"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 them what this is all about!" Matt ordered. 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 b.a.s.t.a.r.d! 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 been outside?" 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 stayed when all my people left me, left our sacred city to the Grik! when all my people left me, left our sacred city to the Grik! You 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 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 stayed! All this land is mine 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 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 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 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." 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 king?" asked Rolak. The word "king" dripped sarcasm.

"They were like you, Lord Lord Rolak," Rasik replied matter-of-factly, with equal sarcasm. "They were disloyal. They disobeyed me Rolak," Rasik replied matter-of-factly, with equal sarcasm. "They were disloyal. They disobeyed me just like you just like you and I was forced to punish them." 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 did it, Rasik, and they have 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." 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 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. " 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!" 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. .h.i.t the floor with a cacophonous crash and Matt felt a wild feeling of relief . . . and something else.

"G.o.dd.a.m.n," muttered Gray. "Skipper, you just talked to Grik!"

I just talked to Grik! Matt screamed to himself. Matt screamed to himself. What does it mean? What What does it mean? What can can it mean? it mean? Quickly but carefully, since no Grik was ever unarmed, the Marines rounded up the prisoners- 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 King Alcas!" Alcas!"

"Am I to die?" Rasik asked. His madness seemed to have pa.s.sed 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 so enjoy killing him, my lord," Rolak crooned. enjoy killing him, my lord," Rolak crooned.

"Me too, but we need to do it right. For now, we've got a h.e.l.l 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-cla.s.s 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 saved some of those people out there on poles if it wasn't for you, d.a.m.n you! The sooner you're dead, the happier I'll be!" some of those people out there on poles if it wasn't for you, d.a.m.n 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."

CHAPTER 10.

"Contact!" Ben Mallory shouted, warning Tikker that things were about to happen. Fast. They'd just completed the exhaustive, perhaps even mildly paranoid checklist he'd devised in the naive hope he'd somehow managed to foresee every glitch and imponderable characteristic his "creation" might throw at them. In spite of his excitement, Ben was more than a little nervous. He knew airplanes-particularly the high-performance pursuit planes he'd trained in-but in spite of the workmanlike proficiency he'd gained in the old PBY Catalina, he'd known it had a lot of idiosyncrasies he'd never figured out. Most of them probably had to do with its being a seaplane. His takeoffs and landings had never been all that hot, and that still bothered him. Now he was about to try to fly a seaplane that, essentially, he'd he'd designed, without the benefit of any of the c.u.mulative wisdom that had gone into the Catalina. Maybe "nervous" wasn't really the right word. designed, without the benefit of any of the c.u.mulative wisdom that had gone into the Catalina. Maybe "nervous" wasn't really the right word.

The water of the bay was a little restless, with a light, uneven chop, but the wind was right and the sky seemed docile enough. The X-PB-1, as he referred to the plane, or "Nancy," as everyone else had taken to calling it, after his first, ill-considered description, floated in the middle of the bay where it had been towed by Mahan Mahan's launch, and all the area for a good distance in every direction had been cleared of harbor shipping. Other boats bobbed at regular intervals, ready to race to their aid if something . . . unpleasant happened. Ben hoped it wouldn't. Experiments had shown that if they crashed into the water, even in the bay, they had a life expectancy of between four and six minutes before the "flashies" arrived and tore them to shreds. Of course, they had to survive the crash itself before that little tidbit of information would be relevant.

Ben was unhappy about the seemingly universally accepted moniker. The plane hadn't ultimately wound up looking anything like like a Nancy-one of the NC, or Navy-Curtiss, flying boats. It still looked more like a miniature PBY to him, although a comparison to a Super-marine Walrus was probably even closer. He was d.a.m.ned if he'd even mention a Nancy-one of the NC, or Navy-Curtiss, flying boats. It still looked more like a miniature PBY to him, although a comparison to a Super-marine Walrus was probably even closer. He was d.a.m.ned if he'd even mention that that.

"Contact," Tikker confirmed, while Ben stood precariously and turned toward the propeller. He felt as if he were attempting the feat in a canoe. He almost fell when an errant wave bounced the port wing float and slapped the starboard float against the sea.

"Jeez!" he chirped, trying to brace himself. He reached back and grasped one of the blades. At least he felt confident about the propeller. They'd "tracked" it while the engine was on the stand, and run it at different RPMs to check for resonant vibration and balance. The first one flew apart and nearly killed "Mikey" Monk, but they quickly improved the design. Bernie and Campeti finally came up with a scheme for a machine like a Springfield stock carver that they could use to make perfect props every time, as well as musket stocks. He pushed the blade up as high as he could reach, then brought it down with all his might. Much to his gratification, his prototype engine coughed instantly to life, and with a burbling, liquid fart, the propeller blades blurred before him. His back screamed in agony as he pulled something important trying to keep from falling into the prop. Improvement number one Improvement number one-he winced-some kind of rail behind the c.o.c.kpit for the pilot to hang onto so the engine doesn't eat him!

Painfully, he turned and tried to get in the seat, but tripped on the stick and sprawled forward, across the windscreen. The stick poked him savagely in the crotch. He had no idea what kind of sound he made over the suddenly coughing engine, but doubted it was very manly. Aft, behind the motor, Tikker sprang up like . . . well, a cat, and hosed fuel at the carburetor with one of Mahan Mahan's bug sprayers. The engine farted again, ran up, then started to cough. Somehow, Ben managed to form an objective thought: Okay. Have to figure out a whole new start-up procedure. Okay. Have to figure out a whole new start-up procedure. He slid down into his wicker seat and for a moment just sat there, gasping sympathetically with the motor while trying to remember where the throttle was through the waves of pain. His vision cleared as the tears evaporated and he pushed the suddenly visible throttle k.n.o.b forward. Tikker had been keeping the engine alive with the bug sprayer, but now it caught and settled into a healthy-sounding rumble. He slid down into his wicker seat and for a moment just sat there, gasping sympathetically with the motor while trying to remember where the throttle was through the waves of pain. His vision cleared as the tears evaporated and he pushed the suddenly visible throttle k.n.o.b forward. Tikker had been keeping the engine alive with the bug sprayer, but now it caught and settled into a healthy-sounding rumble.

Before he could grab it, Ben's six-page checklist flew past his face, into the prop, and showered Tikker with confetti. Oh, well Oh, well, he thought. Saves me the effort of tearing it up Saves me the effort of tearing it up. He settled in his seat, getting a feel for things, and put the control surfaces through their paces once more. So far, so good. The engine had settled down and sounded swell. He felt the plane begin to accelerate slightly beneath him and glanced up. That's funny That's funny. What's the launch doing there? What's the launch doing there? The boat was racing straightaway, almost directly in front of him. The boat was racing straightaway, almost directly in front of him. Oh. d.a.m.n. There's the city, too! Oh. d.a.m.n. There's the city, too! The plane must have bobbed around in a circle while he was concentrating on getting it started and staying alive. He pushed the right rudder pedal to the floorboard, and the plane began turning south again, completing the circle it had begun on its own. The plane must have bobbed around in a circle while he was concentrating on getting it started and staying alive. He pushed the right rudder pedal to the floorboard, and the plane began turning south again, completing the circle it had begun on its own. Enough Enough, he thought. The vaudeville show's over. Time to get this crate in the air! The vaudeville show's over. Time to get this crate in the air! He yelled for Tikker to hang on, but doubted the 'Cat heard him. He realized improvement number three was some kind of voice tube so he could communicate with his air crew. He yelled for Tikker to hang on, but doubted the 'Cat heard him. He realized improvement number three was some kind of voice tube so he could communicate with his air crew.

Pointing roughly toward the mouth of the bay, he advanced the throttle. The propeller became invisible and the awkward-looking craft picked up speed. Okay, fairly responsive Okay, fairly responsive. Let's give it some more! Let's give it some more! He pushed the throttle to the stop. His creation had no flaps. The PBY hadn't had any and he'd hoped they wouldn't be needed. It was a seaplane, after all, and runway length shouldn't be an issue. He'd hoped. "C'mon," he muttered. The engine roared behind him, a little quieter now, and the prop was spinning-disconcertingly close-as fast as it could. The plane increased speed until it began to skip across the top of the water, but he couldn't seem to get it up. "C'mon!" he yelled, pulling back a little on the stick. The nose came off the water, but he He pushed the throttle to the stop. His creation had no flaps. The PBY hadn't had any and he'd hoped they wouldn't be needed. It was a seaplane, after all, and runway length shouldn't be an issue. He'd hoped. "C'mon," he muttered. The engine roared behind him, a little quieter now, and the prop was spinning-disconcertingly close-as fast as it could. The plane increased speed until it began to skip across the top of the water, but he couldn't seem to get it up. "C'mon!" he yelled, pulling back a little on the stick. The nose came off the water, but he felt felt it catch the wind! "Whoa!" he yelped, pushing back on the stick just a bit. His heart raced and he wondered how close he'd come to flipping the plane on its back. it catch the wind! "Whoa!" he yelped, pushing back on the stick just a bit. His heart raced and he wondered how close he'd come to flipping the plane on its back. CG CG-center of gravity-is too far aft. I was afraid of that, he thought. Too much a.s.s in her britches, like a P-39 Too much a.s.s in her britches, like a P-39. He wondered why he'd done that. Was he trying to make a pursuit ship out of a floatplane? Chances were she'd be pretty nimble, but he was growing more concerned about the plane's stability. He concentrated on holding the stick where it was, still building speed. Might need flaps after all, he thought.

Suddenly, amazingly, the hull left the water and the contraption was in the air! He risked a glance back at Tikker, but the 'Cat was whirling madly on the crank that retracted the wing floats. He looked to the side. Sure enough, the floats were coming up-slowly. d.a.m.n. Need a little more mechanical advantage there d.a.m.n. Need a little more mechanical advantage there. The floats had seemed to come up fast enough when they tested them, but that was on dry land, with no drag. Number five Number five.

Once the plane was off the water, it practically rocketed into the sky. Again, he wondered if there was some seaplane mystery he was unaware of. He eased back on the stick and knew they had enough thrust at last to keep the nose from trying to flip them. He'd actually foreseen that to a degree, and intended that the high-mounted engine should counteract just such a tendency. He hadn't had any real formula to base his calculations on, but it seemed to be working . . . sort of. That might have been what kept them down so long too, though. Oh, well, that's what test flights are for! Oh, well, that's what test flights are for!

He wiped his goggles and realized he was soaked. There'd been enough spray to wet him down pretty good. He'd never gone blind, per se, but a larger windscreen was in order. He'd also have hated to get this wet anywhere but in the tropics. Cold still might be an issue, depending on the ceiling. Number six. Number six. He started climbing and banking slightly left, intending to ease back toward the city. Slowly, his tension began to ebb. He'd done it! He'd designed and helped build the first airplane ever constructed on this world! A euphoric feeling began to take hold. He'd done it, and he was flying! When the old PBY folded up and fell into the bay during the battle, he'd never dreamed he would survive, much less fly again! He let out a whoop. He started climbing and banking slightly left, intending to ease back toward the city. Slowly, his tension began to ebb. He'd done it! He'd designed and helped build the first airplane ever constructed on this world! A euphoric feeling began to take hold. He'd done it, and he was flying! When the old PBY folded up and fell into the bay during the battle, he'd never dreamed he would survive, much less fly again! He let out a whoop.

He didn't have an altimeter, but thought he was probably about two thousand feet up when he steadied the plane and aimed it at Baalkpan. With any luck, they'd have altimeters soon. There wasn't that much to them, and right then, anything seemed possible. He glanced at his instrument panel. They'd salvaged a few instruments from the Catalina and put them on the prototype whether they had realistic expectations of re-creating them or not. They had to know what the plane could do. All the new planes would have a few easy instruments: a compa.s.s, an artificial horizon-or clinometer, as the Navy types liked to call it. An airspeed indicator was easy to do. Several temperature gauges would be supplied: one for the crankcase and others for each cylinder head. An oil-pressure gauge had already been successfully tested and was in production. The fuel gauge, at present, was the time-honored floating stick bobbing up and down through a hole in the gas cap. The fuel tank was in the wing above and behind him and he could keep an eye on the "gauge" with a little mirror. They'd need more eventually. They already had had more than most pilots relied on in the Great War. Ben fiddled with the stick. A little tight, he decided, and he'd like some trim tabs, but overall, the only real problem was a tendency to pitch. more than most pilots relied on in the Great War. Ben fiddled with the stick. A little tight, he decided, and he'd like some trim tabs, but overall, the only real problem was a tendency to pitch. CG, again CG, again. He already hated the propeller so close behind his head. Maybe they needed to turn the engine around. Make it a pusher . . .

He read the gauges instead of just staring proudly at them. Airspeed was better than he'd expected. About ninety. The temps looked good. A little warmer in the rear cylinders, but he'd expected that. Oil pressure was steady, maybe dropping a little, but that was normal as the oil heated up. He looked back at Tikker and caught a huge grin splitting the sable face. A few particles of the checklist still clung in his fur. Ben returned the thumbs-up offered by the only other "experienced" aviator in the Alliance. That thought hit him again. It had been stupid to bring Tikker on this flight. Granted, the 'Cat wasn't really really experienced, but he had guts and he experienced, but he had guts and he had had flown. He'd also done very well in the simulators they'd put together. flown. He'd also done very well in the simulators they'd put together. Shouldn't have done it Shouldn't have done it, Ben decided, but the little guy but the little guy deserved deserved it it.

Tikker caught his attention again, made a swooping gesture with his hand, and pointed down. Ben saw they were coming up on where Ajax Ajax was moored. was moored. Oh, no. Why did he have to do that Oh, no. Why did he have to do that? Had he known known Ben's pursuit instincts would kick in, like a dog seeing a rabbit take off? Ben's pursuit instincts would kick in, like a dog seeing a rabbit take off? Can't do it Can't do it, Ben decided. Talk about stupid! No way should I do this! I really probably ought not to. . . . Talk about stupid! No way should I do this! I really probably ought not to. . . . With a wicked grin, he nodded exaggeratedly. With a wicked grin, he nodded exaggeratedly.

Pushing the stick forward, he pretended he had a gunsight in front of him and began a shallow dive toward the Imperial frigate. He knew Adar would get hot, and so would the captain when he found out, but what were they going to do? Ground him? The plane started gaining speed. One hundred, a hundred and ten, a hundred and twenty . . . The stick got even tighter, but he waggled his wings just a little and knew he had plenty of control. Closer they sped, and he could see figures running on the deck. He knew just seeing the airplane was probably giving them fits, but there'd been no way to fly it without them knowing, so no one had actually ordered him not not to buzz the ship. Besides, they still had stuff to test. A hundred and thirty at this dive angle seemed about max, and Ben was really wishing for trim tabs now, but as the mast tops approached, he was pleased to note that when he pulled back on the stick, the strange little plane almost leaped back up into the sky. to buzz the ship. Besides, they still had stuff to test. A hundred and thirty at this dive angle seemed about max, and Ben was really wishing for trim tabs now, but as the mast tops approached, he was pleased to note that when he pulled back on the stick, the strange little plane almost leaped back up into the sky.

Maybe just a little impulsively, he displayed a hopefully universal gesture and yanked the stick to the right, forcing the plane into a slightly tighter climbing barrel roll than he'd perhaps intended.

"Seat belts!" he shouted, as he went inverted. "Number seven!"

There was no danger he and Tikker would fall out-they were sucked into into their seats-but they were slammed against the left side of their respective c.o.c.kpits. The tight roll and sharp climb forced Ben's head back-where there was no rest-and he found himself staring right at the blurred propeller just inches away. their seats-but they were slammed against the left side of their respective c.o.c.kpits. The tight roll and sharp climb forced Ben's head back-where there was no rest-and he found himself staring right at the blurred propeller just inches away.

"s.h.i.t!"

Instinctively, Ben pushed the stick forward-maybe a little too much. The aft CG practically pitched the nose out from under them, causing a momentary-but terrifying-negative-G condition. This immediately levitated the fuel in the carburetor and closed the float, starving the engine-not to mention leaving Tikker to clutch the diagonal stringers in the fuselage for dear life. Recognizing that improvement number seven was of extreme extreme importance, Ben somehow managed to ease back on the stick, finish the roll, and right the craft before he and Tikker were thrown from the plane. importance, Ben somehow managed to ease back on the stick, finish the roll, and right the craft before he and Tikker were thrown from the plane.

Airspeed had kept the prop windmilling behind him, and within seconds, as the fuel in the carburetor remembered where to go, the engine coughed and sputtered back to life. Holding the stick in a vise-like grip, Ben looked around. Everything was back to normal and the Nancy seemed to have survived the stupid, stupid, stupid stupid, stupid, stupid gyrations with no apparent damage. He sighed, loosening his grip a little, and took a deep, shaky breath. He almost gagged. gyrations with no apparent damage. He sighed, loosening his grip a little, and took a deep, shaky breath. He almost gagged. Gas! Gas! There was gas everywhere! He looked at Tikker and saw that the 'Cat was soaked. He was shouting something and pointing up. Ben spun to stare at the little mirror and saw the fuel gauge stick was gone. Worse, so was the gas cap it floated in. There was gas everywhere! He looked at Tikker and saw that the 'Cat was soaked. He was shouting something and pointing up. Ben spun to stare at the little mirror and saw the fuel gauge stick was gone. Worse, so was the gas cap it floated in. What the h.e.l.l?! What the h.e.l.l?! The pressure of the gas or the air in the tank slapping against it must have blown the cap off, he deduced. Judging by the amount of fuel all over everything, they must have dumped a lot-since most of it wouldn't have landed on them! The pressure of the gas or the air in the tank slapping against it must have blown the cap off, he deduced. Judging by the amount of fuel all over everything, they must have dumped a lot-since most of it wouldn't have landed on them!

He looked down. They were over the city now, and he banked back toward the bay. I wonder how much fuel we have left? I wonder how much fuel we have left? The engine coughed, gurgled, then roared back to life. The engine coughed, gurgled, then roared back to life. s.h.i.t! Not much! s.h.i.t! Not much!

He turned back to Tikker and made a winding motion over his head. Get the floats down! Get the floats down! Tikker was already spinning the crank. With a pounding heart, Ben Mallory concluded he was liable to have to attempt yet another stunt he'd absolutely Tikker was already spinning the crank. With a pounding heart, Ben Mallory concluded he was liable to have to attempt yet another stunt he'd absolutely never never intended for this very first flight: a dead-stick landing on Baalkpan Bay. intended for this very first flight: a dead-stick landing on Baalkpan Bay.

Pointing the nose down to build some airspeed, he found he had to keep even more back pressure on the stick to keep the ship level as the engine burped and died completely. The sudden lack of any sound but the wind whooshing through the support struts and control cables was chilling.

"Slow down!" he heard Tikker shriek for the first time.

"Can't!" he shouted back. "Rule number one-when you start training those idiots who volunteered for this-airspeed is life! In our case, we need enough speed to land the d.a.m.n thing on the water! If we're too slow when we flare out, we'll stall and pancake in. Liable to break something!"

"I thought rule number one was 'no stupid stunts that kill engine! '"

"I . . ." Ben fumed, and concentrated on keeping a steady, gliding descent. Ahead, the bay opened before them again. d.a.m.n, they were getting low! 'Cats were scurrying around on the waterfront, dodging this way and that, apparently expecting them to drop right on top of them. He eased back just a bit on the stick-and then held it tight against its tendency to come too far back. Definitely going to have to change the CG Definitely going to have to change the CG, he decided. They were over the water now, and he looked for a clear spot to set down. There wasn't much room. Many of the ships and fishing boats had gathered in this area to stay out of his way.

"A little speed help now?" Tikker demanded.

"h.e.l.l, yes. What . . . ?" Tikker hosed the last of the fuel in the bug sprayer at the carburetor. With a "pop!" and an explosive backfire, the engine roared to life and gave him just enough acceleration to level off and make a powered touchdown on the choppy water. He risked a quick glance aft when he heard a shrill cry, and saw Tikker pitch the flaming bug sprayer over the side like an arcing meteor. The backfire must have lit the d.a.m.n thing!

Whump! The plane practically gouged into the sea, but it had just enough remaining speed and lift to bounce up and skip across a few little waves before settling down for good. The engine gasped, hacked, and the prop spun raggedly to a stop, leaving them bobbing peacefully on the light swells about three hundred yards from sh.o.r.e. Ben finally took a long, deep breath and forcefully released the stick. Tikker said nothing and the two of them merely sat floating on the bay, while the launch approached from seaward. The plane practically gouged into the sea, but it had just enough remaining speed and lift to bounce up and skip across a few little waves before settling down for good. The engine gasped, hacked, and the prop spun raggedly to a stop, leaving them bobbing peacefully on the light swells about three hundred yards from sh.o.r.e. Ben finally took a long, deep breath and forcefully released the stick. Tikker said nothing and the two of them merely sat floating on the bay, while the launch approached from seaward.

"Holy s.h.i.t!" Brister cried when he was close enough to hear. "What the h.e.l.l were you doing? I thought this was supposed to be a test flight!"

Mikey giggled. "I bet those Brits p.i.s.sed theirselfs. Way to go, Mr. Mallory."

"It was was a test flight," Mallory growled. "And it isn't over yet. Tikker, get out and help Mikey with that gas can. I'm taking her up again." a test flight," Mallory growled. "And it isn't over yet. Tikker, get out and help Mikey with that gas can. I'm taking her up again."

"Are you nuts nuts?" demanded Brister, incredulous.

"Maybe, but I've got to figure out a few more things. See if you can find something to plug the fuel tank with. A hunk of that cork stuff you use for b.u.mpers on the boat ought to do." Brister shook his head, but motioned for the man and 'Cat to comply. Shortly, the fuel tank was topped off again and Mikey had whittled a stopper for it. Tikker started to get back in the plane.

"No, you stay here," Ben ordered.

"You kidding?"

"Nope. I want to try her out without your fat a.s.s in her tail. Get some idea how much we need to rebalance things."

"My a.s.s not fat," Tikker replied. "Maybe my head. How you survive without me to save you?"

"See if you can find the bug sprayer. With it empty, maybe it floated." He flipped the switch and started to stand and prop the engine again. "Next one's going to be a pusher," he mumbled, then caught himself. "Hey, give me a piece of that rope while you're at it," he shouted across to the boat. "I need a seat belt!"

Commander Walter Billingsly had been utterly terrified and that just wouldn't do. His one response to fear had always been a killing rage, a need for whomever or whatever caused his fear to suffer the consequences. His terror now past, his rage had lost its heat. It still remained, however, and it would be vented, but it was a cold thing now, an icy ache inside him. By harnessing it and molding it from what it had been into what it was, he had made it a tool, a thing he could use. A thing that would help him when the time came, instead of controlling him.

When the bizarre contraption was towed past Ajax Ajax and into the open water of the bay, he'd watched with acute interest through his telescope. He'd known about the strange contrivances the Americans and their Ape lackeys were building, but his spies hadn't been quite sure what to make of the things. They reported that they were expected to fly, but neither they nor Billingsly put much credence in that. He'd supposed that was just a fanciful cover story meant as disinformation. Then he and into the open water of the bay, he'd watched with acute interest through his telescope. He'd known about the strange contrivances the Americans and their Ape lackeys were building, but his spies hadn't been quite sure what to make of the things. They reported that they were expected to fly, but neither they nor Billingsly put much credence in that. He'd supposed that was just a fanciful cover story meant as disinformation. Then he saw saw it fly. Amazing! How had these barbarians managed to accomplish something that all the greatest scientists in the Empire had proven was impossible? it fly. Amazing! How had these barbarians managed to accomplish something that all the greatest scientists in the Empire had proven was impossible?

He watched while the craft nosed higher and higher into the air and then turned back in his direction. He was excited at first that he'd get a better look at the thing. But then it dove toward him! It grew bigger and bigger in its downward swoop until he was sure it would collide with the ship. In terror, he'd scampered behind one of the great guns for protection, praying for the first time in years. Then, at seemingly the last second, it pulled away with a mighty roar and literally spun on its axis! For a moment during the shocking maneuver, it was silent. In light of what he saw later, he shuddered to think what might happen if such a machine came at them noiselessly in the dark.

He'd watched it zoom over the city, leaning back and forth, then making another silent, simulated attack upon the waterfront! After it was clear, he realized what the true purpose of the machine had to be: a flaming cylinder fell from it and dropped into the water! The machine was a weapon! Of course it was a weapon! It could just as easily have dropped the flaming bomb on Ajax Ajax as it swooped overhead! The very thought of such an insidious, unsportsmanlike-and utterly effective-device was what truly ignited his terror, beyond the fear he'd felt when he'd thought it was going to ram them. That it could have destroyed them in a single pa.s.s and hadn't done so was a clear indication of how the Apes and their Americans considered his presence there. They were not awed by Imperial power as he'd expected them to be. They were contemptuous of it. as it swooped overhead! The very thought of such an insidious, unsportsmanlike-and utterly effective-device was what truly ignited his terror, beyond the fear he'd felt when he'd thought it was going to ram them. That it could have destroyed them in a single pa.s.s and hadn't done so was a clear indication of how the Apes and their Americans considered his presence there. They were not awed by Imperial power as he'd expected them to be. They were contemptuous of it.

They'd clearly intended to frighten him and they had. More significantly, they'd waited until Jenks was a week or more away, which meant they were not trying to frighten him him. Billingsly's suspicion of Jenks was confirmed. The commodore had had to have been shown the flying machine during his "tour," and he would have asked about it. Jenks was a fair scientist, to a degree, in his own right. Even if he'd doubted the thing would actually fly, he'd have known that his hosts thought it would. They couldn't have misled him about that. That left only a single possibility: Jenks knew about the flying machine and had said nothing about it. to have been shown the flying machine during his "tour," and he would have asked about it. Jenks was a fair scientist, to a degree, in his own right. Even if he'd doubted the thing would actually fly, he'd have known that his hosts thought it would. They couldn't have misled him about that. That left only a single possibility: Jenks knew about the flying machine and had said nothing about it.

Billingsly's expression never changed, but inwardly, he roiled. Jenks might command the squadron-such as it remained-and be in charge of all things nautical, and even tactically military. But Billingsly was the supreme representative of the Court of Proprietors, and in matters of intelligence, foreign policy, and even long-term strategy, he was in charge. Jenks had deliberately withheld critical information that profoundly affected all those things. He could claim he hadn't really believed the machine would fly, and it might even be true, but Billingsly didn't believe it. Such a defense might (probably would) get Jenks off at an inquiry since, as a scientist, a respected explorer and naval officer, he couldn't be expected to give credence to claims regarding the feasibility of powered flight.

Walter Billingsly knew better. He believed he understood Jenks more perfectly than perhaps the man knew himself. Jenks would have looked at the contrivance closely. If it was possible possible it might fly-as Walter now knew it irrefutably could-he would have known. And yet he hadn't mentioned it. Did that make him a traitor? Yes. it might fly-as Walter now knew it irrefutably could-he would have known. And yet he hadn't mentioned it. Did that make him a traitor? Yes.

Billingsly kept many secrets from the commodore, the real nature of his his "rescue" mission, for one, but Jenks was not supposed to keep any from him. That alone was enough for a charge, if not a conviction. But Walter had been suspicious of many of Jenks's activities of late. This interminable delay, for example, waiting for the Americans to release the girl, was most unseemly. Then, instead of his getting steadily angrier, as Billingsly had, Jenks's att.i.tude toward their "hosts" had appeared to actually thaw somewhat. The most egregious was the tour Jenks had received. The Americans had openly shown Jenks what they'd kept guarded for long months from Billingsly and his spies. Walter suddenly wondered darkly what "rescue" mission, for one, but Jenks was not supposed to keep any from him. That alone was enough for a charge, if not a conviction. But Walter had been suspicious of many of Jenks's activities of late. This interminable delay, for example, waiting for the Americans to release the girl, was most unseemly. Then, instead of his getting steadily angrier, as Billingsly had, Jenks's att.i.tude toward their "hosts" had appeared to actually thaw somewhat. The most egregious was the tour Jenks had received. The Americans had openly shown Jenks what they'd kept guarded for long months from Billingsly and his spies. Walter suddenly wondered darkly what other other surprises Jenks might have seen and not told him about! surprises Jenks might have seen and not told him about!

Now Jenks was gone some hundreds of miles away, an "observer" along to witness a foreign military adventure! Was he an observer? Why did the Americans want him along in the first place? In Billingsly's suspicious mind, no one would show Jenks the things the Americans had without wanting something in return. What did Jenks have? Achilles Achilles, of course, but the ship and her armaments were not substantially greater than anything the Americans were capable of. What then? Only information. The only thing Jenks had that the Americans could really use was information, and he possessed quite a lot of that.

All around Billingsly, the ship's company grew excited again as the bizarre machine roared by and took to the air once more. None of them them were terrified, nor had they really been even when the machine came at them. Most shouted and good-naturedly returned the clear gesture the flying man had made. They were excited because a flying machine was a wonder, and they possibly even felt a strange kinship with anyone foolhardy enough to ride one. They were men as used to terrifying adventure as they were to the unending boredom of the last months. But they didn't see things the way he did. They never took the long view of anything. Whatever occurred after their next meal was the distant future. Walter Billingsly knew it was all up to him now, him and the operatives infiltrated into the ship's company. The contingency plan he'd been formulating was coming together nicely, and with some of the recent information he'd obtained, it was looking more practical as well. He needed just a few more pieces of the puzzle to fall into place and he'd be ready to proceed. were terrified, nor had they really been even when the machine came at them. Most shouted and good-naturedly returned the clear gesture the flying man had made. They were excited because a flying machine was a wonder, and they possibly even felt a strange kinship with anyone foolhardy enough to ride one. They were men as used to terrifying adventure as they were to the unending boredom of the last months. But they didn't see things the way he did. They never took the long view of anything. Whatever occurred after their next meal was the distant future. Walter Billingsly knew it was all up to him now, him and the operatives infiltrated into the ship's company. The contingency plan he'd been formulating was coming together nicely, and with some of the recent information he'd obtained, it was looking more practical as well. He needed just a few more pieces of the puzzle to fall into place and he'd be ready to proceed.

He strolled to the rail and watched the flying machine make lazy turns over the bay. His personal mission was more critical now than ever before, but even that had paled somewhat in comparison to the intelligence he'd gathered about these strange folk. He needed to get that intelligence home as soon as he possibly could. Things back there were already in motion and he had no idea how this might influence those long-secret plans. His primary mission was important to their success, but the threat posed by these folk-these other enemies enemies-desperately required evaluation by his superiors.

He would no longer worry about Jenks. Surely he was a traitor? Besides, whether he was or wasn't was immaterial in the end. His allegiance was no secret and his presence might have been . . . problematic to the success of Billingsly's primary mission, in any event. Walter had often pondered how best to deal with him when the time came. Aside from the information he might give his American friends, it was probably just as well that he'd gone with them. Realistically, he'd expected a confrontation, a refusal to partic.i.p.ate at least. He'd have been astonished if Jenks would have agreed to active cooperation and support. This way, it no longer mattered how Jenks would react. He was certainly in no position to interfere.

CHAPTER 11.

Unconscious of any irony, newly minted Lieutenant Irvin Laumer stepped forward and extended his hand to Colonel Tamatsu Shinya. Without hesitation, the j.a.panese former naval officer took it and shook it briskly. The two had become friends, of a sort, during the long voyage, and there had existed certain bond between them. Both were men driven to succeed and prove themselves, although Irvin didn't know what Shinya needed to prove. He was a loyal officer in Captain Reddy's cadre of companions. (Irvin was well-read and often compared Reddy's relationship with his officers and men to that of Alexander.) He admitted to himself that there might be just a touch of hero worship on his part that made the comparison more apt.

There was no doubt that there were two distinct groups within the Alliance: those who felt comfortable around Captain Reddy and didn't hesitate to express their views to him, and those who were almost afraid to be around the "Great Man." The former category was almost exclusively comprised of those who'd been with him from the start, regardless of race. Irvin still felt like he belonged in the second group. He'd had a tough ordeal-all the S-19s-had, but it wasn't a patch to what Captain Reddy, Walker Walker, Mahan Mahan, and all their crews and allies had been through. Laumer hadn't even been at Baalkpan during the desperate fight. Shinya had. He'd been there from the start like all the others, and he'd certainly earned the companion role, yet he didn't seem to realize it. If he did, he still seemed driven to continue earning it.

Maybe it was because he was a j.a.p. To this day, not all the Americans truly liked him. They universally respected him, but that wasn't the same. He'd proven he'd stand even against his own people in this war, if it came down to it, but during one of their talks, he'd admitted to Irvin that it still hurt him, even now. He had no compa.s.sion for the Grik, but maybe he needed to keep proving to himself that he actually belonged among his new friends.

"I'll miss you, sir, and our talks," Laumer said.

"As will I," Shinya replied. "I find myself speaking 'Cat so much, it is a pleasure to converse in a . . . human tongue."