"Enter."

Juan swept the door open and Ensign Irvin Laumer stepped inside, hat under his arm, and stood at attention. He was towheaded and lanky, but not particularly tall, and he didn't look quite old enough for the uniform he wore. The seriousness of his expression meant he did have some idea why he was there, however, and Matt felt a tug of uncertainty. From what he'd heard of Laumer, he had high hopes for the boy. The kid had good sense, clearly. He'd been the highest-ranking survivor of S-19's complement, but he'd allowed the more experienced chief of the boat take de facto command. The decision must have been a tough one, because Laumer didn't seem seem the type to defer responsibility. Hopefully that meant, like any good officer, he knew when to take responsibility and when to delegate it. Matt's main concern now was that maybe Laumer felt he had something to prove. the type to defer responsibility. Hopefully that meant, like any good officer, he knew when to take responsibility and when to delegate it. Matt's main concern now was that maybe Laumer felt he had something to prove.

Actually, he did, in a way. All of Matt's senior officers, human and Lemurian, were veterans of fierce fighting now. All but Laumer. If the ensign was ever going to be followed where he led, he did did have to prove himself, Matt reflected. He only wished Laumer's baptism didn't have to be on such a difficult and potentially important mission. He'd love to send Spanky or Brister, or any of half a dozen others, but he couldn't. They were just too necessary where they were. The simple, hard fact of the matter was that Laumer was the only one he could spare with the experience and technical expertise. have to prove himself, Matt reflected. He only wished Laumer's baptism didn't have to be on such a difficult and potentially important mission. He'd love to send Spanky or Brister, or any of half a dozen others, but he couldn't. They were just too necessary where they were. The simple, hard fact of the matter was that Laumer was the only one he could spare with the experience and technical expertise.

"Sir, Ensign Laumer, reporting as ordered!"

"At ease, Ensign," Matt replied mildly, and gestured at the stool Jenks had just vacated across the desk. "Please have a seat." Irvin sat, still rigid, upon the creaky stool. "Coffee?"

"Uh, no, thank you, sir."

Matt waited a moment, staring at the ensign. He decided to get straight to the point. "I want that submarine," he said simply.

Irvin Laumer nodded. He'd obviously expected as much. "I'll get it for you, sir, if it's the last thing I do."

Alden grunted. "Son, that's the point. We want it, sure, but we don't want it to be the last thing you do. You or the people you'll command."

Matt glanced at the Marine and nodded. "Exactly. We've discussed this at some length and decided your mission will have a hierarchy of agendas. First, of course, you must determine whether she can be salvaged at all. She might not even be be there anymore. Remember too, given the nature of some of the creatures on this world-and under its seas-it's not imperative that we get the submarine back there anymore. Remember too, given the nature of some of the creatures on this world-and under its seas-it's not imperative that we get the submarine back as as a submarine, if you get my meaning." a submarine, if you get my meaning."

Laumer looked troubled, but nodded. "Yes, sir, I think I do."

"You must know know you do, because that's the deal. If she's still there, it'll be up to you to decide if you can get her off the beach. Don't fool around too long trying if it's not practical. If you can, swell. You'll have fuel, and Spanky, Gilbert, and Flynn all say at least one of her diesels ought to come to life. If you can get her under way, hopefully Saan-Kakja can provide an escort to get you to Manila. After that, bring her here if you can, but that's not essential either. What is essential is the stuff she's made of. Decide quickly if you can get her off, because if you can't, you've got to strip her-and I mean you do, because that's the deal. If she's still there, it'll be up to you to decide if you can get her off the beach. Don't fool around too long trying if it's not practical. If you can, swell. You'll have fuel, and Spanky, Gilbert, and Flynn all say at least one of her diesels ought to come to life. If you can get her under way, hopefully Saan-Kakja can provide an escort to get you to Manila. After that, bring her here if you can, but that's not essential either. What is essential is the stuff she's made of. Decide quickly if you can get her off, because if you can't, you've got to strip her-and I mean strip strip her! I want her engines, batteries, wiring, screws, gun, bearings, instruments, sonar-h.e.l.l, I want every her! I want her engines, batteries, wiring, screws, gun, bearings, instruments, sonar-h.e.l.l, I want every bolt bolt you can get out of her; is that understood? Even if you get her all the way back here we might strip her anyway, so that's the absolute top priority. Like I said-and I can't stress this enough-we need what she's made of more than we need her. Her whole, intact carca.s.s would be nice-she's got as much steel as you can get out of her; is that understood? Even if you get her all the way back here we might strip her anyway, so that's the absolute top priority. Like I said-and I can't stress this enough-we need what she's made of more than we need her. Her whole, intact carca.s.s would be nice-she's got as much steel as Walker Walker-but this is strictly a 'bird in the hand' operation. Get what you know know you can get." you can get."

Irvin gulped. "I understand, Captain."

"Very well. Now." Matt leaned back in his chair. "We can't afford to send much with you, but you'll get what we can spare. You can have five of your submariners if you can get them to volunteer. Concentrate on those with critical engineering and operating skills."

"Flynn?" Irvin asked.

Matt shook his head. "No. Two reasons. First, we need him here. Second, and don't take this wrong; he a.s.sured me he has the utmost respect for you, but . . . to be honest, he's had enough of subs in these waters." Matt shrugged. "I already asked him, but . . . well, let's just say we've had a little experience with people who've been through too much and pushed too far." Matt was thinking of his old c.o.xswain Tony Scott. "Sometimes they lose focus and make mistakes," he added in a quiet tone. "We'll use Flynn in the shipyard for now, but he's asked for an infantry regiment, if you can believe that." To Matt's surprise, Laumer actually smiled.

"Yes, sir, I can believe it."

Instead of asking the ensign to elaborate, Matt pushed on: "You'll have two of the prize ships to transport equipment and personnel, and bring back what you can salvage. You won't command the ships, obviously, but you'll be in overall command of the expedition."

"Thank you, sir," Laumer said. "Thanks for the opportunity."

Matt grimaced. "There may be plenty of 'opportunity' to get yourself killed, and I'm ordering you to avoid that. Period. Otherwise, besides those previously mentioned, your orders are to depart Baalkpan aboard the prize USS Simms Simms in company with another prize sloop. . . ." He shook his head. "We're really going to have to sort that out." in company with another prize sloop. . . ." He shook his head. "We're really going to have to sort that out."

The destroyermen, 'Cat and human, found it difficult and confusing to use the old terms for sailing warships. A small faction insisted "sloops" ought to be destroyers and "frigates" should be cruisers. This caused contention among the frigate sailors, who thought they they ought to be destroyers and sloops were mere gunboats. G.o.d only knew how weird it would get when they had even bigger ships-and seaplane tender /carriers like ought to be destroyers and sloops were mere gunboats. G.o.d only knew how weird it would get when they had even bigger ships-and seaplane tender /carriers like Big Sal Big Sal. The fact was, no one of either race wanted to give up the t.i.tle "destroyerman," no matter what they served on.

"Anyway," Matt continued, "you'll escort Placca-Mar Placca-Mar." He hoped he said it right. His 'Cat was finally improving, as was his p.r.o.nunciation. "She's the Home Saan-Kakja's returning to the Filpin Lands aboard, along with plans and some of the large machinery we've completed. Colonel Shinya and the prisoner will also be aboard. The colonel will be escorting Commander Okada, but his primary mission is to take charge of training Saan-Kakja's troops in Manila. While you're with Placca-Mar Placca-Mar, you'll be under Colonel Shinya's direct command, and if you run into any marauding lizards, his orders will supersede any I've given you today. In other words, feel free to disobey the one about avoiding opportunities to get yourself killed, because you will will defend Saan-Kakja to the last. Understood?" defend Saan-Kakja to the last. Understood?"

Irvin gulped, but nodded. "Aye-aye, sir."

"Barring incident, you'll depart company with Placca-Mar Placca-Mar in the Sibutu Pa.s.sage, hug the Sulu Archipelago to Mindanao, and proceed to your destination." in the Sibutu Pa.s.sage, hug the Sulu Archipelago to Mindanao, and proceed to your destination."

"What about mountain fish, if we run across any?" Irvin asked hesitantly, and Matt looked at him, scratching the back of his neck.

"Sparks-I mean Lieutenant Commander Riggs-is working on stuff. So's Ordnance. I also hope to squeeze some advice out of Jenks, if I can. We'll do everything possible to make sure you have solid communications as well, but"-he shrugged-"who knows? You might wind up on your own."

Irvin knew the entire mission was a test of sorts, as much for the captain to evaluate him as for him to evaluate himself. He'd missed all the fighting and really had little reason to expect such an opportunity-and an opportunity was how he viewed it. Somehow he'd prevail. He had to.

"I've been on my own before, Captain," he said at last. "Sort of. Before you took us off Talaud in the first place, we didn't even know what had happened. Even if we lose communications, I'm confident we'll manage."

Matt looked at him for a long moment, then glanced at the others in the chamber. "I sincerely hope so. I implied earlier that you're the only man we can spare for this, but remember, the war's just begun. We can't spare anyone in the long run."

"No, sir."

As was customary by midafternoon, the rain had stopped by the time Captain Reddy, General Alden, and Commodore Jenks gathered at the base of the great, scorched Galla tree. As was also customary, the remainder of the day would be humid and oppressive and the clothes worn by the little group had barely begun to dry before perspiration replaced the moisture. Sandra, Keje, and Alan Letts had joined them. Shinya had departed to prepare the troops for "inspection," and Matt had asked the Bosun not to attend. Chief Gray uncomfortably agreed. His and Jenks's antagonism toward each other was well-known, and Matt wanted the commodore as comfortable about the tour as possible.

A two-wheeled cart appeared out of the bustling activity of the city, the driver reining his animal just short of the overhead that protected them from the incessant dripping. The cart itself looked like an oversize rickshaw, complete with gaudy decorations. The beast pulling it had never been seen in Baalkpan before it and a large herd of its cousins arrived from Manila a few weeks before. It looked a little like one of the stunted brontosarries from a distance, although it was smaller and covered with fur. It also had a shorter neck and tail, even if both were proportionately beefier and more muscular. The head was larger too, with short, palmated antlers.

The Fil-pin 'Cats called them paalkas, although Silva's insidious influence had reached Baalkpan before them and here they were almost universally called pack-mooses, even by the local 'Cats. They were herbivorous marsupials, of all things, and Matt was glad to have them. He wondered why no one had ever imported them to Baalkpan before; they were obviously more sensible draft animals than the ubiquitous brontosaurus. They were much more biddable and, from what he'd seen, at least as smart as a horse. They could even be ridden, although no kind of conventional saddle would serve. They were half again as big as a Belgian draft horse, and any rider would have been perpetually doing the splits. Matt primarily wanted them to pull his light artillery pieces and they should be great for that. Shinya and Brister were working on ways the gun's crews could ride them.

Other creatures that could could be ridden like a horse had arrived from Manila. They were me-naaks, and n.o.body objected when their name was changed to "meanies." They looked like long-legged crocodiles that ran on all fours, as they should, but their legs were shaped more like a dog's. They ran like dogs too, fast and focused. Their skin was like a rhino-pig's, thick and covered with long, bristly hair, and they had a heavy, plywood-thick case that protected their vitals. Matt was dubious about them, and admitted they were scary. When he'd first seen them in Manila, they'd borne troops in Saan-Kakja's livery, apparently on errands. The crowds gave them a wide berth and Matt had noticed their jaws were always strapped tightly shut. They seemed to obey well enough, and Saan-Kakja had since a.s.sured him that they'd make fine cavalry mounts-once he'd explained the concept to her-as long as a rider didn't mind the fact that his mount's fondest wish was to eat him. be ridden like a horse had arrived from Manila. They were me-naaks, and n.o.body objected when their name was changed to "meanies." They looked like long-legged crocodiles that ran on all fours, as they should, but their legs were shaped more like a dog's. They ran like dogs too, fast and focused. Their skin was like a rhino-pig's, thick and covered with long, bristly hair, and they had a heavy, plywood-thick case that protected their vitals. Matt was dubious about them, and admitted they were scary. When he'd first seen them in Manila, they'd borne troops in Saan-Kakja's livery, apparently on errands. The crowds gave them a wide berth and Matt had noticed their jaws were always strapped tightly shut. They seemed to obey well enough, and Saan-Kakja had since a.s.sured him that they'd make fine cavalry mounts-once he'd explained the concept to her-as long as a rider didn't mind the fact that his mount's fondest wish was to eat him.

Cavalry, and the mobility it provided, was something Matt had been wanting for a long time. It wasn't something 'Cats had given a great deal of thought to, since, as little as most of them ever envisioned fighting, they'd never never envisioned fighting an open-field battle. The terrain just didn't suit. For the campaign taking shape in Matt's mind however, cavalry of some sort-or at least mounted infantry or dragoons-would come as a nasty surprise for the Grik indeed. envisioned fighting an open-field battle. The terrain just didn't suit. For the campaign taking shape in Matt's mind however, cavalry of some sort-or at least mounted infantry or dragoons-would come as a nasty surprise for the Grik indeed.

"How . . . interesting," observed Jenks, staring at the conveyance.

Matt shook off his reverie and smiled. "More practical than walking." He gestured around at the aftermath of the squall. "Especially in this muck." Sandra smiled at him and gravitated to his side.

Jenks looked at her briefly, then shook his head. Apparently, what he'd been about to say or ask wasn't something he wanted to discuss just then. He peered into the cart. "Is there s.p.a.ce for all of us?" he asked doubtfully.

The paalka dragged the cart through the bustling city. There was so much activity that, except for the remaining damage, it was difficult for Matt to tell a ma.s.sive battle had raged around and through Baalkpan not so very long before. It was easy to remember they were at war however, since much of the seemingly chaotic commotion was geared toward military preparation. Squads of troops squelched by in cadence, either toward or from the expanded drill field. Quite a few of these wore the distinctive black-and-yellow livery of Saan-Kakja.

Matt, Alden, and Letts returned the salute of a platoon of Marines that marched by on the left, heading for the parade ground. Matt had finally allowed the reconst.i.tution of the Marines as an independent force. They'd be needed as such and the 'Cats' various guard (or, increasingly, army) regiments had sufficient veteran NCOs and officers now to lead them. The Marine uniform was also strikingly regular, now that it had become official. It consisted of a dark blue kilt with red piping along the hem for veterans. NCOs sported red stripes encircling their kilts, from the bottom up, to designate their rank. All wore thick white articulated rhino-pig leather armor over their chests as well. Stamped bronze helmets like those the destroyermen wore (except for the ear holes) completed the basic uniform. Baldrics, straps, belts, and backpacks were all black leather, and had become universal among Allied forces.

The "Army" had begun a similar attempt to provide uniforms for its troops, but the colors varied, since its forces represented different members of the Alliance. In the case of Baalkpan, which fielded numerous regiments, the leather armor was a natural dark brown and the kilts were bright green. This was the color of Nakja-Mur's livery and Adar hadn't changed it. The various regiments had gold numbers embroidered on their kilts.

Matt, and everyone else, had been surprised and gratified to learn that the Aryaalan and B'mbaadan regiments (formerly bitter foes) had been integrated by Lord Rolak and Queen Maraan and had chosen red-and-black kilts, also with regimental numbers, and gray leather breastplates.

As much as Baalkpan's industry had recovered, and even leaped ahead after the battle, none of this would have been possible without Saan-Kakja's support. She'd ordered as much material and supplies, and as many troops and artisans, be brought forward as her nation could realistically afford. Until the frontier could be pushed back, Baalkpan remained the front line of the war, and without her aid, another battle like the last would have finished it. Of course, Amagi Amagi was no longer a threat, but as things had stood, she wouldn't have been needed. was no longer a threat, but as things had stood, she wouldn't have been needed.

A lot of Baalkpan's runaway population had returned as well. Perhaps goaded by shame that they'd left in the first place instead of defending their home, they set to work with a will. Matt believed that, with the returns and additions, Baalkpan's population was now greater than it had been when his old, battered destroyer first steamed into the bay.

Smoking pitch a.s.saulted their sinuses as the paalka drew them past the expanded ropewalk, and sparks flew from forges as swordsmiths shaped their blades. Iron had been known to the People, but had been little used except for weapons. Now, an abundance of good steel wreckage was available, as well as a new steady supply of iron ore from the interior, and the Lemurians were drawing out of the Bronze Age at last. Matt watched Sandra's face as the sparks fell and sizzled on the damp ground. He knew what she was thinking. The various Lemurian cultures had been very fine, and with some exceptions, almost idyllic before they came here. Now all was in a state of flux, changing forever to meet the necessities of a nightmarish war. For a bittersweet instant, Matt wondered what changes the war back home would bring to America.

They eased through the congested area surrounding the new sawmill. The big, circular blades sprayed chips and sawdust in great arcs, while brontosarries plodded through a slurry of muck, turning a ma.s.sive windla.s.s that transferred its rotation through a series of gears that spun the great blades. The quaint display of ingenuity had come from the quirky minds of the Mice. They had certainly risen to the challenge of this new world, Matt thought proudly, as had all his destroyermen.

As they neared the waterfront, the buildings were no longer elevated. Instead, all the shops and warehouses stood right at ground level. A great berm lay beyond them with but a single gated opening, and swarms of workers thronged in and out of the bottleneck. A squad of Marine sentries watched keenly for unknown or suspicious faces. Fortunately, the only faces they had to examine closely were human, and the hundred-odd remaining Amer-i-caans were well-known to them. When the paalka brought them to the gate, the crowd parted and the sentries waved them through.

If anything, the chaos beyond the gate seemed more apparent than in the heart of the bustling city, but only at a glance. Here, the warehouses, workshops, and open-air industry that sprawled around the basin teemed with what only appeared to be disconnected activity. The racket of tools, shouted commands, and roaring furnaces was overwhelming, and smoke and dank steam hung like fog. In the distance, across the yard, the skeletal frames of numerous ships rose above the activity and haze. Matt and his companions quickly perceived the underlying order-they'd all spent considerable time there, after all-and Matt suspected Jenks saw it as well.

"Here we are, Commodore," Sandra said brightly as Matt helped her down from the rickshaw. Jenks hopped lightly down with the unexpected grace of an athlete and stared around with all the indications of amazement. Alden, Keje, and Letts joined them, and while the others stared about with expressions of proud accomplishment, Keje continued glaring at Jenks. He hadn't been in favor of letting this stranger view their greatest secrets and he still didn't trust the man. His initial dislike had only been intensified by the frequent attempts at espionage, and now they were going to give him a guided tour! He trusted Matt's judgment, and intellectually he knew they had little choice, but he still didn't like it.

"Most impressive, my dear," Jenks replied, somewhat awkwardly. He glanced at his escort. "Gentlemen. Most impressive indeed. You have accomplished all this in the three months since your battle?"

"No, sir," said Letts. "The basics were here when we first arrived. We added a lot while we were preparing for the enemy, and not much was damaged in the fighting. Evidently, they wanted these facilities preserved. Baalkpan would've made them a good base from which to go after our other friends-as well as your people, eventually."

"Indeed," came Jenks's noncommittal reply.

Letts looked at Captain Reddy and saw the nod. This was his show now. "If you would all follow me, I'll point out some of the more interesting things we've been working on."

They trudged past furnace rooms from which an endless relay of naked, panting 'Cats pushed wheelbarrows loaded with copper round shot. These they brought to waiting carts, where others stood with heavy leather gloves to transfer the still-hot spheres. There were hisses of steam and scorched wood when the shot dropped on the cart's wet timbers. Most of the party smiled and returned the waves of the workers. Jenks said nothing, but clearly took note.

Moving along, they reached one of the several foundries that now dotted the basin. Great bronze gun tubes, each with carts of their own, waited in patient rows for their journey to the boring and reaming loft. These new guns had rough, sand-cast bores and would still be smoothbores after reaming, but even as their interior diameters had increased, the quality and sophistication of their shape had improved and the weight of metal they required was much reduced. Most of the original guns that had defended Baalkpan had already been recast, and generally, they could get five or six guns from four of the earlier, much cruder weapons. The next foundry they pa.s.sed was pouring molten iron under an open-sided shed and gouts of sparks and fiery meteors arced out and sizzled on a damp beam decking roped off for safety.

Jenks saw all this and was much impressed. Matt and Sandra talked excitedly of what they'd accomplished and Letts seemed almost jubilant. Even Keje had lost some of his earlier overt unfriendliness. As often as he must have seen it now, he still seemed to have an air of wonder. A long, high shed stood nearer the water, covering an a.s.sortment of bizarre shapes in various stages of evident completion. Before they headed in that direction, the group was distracted by a series of shouts followed by what sounded like a rough volley of musket fire. The noise quickly settled into a sustained roar.

Brevet Major Benjamin Mallory twisted his arm to stretch the aching muscles. His T-shirt and Lemurian-made dungarees were sweat blotched and stained, and a dark rag dangled and swayed from his belt as he grabbed the wrench and strained against the final bolt.

"There," he said to no one in particular, "my built-in torque wrench says that's about right." He stepped back from the odd-looking machine and dragged the filthy rag across his forehead before he plopped the hat back on his head. It was the only item remaining to him that had once been Army brown. The OD pistol belt and leather holster were his, but they were essentially the same as everyone else's. The machine was an engine-he hoped. It was a vague copy of an upright, four-cylinder Wright Gypsy that would serve as a prototype power plant for the airframe design they'd-tentatively-settled on. It was inherently more difficult to balance a four-cylinder engine than one with six cylinders, but they were trying to keep things as simple as possible for now. The cylinders themselves were air-cooled legacies of the crashed PBY, and they'd dredged up as much of the old plane as they could hook from its scattered resting place on the bottom of Baalkpan Bay. They'd recovered only one of the engines, but fortunately, it wasn't the one they'd already removed a couple of damaged cylinders from. It had had been damaged beyond repair by a couple of holes through the crankcase and a warped crankshaft sustained when the spinning prop hit the water, but twelve cylinders, fifteen pushrods, eleven piston rods, eighteen valves, and nine pistons were still up to spec. They'd serve his purpose of testing the been damaged beyond repair by a couple of holes through the crankcase and a warped crankshaft sustained when the spinning prop hit the water, but twelve cylinders, fifteen pushrods, eleven piston rods, eighteen valves, and nine pistons were still up to spec. They'd serve his purpose of testing the rest rest of the new engine they'd built from scratch. of the new engine they'd built from scratch.

Seaman (maybe Ensign now, if his transfer came through) Fred Reynolds stood nearby poring over a black-bound book with red writing on it. It was a copy of Brimm and Boggess's Aircraft Engine Maintenance Aircraft Engine Maintenance they'd found in the tool kit of the PBY's doubtless long-dead flight mechanic. It was exactly like a similar copy Ben had done his best to memorize in pilot training. He liked to think he they'd found in the tool kit of the PBY's doubtless long-dead flight mechanic. It was exactly like a similar copy Ben had done his best to memorize in pilot training. He liked to think he had had memorized enough to build something like the simple engine before him on the stand, but when they inevitably went on to build bigger and better things, the wealth of formulas, diagrams, and general tidbits of information including things as mundane as hand file designs would prove invaluable. Even when one considered the relatively large, eclectic library of memorized enough to build something like the simple engine before him on the stand, but when they inevitably went on to build bigger and better things, the wealth of formulas, diagrams, and general tidbits of information including things as mundane as hand file designs would prove invaluable. Even when one considered the relatively large, eclectic library of Walker Walker's dead surgeon, "Doc" Stevens, and the many technical manuals they'd off-loaded from the two destroyers before their final sortie, it was, in many ways, the single most precious book they possessed. Some of Adar's Sky Priest acolytes had already made a handwritten copy, and others were being copied from it.

The book was already invaluable to poor Reynolds, who stared at the pages like they were written in ancient Greek. Ben stifled a chuckle. Apparently, Reynolds had finally decided what to strike for; he wanted to fly. He'd said he wanted excitement, but he was a little guy, and that would have made Ordnance h.e.l.l-or so he believed. Ben suspected that in reality, the kid was scared to death of Dennis Silva-completely understandable-and since Silva was the most . . . visible representative of that division and had as yet untested limitations on his authority . . . the fledgling Air Corps, or Naval Air Arm, or whatever it would be called, probably seemed like a comparatively safer billet. Ben chuckled aloud at that, unheard over the machine noises emanating from the rest of the shop.

He glanced at the only other human in sight: Commander Perry Brister. Formerly Mahan Mahan's engineering officer and now general engineering minister of the entire Alliance, the dark-haired young man was making a final inspection of the fuel line leading to the simple, crude carburetor. Ben knew Perry had other things to do that day, but he'd always liked fooling with small engines, he'd said, and he wanted to be there when they cranked it up.

"Looks good here," Perry rasped. His once soft voice had never recovered from all the yelling he did during the great battle. Ben looked at the two Lemurians poised near the propeller. One, a sable-furred 'Cat with a polished 7.7-millimeter cartridge case stuck through a hole in his ear, grinned.

"You boys ready?" Ben asked.

"You bet," answered the 'Cat Ben called Tikker. Mallory shook his head and grinned. It was Captain Tikker now. Stepping to a small console, he flipped a switch.

"Contact!" he shouted.

"Contact!" chorused the 'Cats, and, heaving the propeller blade up as high as they could reach, they brought it down with all their might. For a moment, the motor coughed, sputtered, and gasped while the 'Cats jumped back. With a jerk, the wooden propeller came to a stop.

"Switch off!" announced Mallory, and the two 'Cats approached the propeller again. They hadn't thoroughly tested the remote throttle adjustment, and Brister stepped forward and squirted a little fuel in the carburetor. Nodding, he joined Ben.

"Contact!"

This time, the propeller spun with an erratic, explosive, phut, phut, phut! phut, phut, phut! sound, backfired, burped, then became a popping, vibrating blur. Brister hurried forward, careful of the spinning blades, and tinkered with the throttle linkage. Slowly, the vibration diminished and the smooth roar overwhelmed their cheers. sound, backfired, burped, then became a popping, vibrating blur. Brister hurried forward, careful of the spinning blades, and tinkered with the throttle linkage. Slowly, the vibration diminished and the smooth roar overwhelmed their cheers.

[image]

"This way!" Letts shouted over the din, and they hurried toward the noise. Another shed, smaller than the first and enclosed on all sides, was nearby. Letts moved a curtain aside and the racket flooded out. In he went, and Jenks was swept along with the rest. Oil lamps dimly lit the interior of the shed, but there were small, brightly glowing objects placed near large, complicated-looking machines. Lemurians and a few men toiled at those machines with singular concentration in spite of the noise emanating from another brightly lit area toward the back of the shed. As he pa.s.sed them, Jenks saw the machines were turning and spinning, throwing coiled pieces of metal aside. They were also noisy-or would have been-without the cacophonous roar. Most were fairly straightforward. He'd seen their like in Imperial factories: lathes, mills, etc. Great leather belts whirled around pulleys attached to the high ceiling and transferred their rotation to the machines. A very few of the machines had no belts whatsoever, but seemed to run off insulated copper cables terminated at the same source as the brilliant white lights. The mystery fascinated him as much as the roar that grew even louder as they approached.

A haze of smoky fumes was gathering in the light, swirling in a strange, artificial wind. In it stood three men and a couple of Lemurians staring intently at a relatively small machine vibrating on a stand. A big paddle of some kind whirled to a blur at one end of it.

"Mr. Mallory!" Matt shouted at one of the men who stood, hands on hips. He turned.

"Captain Reddy!" There was a huge smile on the man's bearded face. "Good afternoon, sir." He motioned at the machine and eyed a set of gauges on his console. "Temps are a little variable on the cylinders, but that's to be expected with an air-cooled in-line. The production models'll be liquid-cooled and heavier, but the horsepower ought to be similar. The main thing is that it looks like we've solved the crankcase and oil pump issues-at least for straight and level." For the first time Mallory noticed Jenks and his smile faded a little.

"It's okay," Matt shouted. "It's time."

Mallory shrugged as if to say, You're the skipper You're the skipper, and motioned to one of the 'Cats stationed near another panel. "Bring her up, Tikker!"

The sable-furred 'Cat with a shiny bra.s.s tube in his ear nodded and advanced a small lever. Immediately, the noise increased and the paddlelike object whirred even faster, redoubling the gale of wind and noxious fumes. Jenks began to feel a little ill. Sandra coughed violently and patted Captain Reddy on the arm. Matt looked at her and nodded, noting Jenks's expression as well. He patted Mallory, and when he got his attention, he made a "cut it" gesture.

Tikker noticed and backed the throttle down until the engine finally wheezed and died. The sudden, relative silence was overwhelming.

"Mr. Mallory, you're going to choke all your workers," Matt said with a grin. Ben looked around. If anything but excitement made him feel light-headed, it didn't show.

"Well, yes, sir," he said, beaming, "but it works! The d.a.m.n thing works! Uh, begging your pardon." He glanced at Jenks and his euphoria slipped a notch. "Yeah, it stinks, I guess, but we've been trying to keep things under wraps."

"I know. That's over now." Matt clapped Ben on his good shoulder and nodded congratulations to the others. "Besides, it looks like we'll be ready for flight testing soon and there's no way to keep that that a secret. I think it's time Commodore Jenks, at least, sees what we're up to." a secret. I think it's time Commodore Jenks, at least, sees what we're up to."

Jenks finally surrendered to a coughing fit of his own, but when he composed himself, he pointed at the engine. "What is that thing?" he asked. "Some sort of weapon?"

"Not by itself," hedged one of the other workers who'd joined the group. He was a former Mahan Mahan machinist's mate named "Miami" Tindal. machinist's mate named "Miami" Tindal.

Tikker stepped closer. "We put it on a plane, and it'll be a weapon," he said excitedly. A lot of Lemurians acted uncomfortable around the Imperials and were hesitant to speak to them. Tikker never seemed uncomfortable talking to anyone.

"What's a 'plane'?" Jenks asked.

Matt looked at Ben. "If you and . . . Captain Tikker would accompany us?" He paused, his amused, understanding eyes on Perry. "You as well, Commander Brister."

Workers raised awnings to vent the exhaust while together, the growing entourage returned to the larger, open shed. There they showed Jenks an array of ungainly contraptions. Some were mere skeletons, made from laminated bamboo strips, cannibalized even before they were complete. A couple had a kind of taut fabric stretched across their bones to which some kind of sealant or glue had been applied. One, the nearest to the shop, rested on a cart or truck much like the earlier gun tubes. This one not only appeared almost finished, but was painted a medium dark blue. There were darker blue roundels-significant devices of some kind, Jenks was sure-in several places, with large white stars and small red dots painted within them.

"So this is it?" Matt asked appreciatively. It didn't look much like the NC craft he remembered seeing pictures of. If anything, it looked like a miniature PBY. The fuselage/hull form was virtually identical, except there was a single open-air c.o.c.kpit behind a slip of salvaged Plexiglas where the flight deck would have been. Another open c.o.c.kpit was positioned halfway to the tail, where the PBY had possessed a pair of observation blisters. The large single wing was supported by an arrangement of struts instead of being attached to the fuselage by a faired compartment. It was easy to see the motor would go in the empty s.p.a.ce between the wing and fuselage-with the prop spinning mere feet behind the pilot's head.

"What about wing floats?" Matt asked. By the tone of his voice, he was reviving an old argument.

"They'll be cranked down mechanically by the observer/mechanic in the aft c.o.c.kpit." Ben looked a little sheepish. "I know you wanted to keep it simple, Skipper, but this is a lot simpler than putting fixed floats on a lower wing. Not to mention we don't have to make make those lower wings." He gestured at one of the incomplete skeletons. "This way she'll be lighter, faster, more maneuverable, and honestly, we should be able to put her down on rougher seas. With that bottom wing so close to the water, I was really worried about that." those lower wings." He gestured at one of the incomplete skeletons. "This way she'll be lighter, faster, more maneuverable, and honestly, we should be able to put her down on rougher seas. With that bottom wing so close to the water, I was really worried about that."

"That's fine, Ben. I told you, when it comes to flying you're the boss, and your arguments do have merit. I just want to make sure the things aren't overly complicated. Like the ships, I want a lot of good ones, not a few of the best."

"I agree, sir. But with this design, I think we get a little of both."

Jenks interrupted. "Flying . . . you mean to say that thing will . . . fly fly?"

"Hopefully." Matt nodded toward a large heap of twisted wreckage piled in the s.p.a.ce between the two buildings. It was all that remained of the crashed PBY. "That one did."