just left you?” Bradford asked incredulously. “Without a boat?”

“Yeah. Even if we’d changed our minds, it wouldn’t have done any good. We had plenty of motivation. Those creatures—I’ve never seen anything like ’em, sir. They were . . . pretty scary.”

Matt nodded. “We’ve seen them too, and they
are
pretty scary. I congratulate you all on your escape.”

“Thank you, sir,” they chorused.

“Did the lizards see you fly?”

“Maybe,” answered Mallory. “We could still see them when we took off. Why?”

Matt smiled at him. “Nothing, Lieutenant. Don’t worry about it. It might’ve been a handy surprise for later, that’s all.”

Mallory looked at his hands. “Sorry, Captain. I didn’t think of that. Not till later. We saw half a dozen more of their ships while we were looking for you, but we were pretty high and far. If they heard us, I doubt they saw us.”

“My God,” murmured Bradford. “As many as nine ships, then. Perhaps a dozen, if the ones seen in the strait are still others.” He looked at Keje, who seemed stricken. “Your enemy
is
here at last, and in force. We’ve not a moment to lose!”

Matt held up his hand. “I’m afraid we must lose a few more moments, Mr. Bradford. Lieutenant Mallory? What happened next?”

“Kaufman wanted us to fly to Ceylon, and we didn’t say squat, but ‘Yes, sir, will do.’ We took on all the fuel we could and then came looking for you.”

“I saw Mr. Ellis before we left,” Brister said. “The nurses were all fine and were taking good care of him.” He looked at Sandra. “Nurse Cross said they were keeping the faith. We talked a couple of minutes, and Mr. Ellis said . . .” He turned to Matt. “He said to tell you he’s sorry—but, Captain, it wasn’t his fault!” Perry’s gaze was emphatic. “Anyway, they probably all know we went looking for you by now. At least the ones that aren’t crazy will have some hope.”

Keje cleared his throat. “Excuse me,” he said. “These flying men bring momentous news. We learn Chill-chaap has been sacked and the Grik are indeed rampant, worse than we’d even feared. The dark time we’ve dreaded seems at hand. Now is when we will learn if all we’ve worked for, for generations—our colonies, our culture, our very way of life—will survive, or be cast to the winds once more. This . . . is important to us.” The irony of his understatement wasn’t lost. “I would think it would be important to you, our allies, as well. Yet you seem more concerned with this ship, this
Mahan
. What is
Mahan
, and what, or where, is Say-lon?”

Matt took off his hat in the awkward silence. He wiped sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief and slicked back his greasy hair. “Forgive me, my friend. I am concerned, and this news means our preparations are even more urgent. The significance of
Mahan,
however, is this.” He looked around at all of them, but rested his gaze on Keje and Nakja-Mur.
“Mahan
and
Walker
are the same. They’re just alike, and she has the same capabilities we have. What’s more, her people are my people, and I’m responsible for them. I’m obligated to help them any way I can, just as I’m obligated, now, to help your people to the best of my ability. The reason
Mahan
should concern you, however, besides—like you said, we’re allies—is there’s another ship just like this one, apparently steaming as fast as she can directly toward the Grik. What if they take her? You say they’re mimics; they copy the works of others. How long to copy
Mahan
? A while, surely. Maybe a generation or two. But what of the meantime? How will they use her? At the very least, they might figure out ways to counteract our superiority.” He stopped and looked around. “We’ve got to get her back.” He paused. “Or destroy her.”