Maelstrom (2 page)

CHAPTER 1

The Great Hall was a raucous Babel when the council met shortly after dark. Nakja-Mur, U-Amaki ay Baalkpan, took his place on the platform encircling the trunk of the Sacred Tree, resuming his position as host. The Great Hall was nearly as crowded as the first time Lieutenant Commander Matthew Reddy, USNR, entered it. Then, there’d been a party atmosphere, and it was open to any who wished to come. Now, the mood was anything but festive, and only High Chiefs and the newly created “officers” were present. Matt was still surprised how many there were. He rubbed at the sticky, burning sweat film that he couldn’t seem to keep out of his green eyes, and tried to banish the exhaustion. Ever since his battered, overloaded, leaking ship crept back into Baalkpan Bay three days ago, he’d been overseeing emergency repairs day and night. He’d changed into his least soiled uniform, but realized with chagrin he’d neglected to shave when he felt the stubble on his face.
Damn. It’s always the details that get you
, he thought, and tired as he was, he didn’t have the luxury of neglecting any.

He stifled a sneeze. Sometimes the musty, downy fur of so many “People” in one place could be hard to take. Courtney Bradford had coined the term “Lemurians” for their friends, based on their resemblance to Madagascar lemurs. They had, in fact, learned the People (they called themselves Mi-Anaaka) were almost certainly descended from the giant lemurs of that place, although they looked more feline. Most of his human destroyermen just called them ’Cats now, although a few still clung to the original monkey-cats, or cat-monkeys, depending on whether they were from the deck division (apes) or the engineering spaces (snipes). The Lemurians had become firm allies, and many were official inductees into the United States Navy. Like all Navy terms however—even slang—uniformity was important, so simply ’Cats had gradually prevailed. There were still ’Cat-apes, and ’Cat-snipes, but that had nothing to do with race. It was occupational.

He nodded a greeting when he saw Queen Protector Safir Maraan of B’mbaado, looking, as always, amazingly fresh and vigorous in her black cloak and silver breastplate. She nodded deeply and respectfully in return. She and Lord Rolak of Aryaal stood together, encircled by their respective staffs. The scarred old Aryaalan warrior didn’t look as fresh as his former enemy. Not only was the “Orphan Queen” a third his age, but he’d been much harder-pressed to organize his displaced people. He’d started with no staff at all, to speak of, and because of the bitter division that had existed in his city at the end, he’d been forced to assemble one with care. Contention, under the circumstances, couldn’t be permitted.

Chack-Sab-At, with his brindled fur, still wearing his red kilt, white T-shirt, and platterlike “doughboy” helmet, didn’t seem to know where to stand. He was present as the commander of the Second Marines, but since
Walker
was his home, he wound up standing close to Matt, along with his lieutenants. Most of
Walker
’s and
Mahan
’s officers were there, except Nurse Lieutenant Sandra Tucker, who was at the hospital tending to the wounded and shell-shocked survivors they’d brought home. Also absent were Lieutenant “Spanky” McFarlane and Acting Lieutenant Frankie Steele, who’d been left in charge of the ships. A grim-faced Ben Mallory, head and shoulder swaddled with bandages, stood unsteadily next to Matt with Sergeant Pete Alden, and Lieutenant Tamatsu Shinya, late of the Japanese Imperial Navy. Keje-Fris-Ar, Geran-Eras, and the recently arrived Ramic-Sa-Ar, all High Chiefs of the remaining seagoing Homes—stupendous wooden sailing vessels roughly the size of an aircraft carrier—made up the rest of the naval contingent.

Fristar
, and most of the other Homes collected in Baalkpan Bay, had left earlier that afternoon. Their departure came as no surprise. Their warriors would have been welcome, but only
Fristar
was armed. Everyone knew from the start where her high chief, Anai-Sa, stood. Now they were gone, on course for Manila. At least they carried the seeds of the various cultures that remained.

Nakja-Mur struck the pipelike gong suspended above the platform, calling everyone to attention with a harsh, resonant sound. Baalkpan’s High Chief wore his traditional robes, and his fine, silver-shot black fur was elegantly groomed. His long tail swished behind him with dignified expectation. He was still about the fattest Lemurian Matt had seen, but he wasn’t all flab. The blow he gave the pipe would have severed an enemy’s head, had he held a sword instead of a striker. The sound reverberated for several moments with a bone-rattling vibration. With Adar’s assistance, Nakja-Mur’s aged sky priest, Naga, mounted the dais to stand beside him. It was the first time Matt had seen him since his return, and the priest appeared to have aged a dozen years. Slowly the hall grew quiet and Nakja-Mur spoke:

“The Allied Expeditionary Force has returned to us,” he said in a proud, positive voice.

The mission of the Allied Expeditionary Force had been to raise the siege of Aryaal, or Surabaya, Java, as the Americans remembered it, and expel the Grik—the Lemurians’ “Ancient Enemy”—beyond the Malay Barrier. The Grik were a seemingly numberless race of furry/feathery, reptilian bipeds, whose expansionist imperative seemed matched only by their merciless ferocity. Apparently centered in eastern Africa, their empire now spanned the coast of the Indian, or “Western” Ocean all the way to Ceylon and Singapore—and now Java too. Separated from the Lemurians by the vast, hostile sea for ages, they’d developed their seagoing technology to the point they could threaten their old “prey” again at last.

The campaign met success at first, before the unforeseen full might of the Grik swept down, accompanied by the mighty Japanese battle cruiser,
Amagi
. In one fell swoop, the fortunes of war had changed entirely, and contentious Aryaal had been evacuated. Also evacuated, albeit less thoroughly due to the constraints of time, were the people of Aryaal’s hereditary enemy on the island of B’mbaado (Madura). The people there, led by their charismatic Orphan Queen, Safir Maraan, had been aiding Aryaal against their mutual enemy, despite their animosity, when the AEF arrived. B’mbaado had actually officially joined the alliance. But with the enemy bearing down, as many people as possible from both cities were stuffed into every available boat, as well as the four allied (cannon-armed) seagoing Homes that constituted Captain Reddy’s “battle line.” What ensued was an exodus unlike any since that first one had occurred countless ages ago, when all the People were driven from “paradise” by the same ravening enemy. Matt knew the Lemurian “Scrolls” gave few details about what transpired back then; the tale had been passed down by word of mouth for millennia before being written, but he imagined the trauma must have been very much the same.

“They achieved great victories against the Grik and were not defeated,” Nakja-Mur continued, “but through their success, they discovered the Ancient Enemy has numbers beyond what we ever imagined. Wisely, they returned to bolster our defenses here, so together we will have the forces to destroy that terrible threat.” He paused and stared out at the expectant faces. “They bring also new, veteran allies—warriors who have faced the Grik in battle, and come to our aid as we once went to theirs. Together we will field the largest army in the history of our race! There will be no defeat like that which drove us from our ancestral home!”

There were a few scattered cheers, and Matt had to admit Nakja-Mur was becoming a skilled orator. It was also clear he’d decided to concentrate on the positive—even to the point of glossing over a few blatant facts, like the tragedy that made those forces available. He supposed there was no harm in that. Everyone knew the story already, and those who remained were committed to the fight. They had no choice. All the mighty seagoing Homes that meant to leave were already gone, either fled or acting as giant freighters for goods and raw materials from the Fil-pin lands. Once again he was struck by the similarity of their current situation to that the Americans had faced nearly a year before, when the Japanese swept the Asiatic Fleet from the Philippines and Dutch East Indies. The irony was, this time the Philippines were the distant haven, instead of the first place they got kicked out of.

Nakja-Mur continued: “Safir Maraan, Queen Protector of the island of B’mbaado, has come with her personal guard of six hundred warriors, as well as the majority of her entire defense force of almost two thousand seasoned warriors!” Nakja-Mur didn’t mention that over a thousand of B’mbaado’s best troops had been lost with
Neracca
.
Neracca
was the final Home to evacuate, and was intercepted by the enemy. Reddy’s old Asiatic Fleet “four-stacker” destroyer, USS
Walker
(DD-163), was escorting her to safety, and even tried to
tow
the much larger Home from the enemy’s clutches, all to no avail.
Amagi
, slowed by damage she received once before at the hands of the Americans, was still unimaginably powerful. She cruelly smote
Neracca
from what seemed to the Lemurians an impossible distance with her massive ten-inch guns.
Walker
saved as many as she could, becoming dangerously unstable with close to a thousand aboard, but in the end, the uncounted thousands remaining on
Neracca
were doomed.

Tassat-Ay-Arracca, her High Chief, sent his daughter, Tassana, in the final gri-kakka boat to cut the cable herself. Matt could only imagine the weight of grief bearing upon the child’s heart. In a fit of rage, or perhaps genius, he used the darkness, and the glare of the burning Home, to maneuver his damaged, overloaded ship into a position to fire his last remaining, fully functional torpedoes at the mighty ship. One exploded, damaging
Amagi
even further. Not enough to sink her, unfortunately, but enough to cause the Grik to postpone their final attack and turn their armada back to Aryaal. They must have decided, uncharacteristically, that they needed
Amagi
to ensure their success against what the Tree Prey had become (and the friends they’d made) since their last, ancient meeting. It was the only thing that gave Baalkpan this precious time they now had.

“Lord Muln-Rolak, Protector of Aryaal, has joined us with a trained force almost as large. Together with the majority of the civilian populations of both great cities upon which we can draw a levy, we stand prepared to face the enemy with over sixteen thousands able to bear arms!” There was a larger cheer, even though everyone must have realized how small that force was, compared to what was coming.

Nakja-Mur motioned Matt to join him.

First the sugar, now the salt
, Matt thought, stepping up onto the platform.

“Cap-i-taan Reddy was acclaimed commander of the Allied Expeditionary Force, and he is the architect of its victories. The AEF has ended now, and with it the mandate of command. I propose he now be acclaimed Supreme Commander of the Allied defense of Baalkpan!” There were hoots and cheers, and the floor of the hall thundered with stamping feet. Matt just stood and watched until the tumult died away. “Then by acclamation, it is done! Cap-i-taan Reddy will assume command of all forces gathered here. Let all swear to follow his instructions in the coming fight. Swear on the honor of your clans! Swear now or leave!” Nakja-Mur turned to him then, and over the sound of the vigorous affirmations, he spoke in Matt’s ear: “It is done. I’ve given them reason to hope, I think. I imagine you’ll temper that with a large measure of despair. Taken together, perhaps a realistic expectation will emerge.”

“I’ll try to keep it upbeat, but I won’t lie to them, my lord,” Matt answered him. “These are our officers. We’ll have a chance only if they know exactly what we face.” He turned to the crowd and cleared his throat. Beginning with a summation of the previous campaign, he recounted how his ship had led the newly cannon-armed Homes against the invasion fleet that invested Aryaal. He told of the great victory in the bay, and how they landed and fought a desperate battle against the besieging force—a battle they won only by the skin of their teeth, prolific use of
Walker
’s modern weapons, and the timely assistance of Queen Maraan and Lord Rolak. He didn’t dwell on the treachery of Rolak’s king that cost them many lives, and nearly the battle. King Rasik Alcas was surely dead by now. He told how they found
Walker
’s long-lost sister, USS
Mahan
(DD-102), and the pitifully few members of her crew who’d survived their own terrible ordeal. He spoke of things they’d learned about the enemy—still far too little—but also about how they’d defeated them. The Grik were terrifying warriors, but they fought without discipline—or even much thought. They’d beaten them, and they could do it again.

Then he talked about
Revenge
. She was a Grik “Indiaman” they’d captured and armed, and Matt had sent her to harass the enemy and scout the AEF’s next objective, Singapore, the most tenuous Grik outpost. Ensign Rick Tolson had been captain of
Revenge
, and Matt had finally read his log. The narrative was inspirational. It also wrenched his soul.
Revenge
had been badly damaged in a storm, and was left to face the full brunt of a new, massive Grik fleet all alone. Mallory took up the narrative, and briefly described what he, Ed Palmer, and Jis-Tikkar saw from the airborne perspective of the PBY flying boat, and he haltingly, hauntingly recounted the sacrifice
Revenge
’s people made to destroy as many of the enemy as they could, and prevent the capture of their ship. Matt thought the example was good for all to hear. It was the story of a gallant struggle against impossible odds, something they were all likely to face before long.

Matt then described, as clearly as he could, the force that destroyed
Revenge
; the force coming there. The hall grew silent, and for the first time, probably—for the Baalkpans, at least—it began to sink in. He spoke of the courage it took for the B’mbaadans and Aryaalans to sacrifice their homes, hoping that by defending Baalkpan, they might someday see their own homes again. He described the desperate evacuation and the bravery of Tassat-ay-Arracca who’d saved so many in the face of certain destruction, and of Tassana, his daughter, and her own personal horror.