Distant Thunders (35 page)

“It is not that simple,” Sister Audry protested.

“Let us make it so, at least for now, shall we?” Keje challenged her.

The nun sighed. “Very well. But I will not lie.”

“No one is asking that you do,” Adar assured her, “but I think my lord Keje has the right of it.” He paused, grasping his hands in front of him on the table. He hoped this issue was solved, but he couldn’t be sure. Why could nothing be easy? “If no one objects then, I will consider this a closed issue. I will make a formal statement recognizing this Catholic Church and, as has been discussed, proclaim it as yet another path to the Heavens, as far as the Alliance is concerned.” Adar blinked imploringly at Sister Audry. “Is that sufficient? For now? Can you at least refrain from antagonizing those who believe differently?”

Sister Audry nodded. “I can. As I have said, I have much practice at that. I will extol the virtues of the Church,
ut in omnibus glorificetur Deus
, but I will say nothing against any other.”

“Splendid!” Courtney boomed. “I do so enjoy consensus! Might there be more beer to be had?”

“Sounds okay,” Sandra said, “in theory.” She looked at Princess Rebecca, who’d said nothing at all during the debate. “What do you think?”

Rebecca looked uncomfortable. “Sounds swell to me,” she replied reluctantly. She’d been picking up more and more Americanisms. Courtney sometimes joked that her people might declare war based solely on that. “But the issue may not be closed at all, once we visit my people.”

Sandra nodded. She’d gathered enough from Rebecca to understand that the Empire’s primary rival was still another human civilization that didn’t seem very Catholic at all, despite retaining the name and some of the ceremonies. These others, whom Rebecca referred to only as the Dominion, had inherited many of the cruel and expansive methods and practices of a much earlier Church than was represented by Sister Audry. Apparently, they’d incorporated some radical elements of other “faiths” as well. Rebecca had come to know the nun and she knew a little history, so she understood there were substantial differences between Sister Audry’s Church and what it had become under the Dominion. She wasn’t at all sure her people would see any such distinction.

“I guess we’ll see,” Sandra said.

 

 

Marine Corporal Koratin, formerly Lord Koratin, renowned speaker, power broker, and counselor to kings, descended the companionway into the dark, dry hold. Despite his teetering conversion, he automatically thanked the Sun that he wasn’t on one of the prize ships. No matter how their new owners tried, they could never quite cleanse the reeking stench of what the Grik had done in them. He’d helped capture a few and the dangling chains, emaciated “survivors,” the slippery bones mixed with slimy ballast stones . . . all had been etched on his memory as with acid. In comparison, the hold of USS
Dowden
was a pleasant bower that smelled of fresh, well-seasoned wood, clean ballast, and the honest sweat and musty fur of her hardworking builders. There was only the slightest trace of rancid bilgewater from her new, seeping seams. That was nothing, he thought.
Dowden
was a tight ship, and her seams would only swell tighter.

Dowden
’s hold wasn’t open from stem to stern like Grik ships either. It was highly compartmentalized. He understood the various compartments were even watertight to a degree, making the new steam frigate more difficult for an enemy to sink. He believed it. He was highly impressed with the construction techniques of the sea folk, and with Amer-i-caan designs to draw from, he accepted improvement as a given. He was most impressed by the Amer-i-caans in many ways. That didn’t mean he loved them like the sea folk did, or even as the People of Baalkpan and other places had come to. He was genuinely intrigued by the teachings of their Sister Audry, but he didn’t care much for their other strange notions of the way things ought to be. He hoped that somehow, the world might one day return to the simpler way it had been before.

The Amer-i-caans struck him as honorable warriors, but mere warriors they’d remained when they could have been kings. True, they’d helped establish a real alliance, the largest ever known, but it was a fragile thing in his cynical view. It would have been better for all if they
had
become kings. An empire was far more stable than any flimsy alliance. But simple warriors they remained—by choice—and all warriors were merely tools. As he had become.

Koratin entered a compartment where no gear was stowed. There was only a short bank of smaller compartments with barred doors across them. The common word was “brig,” he believed. He passed the first and nodded genially at the inmate, an Aryaalan Marine like himself, who’d supposedly smuggled a quantity of seep aboard the ship. The prisoner did not react. Koratin came to the next cell and peered inside.

“Lord King,” he whispered. “Are you well?”

Rasik-Alcas stirred slightly in the gloom. Confinement was even harder on Lemurians than on humans, but Rasik tried to appear disinterested. Only the slightest twitch of an ear betrayed his stress.

“Come to gloat, Koratin?” he asked at last. “I am king of nothing here, as you well know. This new ship does not yet even have enough vermin for me to rule.”

Koratin squatted beyond the bars. “Still, you are a king. By blood. I served your father and I tried to serve you.”

“By betraying me?” Rasik flashed, his eyes blinking rage.

“By trying to protect you from your . . . youthful impulses. You
are
young to be king, and when you attempted to destroy the iron ship of the Amer-i-caans, I foresaw the disaster that
did
result.”

“You tried to warn them!” Rasik accused.

“I failed. You sent warriors to kill me. They failed. Still there was disaster. You angered the Amer-i-caans and instead of leaving to fight their war elsewhere, they took your city from you.” Koratin didn’t remind Rasik that they probably would have done it anyway after the Grik advance was discovered. Taking the city was the only way to save the people inside.

“So, you failed to betray me and I failed to kill you. That makes us even?”

“No, Lord King. You might say the one act cancels the other. That leaves us back where we started, if you wish it.”

“What?” Rasik laughed. “You would be a king’s counselor through iron bars? Why not be king yourself? I understand you have won glory with this ridiculous
Alliance
.” He spat the word.

“I could never be king. I am not of the blood. The people would not permit it.”

“So you have considered it?”

Koratin shrugged. “I am a political creature, as you know. You will also know I have considered many possibilities.” He gestured at himself. “I was a
lord
! I had a great house, many servants, and enough retainers to defeat yours when they came for me! Do you believe I wish to remain a mere warrior? A soldier of lowly rank and status? Do you think me
mad
? I could never be king, but
you
could—and I could have back what I have lost!”

Rasik lowered his head in uncustomary dejection. “I could never be king again. The people hate me. I will be lucky to survive!”

For a moment, Koratin said nothing. He was almost stunned by Rasik’s apparent bout of sanity. “Many do hate you,” he agreed at last. “They blame you for the time that was lost in evacuating the city. Some think more might have survived and perhaps even
Nerracca
of the sea folk might not have been destroyed if . . . things had gone differently.”

“What do you think, Koratin?”

“I think they may be right. I would have counseled as much, had you allowed me.”

Rasik beat his hands against his head. “Easy to say now,” he almost moaned.

“But true, Lord King. You know it is.”

After several moments, Rasik finally nodded. “It
is
true. You and your love of younglings. I cannot doubt you. You
were
trying to help and I drove you away!”

“Yes, Lord King.”

“Well . . . I know you, Koratin! You would not have come to me without a scheme of some sort. What is it? Tell me!”

“There
is
something the Amer-i-caans will want where we go?”

Rasik grew guarded. “Yes.”

“Am I correct in assuming you mean to lead them a lengthy, roundabout chase to find it?”

“Why do you ask?” Rasik demanded.

“It is what I would do in your place. You fear they will kill you when they have whatever it is, so you mean to lead them anywhere but where they must go until you have devised another plan.”

“What if that were true?”

Koratin sighed. “All the Allied armies have left Aryaal. We sailed for Chill-Chaap this morning. The rest of the fleet moves on the Grik at the land they call Sing-aapore. The people of Aryaal will be returning and they will need a king!”

“But how . . . ?”

“If you have ever trusted me, trust me now,” Koratin said. “You must lead the Allies directly to what you found! Give it to them quickly. They will be glad, they might even begin to trust you, and they will
leave
.”

“They will kill me!”

“They will not! I have . . . arranged certain things, believe me. Do you think otherwise? That I would not have considered all contingencies? I swear to you, before the Sun in the sky, I will not let the Amer-i-caans harm you! You are my king! I cannot be king! How else will I have what I want?”

“If I do this, if I give them what they want and all goes as you say, how will I then be king again?”

“It is simplicity itself! You
are
king! King Rasik-Alcas! The Allies will leave and you will return overland and simply sit on your throne! I will be there, and you have many more supporters than you know! The first of our people to return to Aryaal will be among the most anxious to see you!”

“I am with you, Lord King!” came a voice from the neighboring cell. “I was in your palace guard! My sword is still yours!”

Koratin looked in the direction of the voice, then stared intently back at Rasik. “You see? When you sit your throne again with your people back in their homes—the homes
you
did not abandon!—who will oppose you then? Who will dare oppose
us
?”

Slowly, Rasik-Alcas grinned. “You always were clever, Koratin. Father said so as well. Too clever for your own good at times, but this time I think you are right. Who indeed will oppose me if I am already on the throne when our people come trickling back? It is not as if they will be great in numbers!”

“True, Lord King,” Koratin said grimly. “Very true.” He stood. “Is there anything I can bring you?”

“No,” Rasik said, bright eyes searching the gloom as if looking for faults in the plan. “None must suspect our scheme. Do any know of our past . . . association?”

“None, Lord King. I am merely a soldier of low rank. No one knows who I really am, or what is in my heart.”

“A brilliant subterfuge! Try to discover their plans if you can, but be discreet! Discreet! No one must suspect!”

“Count on it, Lord King.”

As Marine Corporal Koratin turned to walk back the way he’d come, he nodded at the other prisoner again. This time, unseen by Rasik, the prisoner nodded back.

T
alaud Island appeared much as Irvin Laumer remembered it when they’d approached it so long ago in S-19, her diesels gasping on fumes. They hadn’t encountered another island fish in the crossing from Mindanao, and Irvin wondered if Silva had actually “sunk” the one that lingered there, as he’d claimed. Surely if he had, another had taken its place?
Walker
had picked one up on sonar, after all. Maybe they had been discouraged. Whatever the reason, he was relieved.

Island fish or no, nothing could protect them and
Simms
from the constant deluge of bird and flying reptile droppings.

“That is the place?” Lelaa asked, approaching him as she wiped at a greenish white smear across her dark fur with a towel. Irvin subdued a chuckle at the captain’s expense.

“That’s it,” he said.

“Where to from here?”

“Around the eastern point. There’s a broad lagoon, almost a tiny bay. S-19 was on the beach. There was a little protection but not much. . . . I hope she’s still there.” He voiced his greatest fear. They knew there’d been storms since they left. A high enough surge could have carried her farther inland, making complete salvage impossible, or it might have even carried her off to sea.

“The mountain on the island smokes,” Lelaa observed. “Did it smoke this much when you were here?”

Laumer lifted his binoculars. It was a dreary, hazy, oppressive day. Still, he could see the dull, monochromatic outline of the distant volcano on the island. The smoke was blowing away to the south. “Yeah, maybe. Sometimes there’d be earthquakes—the ground would move. I don’t know. It looks like the thing’s a little taller than I remember it.”

Midshipman Hardee and Motor Machinist’s Mate Sandy Whitcomb were standing with him. Sandy said, “Nah,” but Hardee remained silent.

Irvin looked at him. “What do you think?”

“Well, sir, I’m not sure. The top was usually misty when we were here before, and down in the jungle where we spent most of our time, one couldn’t see it at all. That being said, I would have to concur with you. It does
seem
taller.”

“Hmm. Well, shouldn’t make a difference unless it decides to pull a Krakatoa on us.” As soon as he said the words, Irvin wished he could take them back. He’d always prided himself on his rationality, but some of the men’s superstition had rubbed off on him, he guessed. He noticed the accusing look Whitcomb gave him and smiled uncertainly. “Just kidding, Sandy.”

“If it’s all the same to ‘His Highness,’ the new commodore, I wish to hell you wouldn’t say shit like that.” Sandy gestured vaguely over his shoulder. “Me and the fellas who volunteered to come along did it because it’s a job that needs doin’ and we like you. We know you’ve got as much guts as Chief Flynn, but you had the sense to let him take the lead while you learned the ropes. You got more brains than he does, so you’re better than him for this caper. As long as you use them brains to accomplish the mission and don’t go jinxin’ us, we’ll get along fine.”