"Ladies and gentlemen," Letts repeated, "I give you Saan-Kakja, U-Amaki ay Maa-ni-la!"

The diminutive High Chief of Manila and patriarch of all the Filpin Lands regarded those at the table and the rest of the a.s.sembly in the hall. She was even more striking than usual with her fiery, golden eyes and polished, chased-golden breastplate. Her yellow and black clan colors decorated her cape and kilt, and a short, ornately hilted dirk hung from an elaborate belt in a golden sheath. The martial ensemble clashed with her tiny stature and evident youth.

"They're all so young young," Sandra whispered in Matt's ear, and he squeezed her hand. It was true. He reflected that the veterans of every war probably thought much the same of all the recruits who joined them in battle-even while they themselves seemed young to the veterans of earlier wars. Rarely were the leaders leaders quite so young, however. It suddenly struck him that most of the positions of high authority in the Alliance were held by young, comparatively inexperienced . . . amateurs. Saan-Kakja was by any definition, human or Lemurian, little more than a child. The strikingly competent and just as exotic Safir Maraan wasn't much older. Neither was Chack, who'd probably command a Marine battalion before long. Ta.s.sana-Ay-Arracca, whose father had perished with quite so young, however. It suddenly struck him that most of the positions of high authority in the Alliance were held by young, comparatively inexperienced . . . amateurs. Saan-Kakja was by any definition, human or Lemurian, little more than a child. The strikingly competent and just as exotic Safir Maraan wasn't much older. Neither was Chack, who'd probably command a Marine battalion before long. Ta.s.sana-Ay-Arracca, whose father had perished with Nerracca Nerracca, had risen to High Chief of Aracca Aracca Home after her grandfather fell in battle. The commander of the growing Sularan Brigade couldn't be much over twenty. General Muln-Rolak was practically ancient, but he wasn't technically a head of state-although Matt suspected that would change when they retook Aryaal. That meant, as representatives of the Alliance, Keje and Adar were the "geezers," since they were in their early forties. Home after her grandfather fell in battle. The commander of the growing Sularan Brigade couldn't be much over twenty. General Muln-Rolak was practically ancient, but he wasn't technically a head of state-although Matt suspected that would change when they retook Aryaal. That meant, as representatives of the Alliance, Keje and Adar were the "geezers," since they were in their early forties.

On the human side, Matt knew how young everyone was. The Bosun was around sixty and was the oldest human in the Alliance, but at the august age of thirty-two, Matt was the oldest officer, just after Spanky. If the newly minted Ensign Reynolds was eighteen yet, he'd eat his hat. Of all the Allied commanders, Matt had the most combat experience by far-all of about fifteen months-and here he was, Supreme Commander of all Allied forces. Again, he wondered what Tommy Hart would have thought of that.

Conventional wisdom would imply they were all all too young for their jobs. The thought was a little intimidating, but Matt wondered if it was true. The old guys back home, commanding their rectangular dreadnoughts, hadn't been doing so hot. It was their stupidity and shortsightedness, to a large degree, that had made Pearl Harbor such a disaster-and even possible in the first place. Matt didn't want to think about the h.o.a.ry old men in Congress who'd virtually invited the attack by allowing the Navy to wither to a point that it couldn't credibly enforce their threats and policies. Maybe conventional wisdom wasn't always wisdom at all. too young for their jobs. The thought was a little intimidating, but Matt wondered if it was true. The old guys back home, commanding their rectangular dreadnoughts, hadn't been doing so hot. It was their stupidity and shortsightedness, to a large degree, that had made Pearl Harbor such a disaster-and even possible in the first place. Matt didn't want to think about the h.o.a.ry old men in Congress who'd virtually invited the attack by allowing the Navy to wither to a point that it couldn't credibly enforce their threats and policies. Maybe conventional wisdom wasn't always wisdom at all.

He decided, experience aside, it was probably a blessing they were all so young. Particularly the Lemurians. There'd been numerous times when he'd had trouble dealing with older, more entrenched 'Cats. Saan-Kakja's own sky priest, Meksnaak, was a prime example.

Nakja-Mur had been exceptional in many ways, but even he'd been a little difficult until his own Home was at stake. Matt knew it had been difficult for the old 'Cat. It was hard for the young ones, watching their whole world change with the exigencies of war, but they could at least comprehend comprehend change and feel confident they could absorb it, accommodate it, change and feel confident they could absorb it, accommodate it, use use it. It occurred to him then that if all the Lemurian leaders had been a bunch of stick-in-the-mud, geezer bureaucrats-like those back home-they'd all be dead by now. it. It occurred to him then that if all the Lemurian leaders had been a bunch of stick-in-the-mud, geezer bureaucrats-like those back home-they'd all be dead by now.

"It's a good thing they're so young," he whispered back to Sandra. "I think it's made things a lot easier. And besides, it could be a very long war." He saw her nod, and believed she understood more than he'd said.

"Please do sit," Saan-Kakja said when the cheers and stamping feet subsided. Obediently, the crowd returned to their stools or cushions. The request was more than a courtesy. With everyone standing, no one could see her. "Tomorrow I must leave you," she resumed, "and return to my own land. Colonel Shinya and I must oversee a replication, even an enlargement of what you have accomplished here; this 'in-dustree. '" She smiled. "Some may not like it. Maa-ni-la has been a refuge for many of the runaways, as you call them, from various lands, and there will be dissent among those who prefer the old ways." Her eyes flashed and her chin rose slightly. "Their obstructionism will not be tolerated. Fear not."

There was more cheering, and Matt realized he needed to talk to her again about her own security. They'd already learned that even Lemurians were capable of appalling treachery.

"Even when I depart, do not think Maa-ni-la has left you. Half my personal guard will go with me, to become officers and form training cadres in the new, changing ways of war, but many more of my people have arrived here since the Great Battle and I shall leave you over five thousands." She looked directly at Matt. "Lead them as you will. My troops are your troops, and I have no doubt you will cherish them as your own."

Touched, Matt bowed his head, acknowledging the compliment. And the responsibility.

"Soon I will return with even more troops, ships, and many new weapons. I look forward to 'raa-di-o' reports from your upcoming expedition, when we will know the enemy's stance. Regardless, I am confident that if we seize this time that has been granted us by your valor and the Heavens above, when we bring our full, combined might against the scourge, we will stamp it out forever!"

Further cheers filled the hall, and, unnoticed at the far end of the table, Billingsly leaned toward Jenks. It was the first time he'd been ash.o.r.e for an official function and he'd been haughty and uncommunicative throughout. "And still you do not consider them a threat to the Empire?" he hissed. "The force they are planning will be almost as large, and considerably more advanced than that of the vile Dominion that even now menaces our people back home."

Jenks looked at him and blinked. "Don't be ridiculous, Mr. Billingsly. Of course I consider them a threat, but not at present. Look about you! These . . . creatures"-he'd almost said "people," and what would Billingsly think then?-"are clearly preparing to renew their war with an enemy of potentially greater menace even than the Dominion. These Grik are possibly even more savage, if not as depraved."

"They have a Roman priestess among them," Billingsly reminded him darkly.

Jenks frowned. "I have heard that too, though I haven't seen her. From what I understand, there is a difference. The Roman 'faith' as practiced by the Dominion is an abomination, and as much as our ancestors may have disagreed with the old version, they wrote that it became something entirely different on this world. If she is a priestess of the old version who got displaced here as did the others, her fundamental beliefs are not much different from our own." Jenks smiled. "Besides, I have seen no temples or altars or any of the other trappings of the perverted faith. If she serves the Roman Church, as we know it, she certainly hasn't gained many converts."

"I implore you," Billingsly said, with a hint of what might have been true sincerity, "with the child queen gone, the Americans and the bulk of their Army and Navy away, and much of their new construction incomplete, we would have our absolute best opportunity to rescue the princess and be on our way."

Jenks's expression hardened. "And then we would would be at war with them, fool! Do you think we could take her without bloodshed? Do you think they would ever trust us then? I have given my be at war with them, fool! Do you think we could take her without bloodshed? Do you think they would ever trust us then? I have given my word word to accompany their expedition. I could not change that now, nor would I. You think them a threat? Very well. What better way to gauge that threat than by watching how they fight? I would much rather make those observations while they fight someone else than while trading broadsides with them!" to accompany their expedition. I could not change that now, nor would I. You think them a threat? Very well. What better way to gauge that threat than by watching how they fight? I would much rather make those observations while they fight someone else than while trading broadsides with them!"

Billingsly's face hardened as well, and he sat back in his chair. Around them, the festive atmosphere resumed after the speeches were done and the smells of unusual dishes reached them as servers came to the table.

"So be it," he muttered to himself, unheard.

CHAPTER 6.

July 1943

Two weeks after Saan-Kakja and Tamatsu Shinya took their leave of Baalkpan in company with (now Lieutenant) Laumer's small squadron, another, considerably larger force prepared to sail. Saan-Kakja departed amid sincere, exuberant fanfare, but though the turnout of well-wishers was even bigger this time, the mood was more somber. The Second Allied Expeditionary Force was not enc.u.mbered by any lumbering Homes-those would come later, when they were fully prepared and sent for-but the fleet was still impressive. Donaghey Donaghey was Matt's flagship, back under the command of a much recovered Commander Garrett. was Matt's flagship, back under the command of a much recovered Commander Garrett. Tolson Tolson's refit was considered sufficient to allow her partic.i.p.ation as well. The first two new steam frigates, with their fewer but more powerful thirty-two-pounder smoothbores, were fresh from the new fitting-out docks. A lot depended on them even though this was essentially their maiden voyage and shakedown cruise combined. Jarrik-Fas commanded USS Nakja-Mur Nakja-Mur , and Captain Jim Ellis commanded USS , and Captain Jim Ellis commanded USS Dowden Dowden. Ellis would serve as second in command and commodore of the steam element of the fleet if it was detached for independent operations. Additionally, there were now seven former Grik Indiamen that had been razed and rerigged into single-deck corvettes. Observers found it difficult to believe that the far lighter, sleeker-looking ships, glistening with fresh black and white paint, had been reworked from ships originally belonging to their hated foe. The final consensus concerning designations-regardless how they were rated-was that since none of the ships were big enough to be considered "cruisers," all were still destroyers, in a sense. The only difference it made was to morale.

It was an impressive force, considering all were heavily armed, crowded with Marines, and covered with stacked landing craft. Four relatively unaltered Grik ships (except for color) carried Lord Rolak's 2nd Aryaal, Safir Maraan's "Six Hundred" as well as extra field artillery, draft beasts, and other baggage. Ten large feluccas would serve as the eyes of the fleet and dispatch vessels. Achilles Achilles was also making final preparations for getting under way, her black coal smoke coiling lazily into the light morning air contrasting with the gray smoke of the Allied steamer's oil-fired boilers. The reason for the more somber mood was that this force, at some point, would certainly make contact with the enemy for the first time since the Battle of Baalkpan. There was a sense of confidence that the fleet could handle itself, but no one knew what they would find. Had the enemy withdrawn, or been reinforced? Had the Grik also made unforeseen improvements? They already had crude cannon when they attacked the city. What other surprises might they have introduced since their last meeting? No one knew, and it was frustrating. was also making final preparations for getting under way, her black coal smoke coiling lazily into the light morning air contrasting with the gray smoke of the Allied steamer's oil-fired boilers. The reason for the more somber mood was that this force, at some point, would certainly make contact with the enemy for the first time since the Battle of Baalkpan. There was a sense of confidence that the fleet could handle itself, but no one knew what they would find. Had the enemy withdrawn, or been reinforced? Had the Grik also made unforeseen improvements? They already had crude cannon when they attacked the city. What other surprises might they have introduced since their last meeting? No one knew, and it was frustrating.

They'd grown accustomed to having reports of enemy dispositions from the flying boat, but they were still a week or more away from discovering whether their "new" aircraft would even fly. They were moving forward with the conviction that it would; many more airframes and engines based on the prototype were already being built, but it would take time before Big Sal Big Sal's conversion was complete, and they still had to train a lot of pilots. Flight training was already under way, in an ingenious simulator that mimicked flight controls, but it remained firmly on the ground when students climbed aboard. What would happen when/if they actually flew?

In many ways, perhaps the greatest test of the Alliance would be faced in the coming days and weeks, and the thought no one was willing to voice was that, for the first time, Captain Matthew Reddy didn't have Walker Walker beneath his feet. He wouldn't even be here when they learned, once and for all, whether he ever would again. That simple fact was the source of tremendous unease. In the past, the mere existence of the old destroyer had been a source of considerable comfort and security. They'd fought without her before, but she'd always beneath his feet. He wouldn't even be here when they learned, once and for all, whether he ever would again. That simple fact was the source of tremendous unease. In the past, the mere existence of the old destroyer had been a source of considerable comfort and security. They'd fought without her before, but she'd always been been there, there, somewhere somewhere, somehow always ready to come to their aid just in the nick of time. This was the first time the Alliance had engaged in any major military undertaking without Walker Walker to back them up. to back them up.

Nakja-Mur and and Dowden Dowden were tied to the dock, but were tied to the dock, but Donaghey Donaghey was moored beyond them. Scott's launch was waiting to take Matt over after he said his good-byes. Adar, Keje, Spanky, Sandison, Brister, and Letts were all there, but the only one Matt really had eyes for was Sandra Tucker. She and Princess Rebecca had joined them mere moments before, almost out of breath. Sandra had obviously come straight from the hospital, where she'd been working either quite late or very early. Even after all these months, many of those wounded in the battle to save the city required ongoing operations. Her long, sandy brown hair was swept back in a girlish ponytail that accented her pretty face and slender neck. was moored beyond them. Scott's launch was waiting to take Matt over after he said his good-byes. Adar, Keje, Spanky, Sandison, Brister, and Letts were all there, but the only one Matt really had eyes for was Sandra Tucker. She and Princess Rebecca had joined them mere moments before, almost out of breath. Sandra had obviously come straight from the hospital, where she'd been working either quite late or very early. Even after all these months, many of those wounded in the battle to save the city required ongoing operations. Her long, sandy brown hair was swept back in a girlish ponytail that accented her pretty face and slender neck.

Everyone knew Captain Reddy and Sandra Tucker were nuts about each other, even though they'd once tried to hide their feelings out of respect for Walker Walker's crew. Of course, the crew probably knew how they felt before they did, and their poignant sacrifice was the source of much sympathy-and respect. Only after the Battle of Baalkpan, when it was clear that everyone everyone knew and further denial was pointless, did Captain Reddy and Lieutenant Tucker show any open affection. Even then, public displays were limited to holding hands, an occasional embrace . . . and spending as much time together as they possibly could. It was obvious their love continued to grow and each was a reservoir for the other's strength, but still they didn't marry or "shack up," as Silva and Cross had apparently done. They did nothing, in fact, that all the surviving destroyermen from knew and further denial was pointless, did Captain Reddy and Lieutenant Tucker show any open affection. Even then, public displays were limited to holding hands, an occasional embrace . . . and spending as much time together as they possibly could. It was obvious their love continued to grow and each was a reservoir for the other's strength, but still they didn't marry or "shack up," as Silva and Cross had apparently done. They did nothing, in fact, that all the surviving destroyermen from Walker Walker and and Mahan Mahan couldn't do. The men rolled their eyes in exasperation, called them dopes . . . and loved them for it. couldn't do. The men rolled their eyes in exasperation, called them dopes . . . and loved them for it.

Alan Letts liked and admired Sandra, as did everyone, but she always made him feel a little guilty. He loved Karen very much, but they'd convinced the captain to marry them when they'd all fully expected to die. Now things had changed, sort of, but his happiness was undiminished. He was guardedly ecstatic that he'd soon be a father. But his very happiness inspired much of his guilt. He couldn't help thinking it wasn't fair for him to be happy when so many of the men were still miserable. And not all those who were miserable were men.

Alan was amazed by Matt and Sandra's self-sacrificing willpower. Again, he compared their situation to two star-crossed lovers from a John Ford western trapped in a Cecil B. DeMille epic, complete with a cast of thousands, monsters, and freak weather events. He noticed, with a surge of relief-for both of them-that as soon as Sandra arrived, she'd un.o.btrusively inserted her hand into the captain's, and he'd reached to caress her face.

"Do you guys realize yesterday was the sixteen-month anniversary? A year and a third to the very day since we arrived . . . wherever we are?" Letts interjected into the awkward silence that ensued.

Matt nodded. "Sixteen months since the Squall. Since we escaped the j.a.ps-and watched them sink Exeter Exeter and and Electra Electra and and Pope Pope . . . since we nearly got sunk ourselves." He shook his head. "We lost a lot of good destroyermen that day. I didn't forget." . . . since we nearly got sunk ourselves." He shook his head. "We lost a lot of good destroyermen that day. I didn't forget."

"Well . . . maybe you ought not go just yet. The dry dock's finished and we'll be pulling the plug in a few days. Ben's going to fly. . . ."

"It's time to go," Matt said simply. "You and the fellas can handle all that stuff."

Letts nodded reluctantly.

Princess Rebecca stepped forward. "Mr. O'Casey is safe aboard your ship?"

"Stowed away, and no one the wiser." Matt smiled at her concern for the one-armed man.

"I suppose it is best," she reflected. "With Billingsly here and his spies on the loose, I fear they would have discovered him sooner or later. He grows weary of hiding. I do worry about him, though."

"He'll be fine," Matt a.s.sured her. "And he wanted wanted to go. Like you said, he's tired of staying out of sight. Aboard ship he can to go. Like you said, he's tired of staying out of sight. Aboard ship he can do do something, and the only time he has to be scarce is if Jenks comes aboard." Matt grinned. "Besides, he has full confidence Silva could protect you from a super lizard with his bare hands." He raised an eyebrow. "Where something, and the only time he has to be scarce is if Jenks comes aboard." Matt grinned. "Besides, he has full confidence Silva could protect you from a super lizard with his bare hands." He raised an eyebrow. "Where is is Silva, by the way?" Silva, by the way?"

"Sulking," Sandra said, wryly. "He wanted to go too. Talk about bored! G.o.d knows what mischief he'll cause! Until I let Mr. Sandison have him full-time, he was always either trying out his 'toys,' or down at the Busted . . . I mean, the Castaway Cook." She tousled the princess's hair. "Right now, I have 'the duty.'"

Suddenly, Rebecca lunged forward and embraced the captain. He was so surprised that he stood there a moment, hands away from her. Slowly, he lowered them to encompa.s.s her and returned the hug. "Do be careful, Captain Reddy," the girl said blearily. "I know your cause is just and I shall miss you, miss you all, terribly. But you must take care! I cannot help but feel you are protecting my people as well as your own, and somehow, all our fates are tied to you in the end!"

A lump had mysteriously formed in Matt's throat. "I'll take care, Your Highness," he muttered self-consciously, "and I'll watch out for your Mr. O'Casey."

He shook hands with the other men and embraced Keje and Adar. That was their way, like Russians, he supposed, but it was like hugging a . . . well, he didn't know what. "We'll see you soon," he said to Keje. "I'll look forward to seeing the first flattop this world has ever known come steaming over the horizon!" He stepped back, but before he could compose himself, Sandra was in his arms. Wolf whistles and howls of delight came from Nakja-Mur Nakja-Mur, tied nearby.

After a reluctantly chaste kiss, Sandra looked up at him, her eyes swimming. "Do be careful, Captain Reddy," she said, repeating Rebecca's words.

I love you, he mouthed, then turned for the launch.

Walker had always gotten under way with an almost spastic energy, as if straining at her moorings like a dog on a leash. The 2nd AEF proceeded more ponderously. The steamers in particular seemed almost reluctant to get under way. had always gotten under way with an almost spastic energy, as if straining at her moorings like a dog on a leash. The 2nd AEF proceeded more ponderously. The steamers in particular seemed almost reluctant to get under way. Donaghey Donaghey was much quicker. As soon as her cable was up and down, she s.n.a.t.c.hed her anchor from the bottom and surged ahead with the quickening breeze, flag streaming to leeward. She piled on more sail, and soon she was slanting down toward the mouth of the bay. was much quicker. As soon as her cable was up and down, she s.n.a.t.c.hed her anchor from the bottom and surged ahead with the quickening breeze, flag streaming to leeward. She piled on more sail, and soon she was slanting down toward the mouth of the bay. Tolson Tolson and the corvettes followed in her wake and it was clear the corvettes would be fast, handy ships. Then came the swift feluccas and slower transports. Finally, the steamers began to move. and the corvettes followed in her wake and it was clear the corvettes would be fast, handy ships. Then came the swift feluccas and slower transports. Finally, the steamers began to move. Nakja-Mur Nakja-Mur and and Dowden Dowden slashed at the water with their single, center-mounted screws and began to gain headway with a lot of activity, shouted commands, and considerable noise from their engines and boilers. Steam jetted. It was clear their crews were learning as they went. slashed at the water with their single, center-mounted screws and began to gain headway with a lot of activity, shouted commands, and considerable noise from their engines and boilers. Steam jetted. It was clear their crews were learning as they went. Achilles Achilles gained far more efficiently, with her paddle wheels helping her maneuver, but didn't pick up speed as fast. Soon, the entire fleet was steering for the Maka.s.sar Strait-and whatever awaited them beyond. gained far more efficiently, with her paddle wheels helping her maneuver, but didn't pick up speed as fast. Soon, the entire fleet was steering for the Maka.s.sar Strait-and whatever awaited them beyond.

CHAPTER 7.

They came for him as he stepped away from the morning feeding trough. Somehow, on some level, he'd been expecting it. Feeding sounds continued unabated, punctuated by frequent snarls as Uul contended over a particularly choice boiled, meaty bone. He watched as the four specially armored warriors of the Chooser worked their way in his direction through the hissing horde that jostled to and from the trough, and for the slightest instant, he contemplated resistance.

That alone was enough to stun him into immobility. That, and the fact that he realized-realized-his sated torpor would allow the warriors to make short work of him. He was armed with only the weapons the Mother had given him. Alone, they would be no match for the armor. There was no mistake. Harshly, they called his name and their eyes were fixed on his. He was the only Uul within the stone feeding chamber who had had a name, and, resignedly, he moved to meet them. a name, and, resignedly, he moved to meet them.

It was time. He'd had a good life, but now he was old-he knew it was so-and his joints ached and he'd lost several teeth. He'd been just slightly slower in the arena of late and if he noticed it, certainly the Chooser had. He'd still been victorious, and his surge of exultation had been affirmed by the hissing approbation of the Hij spectators, but he knew each of his victories over the last few cycles had been more difficult than the last. It was time for his his boiled flesh to fill the feeding trough of the Sport Fighters. At least many were his own get, and the tradition would be unbroken. Better to feed his own here than strangers on some distant battlefield, he decided, in an uncharacteristic burst of insight. Still, it would have been better to die fighting. boiled flesh to fill the feeding trough of the Sport Fighters. At least many were his own get, and the tradition would be unbroken. Better to feed his own here than strangers on some distant battlefield, he decided, in an uncharacteristic burst of insight. Still, it would have been better to die fighting.

He'd been a fighter all his life and he'd tasted the chaos and mad joy of major battles often, usually against his own kind. First, he'd merely been one of ten. Through skill he'd eventually become first of ten, then second of twenty-all Grik could count that high; they had two arms, two legs, and sixteen fingers and toes, after all. Time and many battles pa.s.sed and he was elevated to first of twenty, first of two twenties, and ultimately first of five five twenties, as high as any Uul could aspire. That was when he'd been taken to the arena for the pleasure of the Hij and given a twenties, as high as any Uul could aspire. That was when he'd been taken to the arena for the pleasure of the Hij and given a name name. He had little sense of the pa.s.sage of time or how many victories he'd won. Tens of twenties, certainly. All he knew was that he'd been in the arena a long, long time. He'd enjoyed it. But all good things, like life, must end.

"Greetings, Halik-Uul," spoke one of the armored warriors, less harshly than before.

"In the name of the Mother, I greet you," Halik replied easily. Less certainly, he continued, "The Chooser time, now?"

"Indeed," stated another of the warriors. "Your time has come. Your destiny awaits."

Halik didn't know what a "destiny" was. It was probably elevated speech for "cook pot."

"Come," commanded the one who seemed first of four.

Obediently, Halik followed as the warriors led him through the now quieter, staring horde. They pa.s.sed through the locked gate to the underground chamber and up into the light. Halik blinked as they strode across the arena he'd fought in so many times. He couldn't help but gaze around. He'd never seen it empty before. They reached another gate, and through it, they ascended a gradually spiraling stair. Halik grew slightly confused. He didn't know where the cook pots were, but the smells never reached them when the wind was from this direction. His heart quickened. Maybe they were taking him to a female! Sometimes warriors who'd shown greater strength and skill were allowed that honor before they faced the butchers. If that were the case, it would make his death slightly less unpleasant, at least.

He'd been paired with a female only twice before, and the result had been dozens of squabbling young he'd never seen, for the most part. Some of the survivors, a fair percentage actually, had eventually appeared in the warrior dens destined for the arena. He'd been ordered to train them himself and he'd complied, though at the time, he'd felt no real connection to them. Two he'd ultimately killed in the arena himself. Recently, however, he'd begun to feel a subtle attachment to those of his his that remained. Perhaps it was pride of a sort that he'd sired such well-developed and cunning warriors. He didn't think much about it; it was just something he felt. that remained. Perhaps it was pride of a sort that he'd sired such well-developed and cunning warriors. He didn't think much about it; it was just something he felt.

"This way," ordered the first of four when they reached the top of the stair and a pa.s.sageway forked away from it. They took the pa.s.sage to the left. It was dimly lit and there was no sound but the clack of claws and footpads on the stones. The pa.s.sageway continued for a considerable distance and his excitement grew. He could smell smell females! Oddly, he didn't think any were present now, but they had pa.s.sed there recently. Perhaps one awaited him in a chamber nearby? Suddenly, the guards halted him at a chamber entrance that had strange scents, but not those of females, and he was confused, disappointed. Regardless, he entered at their command and stood where they placed him. females! Oddly, he didn't think any were present now, but they had pa.s.sed there recently. Perhaps one awaited him in a chamber nearby? Suddenly, the guards halted him at a chamber entrance that had strange scents, but not those of females, and he was confused, disappointed. Regardless, he entered at their command and stood where they placed him.

His eyes had grown accustomed to the dark pa.s.sage, and the torches that drew his eyes blinded him to the rest of the chamber. He sensed there were others in the room, and one that smelled . . . wrong. Suddenly, one of the guards grabbed him from behind, holding his arms at his sides. Another grasped his feet. Without warning, yet another guard draped a cloth over his eyes and quickly wrapped it around them and over his snout, tying his jaws securely shut. An instant later, he was released.

Rising terror threatened to overcome him. He'd never expected it to be like this. That they would destroy him he had no doubt, but he'd never expected them to make sport of him when they did. He could see nothing, but oddly, they'd left his hands and feet unrestrained. He waited, gaining control of his fear.

A terrible blow struck him across the belly. It burned like the strike of a sword or a claw and he expected his insides to fall to the floor. Reflexively, he grasped at the terrible wound . . . and felt nothing. Another sharp blow slashed at the back of his leg, and he should have fallen with his leg ropes cut . . . but he didn't. Repeatedly the blows fell upon him, and he stood there and took it despite an almost uncontrollable urge to run, to flee, to try to escape toward where he thought the pa.s.sageway should be. Reaching up, he tore the blindfold and gag from his face, but now his eyes were even more dazzled by the torches.

"Kill me," he gasped, controlling his voice, "but no play at me as hatchlings with food pets! I fight for The Mother all my life. I honor Her, submit to Her! Kill me!"

"Sounds almost like pride pride, does it not?" came an urbane, well-spoken voice. Something answered in a tongue Halik had never heard. He felt fear again, but not the visceral, dangerous kind of fear, the kind that would make him prey. This was different. Another blow fell across his back, and finally, a mounting rage drove all fear from him and he lashed back. By some fluke, he managed to grasp the weapon and realized it was a whip. He jerked it toward him and then lashed up against the extended arm of his tormentor with his forearm. The whip was his! He reversed the handle and flailed it about himself with practiced ease, creating a wall of lashing leather while his eyes began to adjust. Another blow fell across his back, and with lightning speed, he spun and directed a reply. The whip cracked against the only target he could see-a pair of glowing eyes. He was rewarded with a shriek, and the glowing orbs were extinguished. Every instinct drove him to fall upon his wounded tormentor, but he forced himself to remain in a protective stance, backing toward the wall. He could see the shape of his attackers now, and saw there were others in the chamber as well. The others were gathered to one side and posed no threat, but the three remaining guards were approaching him, in the cla.s.sic style, and now they had swords.

"A dilemma, Halik-Uul!" said the urbane voice-so calm! "Whatever will you do do? You are not in the arena now!"

Halik forced his own pa.s.sion to subside. The voice seemed . . . familiar . . . and on some level, he somehow knew the words were meant as guidance. What would would he do? He must think! Suddenly, a wild insight took him. This was not a slaughter, a preparation for the cook pots. It was a test! A test to see if the strange thoughts and awareness he'd experienced of late had some greater meaning. What would he do? In the arena, a match like this would be hopeless. One could use only the weapons one brought to the fight. Sometimes things were deliberately staged that way, to see what would happen, but a single whip against three swords was a losing proposition. But he wasn't in the arena! The voice had said so! he do? He must think! Suddenly, a wild insight took him. This was not a slaughter, a preparation for the cook pots. It was a test! A test to see if the strange thoughts and awareness he'd experienced of late had some greater meaning. What would he do? In the arena, a match like this would be hopeless. One could use only the weapons one brought to the fight. Sometimes things were deliberately staged that way, to see what would happen, but a single whip against three swords was a losing proposition. But he wasn't in the arena! The voice had said so!

His back was almost to the wall; he could feel it with his tail. A quick glance behind revealed one of the torches-although it wasn't a torch. Not like he'd seen before. An iron bracket supported a small gla.s.s globe with a burning wick protruding from a funnel shape on top. He didn't know what the liquid in the globe was, but he knew it would burn. He'd used small bombs in the arena before. Just as the guards rushed him, he s.n.a.t.c.hed the globe from the bracket and hurled it at the one on the far left. It shattered and spread burning fluid across the guard's face and torso. He lunged past the conflagration and leaped upon the blinded, moaning guard. He didn't kill him, but instead, s.n.a.t.c.hed his sword from its hand. Sprinting to the opposite side of the chamber, he took a position with his whip in one hand and the sword in the other. The burning guard had flopped on the floor, flailing and rolling, trying to extinguish the flames. That left two. Confidence soared within him. A moment ago, he'd been doomed. He didn't know exactly what the meaning of all this was, but he did know that with a sword and a whip, he could defeat any two warriors with swords he'd ever faced.

"Enough," came the voice. At a gesture from the darkened figure, the guards obediently slew their wounded comrade and dragged him from the chamber. Halik had no doubt they'd have killed him just as thoughtlessly as they had the others, but now was forgotten.

"In the name of the Celestial Mother," came the voice, as placid as it had been from the start, "you may lay down your weapons and no harm will come to you. I even promise they'll be returned. The sword, in particular, you may wish to keep."

Only then did Halik glance at the weapon. He'd also begun to notice things recently, in ways he never had before. Just as a visit with a female might bring pleasure, he'd discovered other things sometimes did. Success in the arena brought intense pleasure, but suddenly, so did the memory of an unusual sunset he'd once seen. Looking at the sword, he realized that the sight of it gave him pleasure as well! It was the most . . . beautiful thing he'd ever beheld. The blade was a type of layered iron he'd seen carried only by generals, and the hilt was elaborately decorated. Gently, he laid it on the floor.

"Come here."

Obediently, Halik did so. When he drew closer, he could finally discern four robed Hij-and some other creature standing with them. He was still too invigorated to take much notice, and his eyes quickly sought the source of the voice.

One of the Hij drew back his robes and revealed himself as a first general, the highest of the high, and a member of the Celestial Mother's very house. Halik flung himself onto the cold stones of the floor.

"He did well," murmured another voice grudgingly. "The fire was a nice touch, and he is the first to have used it. Clever."

Halik certainly recognized that that voice. It belonged to the Chooser himself! He'd heard it many times over the years during the Sports. voice. It belonged to the Chooser himself! He'd heard it many times over the years during the Sports.

"Arise, Halik-Uul," came the first voice again. "The Mother's Chooser will take you from this place and his a.s.sistants will prepare you for the usual Holy Rites of Elevation. You and I will talk again, and I look forward to conversing with you as one Hij to another."

After Halik was led, dazed, from the chamber, General Esshk looked at Kurokawa. "An interesting recruiting method you have devised. It tests their wits as well as their discipline, ability, and resistance to the Urge. Ultimately, it tests their obedience as well. Most interesting." He glanced at the bloodstains. "Perhaps a trifle wasteful."

"Perhaps," Kurokawa agreed, "but for the war we must prepare for, one Halik is worth a hundred of those others. Maybe a thousand."

Esshk hissed a sigh. "I believe you speak truth, or this activity would not be allowed. There is resistance, however. The Celestial Mother remains unconvinced, but she is willing, at least, to experiment." He glanced in the direction Halik had been taken. "That Uul is not unique, but he is rare and we will need many, many more like him."

"The Chooser opposes us?"

"The Chooser opposes all change. Nevertheless, the hatchling proposal progresses. We will see."

CHAPTER 8.

LOGBOOK.

OF THE.

U.S.S WALKER (DD-163).

DD Rate, COMMANDED BY: M. P. REDDY, LIEUTENANT COMMANDER, USNR.

DESTROYER SQUADRON 29.

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