They were silent while "the object" was solemnly placed at Marvaney's feet and the last stitches finished. Finally, the young pharmacist's mate spoke tentatively. "Chief Bashear said he killed six lizards. How many did you get, Silva?"
Dennis snorted. "Six, huh? Where I was standin', I didn't see him kill any. Well, one, maybe. Give him an assist."
"How about you?" Miller prodded. Silva shrugged. "Two or three, I guess. Hell, everybody was shootin'. Who knows?"
Stites glanced at Campeti and then looked at Silva again. "How about the Skipper? Boy, he sure looked mad!"
Silva nodded. "Yeah, he got one or two. With his pistol. He just stood there and let one run right up to him and bam!" He clapped his hands. "Right in the eye! The Skipper's got guts, I'll say that." He looked thoughtful. "He was mad, though. I never seen him that mad. I don't know if he was madder that they got Mack or that we ran out'a lizards to kill. He wasn't even that mad that time in Subic when me and—" He stopped, and a huge grin slowly spread across his face. "Well, never mind, boys. I got that rocker back later anyway." The others laughed as they finished preparations to send their friend to his watery grave.
That evening, as the sun touched the horizon, there was a small, forlorn splash alongside the lonely, rust-streaked ship. For a while, it remained still as the gloom deepened and the running lights snapped on. It must have been a strange, alien image to any creature watching from shore. Puffs of smoke rose from the aft funnels and hung motionless in the calm evening air. Then, slowly, it began to move. Most of the creatures paid it no heed; their interests were wholly devoted to packing vegetation into their large, multiple stomachs. If they'd witnessed the strange events of the day, they'd already forgotten.
Not all had forgotten, however. Some watched intently and continued to stare at the lights as they moved through the slot and into the strait beyond, long after the shape of the ship itself was lost to view.
Keje-Fris-Ar sat on a stool beside his breakfast table in the ornately decorated chamber that was the foundation for the central tower of Home. It was the largest chamber on the entire ship that wasn't given over to livestock or cargo, and it was tastefully adorned with colorful tapestries and finely carved figures. Puffy pillows clustered in the various discussion areas, and in the center of all towered a nearly mature Galla tree, growing from a basin of earth that extended down to the very keel. Ample sunlight for it to thrive flowed through colorfully decorated hatches that were usually, as now, flung wide. A gentle breeze circulated to rustle the long, green-gold leaves. The only thing marring the dignity and splendor of the chamber was the small, plain table, set to one side, where Keje-Fris-Ar, High Chief of all the clans of Salissa Home, and his companion, High Sky Priest Adar, enjoyed their morning meal. The splendid hall was Keje's personal office, throne room, and council chamber rolled into one, where matters of great importance to all the clans were discussed. On such occasions, the ceremony and dignity were solemn indeed. But for everyday use, when there were no great matters to attend in proper form, Keje preferred his little table. Besides, he knew it amused Adar to dine with him thus.
The High Chief was the absolute monarch of Home, but the three towers supporting the great wings were controlled by their various chiefs, who enjoyed a degree of autonomy. An autonomy that could grow tiresome. Sometimes, the Sky Priests acted as intermediaries between the clans, because they were of no clan and all must serve the Heavens. Because of this trust, and because the Sky Priests—at least on Salissa— weren't oppressively spiritual, they enjoyed a position of esteem and a reputation for impartiality when dealing with the everyday squabbles among the several chiefs. But their efforts in this regard were subordinate to their primary duty. Their charge was to read the Heavens and ponder the stars and interpret them to others, who saw only points of light. The Sky Priests told them where they were, where they were going, and how to get there. They relayed the truths of the Heavens, which were above all things.
It was the High Chief who had to cajole, inspire, or force the clan chiefs to cooperate to do what the Heavens decreed if the Sky Priests couldn't help them agree, with him or each other. That was one of the reasons he generally declined the pomp of his exalted office, at least in everyday life. He didn't demand the near deification some High Chiefs of other Homes enjoyed, through constant ritual and an untouchable attitude, but he enjoyed a higher, more genuine status than many of his peers through respect for his abilities and wisdom. There was always contention, but his Home suffered less from the incessant squabbling that sometimes plagued other Homes because he led by example and was followed by the willing.
That didn't mean he didn't enjoy his status. He believed he was a good High Chief, and the People of Salissa Home prospered under his rule. What it did mean was he felt more comfortable eating at a small table, with his Sky Priest, whenever important rituals didn't interfere.
"So tell me, my lord," spoke Adar, delicately dabbing at his whiskers with an intricately woven kerchief, "have you given more thought to our visitors on the quick, smoky vessel?"
"No," grunted Keje around a mouthful of baked akka egg. "None at all since we last discussed them before we parted last night, to sleep." He was mildly annoyed with his friend's preoccupation with the strange tail-less beings. Deep down, he was just as curious as Adar, but he had other things to concern him, and their meeting had been so brief that it was pointless to speculate and rehash questions for which they'd likely never have answers.
Adar blinked rapidly with constrained amusement. "Surely, lord, you have thought of them a little." He paused and grew more serious. "I certainly have." His lips moved into a full grin. "As you know." Keje's eyelids fluttered questioningly.
"My lord, consider again how momentous it was. We encountered an entirely different species, which, at the very least, possess knowledge of sea vessels far surpassing our own—or the Grik." Adar looked intently into Keje's eyes. "And I repeat: they did not attack us! When has that ever been? Only once before, by the Prophet, and they were tail-less beings as well! The Grik are our Ancient Enemy. That much is clear from the Scrolls. They drove us from our ancestral home—on land!—so long ago that the Scrolls cannot even tell us what that life was like. But it was the Grik who forced our people to build the great Homes to travel the world in safety, across the hostile sea. But the Grik have learned to travel the sea as well. Not as well, or as safely, thank the Heavens, but nothing has changed in all that time. Yet again they seek to drive us, whenever we meet. The war that began so many ages ago is not over for them." He stopped, and looking down, he shuddered. "I believe they are truly evil, just as it is written, and I fear for our people. Our race."
Keje blinked agreement, although he still couldn't divine the Sky Priest's point. What did the Tail-less Ones have to do with any of that—or was that his point?
"My lord, you know the sea and what manner of vessel best swims upon it, but something is changing. The Grik have found us, their ancient prey, but until recently they could do little about it." He held up a dark, furless palm. "They do invariably attack, and People are sometimes slain, but their vessels are as nothing compared to the walls of Home. Yet in our lifetimes we've seen the size of their vessels increase, as well as the number of attacks. When last I spoke to other High Sky Priests, at the Gathering of Homes, I heard the same from them. Their frail vessels cannot protect them all, and many are probably lost, yet they keep coming, senselessly. From what I can tell, there is no motive other than to attack us, and the Western Ocean is no longer the barrier it was."