Distant Thunders

CHAPTER 9

T he sky was perfect. There were just enough puffy clouds to provide an occasional respite from the overhead sun, and the blue was so pure and fresh from horizon to horizon that the contrast with the clouds was as sharp as a knife. Matt had spent a great deal of time staring at the sky over the last few days, since he now knew from experience that they were entering the stormy time of year. Currently, the sky meant them no harm and the sea retained that glorious, possibly unique purplish hue he found so difficult to describe. The steady cooling breeze blew up just enough chop to give it character. Gentle whitecaps magically appeared, sparkling under the sun, then vanished like unique little lives. Ahead lay the northeast coast of B’mbaado and the broad bay beyond. B’mbaado was not as thickly forested as Java, but from his perspective now, all Matt could see was a brilliant bluish green, turning golden at the top. If he lived to be a hundred, he’d never be able to reconcile the sheer, exotic, primordial beauty he beheld all around him with the savage lethality that lurked behind the mask.

Donaghey was an absolute joy, and he understood why Garrett loved her so. She and the other “first construction” frigates were built at the same time, but by the old methods. Unlike the new construction, there were subtle differences from one to the next. Tolson was a proud, stout ship and had a proud record too, but no matter what her crew did, she just didn’t have Donaghey ’s speed and grace. Her bow was blunter, her beam a bit wider, her shear not as sharp. She was formed a little more like her Grik counterparts. Donaghey ’s builders had made everything just a bit more extreme. The result was that the flagship of the 2nd Allied Expeditionary Force was also its fastest element, besides the feluccas, and she could outrun them with the wind abaft the beam.

Tolson cruised not far behind, but the steam frigates were in the distance, laboring to keep up. They were screened by the altered corvettes whose characteristics, as expected, were respectable, and Matt grinned to think how frustrated their skippers must be. The problem wasn’t that the steamers were terribly slow; they weren’t. They were faster than anything they’d seen of the Grik under any circumstances. They were much faster even than Donaghey when the wind was still.

With a good wind, the steamers were faster-and far more economical-under sail, but their paddles and screws caused drag and there was nothing they could do about that. On one of the new ships, Nakja-Mur, they’d tried a solution attempted in the previous century. Her screw was designed to be raised and lowered by means of a complex system that had slowed her construction considerably. The scheme worked, after a fashion-and at least it hadn’t failed catastrophically-but it didn’t really do much for her speed. Even with the screw retracted, there was still the large, blunt sternpost to consider. She did steer better however. Jim Ellis complained that Dowden ’s steering was “mushy” unless she was under power.

The new engines hadn’t really had a test yet. They’d gotten the ships under way and out in the Makassar Strait without anything flying apart, but since the discovery that they only slowed the ships while under sail, they’d been secured. Matt wished he’d been able to test them further while they were close to home, but what if he needed them later and they’d already failed? It was a balancing act of necessities. Eventually he would need them. He just wished he knew whether he could count on them.

As usual, Matt and Greg Garrett were standing companionably silent on the quarterdeck. It was a custom they’d observed many times. Sometimes there just didn’t need to be words. Matt knew Jim understood it too. The three of them had been through so much together, small talk was often not only superfluous, but distracting Safir Maraan and Lord Rolak ascended to the quarterdeck and caught their eyes. Matt smiled at them and waved them over. The B’mbaadan and Aryaalan troops were mostly on other ships, but Chack was aboard with most of his 2nd Marines. Rolak went where Matt went; he was still insistent on that, but Matt suspected Safir was aboard because of Chack. They weren’t “officially” mated yet, but it was just a matter of time. Matt expected a formal announcement and ceremony to cap the liberation of B’mbaado.

“Cap-i-taan,” Safir greeted him.

“My lord,” said Rolak.

“Queen Protector, Lord Rolak,” Matt replied. He looked at Rolak. “Feeling better?” The old warrior grimaced and blinked irritation.

“A glorious day and a beautiful ship!” said Safir. She’d grown almost giddy with excitement the closer they came to her home. With luck, it would be hers again. Hers and her people’s.

“Indeed they are,” Matt agreed. “And as for the ship, I think I love her!” he admitted.

“You can’t have her, Skipper,” Garrett said with a grin. “I just got her back!”

Matt chuckled. “Don’t worry, Greg. I think peeling her paint with tweezers would be easier than getting you off this ship.” He nodded past the masts and taut canvas forward. “There’s your coastline, Your Majesty, and not a Grik ship in sight. You’d think they’d at least have a few pickets out, but we haven’t seen a thing.” He shook his head. “Silly to expect them to think like us, but we know they’ve picked up a few ideas.”

“It is a sight I have long craved,” Safir admitted wistfully. “I am excited, I admit, but some of your uneasiness tugs at me as well.”

“Am I uneasy?” Matt asked. “I suppose. I wish we had a little recon…” He avoided saying, I wish we had the PBY, for the ten thousandth time, but they all knew what he meant. “This steaming-I mean sailing- blindly into a situation we know nothing about reminds me too much of old times. I’d almost rather we had to chase down and pound on a few scouts. Besides”-he grinned predatorily-“it would be fun.”

“ ‘Fun,’ he says.” Garrett chuckled. “Remember what happened last time I had a little ‘fun.’”

“But surely this is different,” rumbled Rolak. “Even a large fleet would be no match for us now, and if there are no Grik to sound the alarm, the surprise of our arrival will be all the greater.”

“In a perfect world,” Matt agreed. He didn’t elaborate on how imperfect he considered this world to be. “But they’ve had as much time to recover as we have. Okada didn’t think they could bring anything forward for a while, but with what we know they left in Aryaal when they moved on Baalkpan, they wouldn’t need to, to make it a damned bloody fight.” He looked at Safir. “I’ve no doubt we’ll win, but I’m always counting the cost. I have to. Besides, we know the Grik can surprise us-they’ve done it before-and if they didn’t eat Kurokawa, he might’ve helped them arrange something… unexpected.”

Two Marines tromped up the companionway. One was clearly Chack, still wearing his battered American helmet at a jaunty angle. The other seemed vaguely familiar, but Matt couldn’t place him. He was uncomfortably aware that unless he knew them well and their coloration or dress was distinctive, he had a hard time telling one ’Cat from another. The two Marines drew close and saluted.

“Cap-i-taans,” Chack said. “Lord Rolak”-he smiled slightly-“Your Highness. I beg to report the discovery of this… creature… in my own ranks!”

Rolak peered more closely at the Marine. “By the Sun God’s tail! Lord Koratin, you have lost much weight!”

Koratin! Now Matt remembered. He’d been a big wheel in Aryaal and had even been an advisor to its murdering king, Rasik-Alcas! He’d met him briefly when they retook the city right before the evacuation. For some reason, Rolak hadn’t hanged him and Matt had forgotten all about him.

“Indeed!” replied Koratin. “I feel like a youngling again! I have always maintained that martial exercises strengthen the mind, body, and character.”

“Character!” Rolak huffed. “I have occasionally-and briefly-wondered what happened to you after our last meeting. I assumed you were aboard Nerracca when she was lost, since you hadn’t been insinuating yourself in the business of the Alliance. Yet here you stand, proving once again your consummate skill for survival!”

“Here I stand, Lord Rolak,” Koratin answered, suddenly less ebullient.

Chack cleared his throat. “It seems Koratin enlisted in the First Baalkpan as a private as soon as he arrived in the city. He doubted he would be popular in an Aryaalan regiment… In any event, he distinguished himself in battle and was therefore eligible to apply for Marine training.” Chack blinked irony. “He graduated ‘boot camp’ as a squad leader corporal.”

As things now stood in the Lemurian Marine Corps, only combat veterans could be considered for promotion. If there were ever peace, that might change, but for now the system worked well.

Rolak glanced incredulously at the twin red “stripes” on Koratin’s kilt. “You earned corporal’s stripes,” he said, astonished. “That is more than you ever did in any previous post.”

“True,” Koratin agreed, “and I cherish those two stripes more than the finest robe I ever wore.” His voice was still soft. “I owed it to my younglings. To all the younglings of our people, Lord Rolak. This, at least, I think you will believe.”

Rolak nodded and looked at Matt. “Koratin was never evil. Vain, venal, and grasping, but not evil. I did not hang him because I believed he truly tried to stop Rasik and warn us of his treachery.” He grumbled a chuckle. “It did not harm his case that Rasik was trying to kill him when we entered the city.”

“You trust him?” Safir asked, surprised.

“I trust his dedication to younglings. That was never in doubt. Even at his worst, he often told noble tales and performed dramas for younglings in open forum. Moral dramas that taught principles he never used to live by.”

“I was corrupt,” Koratin agreed. “I thought I controlled my destiny. I knew my failings, yet I tried to set an example of integrity beyond myself so the younglings of our city might become better beings than I.” He looked at Matt. “I have heard the words of your Sister Audry when she has come among the troops and I know not what power guides all things, whether it is the Sun God, or this other God of yours. Maybe they are the same.” He shrugged. “But now I know that no one can hope to control destiny; it has a will of its own, its own plans for all of us. We are but leaves swept into a whirlpool not of our making. We do our best; that is all we can do, but in the end, in this arbitrary new way of war, our fates are in the hands of whichever God truly watches over us. Ultimately, we can only hope He will consider us fit company for the ones He has chosen to reward.”

Taken aback, Matt could only stare. He hadn’t known Sister Audry’s “ministry” had penetrated so deeply. She hadn’t built a cathedral next to the Great Hall, so he figured she was keeping things low-key. He knew she’d helped many of his men who felt lost and confused, regardless of denomination, but thought she’d otherwise confined her discussions with Adar. He hoped they didn’t return to Baalkpan to find it locked in a holy war. “Jesus,” he whispered.

“Carry on, Corporal Koratin,” he said at last. “You’re dismissed.” When salutes were exchanged and Koratin was gone, he looked almost helplessly at Chack and the others. “What were we saying about surprises?”

“Are you sure he can be trusted?” persisted Safir. “Perhaps this is another of his dramas, and he speaks… most strangely.”

Rolak looked thoughtful. “I don’t think he performs; he was never that good. He was always strange, however. Chack?”

Chack blinked and shook his head. “His squad respects him, even the Aryaalans among them. When I said he distinguished himself in battle, it was something of an understatement.”

“Let him be,” Matt decided. “I guess we’ll see. He’s right about one thing: none of us knows our destiny.” He glanced toward the now barely visible passage between B’mbaado and the distant Sapudis. “Or what we’ll find in that bay.”

They pushed on through the day and into the night. Matt sent a detail of ’Cats to Jenks’s ship to serve as pilots, and keen-eyed Lemurian lookouts spied carefully ahead for shoals or enemy ships. A quarter moon gave more than sufficient light for them to warn of any danger. All night, the tension ratcheted up, and Garrett shortened sail on Matt’s orders so the fleet could consolidate. Two hours before dawn, he gave the order for all ships to advance in line abreast and come to general quarters. If they encountered the enemy, they’d execute a turn to port on a signal from the flagship, and form a battle line. Achilles would maneuver to keep the battle line between herself and the Grik.

With the sun, they were close enough to see the remains of distant Aryaal through binoculars. Matt raised his precious Bausch amp; Lombs and adjusted the objective. It was still too far to make out any real details of the city, but except for a few jutting masts here and there that marked the graves of some recent Grik wrecks-possibly survivors of the Battle of Baalkpan that could make it no farther-there were no enemy ships in the bay.

“They’re gone,” he muttered in wonder.

“Maybe not,” Garrett warned. “Maybe their ships are gone, but they might still have an army here, waiting to pounce on us as we disembark.”

Matt grunted. He wouldn’t put it past them. Still, unless they’d known they were coming-and he couldn’t imagine how they would-there would have been something here. Supply ships if nothing else.

“May I?” asked Sean O’Casey. The big, one-armed man had joined them by the rail. He’d been bored throughout the voyage and had asked to be used as an engineer on one of the steamers, but Matt wanted him close for his insights regarding Jenks. The Imperial commodore had come aboard to dine a couple of times and Matt always wanted to know what O’Casey had to say about what they discussed. O’Casey remained hidden whenever Jenks was aboard, but his insights regarding Jenks were confusing. He was clearly wary of the man, but there was a subliminal thread of respect intertwined with a deep-seated resentment that remained imperfectly explained. Matt was never sure how much of what O’Casey had to say about Jenks was colored by whatever had apparently passed between the two men. In any event, according to O’Casey, Jenks hadn’t avoided any real questions except Matt’s occasional attempt to get him to confirm his suspicions regarding the location of the Imperial capital. Even O’Casey still wouldn’t divulge that, as a matter of principle, but he knew Matt’s guess was essentially correct. Matt didn’t ask O’Casey anymore and O’Casey didn’t disseminate. It was understood.

Garrett handed O’Casey his binoculars and the big man steadied them against a stay. “Impressive fortifications,” he admitted. “ ’Twould be a costly chore ta storm. There’s little ta see beyond the walls, however. Naught but that one fancy structure.”

“That was the king’s palace,” Rolak confirmed. He was old, but his eyes were still far sharper than the average human’s. “We burned the rest in the face of the Grik advance,” he added sadly. “We left them nothing upon which to sustain themselves.” He shook his head and his eyes were moist. “Aryaal was once a mighty, beautiful kingdom.”

“It will be again,” Matt assured him.

More officers and important passengers began gathering by the rail for their first glimpse of Aryaal or B’mbaado City. Safir’s city across the strait had been undamaged by the fighting, but they’d burned it too. Now all they could see were the sad ruins atop the cliff. The fleet continued its advance, the heavily loaded corvettes angling toward the front when Matt ordered the signal aloft. Smoke coiled from the steamer’s funnels as their boilers were lit. When they had steam, they’d maneuver inshore with their troops as well.

It was almost surreal. They’d come expecting a savage fight, but as best they could tell, there was nothing to face them. The entire environ seemed too quiet, almost devoid of life. Everything had the look of recent abandonment, and the closer they drew, the more apparent it became. The docks were strewn with debris and every small boat had been dragged ashore and shattered. Nothing at all remained of the dockside shantytown that had once served the cities’ modest fisheries. Nothing but bare, scorched ground.

Then they smelled it. It began as a hint, a tantalizing ghost, but as they continued to approach and the wind came more from the shore, they caught the stench of death. Matt had smelled death many times now, in all its ghastly varieties. He’d smelled the decomposing Grik carrion at Baalkpan and on the plain below the very walls he looked upon. He knew what human dead smelled like: burnt, drowned, festering in the sun. This was different. It was something like what he’d smelled in the belly of Revenge after they’d taken that ship from the Grik, although there, there’d been a slimy, humid, mildewed edge. Regardless, he now recognized the growing, all-pervading stench of putrefying Lemurians.

“Left them naught ta sustain themselves, ye say?” O’Casey whispered, and tried to hold the glasses still. Matt redirected his binoculars. There’d been a disconnect, he supposed. He’d noticed the thousands of stakes driven in the ground surrounding Aryaal’s walls, but must have assumed they’d been some new entanglement or defensive measure constructed by the Grik. Now he saw that atop each stake was a severed Lemurian head. Some were mere skulls by now, and they were still too distant for details, but many hung, slack-jawed, with tissue still attached. Some were quite fresh. Safir Maraan, bold warrior that she was, nearly lost the binoculars she’d borrowed when she lurched to the rail and vomited into the sea. Chack went to her and murmured soft words.

“My God!” exploded Garrett. “We can’t have left that many behind! We got them all, Captain! Mr. Ellis and I.” His tone became pleading. “We took everyone we could-everyone who came to the rendezvous! Maybe some didn’t make it, but… my God!”

“I’m sure you got all you could, Greg,” Matt said, his voice wooden. “But they were here a long time. Long enough to scour Java clean of all the ‘prey’ we never had a chance to save. The people of Bataava, the other cities…”

Rolak jerked his sword free of his belt and desperately cast his eyes about for something to cleave. With a wail of anguish, he finally buried the point in the deck. Even Garrett didn’t scold him.

“Do you think they’re gone then?” Safir asked, stepping to face him. Her eyes were pools of horror and Chack supported her as though she might faint. Her usually immaculate silver-washed breastplate had been splashed with the contents of her stomach.

“Yeah. I think so.” His lips curled in a snarl. “Why else do that ?”

“What do you mean?” asked Chack. “We know they collect skulls.. . ‘trophies’ of their prey.”

“But they didn’t collect them!” Matt insisted. “They left them here like that! Maybe not all of them are gone, and keep that in mind when you go ashore, but I bet most are. For some reason, they’ve abandoned this place and they knew, eventually, we’d return.” He gestured at the city and the literally thousands of stakes. “And they wanted to make sure, when we did, we’d see that!”

“Skipper,” Garrett said quietly, “I think if Mr. Bradford were here, he’d say something profound, about the lizards being more sophisticated than we thought, or something like that. I bet they did this as a warning. To scare us. Make us stay away.”

“You’re probably right. Maybe they are more sophisticated, or maybe Kurokawa put them up to it. Doesn’t matter.” He looked at those around him, then forced himself to look at the city again. “I think they’ll find it has an opposite effect than they intended. Just like Pearl Harbor.” By now, most of the ’Cats knew the significance of that reference. “I want to exterminate them like the vermin they are.” He paused, then spoke to Garrett. “Signal the corvettes to disembark their troops as planned. Form a perimeter around the landing area. The steamers will cover the landing with their heavy guns. Once we have a beachhead, we’ll put the rest of the troops ashore, again, just like we planned. Whether the landing is contested or not, I want everybody acting like it is. Good practice. Finally, send a signal to Achilles, with my compliments, and ask Commodore Jenks if he’d care to accompany me ashore.” Matt’s face hardened. “I think it’s high time our reluctant British friends saw the true face of our enemy.”

Captain Reddy met Jenks’s boat at the dock. Rolak was with him, along with the old warrior’s staff. The only other human was Chief Gray, looming behind his captain with a Thompson submachine gun. The gun had once been Tony Scott’s personal weapon and it hadn’t saved him in the end-but he hadn’t had it with him, had he? Gray was determined that Captain Reddy would always have him and the weapon at his back whenever he was at risk. Jenks stepped out of the boat with another white-coated figure. Both held perfumed cloths over their faces. Four of the red-coated, bare-legged Imperial Marines stepped ashore as well, bright muskets on their shoulders.

Jenks was watching the rapid, professional deployment of the Marines the 600, and the slightly less practiced arrival of the Army regiments. Once ashore however, the Army seemed as competent as the others. Matt sensed that Jenks was a little surprised and perhaps slightly daunted by what he saw. The Marines established a perimeter near where the old breastworks once had been, and Safir’s 600-who trained with the Marines to the same rigorous standards-deployed across the road leading to the main gate. The Army regiments, in their multicolored leather armor and kilts, took supporting positions as the Marines broadened the beachhead. Four light guns were off-loaded and placed, by sections, in the center and on the right flank. Nothing stirred across the vast plain on the left.

Slowly, the steamers nudged their way closer to the dock. General Alden led the rest of the forces ashore and soon the area within the perimeter teemed with troops. In two hours, they had four thousand battle-tested, well-trained soldiers from every Allied power probing slowly forward and automatically preparing defensive positions around the perimeter. The steamers moved away and joined the frigates, where they could defend against any attack from the sea, while covering the ground force with their guns. It struck Matt how differently this landing was going from the first one they’d made on these very shores. Then, it had been dark and chaotic, and the Army was largely untested. It wasn’t quite as big either. He was confident that if he’d brought these troops ashore back then, they could easily have defeated the nearly twenty thousand Grik despite Rasic’s treachery, without any help from Aryaal at all. The weapons were the same as before, even though there’d been some familiarization training with the new prototypes. Full-scale production was just beginning when they left, and there was no sense “trickling” the new weapons in. The main difference between this Army and the old was, literally, a level of professionalism that came only with experience and confidence.

Alden and Chack approached and saluted. Alden was the overall field commander and the various regimental commanders would have already reported to him. “Skipper,” he said, “we’ve pushed nearly to the gates.” He scowled. “Close enough to get a good look at all the heads.” He glanced at Jenks appraisingly. “Lord Rolak’s supporting the Second Marines and the Six Hundred with the First and Third Aryaal. He begs the… ah… privilege of being the first to enter his city.”

Matt nodded. “Very well. Chack, you and Queen Maraan let him through, but I want you both to support him closely. No telling what surprises the enemy may have left. Form a perimeter inside the gate, in that open area around the big fountain like we did last time. Use other supporting regiments. After the plaza’s secure, proceed to secure the rest of the city. Once we’re sure the enemy’s gone, we’ll form details to take those damn heads down.”

“Aye-aye, sir,” Alden and Chack chorused, and trotted off. Matt turned to Jenks, who’d remained mostly silent since coming ashore.

“A most impressive display, Captain Reddy,” Jenks said. His tone held no irony.

“I guess you could do it better, though,” muttered Gray sarcastically. Despite the slightly more cordial relations between Jenks and his captain, the Bosun hadn’t thawed.

Jenks rounded on Gray, snatching the kerchief from his face. “It was a genuine compliment, Mr. Gray. I do grow weary of your attitude, however. You have harbored a grudge for long months now and perhaps I provoked it. If so, I sincerely apologize in the presence of”-he waved toward the countless pikes-“these tragic dead. That said, and the apology made, I will gladly oblige you if you insist on a confrontation.” Jenks took a breath and suddenly gagged violently. “Excuse me,” he muttered, and, stepping a short distance away, he retched. His companion, kerchief still in place, joined the commodore while he continued to heave and gasp.

Gray was stunned. “I’ll be damned,” he managed. “That Bakelite Brit can bend a little after all.” He lowered his voice. “Even if it did break him to do it.”

“Leave him be, Boats. He’s been ‘bending’ quite a bit lately. More than you know. And seeing that”-he nodded at the city-“could break anybody. We’ve kind of gotten used to it,” he said bitterly, “and it still makes me want to puke.”

Jenks finally composed himself and returned to face them. His color was ashen. “My apologies again, gentlemen.” His voice was rough.

“No need,” said Matt, almost gently.

“I… guess I’m sorry too,” said Gray. “I didn’t mean to make you move your hanky… and… blow.”

It was all Matt could do, even under the circumstances, to keep from cracking up. The Bosun had always had a talent for the backhanded compliment, apology, or… anything. Jenks looked at the big man intently for a moment before deciding to accept Gray’s… statement.

“Actually, as I was saying,” continued Jenks, forcing himself to keep the kerchief from his face, “your landing was most impressive. Very businesslike and coordinated. And somewhat ominous to a”-he glanced again at the heads-“a neutral observer such as myself.”

“Surely you practice such things? Your Marines, for example.”

“Certainly, but you have clearly had much more practice, on a considerably larger scale of late. My nation relies as heavily on naval power as does yours. Even more so, I’d wager, but we rarely engage in major land actions. The most recent of those was several years past. As you know, there are just under a hundred Marines aboard my ship, and I’m sure they could have come ashore just as creditably. But even their modern weapons might not have added much punch to your force.”

Matt avoided commenting on Jenks’s definition of “modern weapons” and the dubious advantage Matt considered muskets to be over the Lemurian’s powerful longbows, but he knew his troops had won Jenks’s respect. It remained to be seen whether that was a good thing or not.

The wind veered slightly and a gentle, merciful breeze diverted most of the stench northeast, toward B’mbaado. That or their noses were growing desensitized. Flags flapped and popped within the perimeter where the command staff awaited the first reports from the city. They’d heard no shots, but it was possible they might not have. The few rifle-armed scouts might have penetrated far enough by now that the ruins and the breeze could swallow the reports of their Krags. Eventually however, a runner appeared in the gateway and raced down through the ranks until he stood before Matt.

“General Rolak’s compliments, Cap-i-taan Reddy,” announced the ’Cat with surprisingly little accent. “The city is secure from the north gate, halfway to the south. There is no sign of the enemy other than a few… curious corpses. The Royal Palace has also been secured, and General Rolak begs you to come to him.”

Matt arched an eyebrow. “Any resistance? Casualties?”

“No casualties, sir… but there is resistance-of a sort. Nothing to be concerned with,” the ’Cat added with a snort, “but something my general prefers you see for yourself.”

Matt shrugged and looked at Gray. “Very well. Tell him we’ll be along.”

Gray hitched his pistol belt and shouted for an orderly to assemble the rest of the Captain’s Guard, some of whom were still aboard ship. Matt rolled his eyes, but knew it was pointless to complain. He looked at Jenks.

“Care to join us?”

They entered the city and the entourage was joined by an even larger security force that escorted them to the Royal Palace. Pete Alden met them there, reporting that Rolak and Queen Maraan were inside. Chack was leading his troops on a deeper penetration of the city. As the runner had told them, Alden confirmed that the only signs of the enemy were some “strange” corpses, but cryptically added that they had discovered a few Grik. Matt was curious, but knew if there was a threat, they’d have told him. They probably just wanted him to see whatever it was in the same context they’d first viewed it. Sometimes, context was important, and maybe they didn’t want to prejudice his perceptions. The palace was filthy and full of reeking droppings. Matt wondered whether the enemy had done that deliberately. Surely even the Grik couldn’t live amid such filth? The ships they’d captured hadn’t been clean, but they hadn’t been defiled to this extent.

Alden paused before a macabre scene. A Grik-or was it?-was staked to heavy beams resembling an inverted cross. It flashed through Matt’s mind that the thing had been crucified right here in the palace! Its tail had been hacked off and was nowhere in sight. All the claws were torn away, leaving mere jagged stumps of fingers and toes. It looked like even some of the creature’s teeth had been knocked out. Both eyes were missing from the desiccated corpse but whether they’d been gouged out by scavengers or during the evident “entertainment” was impossible to guess. By the amount of dark, dried blood spattered all around, it had clearly been alive for at least part of the process.

“That’s not an ordinary Grik,” Gray said.

“Yeah,” agreed Matt. “The fur color’s wrong. It looks more like one of those aborigine Griks we saw on Bali.”

“Wow,” muttered Gray. “Bastards must not get along. Wonder why they didn’t just eat him?”

“He’s not the only one,” Alden said. “And there’s something else you need to see.”

They followed the Marine up a long, winding stair that landed upon another wide chamber, not quite as filthy as the one below. Pete then advanced to a high-arched, guarded doorway. “Open it,” he said to one of the guards, and the ’Cat pushed the heavy door inward. Pete glanced back, his face grim, and made a “follow me” motion with his head.

Rasik-Alcas, king of Aryaal, sat upon what had so briefly been his ornate golden throne. The throne had suffered the ravages of the Grik and was now somewhat the worse for wear-but so was Rasik-Alcas. His once elaborate robes were dingy and weather-beaten, faded and stained. His pelt was a loose shroud draped over what had been a powerful frame. His cheeks were hollow and his whiskers were long and shaggy. Within the well-defined skull, however, large eyes still shone bright with hatred and madness. Currently they were locked upon those of Lord Muln-Rolak, standing just a few feet away, his sword point held casually-and unwaveringly-less than an inch from Rasik’s nose.

“My lord,” Rolak said, addressing Matt, “we were mistaken. Somehow, the beast still lives. Clearly, the punishment we expected for him was far too mild.” He grinned horribly. “Or perhaps even the Grik could not stomach the thought of eating him!”

Matt’s first reaction was one of rage. He hated Rasik-Alcas more than any living creature-but he hadn’t known he was living, had he? The bastard was responsible for the death of Harvey Donaghey, and probably Tom Felts and half a dozen other destroyermen as well. God knew how many Lemurian lives were lost to his treachery. Matt started to order Rolak to hack the miserable murderer down. Then his hand strayed to his Academy sword. He’d do it himself! Pulling the sword free with a snarl, he took a step forward.

“Ah, Skipper?”

“What, Pete?” Matt snapped.

“Well, hold on just a second. Please.”

Matt paused, blood thundering in his ears, and looked back at Alden. The chamber was large, but much was in shadow. Large, arched passages that once opened upon a balcony were covered over with planks. The full heat of the day pounded against the wooden barriers, radiating inward. It was hard to see anything, though, except for Rasik and Rolak, who stood in a beam of light that must have been purposely channeled to rest upon the throne.

“We ain’t alone in here, Skipper,” Pete said.

For the first time, Matt peered hard into the gloom. Evidently, Gray did too, because there came a muttered, “Shit!” and the unmistakable sound of the Thompson’s bolt being yanked back.

“My God,” Matt said. He could now discern other figures in the chamber that he’d missed in his single-minded concentration on the Aryaalan king. Half a dozen forms stood stationary along the walls, each covered by two or more Marines. At first, he thought he must be imagining things, that the gloom was playing tricks on his vision, but he quickly realized that wasn’t the case. They were lizards. Grik. He’d seen quite enough of the monsters to identify them at a glance. These were the real thing, not aboriginals or a different species like Lawrence. These were the exact same creatures they’d come here to fight, but here they stood, almost alone, and their reaction to the situation wasn’t right at all.

“What the hell’s going on here, Mr. Alden?” Matt demanded, pausing his killing advance on Rasik.

“Damned if I know, Skipper. We came in here and found ’em like this: Rasik on his fancy chair and a bunch of lizards standing around like guards. His guards. Lord Rolak went to kill the bastard and he told the Griks to defend him! It’s been like this since: Rolak ready to stick Rasik and the lizards ready to fight. Wouldn’t be much of a fight,” he added, “but, well, I figured you ought to see it.”

“Rolak?”

“The beast says they are his ‘children,’ his ‘pets.’ They do seem willing to defend him. Just as odd, he spoke to them in the language of the People, which he must have taught them.”

“Ask them what this is all about!” Matt ordered.

“I tried. I think they even answered me, but I could not understand. They seemed to understand me, though, and I managed to get them to lower their weapons, at least.”

Matt had never personally met the Aryaalan king, but that didn’t matter. They knew each other through their deeds. He was glad he’d finally polished his ’Cat enough to vent his rage without an interpreter: “Rasik, you sick bastard! I figured when we left you here, you’d wind up on a stick! I thought that a fitting punishment for what you did. Even then, I never dreamed you’d collaborate with these monsters! They killed your people, your city! Have you seen what they did outside? Have you even been outside?”

Rasik turned his gaze upon the captain, the hate and madness still bright. “I did not ‘collaborate,’ you fool! I fled! I went into the wilderness with my few loyal guards and we evaded the Grik and sometimes killed them. We even fed upon them, on occasion,” he added with some satisfaction. “But I stayed when all my people left me, left our sacred city to the Grik! You are to blame for what has befallen us! You led this evil here! If you had not come, all would be as it has always been. We would have defeated the first, smaller Grik horde and then turned our attention back to B’mbaado! Well, that city is mine now too, as is all of Jaava! None remain to contest me; even the Grik have fled! But I stayed. I stayed! All this land is mine!”

Rasik’s rant was so wildly untrue and preposterous, Matt couldn’t even bring himself to respond to it. Instead, he looked at the Grik guards. “Not all the Grik fled, it seems. If you didn’t collaborate with them, why do they protect you?”

“A simple thing. They collaborated with me. They are not the same as the vermin that infested my city. They are some of those that scattered after the battle I so wisely kept my warriors”-Rasik paused and glared at Rolak-“ most of my warriors from joining. My companions and I hunted them at first,” he admitted, “like any Grik. We did not know the difference. When we discovered they were different, we… allowed them to enlist in our army of liberation! Never have there been such loyal troops! Lift a finger against me and they will strike you down and eat your bones!” Rasik chuckled and it sounded like a wood rasp dragged across a rock. “We came to hurl the invaders from my city and discovered it all but abandoned! The horde must have learned that I was coming to reap my revenge! All that remained were a few feral Grik, like are known to inhabit the islands nearby. Their masters must have left them here.” Rasik flicked his wrist. “We disposed of them.”

Matt wondered whether the crucified creature downstairs was one such Rasik had “disposed” of, and if all had been given similar treatment.

“Where are your other ‘companions,’ king?” asked Rolak. The word “king” dripped sarcasm.

“They were like you, Lord Rolak,” Rasik replied matter-of-factly, with equal sarcasm. “They were disloyal. They disobeyed me just like you and I was forced to punish them.”

“So,” Matt said, taking a few steps closer. “Now you’re the uncontested king of all Aryaal, all Java-with nothing but a handful of Grik for subjects!”

“My people will return!” Rasik hissed. “They will return now that I have driven the Grik away!”

“You didn’t drive them away,” Matt retorted harshly, unable to stomach Rasik’s lies any longer. “ ‘Your’ people did!” He paused. “ They did it, Rasik, and they have returned! They’ve come back to scour this city and make it their own again. They left you, sure enough, but they left you here to die.”

“You did that!” Rasik screeched.

“Yeah, I did, and I’m sorry. I should have killed you then, like your people said I should!”

“Guards!” shouted Rasik, turning toward “his” Grik.

“Wait!” yelled Matt, in Lemurian. “You say you think they’ll understand me?” he quickly asked Rolak.

“Yes, lord… if you are careful about your accent!”

Matt ignored the jibe. “You… you Grik warriors,” he said carefully. “Listen to me. This creature is evil… Do you know what that means?” Rasik prepared a shouted retort, but Rolak waved his sword point to regain his attention. “He has led you down a false path, a dark path… a wrong path. He does not want what is best for you, only for himself. He sacrificed his own people to his selfishness and he’s ready to do it again. To sacrifice you.” Matt rubbed his eyes, hoping he was getting through. “If you try to fight us, you will die. That’s the truth. You won’t even get any of us.” He nodded toward the Marines covering each of the creatures. “If you put your weapons down and come with us, you’ll be well treated; I promise! You’ll never be ‘prey,’ and you’ll never have to be afraid again. I’m the commander of the forces that defeated you to begin with, the forces that defeated your Invincible Swarm and finally drove your people from this city. I have the power to make this promise, and it is a promise! Think of it! Plenty of food, nothing to fear”-he looked at Rasik-“and no more dying at the whim of a wild, unfeeling traitor. A traitor that made prey of his own people and would do the same to you!” There was total silence. “ Think on it!”

Suddenly, with what almost sounded like a whimper, a sword fell to the floor. Then another. Incredulous, Rasik squirmed on his throne to see, but anything he might have said was silenced when Rolak’s blade caressed his neck. The rest of the Grik weapons hit the floor with a cacophonous crash and Matt felt a wild feeling of relief… and something else.

“Goddamn,” muttered Gray. “Skipper, you just talked to Grik!”

I just talked to Grik! Matt screamed to himself. What does it mean? What can it mean? Quickly but carefully, since no Grik was ever unarmed, the Marines rounded up the prisoners- Grik prisoners! -and led them from the chamber. Matt took a deep breath and looked around. Pete still seemed speechless, as shocked as he was, and Jenks-he’d forgotten Jenks was even there-was looking at him with a very strange expression. He turned back to Rasik.

“Well,” he said. “Left to die again. Somehow, you just don’t inspire much loyalty, King Alcas!”

“Am I to die?” Rasik asked. His madness seemed to have passed with his illusion of power and his eyes had grown wide with fright.

“Just as soon as it can be arranged,” Matt promised him.

“I would so enjoy killing him, my lord,” Rolak crooned.

“Me too, but we need to do it right. For now, we’ve got a hell of a mess to clean up around here,” he said grimly. “Then we’ve got to decide what to do next. Maybe even learn something from our prisoners.” He stopped and shook his head. He needed time to wrap his mind around that. He wished Bradford were here! Or Lawrence. Maybe Rebecca’s companion would have some insight. “I want to push on toward Singapore, see what things are like there. Maybe we can take it back too. For some reason, the enemy seems to be abandoning his forward outposts. Anyway, we’ll be stuck here for a little while. There’ll be plenty of time for a trial for ‘His Majesty’ and we’ll boost morale for his former subjects with a proper, first-class hanging.” He glanced at his watch and turned to leave. “Carry on, gentlemen.”

“Wait!” cried Rasik. Matt kept walking. “ Wait! ” Rasik screeched with the voice of a terrified youngling. Matt paused in the doorway.

“What?” he snapped. “I’ve got a lot to do, and as far as I’m concerned, you’re to blame for most of it. We might have saved some of those people out there on poles if it wasn’t for you, damn you! The sooner you’re dead, the happier I’ll be!”

“After I’m dead,” Rasik said, gaining a little control over his voice, “you will never know what I found while I wandered in the wilderness!”

“What you found?”

“Yes. I think you might find it quite interesting… possibly even worth my life.”