"Understood, Captain, but I still ought to be the one to go," Dowden said with a frown.
Matt grinned. "May be, but I'm the captain, so I get to do what I want. Seriously, though, I agree in principle, but—well, we've already been through this. You can be the first to meet the strange alien creatures next time, Larry. I promise."
He climbed into the launch, which was already level with the deck. That was another good thing about the launch, he thought: it could be lowered with them in it. Slipping and falling into the water was no longer just an embarrassing gaffe; it was a death sentence. The keel smacked the waves and, with a burbling roar, they started across. The sun was up, but it was still early and Matt hoped they wouldn't catch the Lemurians in a crabby mood before their version of morning coffee. More important, he didn't want to surprise them. He needn't have been concerned. Evidently, they'd been watching his ship very closely because, as soon as they approached, many of the creatures stopped what they were doing and scampered to the rail. Strange, excited cries alerted others.
"Hail the conquering heroes," the Bosun growled.
As they drew nearer, the ship's sheer size was even more impressive from their lower perspective. The rail was easily a hundred feet over their heads, and there was no question that the thing was as large as one of the new fleet carriers. Maybe bigger. That made the damage it had sustained even more amazing. The forward superstructure was completely destroyed, and the foremast tripod stood naked and charred. The pagoda-like tower had collapsed upon itself to become a mere heap of smoldering rubble. Clouds of ash billowed to leeward like gouts of steam. The forward part of the hull was scorched as well, though there didn't seem to be serious damage to its structural integrity. It was massive, and while it was clearly made of wood, there was no telling how thick it was. Matt was surprised to discover that the bottom was copper-clad, much like Walker's sailing-navy ancestors. No doubt the copper extending several feet above the sea served the same purpose here—to protect the hull from wood-eating organisms.
They coasted alongside, approximately amidships, until the launch almost bumped. But Scott was an excellent coxswain even with the more unfamiliar launch, and he avoided actual contact by the thinnest margin. They saw no way up, however. There were no steps or ladders for them to climb, and for the moment they could only stare at the numerous heads, high above, peering back down at them. Suddenly, a very familiar-looking rope-and-rung arrangement unrolled down the side with a clatter and jerked to a stop almost upon them.
"Well," said Bradford, "not exactly a red carpet, after all, but certainly a warmer welcome than they gave their last visitors." There were several chuckles, and Matt took the ladder in his hands.
"Ordinarily, I always say `ladies first,' but this time I'll break that rule." There were more chuckles and a few uneasy glances at Lieutenant Tucker. Her reputation and stature had reached an unprecedented level, for a non-destroyerman (and a woman). She possessed undoubted skill as a healer and was genuinely friendly to those in her care. But she'd flown signals of an equally unprecedented temper, and her sense of humor had yet to be tried. She didn't take offense at the captain's attempt to seem lighthearted about his protectiveness of her, however.
"Boats, you're next, then the security detail. Once they're up, everyone can follow as they see fit." He started up the ladder, but then stopped. "Everybody stay cool and friendly, and remember who you are and what you represent." With that, he resumed his climb. He tried to appear brisk and confident and hoped no one detected his nervousness. He wasn't afraid, exactly, but he had to admit to some anxious uncertainty. Never in his most bizarre dreams had he imagined that he would be doing what he was right now. Nothing he'd ever done had prepared him for this moment, and he didn't have the slightest idea what to do. The only thing he was sure of was that nobody else did either and he'd better not screw it up.
Finally, he reached the rail and paused for a moment before jumping to the deck. Many of the creatures had gathered around, and they drew back at the sight of him, their inscrutable faces staring with large, feline eyes. They were every conceivable color, like three generations of kittens from a wanton barn cat. Long, fluffy tails twitched behind them, seemingly independent of their owners' stoic immobility. And they were short. He hadn't realized it, watching them through binoculars, but they were much shorter than he'd expected. The tallest he saw came only to his chin, and it was considerably taller than the others. He? She? He assumed it was a he, though he had no basis, yet, to make that guess. The majority of the creatures were dressed haphazardly, in what appeared to be a mixture of daily garb and the occasional piece of leather and copper armor. All seemed weary and many were wounded, but most were still armed with an axe or a short scimitar-like sword. Significantly, none were brandishing those weapons at him.
What set the tall one apart, aside from his height, was that he was covered entirely in a dark purple robe with large stars sewn across the shoulders, and the long-tailed hood was pulled tight around his face so that only his piercing gray eyes could be seen. The creatures nearest him seemed more alert than the rest, more detached from the moment, and they had a protective, proprietary air about them. Because of this, and his dress, Matt took him for a leader, or at least an authority figure of some kind. Gray clambered over the rail to join him and as he did, he put his hand on one of the enormous backstays supporting the center tripod. He took it away and looked at it. The stay was coated with thick black tar. He arched an eyebrow at his captain and Matt nodded. He'd seen it too. He stepped forward and the two of them, the robed figure and the naval officer, quietly faced one another while the rest of the party boarded. All the while, there was silence. Matt couldn't even fall back on Navy custom and salute their flag, for there was none, at least at present, but maybe . . . maybe that didn't matter. Tradition was tradition, and he expected even if they didn't understand it, they would recognize it as such. Maybe they would appreciate the respect that went with it.
Abruptly, he pivoted to his right, facing aft, and snapped a sharp salute. Then he turned to the robed figure and saluted him as well.
"Lieutenant Commander Matthew Reddy, United States Navy. I request permission to come aboard, sir."
The Lemurian blinked rapidly with what might have been surprise, and his lips stretched into what looked for all the world like a grin. Matt held the salute a moment longer, and then on impulse slowly lowered his hand until he held it, palm outward, toward the creature in the purple robe. Very deliberately, it pulled the hood from its face. It was still "grinning" broadly, although the expression didn't extend beyond its mouth. Matt suspected that, like cats, their faces weren't made to display emotions as humans did. The "grin," if that's what it was, spoke volumes, however, and now others nearby grinned too. To the amazement of the humans, the one in the robe carefully imitated Matt's salute and held up his hand as well. Matt heard a gasp behind him, as well as Gray's gravelly chuckle.
"Permission granted, Skipper," he said quietly.
The Lemurian clasped both his hands to his chest and spoke: "Adar."
Bradford pushed his way next to the captain. "Upon my word! Do you suppose he means he is Adar, or that's the name for his people?"
Matt sighed. "I was about to . . . ask him that, Mr. Bradford. Please, let's have no more outbursts. It might confuse them and I'm confused enough for us all right now." He pointed at the creature. "Adar?" he asked.