Silva turned the Type 96 barrel down as light as he thought was wise on one of the lathes, breeched it, and fitted it to a crude stock. Then he made a hollow-base .100-caliber bullet mold like a Civil War Minie ball, so the bullet would expand and take the gain-twist rifling. He still worked on it now and then, dolling it up, but what he had was a ma.s.sive weapon, weighing almost thirty pounds, with a five-foot barrel. It was amazingly accurate with its quarter-pound bullet, but the recoil was so horrifyingly abusive, n.o.body but Silva had ever even fired it. Probably no human but Silva could could fire it more than once without serious injury. He called it his Super Lizard Gun, and was anxious to test it on one of the allosaurus-like brutes. He never wanted to go up against one of those incredibly tough monsters with a .30-06 again. fire it more than once without serious injury. He called it his Super Lizard Gun, and was anxious to test it on one of the allosaurus-like brutes. He never wanted to go up against one of those incredibly tough monsters with a .30-06 again.

"So," Bernie said resignedly, "show me why you shouldn't hang. And this had better be something useful!"

"Sure." Silva held up the barrel he'd altered. "Alden wants muskets, and that's fine. That's what we can do right now, so that's how we go. What you're making-we're making-is basically an old muzzle-loading Springfield. You settled on cap instead of flint because they're simpler and we can make the caps. Good call. Might want to make a few flintlocks for scouts, explorers, or such in case they wind up out of touch for a while-they can find flint if they run out of caps-but that's beside the point. You're also startin' out with smoothbores because we haven't built a rifling machine yet, and with the way Griks fight, a good dose of buck 'n' ball is just the ticket. Again, fine. The main thing right now is to get guns with bayonets in the hands o' the troops. Eventually, we can take the same guns and rifle 'em, use Minie b.a.l.l.s just like ol' Doom Whomper over there. Everything's great, and we move the 'Cats from fightin' like they did in Roman times to the 1860s. making-is basically an old muzzle-loading Springfield. You settled on cap instead of flint because they're simpler and we can make the caps. Good call. Might want to make a few flintlocks for scouts, explorers, or such in case they wind up out of touch for a while-they can find flint if they run out of caps-but that's beside the point. You're also startin' out with smoothbores because we haven't built a rifling machine yet, and with the way Griks fight, a good dose of buck 'n' ball is just the ticket. Again, fine. The main thing right now is to get guns with bayonets in the hands o' the troops. Eventually, we can take the same guns and rifle 'em, use Minie b.a.l.l.s just like ol' Doom Whomper over there. Everything's great, and we move the 'Cats from fightin' like they did in Roman times to the 1860s.

"But the skipper wants breechloaders, and that got me thinking. Everybody seems to figure that means, all of a sudden, we hafta jump from the old old Springfields to the kind of Springfields we brought with us, our 'oh-threes. That'd be swell, but it's a lot bigger jump than folks would think, and it's bigger than we hafta make." Springfields to the kind of Springfields we brought with us, our 'oh-threes. That'd be swell, but it's a lot bigger jump than folks would think, and it's bigger than we hafta make."

"It is?"

"Yeah. The Army-our old Army-had the same problem once. After the . . . War Between the States, they had millions of muzzleloadin' Springfields, see? Thing is, everybody was startin' to go to center-fire breechloaders. Even f . . . likkin' Spain Spain. Whaddaya do? This fella named Ersky Allin-er somethin' like that-had sorta the same job as you. Anyway, he figured a way to make center-fire breechloaders outta all them muskets, and it was a cinch!" Silva brandished the barrel again, then fished around on a bench covered with strange-looking objects he'd been working on. He picked something up. "He, this Allin fella, cut the top outta the breech, like I just done, and screwed and soldered this here hinge-lookin' thing to the front of the gap." Silva held the object in place. "The thing on the other side of the hinge is the breechblock-we can cast 'em a lot easier than I milled this one out!-and the firin' pin angles from the rear side to the front center!" He held the pieces together and the breechblock dropped into place with a clack! clack!

"I ain't pulled the breech plug out and milled the slot that locks the thing closed, but again, it's a simple alteration. You cut a barrel, put this on, then grind the hammer to where it hits the firin' pin square. All else you gotta add is a easy little extractor!"

Bernie's eyes were huge. "Silva, you are are a freak-show genius!" a freak-show genius!"

"Nah. Maybe Ersky Allin was, though."

Bernard Sandison looked at Dennis. "How did you do this? I mean, how did you know know about this?" about this?"

Silva shrugged. "I had a couple over the years. First rifles I ever owned. Sometimes huntin' was the only way a fella could stay fed, what with the Depression, and you could buy one surplus at just about any hardware store, or order one from Monkey Wards or Bannerman's for a few bucks."

Bernie shook his head. His childhood and Silva's had been . . . different. "What did they shoot? And how . . . ?"

"That's another neat thing. You're forgin' these barrels on a five-eighths mandrel. Once you ream 'em out smooth, they're about sixty-two-caliber or so. You go ahead and build yer riflin' machine and rifle forty-five- or fifty-caliber liners liners to solder in the old barrels and then chamber 'em! Simple as pie. The first Allin guns they put liners in were fifty-seventy. When they started building rifles like this from the ground up instead of convertin' 'em, they made receivers for 'em an' did 'em in forty-five-seventy. That's a forty-five- or fifty-caliber bullet on seventy grains of powder. Black powder, just like we have now. Both had a pretty high trajectory, but they'd stomp a buffalo to the ground. Probably a lot better for critters around here than a thirty-aught-six. Big and slow gives you big holes and deep penetration. Small and fast gives you small holes, and maybe not so deep penetration. If you're too close, light bullets, even copper jacketed, just blow up on impact and never hit anything vital." to solder in the old barrels and then chamber 'em! Simple as pie. The first Allin guns they put liners in were fifty-seventy. When they started building rifles like this from the ground up instead of convertin' 'em, they made receivers for 'em an' did 'em in forty-five-seventy. That's a forty-five- or fifty-caliber bullet on seventy grains of powder. Black powder, just like we have now. Both had a pretty high trajectory, but they'd stomp a buffalo to the ground. Probably a lot better for critters around here than a thirty-aught-six. Big and slow gives you big holes and deep penetration. Small and fast gives you small holes, and maybe not so deep penetration. If you're too close, light bullets, even copper jacketed, just blow up on impact and never hit anything vital."

Oddly, Bernie noticed that when Silva was talking ballistics, he didn't sound as much like a hick, but he'd already begun tuning him out. Silva had just solved one of the biggest problems he'd expected to face over the next year or so. It had bothered him for a number of reasons. He'd felt a little like everything they did before they came up with "real" weapons was sort of a wasted effort. Silva's scheme might not give them truly modern weapons, but they were leaps and bounds beyond anything they were likely to face. But what about cartridges?

"These fifty-seventies and forty-five-seventies, what were they shaped like? The sh.e.l.ls?"

"Straight, rimmed case," said Silva, grinning. He knew what Bernie was thinking. One of the problems they faced with making new sh.e.l.ls for the Springfields and Krags they already had, not to mention the machine guns, was the semi-rimless bottleneck shape. "Even if you haven't solved the problem of drawing cases-which I figure you will-you can turn these sh.e.l.ls on a lathe if you have to."

Bernie beamed. "I swear, Silva! Why didn't you just tell tell me you wanted a musket barrel? I'm going to see you get a raise out of this . . . or a promotion, or something! Take the rest of the day off. You're still technically on leave anyway. Go hunting or have a beer! Kill something; you'll feel better!" me you wanted a musket barrel? I'm going to see you get a raise out of this . . . or a promotion, or something! Take the rest of the day off. You're still technically on leave anyway. Go hunting or have a beer! Kill something; you'll feel better!"

"Raise won't do me any good, an' I don't want no promotion. All I answer to is you, Campeti, and the skipper anyway. You can call 'em 'Allin-Silva' conversions, if you want, though."

"You bet! Do whatever you want! I have to talk to the skipper!" With that, Bernie rushed away with the still-dripping barrel and trapdoor arrangement in his hand. Silva watched him go. "Whatever I want, huh?" Silva said, eyebrow raised.

CHAPTER 4.

Lieutenant Tamatsu Shinya, formerly of the j.a.panese Imperial Navy, and currently brevet colonel and second in command of all Allied infantry forces, unbuckled the belt that held his modified Navy cutla.s.s and pistol. Handing it to the 'Cat Marine sentry at the base of the comfortable dwelling, he climbed rope ladder to the "ground" floor-roughly twenty feet above his head. It was inconvenient, but virtually all Baalkpan dwellings were built on pilings like this so their inhabitants could sleep secure from possible predators. He reflected that the practice was as much tradition now as anything else, since the city never really slept-even before the war-and over the centuries, dangerous animals had slowly learned to avoid the city carved out of the dense wilderness around it. Now there were fortified berms and breastworks, constant lookouts, and vigilant warriors as well. He wondered as he climbed the ladder if the inconvenient tradition would long survive. At the top, he struck the hatch, or trapdoor, above his head and, raising it, entered.

Once inside, Shinya removed his shoes and stood. A curtain separated the entry chamber from the rest of the dwelling and he pa.s.sed through it. Finding the occupant seated cross-legged on the floor, facing a small window overlooking the bay, Shinya bowed at the waist.

"Commander Okada," he said in j.a.panese. "My apologies for disturbing you."

Okada turned then. His uniform had been wrecked and he wore a robe not unlike the ones the Lemurian Sky Priests used. He was older than Tamatsu, but had the same black hair, untinged with gray. He regarded Tamatsu for a moment before dipping his own head in a perfunctory bow. "At least you still remember how to behave behave somewhat j.a.panese," Okada observed. somewhat j.a.panese," Okada observed.

Shinya felt his face heat. He straightened. "And you, sir, it would seem, have learned to behave somewhat like your Captain Kurokawa."

Okada shot to his feet, anger twisting his face. "Still you will compare me to that kyoujin kyoujin?"

"You have called me a traitor on several occasions now. If I am, what are you? I did not surrender when my ship sank; I was captured while unconscious. I had no idea any of my countrymen even existed in this world. I made an honorable accommodation with a former enemy to help confront an evil I am quite certain our emperor would despise. Our primary differences with the Americans are political, and not . . . on anything approaching the levels of our differences with the Grik! You condemn me, yet you supported the actions of a man you know the emperor would have never condoned!" Shinya fumed. He couldn't help it: Okada's att.i.tude infuriated him and he didn't understand it. "Perhaps General Tojo General Tojo would have, but the emperor wouldn't; nor would Admiral Mitsumasa!" would have, but the emperor wouldn't; nor would Admiral Mitsumasa!"

Okada seemed to deflate. "I tried tried to oppose him," he offered quietly. "I helped Kaufman send a warning." to oppose him," he offered quietly. "I helped Kaufman send a warning."

Shinya's voice also lost some of its heat. "Yes, you did. Moreover, you should be proud you did. I too oppose Captain Kurokawa-and the Grik. I do not and will not fight others who do, nor have I done so. I gave Captain Reddy my parole and had no difficulty fighting the Grik. When I learned of your ship, I faced a choice-a choice I was allowed allowed , by the way-to abdicate my duty to the troops I command, or risk the possibility I might face you and others like you. I was spared that agony, but I would have done it if forced, because those troops would have been aiding Kurokawa and, by extension, the Grik." , by the way-to abdicate my duty to the troops I command, or risk the possibility I might face you and others like you. I was spared that agony, but I would have done it if forced, because those troops would have been aiding Kurokawa and, by extension, the Grik."

"You make it sound as though I am guilty of aiding that madman simply because I did not rise openly against him sooner! Believe me, I wanted to! But all that would have accomplished is my death before I had any real chance to make a difference." Okada looked down. "In the end, it made no difference anyway."

"It did," Shinya a.s.sured him. "You gave us warning. Without that, we would not have been prepared."

"Prepared to kill our countrymen!" Okada almost moaned. "Do you not see? Perhaps you are not a traitor for what you have done, but I can't stop feeling feeling like you are, even as I like you are, even as I feel feel like one for doing even less. They were like one for doing even less. They were my my men!" men!"

"Yes," Shinya agreed. "But do not think the decision was less difficult for me. Now, to do nothing further, while those same men are in the grasp of such evil, is impossible for me. Don't you you see?" Shinya waited for a response. When there wasn't one, he sank to the floor across from Okada, who finally joined him there. see?" Shinya waited for a response. When there wasn't one, he sank to the floor across from Okada, who finally joined him there.

"What do you want to do?" Shinya quietly asked.

"I want to go home."

Shinya took a breath. "Unless you have knowledge beyond mine of the mystery that brought us to this world, I fear that is impossible."

Okada looked at Shinya a long moment, weighing the words. Finally, he sighed. "That is not what I meant. Of course I want to go 'home,' but I have no more idea how to do that than you profess to have. No, what I want is to go to that place that should should be home. The place your allies at least still call j.a.pan." be home. The place your allies at least still call j.a.pan."

"Jaapaan," Shinya corrected. "But why? The Lemurians have two land colonies there-a small one on Okinawa and another, larger one on southern Honshu. They have never, by all accounts, encountered any of our people. On this world, Jaapaan is not j.a.pan. Besides, your knowledge of Kurokawa and the Grik is invaluable to those who oppose them."

That was true enough. Thanks to Commander Okada, the humans and Lemurians finally knew more about their enemy now. They still didn't know what drove the Grik to such extremes of barbarity, but they'd learned a little about their social structure. For example, they now knew that the average Grik warrior came from a cla.s.s referred to as the Uul, which possessed primary characteristics strikingly similar to ants or bees. Some were bigger than others, some more skilled at fighting; some even seemed to have some basic concept of self. All, however, were slavishly devoted to a ruling cla.s.s called the Hij, who manipulated them and channeled and controlled their instinctual and apparently mindless ferocity. There seemed to be different strata of Hij as well. Some were rulers and officers; others were artisans and bureaucrats. Regardless of their positions, they const.i.tuted what was, essentially, an elite aristocracy collectively subject to an obscure G.o.dlike emperor figure. Nothing more about their society was known beyond that. The Hij were physically identical to their subjects, but were clearly intelligent and self-aware to a degree frighteningly similar to humans and their allies. They didn't seem terribly imaginative, though, and so far that had proved their greatest weakness.

Shinya persisted. "Don't you want revenge for what Kurokawa has done to the people under his command? Our Our people? Can't you set your hatred of the Americans aside even for that?" people? Can't you set your hatred of the Americans aside even for that?"

"I do not hate the Americans," Okada stated with heavy irony. "But they are the enemy of our people, our emperor. I cannot set that that aside. How can you?" Okada shook his head. He didn't really want an answer to his question. "It is true I had hoped, with aside. How can you?" Okada shook his head. He didn't really want an answer to his question. "It is true I had hoped, with Amagi Amagi, to work in concert with the Americans against the Grik, because, like you, I recognize them as evil-perhaps the greatest evil mankind has ever known. I never intended an alliance alliance with the Americans, merely a cessation of hostilities. An armistice perhaps. It is not my place to declare peace and friendship with my emperor's enemies"-he glanced with lingering accusation at Shinya-"and no, I would not have broken the armistice. However, with with the Americans, merely a cessation of hostilities. An armistice perhaps. It is not my place to declare peace and friendship with my emperor's enemies"-he glanced with lingering accusation at Shinya-"and no, I would not have broken the armistice. However, with Amagi Amagi, I could have felt secure that the Americans wouldn't either. In any event, together or independently, we could have carried the fight to the Grik and then inherited this world in the end." He shrugged. "It is a big world. Whether it was big enough for us and the Americans, in the long run, would have been a test for much later-and at least one of us would have survived the Grik." He sighed and looked at Shinya. "An imperfect scheme, perhaps, but a less radical . . . departure from my sense of duty than the choice you made."

"An impossible scheme," Shinya stated derisively. "Without the Grik, where would you have been victualed, supplied, repaired? A simple armistice would not have gotten you those things from the Americans and their allies. You would have been at their mercy!"

"No! With Amagi Amagi, I could have demanded demanded! As I am now, a prisoner, I have nothing! Not even honor! I can demand nothing as an equal and I have nothing to even bargain with but what is in my head!"

Shinya stood, talking down to Okada. "No. Impossible," he repeated. "I respect what you did, what you tried to do. You could-should be a hero for it instead of a prisoner. But the old world is be a hero for it instead of a prisoner. But the old world is gone gone! If you had succeeded in the rest of your plan, if you had tried to dictate terms, to conquer support from the Allies, even I would have opposed you."

"Even if it meant killing your own countrymen?"

"Even if it meant killing every man on Amagi Amagi," Shinya answered quietly. "You say you understand, that you hate the Grik and everything about them. You move your mouth and the right words come out, but you really don't understand, do you? Even now. The Grik are the enemy of everything alive in this world! They . . . You haven't . . ." He paused, shaking his head. He could see he was wasting his breath. He did respect Okada, but the man was just . . . too too j.a.panese. He wondered what that said about him? j.a.panese. He wondered what that said about him?

"I will see what I can do," Shinya said at last. "If you agree to work with the Allies and continue to tell them what you know of Kurokawa and the Grik, I will try to convince them to let you go 'home.' Perhaps there you will find the honor you think you have lost. If so, I hope you can live with it. I doubt it, though. I fear for you, Commander Okada. I fear that someday your misjudgment will fade and the honor I still see in you will rise within your heart and demand a reckoning. Because of the blood we spill on behalf of you and uncountable others, you will die a tortured old man, who missed his opportunity to be be honorable by mistakenly trying to do the honorable thing." honorable by mistakenly trying to do the honorable thing."

[image]

"What would you have me do?" Matt asked the mustachioed man sitting across the table. The table was split bamboo, with a rough, uneven top, and it served Matt as a desk of sorts in the semi-finished chamber known as the War Room. The chamber was one of many in the "new" Great Hall, still undergoing noisy reconstruction. The irregular surface of the desk didn't really matter much; paperwork was kept to a minimum and consisted of sun-dried skins, like parchment, only not as fine. Usually, the rawhide parchment supported itself well enough to write on.

"What would you have me me do?" Jenks replied. He was dressed in his best, as always now, for these biweekly meetings. He sat stiffly on a stool in his no longer perfectly white uniform, with its ever so slightly tarnished braid. Under his arm was the black shako with braid that matched his sleeves and collar. It was raining outside and sheets pounded against the hastily covered ceiling and the chamber was humid and damp. Jenks's coat smelled of musty cotton and the half-soaked hat would have added a wet wool and leather odor if the similar wet-'Cat smell hadn't overpowered it. Between them on the desk was a large decanter of purplish amber liquid and two small mugs. Neither mug had been touched. do?" Jenks replied. He was dressed in his best, as always now, for these biweekly meetings. He sat stiffly on a stool in his no longer perfectly white uniform, with its ever so slightly tarnished braid. Under his arm was the black shako with braid that matched his sleeves and collar. It was raining outside and sheets pounded against the hastily covered ceiling and the chamber was humid and damp. Jenks's coat smelled of musty cotton and the half-soaked hat would have added a wet wool and leather odor if the similar wet-'Cat smell hadn't overpowered it. Between them on the desk was a large decanter of purplish amber liquid and two small mugs. Neither mug had been touched.

"I know we haven't often seen eye-to-eye," Jenks understated, "but I do have my duty. I must return the princess to her family-something you promised to help me do-but I don't see any measurable degree of preparation under way to accomplish that task."

Matt c.o.c.ked an eyebrow at him. "No? We captured two more of your men spying on the shipyard from a boat they'd hired last night. Don't tell me we've caught them all. Surely you have some idea what we've been up to?"

Jenks sat even straighter and his face went hard. "Do you mean to execute those men, like the one you caught a few weeks ago?"

"I should should hang them," Matt answered darkly. "I told you what the penalty would be if we caught your men snooping around where they don't belong. The entire city has been open to them and they've been treated well, by all accounts. Better than well. Still, you can't resist fooling around where you've got no business." hang them," Matt answered darkly. "I told you what the penalty would be if we caught your men snooping around where they don't belong. The entire city has been open to them and they've been treated well, by all accounts. Better than well. Still, you can't resist fooling around where you've got no business."

"If I perceive a threat to the Empire, it is my duty to evaluate it. We have cooperated with every one of your ridiculous requests, languishing here in this place quite long enough for you to prepare an envoy to my people." Jenks's eyes widened slightly in genuine surprise. "Somehow, you have convinced the princess to support you in that. In the meantime, all I get from you are delays, accusations, and, I believe, sir, distortions of truth. You have done nothing to alleviate my concerns about your Alliance. If anything, those concerns have grown more acute. And my question remains: will you murder these men like you did the last one?"

Matt stood, angry. "We didn't 'murder' anyone! The last man we caught had murdered a sentry to get where he was. He was captured and executed as a murderer and a spy! Would you have done otherwise? Please don't insult my intelligence by telling me you would."

Jenks only sighed.

"Very well," Matt continued, seating himself again. "The men we caught last night did no such thing, and I doubt they saw much either. I'll return them to you, but you'd best restrict them to your ship. If I catch them ash.o.r.e again, they will will be hanged!" be hanged!"

Jenks cleared his throat, calming himself. For some time he sat still, staring at Matt as if appraising him anew. "Just so," he said at last, with a hint of resignation. "And you have my appreciation and . . . my apology. You won't see them them again. I cannot a.s.sure you that there will be no more spies, however." again. I cannot a.s.sure you that there will be no more spies, however."

Matt looked closely at the man. He'd spoken the word "spies" with distaste. Did he mean he wouldn't make that a.s.surance, or couldn't? This wasn't the first time Matt got the impression that some things happened on and off Jenks's ship over which he had little, if any, control. He wondered if the vague admission was a crack in Jenks's facade, or if he was merely tiring of the aggrieved role he seemed to think was expected of him. By somebody. Matt merely nodded. He doubted he'd get an admission if he continued to press, and he wanted to use Jenks's comparative openness while he had the chance.

"I do a.s.sure you we're doing all we can to prepare the expedition as quickly as possible. As I've said, a reconnaissance of Aryaal is part of that, and a reconnaissance in force is essential-thus the delay. That has to be our first priority. We need to know what's going on there before we dare weaken our defenses here. Our estimates of the Grik may be entirely wrong-they have been before," he added bitterly. "Besides, you've been here only a little more than two months. Bradford said it might take a few. My definition of 'a few' is three or more. Isn't it the same with you?" Matt thought he detected the most subtle of smiles flash across Jenks's face.

"Indeed. But one can always hope for the best, and 'a few' is a somewhat vague expression." Jenks's tone hardened slightly. "Just as your notion of what these Grik are capable of seems vague as well. Come, you defeated them badly when last they came. Surely you cannot be as . . . concerned . . . about them as you claim?"

Matt leaned against the backrest he'd had installed on his stool and regarded Jenks for a moment, rubbing his chin. "Tell you what. I'm about to have an interview with a man who probably knows more about them than anyone alive. Why don't you join us? You may find it . . . enlightening." Matt took Jenks's silence as agreement and rang a little bell. Instantly, the War Room door opened, revealing a small, dark Filipino who eyed Jenks doubtfully. "Juan, please have General Alden and Colonel Shinya escort the prisoner inside."

Juan stood straighter, as if at attention. He'd been Walker Walker's officer's steward before the war, and he'd since evolved into Matt's personal steward and secretary. No appointment to that effect had ever been made; Juan just took it upon himself. By sheer force of will, he'd made it stick.

"Of course, Cap-i-tan," he said. "Should I bring coffee?"

Matt hid a grimace at the prospect of Juan's coffee, or at least the stuff that pa.s.sed for coffee here. Back when he'd had the real stuff to ruin, Juan's coffee had been ghastly. With the ersatz beans he now had, it had improved to the point that it was only vile. Still . . . "No, that's not necessary, but thanks."

With a somber bow, Juan closed the door. A moment later it opened again, revealing three other men whom Juan ushered to seats across the desk. All had recently arrived and were soaked to varying degrees. Once they sat, Juan left the chamber, discreetly closing the door behind him.

"Commodore Jenks, I understand you've met General Alden and Colonel Shinya?" There were nods. "Then may I present Commander Sato Okada, formerly of the j.a.panese battle cruiser we're stripping in the bay?" Jenks nodded, but Okada continued staring straight ahead.

"Yes, well. I've now spoken with Commander Okada on several occasions and I've discovered he prefers to remain aloof from civilities. You must understand that before we . . . came to this world, his people and ours were at war." Matt's expression darkened. "Quite bitterly at war, as a matter of fact, and that war almost certainly still rages. Since we rescued him from his sunken ship, we've come to an . . . understanding regarding our a.s.sociation. By his choice he remains a prisoner of war. In recognition of the threat posed by the Grik, however, and in exchange for transportation to that region that would would have been j.a.pan, he's willing to answer any questions about the enemy to the best of his ability. He was have been j.a.pan, he's willing to answer any questions about the enemy to the best of his ability. He was Amagi Amagi's first officer, and as such had frequent direct, personal contact with the Grik. More than anyone else from his ship, in fact, since his former commander, Captain Kurokawa, forced him to perform most of their correspondence. Okada believes this was mainly a form of punishment, since Kurokawa knew how much he loathed their 'allies.' Ask him whatever you want. If you don't believe me about the menace we all face-your precious Empire as well-you must believe him. He's as objective a source as you'll find. You see, he doesn't like us much either."

"Who's to say the information he gives you is genuine, then?" Jenks demanded. "Perhaps he inflates the threat to discourage you from attacking while his own people are still in their hands."

Okada spoke through clenched teeth. His enunciation was careful, if heavily accented. "If this . . . British man doubts my word, I will say nothing to him. I do not even understand why I am here. Surely you have already told him everything I have said. Americans and British are the same. Both are enemies of my emperor. You act in concert and remain as one people, despite your supposed split."

"Hmm," said Matt, "I'm sorry, Commander. Clearly, you don't don't understand. Commodore Jenks is no more British than you are." For an instant, Okada's facade dropped to reveal an expression of confusion while Jenks sputtered. Matt plowed on. "His understand. Commodore Jenks is no more British than you are." For an instant, Okada's facade dropped to reveal an expression of confusion while Jenks sputtered. Matt plowed on. "His ancestors ancestors were British, mostly, from what the princess says, but they came to this world the same way we did before the United States even existed. I've tried to persuade him to accept the historical bond that's existed between our two countries for the last few decades, but he professes not to believe it. If he does, he doesn't care. So don't think of him or his people as enemies of your emperor; they're not. Remember your history. When his people last came through here, j.a.pan was closed to them. They knew it was there, of course, but they knew little of the people who inhabited it. They were too busy in China and India." were British, mostly, from what the princess says, but they came to this world the same way we did before the United States even existed. I've tried to persuade him to accept the historical bond that's existed between our two countries for the last few decades, but he professes not to believe it. If he does, he doesn't care. So don't think of him or his people as enemies of your emperor; they're not. Remember your history. When his people last came through here, j.a.pan was closed to them. They knew it was there, of course, but they knew little of the people who inhabited it. They were too busy in China and India."

"I am am British, sir. I am a subject of the Empire of the New Britain Isles," Jenks retorted hotly. He glanced at Okada. "But I am no enemy of yours. I apologize for forming my question so tactlessly. Please tell me, in your opinion, how serious is this supposed Grik threat?" British, sir. I am a subject of the Empire of the New Britain Isles," Jenks retorted hotly. He glanced at Okada. "But I am no enemy of yours. I apologize for forming my question so tactlessly. Please tell me, in your opinion, how serious is this supposed Grik threat?"

Okada regarded Jenks for a moment, evaluating the sincerity of the question. Finally, he relaxed slightly, and as he spoke, it was clear that evil, shrouded memories marched across his thoughts. "They are a threat beyond imagination. You are familiar with the shape of the world, from your ancient charts?" Jenks nodded. "Besides their recent conquests in Malaysia, they control all of India, the Arab coast, and at least eastern Africa almost to the cape. I believe their imperial capital, where their 'Celestial Mother' resides, is on Madagascar, one of their earlier conquests. They have no sense of honor as even an Englishman might recognize it. Their individual warriors have no sense of honor at all. They are voracious predators who exterminate all in their path, feasting not only on the bodies of their victims, but on their very own dead. They eat their young young-a practice I have seen with my own eyes-and they have eaten . . . members of my own crew when we failed to conquer Baalkpan on our first attempt. All failure is considered a failure of spirit, and those who fail are considered prey to be devoured. That is why we aided them, why Kurokawa aided them: through fear of being preyed upon if we refused. Kurokawa may have had other reasons of his own, but for the vast majority"-his eyes drooped-"for me, it was fear."

"But what of the battle here?" Jenks demanded. "Surely such a defeat must have hurt them."

Okada looked wistful. "I certainly hope it did. Nevertheless, I have seen seen. I have been to Ceylon, where their teeming hordes are beyond number. I have seen how they so readily replaced the ships and warriors destroyed in their first offensive against Aryaal and this place. A grace period may have been won, but it will be short. They breed rapidly, and if they do not not eat their young, within five years they may return with three times what they lost-and still maintain control of their frontiers." eat their young, within five years they may return with three times what they lost-and still maintain control of their frontiers."

"My G.o.d," Jenks muttered.

"Nothing we haven't told you before," Alden growled.

"True, perhaps, but . . ."

"Tell you what," Matt said, making a decision he'd been pondering for days. "Now that you have a fresh perspective on why we're in such a hurry and why our expedition to return your princess has received a lesser priority, I'll take you to the shipyard myself. Just you. I don't know what other agenda your spies may have, but I'll let you see what we're working on and let you decide whether we're doing it to fight the Grik, or threaten your Empire. All I ask is that, on your honor honor, you don't divulge what you see, but I'll leave the evaluation up to you."

Jenks seemed fl.u.s.tered at first, but quickly regained his composure. "That is . . . generous of you, Captain Reddy, particularly considering the previous prohibitions. But I cannot possibly swear not to report what I see if, in my estimation, it poses a threat to my Empire."

Matt sighed. "I thought that was understood. Look, I don't really like you very much and I know you don't like me. But I'd have thought, by now, you'd have accepted the fact that we really do want to be friends with your people. If we become friends-real friends-we'll share all the technology we show you. In spite of what you may believe, it's considerable. I wouldn't let you see it at all if I thought you'd still doubt our preparations are devoted to defeating the Grik." He paused, deciding to go for broke. "But face it: we're aware there are . . . elements of your own crew-officers-over whom you seem to have little control. Elements much more interested in their own political agenda than they are the safety of this Alliance, definitely. Maybe even the safety of your own precious Empire-as that safety is envisioned by the princess. I think given the choice, your vision of your Empire more closely reflects hers than you might be at liberty to admit. All I'm asking is, if you don't get the impression that our preparations are geared toward striking your country, don't immediately spill what you see to those other 'elements' I spoke about. Keep an open mind."

Jenks considered. Here was a chance he'd craved-to see what the Americans and their furry allies were up to beyond their guarded barricades. He wouldn't admit it, but he already knew a little. A few spies had gotten through. But he hadn't been told everything they'd discovered either. There was much truth in what Captain Reddy said about those "other elements," just as there was truth in the man's observation that Commodore Jenks was less than pleased about how those elements operated, or about their influence over his government. He would have to step carefully, but he sensed an opportunity.

"Very well," he said, "I can give my word to that." He smiled sardonically, his sun-bleached mustaches quirking upward. "So long as it is not generally known I have done so."

Matt almost mirrored his expression. "Oh, I don't think it'll hurt for folks to know I've given you a tour. No way to hide it anyway, so we might as well give them a show. But we won't tell anyone you promised not to blab if you don't feel like it. All I ask is, once we enter the secure area, give us the benefit of the doubt."

"On that you have my word, Captain Reddy."

Matt nodded and glanced at his watch. "Very well. I have another interview to attend to. If you'll excuse me for an hour, maybe we can put some of your suspicions to rest." Matt's gaze rested on Okada. "Thanks for your cooperation, Commander." He rang the bell again and Juan reappeared.

"Cap-i-tan?"

"Juan, ask the Marine sentries to escort Commander Okada back to his quarters, if you please; then send in Ensign Laumer." He stood and extended his hand to Jenks. For the first time, the Imperial took it without any apparent hesitation. "I don't believe this will take all that long, actually. Juan will see that you're comfortable and provide any refreshments you might ask for."

"Thank you, Captain. I look forward to our outing."

When Juan closed the door behind the three, Matt resumed his seat and took a deep breath.

"You're sure this is a good idea, Skipper?" Alden asked.

"You got me. I don't know what else we can do. We can only stall the man so long-and his beef is valid. We've been playing him for time and he knows it. If we don't show him why why, the 'incidents' will only increase-understandably-and sooner or later, any chance we might've ever had for an alliance with his Empire will go over the side." Matt shook his head. "No, it's time we put our cards on the table. Besides, Her Highness, Becky"-he grinned-"knows everything we're up to. It's not fair to ask her to continue keeping secrets from her own people."

"Except these political officers, these Company wardens," Shinya reminded him.

"Of course." Rebecca and O'Casey had told them about the Company watchdogs aboard Jenks's ship, and had described their function in a way that brought the n.a.z.i SS or Gestapo to Matt's mind. Or maybe the Soviet naval political officers Shinya referred to was a better a.n.a.logy. Either way, they were sinister and apparently powerful figures, and, given the opinions of O'Casey and the princess, dangerous and subversive as well. Matt had been waiting for some sign that Jenks didn't necessarily work with them hand in glove before he made his earlier invitation. Rebecca was certain he didn't, and even O'Casey-who had his own reasons to be wary of Jenks-agreed, but Matt had to be sure. After Jenks's veiled admission, he thought he was. Of course, Jenks could have suspected their concerns and put on an act. . . . Matt shook his head. He couldn't believe it. He didn't like Jenks, but he grudgingly respected him. The few times he'd actually spoken to Commander Billingsly, he'd decided there couldn't have been more difference between his and Jenks's character character, at least.

Jenks might be an a.s.shole, but somehow Matt sensed he was an honorable, even gentlemanly a.s.shole. Billingsly was just an a.s.shole, with no cla.s.s at all. He remained as arrogant and condescending as Jenks had been when they first met, and his open, blatant, almost hostile bigotry toward the Lemurians was offensive and unsettling. If all the Honorable New Britain Company was like Billingsly, Matt's destroyermen and their allies might have as much to fear from them as they did from the Grik. But Jenks was pure Navy, according to O'Casey, and Matt was very glad that seemed to make a difference. For a number of reasons.

"Yeah," Matt resumed, "we'll have to convince Jenks to keep them in the dark. I think we can, once we show him what we're up to-and then offer to let him see some of the stuff in action! If he accepts, and I bet he will, maybe we'll have some time to work on him." There was a knock at the door.