Maelstrom (32 page)

The whaleboat was coming back, its coxswain really laying on the coal. It smashed through the marching rollers, throwing spray, until it gained the calmer water and accelerated to the beach. Clancy leaped out and hurried to him, a message form in his hand. He looked a little green after his wild ride, but his expression was grim and purposeful.

“Captain!” he said urgently. “We picked up a faint transmission in the clear! You need to see it right away!”

A tendril of dread crept down Matt’s spine as he took the sheet. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” he said, walking a few paces away.

THESE SPACES FOR COMM OFFICE ONLY

“God
damn
it!” Matt swore. He looked at Silva. “Tell Lieutenant McFarlane our scavenger hunt’s over. He’s to be in the next boat back to the ship, and I want number three lit off.”

“What’s up, Skipper?”

“We’re out of time.”

“Hurry up, damn it!” Ellis shouted as half his surviving, exhausted Marines streamed back through the open ranks of the other half. Close on their heels came whickering arrows and a roaring tide of Grik. They’d fought all day, and the late-afternoon sun glared mercilessly upon them. They’d made the beach at last, and all the refugees were safely aboard ship except Queen Maraan, Haakar-Faask, and the tiny knot of remaining Guardsmen. Pete was still there as well, woozy from fatigue and loss of blood, but he wouldn’t leave before the queen and his new friend, Haakar-Faask, and
they
wouldn’t leave while anyone else remained. Idiots! Jim was tempted to knock them all on the head and have them carried to the boats.

Mahan
’s guns opened up, now that they knew exactly where their friends were, and massive concussions burst in the trees beyond the beach, sending shrapnel and blizzards of splinters into the greater mass of Grik infantry. Tracers arced overhead toward the enemy as well, and the weight of the assault began to ease. There were still the berserkers out front, however.

“Second rank, present!” Ellis yelled, voice cracking.
“Fire!”
The volley staggered the enemy, and a cloud of fine sand erupted when dozens of bodies hit the ground. “Fire at will!” he commanded, and the staccato report of thirty-odd Krags competed with the explosions in the trees. He whirled to those he’d come to save, angry at their stubbornness. “The time’s come for you to act responsibly! We need to get off this beach, and there’re people dying so you can satisfy your ‘honor’ and be the very last ones! That’s not going to happen.” He looked at Safir. For the first time since he’d met her, she looked utterly spent. Her garments were torn, and her silver breastplate was tarnished and splashed with blood. “We didn’t just come get you because we gave our word not to leave anyone behind; we came because we
need
you!” His gaze slashed Alden, who was covered with blood from many superficial cuts. “
All
of you! This’ll have been for nothing if you get your asses killed now!” He pointed where the other Marines were forming in front of the boats. “This isn’t just about you; it’s not your decision. Winning the war’s a lot more important than this pissant little fight!”

Faask whispered urgently to his queen, and finally she jerked a tearful nod. Grabbing Alden’s bloody shirt, she pulled him toward the boats, leaving behind Faask and the dozen real warriors he had left. Ellis looked at him, and Faask grinned back.

“You will not leave before the last of your Marines, will you?” Ellis didn’t answer, and Haakar-Faask laughed. “You are important too, you know. When you finally enter the boats, someone must keep them away.” He drew his sword and looked at the notched, blood-encrusted blade. “To talk of ‘winning the war’ is very well. It is also true. But I am old, and I have seen my world collapse. I think this ‘pissant little fight’ will be enough for me.”

Jim was the last to climb the rungs to
Mahan
’s deck. He was sick with sorrow at what he’d seen, but also filled with pride. The Orphan Queen’s tear-soaked face was the first he saw, and on impulse he embraced her briefly. When he stepped back, he saw her looking at the beach where hundreds of Grik, no longer galled by
Mahan
’s guns, capered gleefully over the scattered corpses. One waved a severed leg above its head, bloody teeth still chewing.

“I’d love to bust those bastards up!” growled number three’s gun captain, just above his head on the amidships deckhouse.

“No point,” Ellis replied. “Save your ammunition.”

A ’Cat signal striker raced up. “Skipper!” he said. “Lookout says sails to the north! Many, many sails!”

Dowden, Campeti, and
Walker
’s other officers were waiting when Matt and the last of the shore party came aboard, already laying plans. The sun lay on the horizon, and the long day was nearly spent. Menacing clouds roiled in the east, and the rollers had a distinct chop. All except O’Casey saluted the colors, but no time was wasted on ceremony. Many of the crew stood watching, wide-eyed.

“. . . I
think
we’ve got the fuel for it, but . . .” Spanky continued, joining Matt on deck. He looked around at the many faces and stopped. Swearing, he shook his head and disappeared down the companionway, bellowing for Laney. Matt’s eyes found Dowden’s.

“Plot a least-distance, least-time course for Baalkpan, via Tarakan. Consult Spanky and determine our best speed, without getting home completely dry. We might show up in the middle of a battle. Have Clancy transmit ‘on our way,
Walker’
over and over. Standard code. Maybe they can hear us, even if we can’t hear them.”

O’Casey was staring around at the ship, as curious about it as about the sudden activity. He’d been offended when they took his antique weapon away, and resisted giving it up—until Silva and Stites had “insisted.” Stites had discovered several more muskets at the castaways’ camp, and, never one to abandon any weapon, he’d brought them along. O’Casey wasn’t overawed by the ship, exactly, but he did seem amazed. And envious. He stiffened when he heard the word “battle,” however. Silva was watching him at the time, and noticed the reaction.

“Aye, aye, sir,” Dowden answered. “Uh, Captain, I’ve taken the liberty of putting the children and their chaperones in the chief’s berthing spaces, and moving the chiefs to available officers and enlisted berths, based on seniority. I’ve also begun entering S-19’s survivors in the books. We’ll have to see who fits where best; they’re not destroyermen, after all.”

“Of course.” Matt knew when Dowden was beating around a bush. It was his job to sort out everything he’d reported, and unnecessary for him to report it. “What else?”

“Well, sorry, Skipper, but there’s two things, actually. First, the girl with the pet Grik won’t berth with the other kids. Says she’ll only berth with Mr. O’Casey here, and she won’t leave the damn lizard till we have a look at him and promise not to hurt him.”

Matt looked at Bradford, still puffing from his climb. “Go have a look. You’re our expert on Grik anatomy. Have Jamie give you a hand.” He paused. “Silva?”

“Skipper?”

“Go with him. Damn thing may be tame as a puppy, but if it even looks cross-eyed, blow its head off.”

“Aye, aye, sir!”

Silva and Bradford clambered down the metal stairs.

“I will accompany them,” Adar proclaimed. “I am curious about this ‘tame’ Grik, but I would get to know the youngling better.”

Matt nodded. “Me too. See what you can find out.” He looked back at Dowden. “What else?”

“Well, Skipper, it’s the nun. Says they all appreciate being rescued, but she’d like to speak with you again. She hopes . . . you won’t be so ‘rude’ next time.”

“Rude?”

Dowden shrugged, and Matt rolled his eyes.

“Maybe later. Chack?”

“Sir?”

“Assemble your sea and anchor detail, and prepare to pull the hook. We’re getting underway.”

“Aye, aye, Cap-i-taan.”

All that remained were Keje, and
Walker
’s officers. Captain Reddy turned to O’Casey.

“We’re about to leave your island resort behind, and I’ve made good on my part of the deal. We’re all going to the pilothouse now. Things are going to be busy while we get underway, but as soon as I have a free moment, you’ll be standing right there, ready to pay your passage. I have some questions and you’re going to answer them.”

“Very well, Captain. I’ve a few questions of me own, if ye please. Ye say we might be headed fer a battle. Might I ask who you expect to fight?”

Ignoring O’Casey, Matt turned and strode purposely toward the bridge, leaving his surprised entourage hurrying to catch up. Taking the steps two at a time, he arrived in the pilothouse, preceded by his own shouted, “As you were!” Facing the startled OOD, he announced: “I have the deck and the conn. Make all preparations for getting underway.” He looked speculatively back at O’Casey, as the one-armed man reached the top of the stairs.

“We’re at war with creatures like your young lady’s pet, and they’re on their way to attack our . . . our home. Maybe a few hundred thousand of ’em. The first thing I want to know is how you made friends with one.”

Silva, Courtney, and Adar slid the green wardroom curtain aside. Silva had handed his BAR to Stites, who’d recover the rest of the shore party’s arms. All he had was his .45 and cutlass, but the Colt was in his hand. The lizard lay on the wardroom table, moaning as the rolling ship caused him to shift back and forth under the lowered operating light. The girl sat beside him on a chair, petting him reassuringly, and glaring at the new arrivals. Jamie Miller, former pharmacist’s mate, and now
Walker
’s surgeon, nervously gathered his instruments and laid them out.

“Critter give you any trouble, Jamie?” Silva gruffed.

“No . . . it’s just . . . Shit, Dennis, it’s a Grik!”

“Noticed that myself. So what? Ain’t you got a hypocritical oath, or somethin’? Patch him up.”

“Hippocratic,” murmured Bradford, moving raptly toward the creature. The girl stood unsteadily, but hovered protectively near. “We won’t hurt him, child, I assure you. You must understand; I’ve never been this close to a
live
one before that wasn’t trying to eat me.” The girl jumped at the rush of iron links flooding into the chain locker forward. “There, there,” Bradford soothed, “nothing to fear, the racket is quite normal, I’m afraid. Please do sit again, before you fall and hurt yourself. We’re old salts, and quite used to this abominable motion.”

Silva smirked.

“You said his name is Lawrence?” Bradford continued, ignoring the big man.

The girl nodded. “I named him that,” she said.

“And you’re Becky? How interesting. Charmed, of course, and very pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Soon the ship came alive beneath their feet, and the nauseating pitching motion became more bearable as
Walker
accelerated into the swells. Becky finally sat, but continued glaring at Silva.

“I don’t want that evil man in the same room with my poor friend,” she insisted. “If Lawrence is to die, I prefer it not be in the presence of his murderer!”

“Now see here, girlie!” Silva protested.

“My name is
not
‘girlie’!”

“Calm yourself, child!” Bradford pleaded. “Mr. Silva cannot leave; he has his orders. Besides, he didn’t mean to injure your friend; it was a dreadful misunderstanding!”

“He did too,” the girl fumed. “And my name is not ‘child’ either!”

“Of course, my dear. I apologize.” Bradford glanced hurriedly at the wounded Grik. “I think your friend will recover well enough. The wound is painful, certainly, but not fatal, if my memory of his anatomy serves. The bullet passed cleanly through his left pectoral muscle, left to right, and if you allow us, Mr. Miller has some salve that should accelerate the healing process and prevent infection. It will also ease his pain. May he proceed?”

Becky sighed. “Of course, but please hurry!”

Jamie advanced hesitantly with the Lemurian antiseptic, analgesic paste, made from fermented polta fruit, on a wooden spatula. The creature seemed to understand the conversation, as well as Jamie’s intent, and lay docile, waiting for him to apply the medicine. Jamie gulped and did so. Within moments the creature’s tense, straining muscles began to relax, and it sighed in evident relief.

“Do you feel better now, my dear?” the girl crooned.

“’Etter. Thank you.”

“Well . . . good,” Silva gruffed, strangely moved. His world had been turned upside down yet again. Here was a Grik, a member of a species so terrible it almost defied comprehension. Yet lying there with a child stroking its brow, it looked almost vulnerable and benign. What was more, not only did it understand what they said, but it could speak. It was even polite! He scratched his beard sheepishly, glancing around. “Sorry I shot you. Maybe there’s good Griks and bad Griks, just like good people and Japs.”

“I not Grik,” it said, almost dreamily now, another effect of the paste. “I Tagranesi, on islands east-south. I lost, like ’riend ’Ecky.” Its eyelids fluttered. “I sorry you shoot too.”