The Sungaa wasn't long and was navigable for only a short distance before it choked into a narrow, swampy stream. But the waters that fled into the bay from the Lohr Mountains to the north provided a quicker, more convenient passage to the site where they'd sunk their first well.
Except for his brief, tragic foray on Bali, Matt had stepped on land only for frequent trips into the city to see Nakja-Mur. Now, after passing the last hardy outposts of fishing huts and "frontier" hunters—only a few miles from town—he beheld Lemurian Borneo in all its savage beauty.
Amid raucous cries, dozens of species of colorful birdlike creatures whirled and darted with the erratic grace of flying insects. Their short, furry feathers covered streamlined and exotically lethal leathery bodies.
They incessantly chased small fish, insects, and any "bird" smaller than they were. Vicious aerial combat flared when one of the creatures caught something another wanted or thought it could take. Unlike similar battles that Matt had seen among birds back home, the losers here rarely survived. The bodies of the slain never even made it to the water.
The deadly flasher-fish weren't nearly as numerous in the fresher water of the bay, and they didn't venture upriver at all. Matt's party passed a herd of large animals marching solemnly through the shallows near shore. They were the size of hippos, but looked like spiky armadillos with longer necks and forelegs. Here and there, ordinary crocodiles lounged on the muddy banks. For all Matt knew, the trees hanging over the water were quite normal as well, but he knew little about trees of any sort, so their wide, palmated leaves looked exotic to him regardless. Bradford said they were as unusual as the fauna and Matt took his word for it. The whole scene was simultaneously shockingly beautiful and horrifying in a deep, secret, instinctual way.
He tore himself from his reverie and saw that Shinya was equally absorbed by their surroundings, but Letts, and even Bradford, seemed unaffected. Of course, they'd both been to the wellhead several times. Letts must have asked him a question, because he and the Australian both looked at him expectantly. "I'm sorry, Mr. Letts. Could you repeat that, please?"
Alan grinned. "Sure, Skipper. What I asked is, should we concentrate all the guns on one side of Big Sal, like a floating battery, and just counterweight the other, or mount guns on both sides? We may not have time or materials to make enough for both."
Matt shook his head. "I'm not convinced there're going to be any guns." Letts assumed a wounded expression.
"Sure there will, Skipper, if we have enough time. I've been working with the guys at the foundry"—the "guys at the foundry" were two Lemurian brothers who owned and ran it—"and they say it's no problem.
They cast anchors for ships like Big Sal all the time, so they're used to throwing lots of metal. You could cast five or six guns from the metal that goes into one of those babies. Labor's not an issue. The latest news has everybody fired up, and Nakja-Mur had kittens over the prospect of cannons of his very own. The only two stumbling blocks, well, three, really, were getting somebody to let us cut gunports in the side of their ship, finding enough metal to make the guns—a truly hellacious amount of copper and tin—and, of course, ammunition.
"Gunpowder's not a problem. All the components are readily available and sulfur's all over these volcanic islands. The real pain's building a powder mill. That's taking time. We can't use water power, since there're no swift rivers. Maybe we can try what the Mice came up with? Anyway, we'll get it sorted out. We can use copper for cannonballs—that's a cinch—but training gunners to hit something with them might be a little harder."
"What about boring true?" Matt asked, and Letts shrugged a little hesitantly.
"I have a few ideas along that line."
Matt shook his head. He didn't know what had cracked Alan Letts out of his amiable go-with-the-flow shell, but whatever it was, he'd become a dynamo. Maybe it was just that he, like the rest of them, had finally come to grips with the situation. "I bet Keje wasn't happy about chopping holes in the side of Big Sal," he mused. "How many guns are you planning to put on her, anyway?"
"I'm hoping on twenty per side, eventually. That may not seem like many, given her size, compared to the ships of the line back in the seventeen hundreds, but . . ." He shrugged.
Matt looked at him and blinked with surprise. It was a habit he'd picked up from their new friends. "Twenty! I thought you were ambitious thinking about two or three! How big are you planning to make them?"
"Well, that depends on what size we ultimately bore them out. I'm meeting with Mr. McFarlane and Bernie Sandison this evening and we'll kick that around."
Matt chuckled. "Very well, Mr. Letts. Keep me informed, but be sure you don't use anything the ship needs to make your tools!" A wry grin spread across Letts's face, as if he'd been about to ask permission to do that very thing. "As to what to do with them if you get the cannons made?"
Matt paused. "Keje'll have to decide. It's his ship. A floating battery in the bay would be tough to get around, but if anything ever did, the whole defense might collapse. I've never been a big believer in static defenses, and I doubt Keje would be either."
Bradford nodded vigorously. "Yes! Yes! Look how much good the Maginot Line did the French! And I'm not even going to start on Singapore! As for Keje's opinion, I assure you you're right. With some quite obvious exceptions, the Lemurians are seagoing nomads. The very idea of being semi-permanently moored in any defensive position would be utterly alien, and perhaps hateful to them. I imagine they'd do it as an expedient during battle, but to actively prepare for such a thing? You might lose all credibility if you made the suggestion. So far, they're willing to take your advice on matters of defense, but that's all any of us really are.
Advisors. We have no official status in the chain of command. I'm not sure there really is one. Nakja-Mur is the overall leader of the People of Balik—I mean Baalkpan—but Keje and any other ship captain who comes ashore, I suppose, all seem to be equals. They command their own People, but are subject to the laws and customs of the territory or ship they set foot on. It's all so very chaotic! It would be far more convenient if they had a king, and all the various ships and places were part of some grand commonwealth!"
"Like the British Empire?" Letts goaded.
"Well . . . yes! Precisely! This current arrangement is far too much like your own various states. Always squabbling, and never agreeing to work together toward a common goal!"
Matt smiled tolerantly at the Australian. "The United States usually manages to pull together over the important things."
"Yes, but it takes wars to make it happen, I might remind you!"
"That may be," Matt confessed, "but it looks like the Lemurians have their war too."
No one spoke for a while as the launch crept farther upriver. Once, Scott almost lost control when a crocodile bumped the boat and he flailed madly for the Thompson submachine gun he always carried slung over his shoulder. "Hold your fire, Mr. Scott," Matt said, just loud enough to be heard. The croc was swimming disinterestedly away, and Tony gave him a sheepish glance as he regained control of the boat.
"How are things going ashore, Lieutenant?" Matt asked Shinya. He'd been shaken from his trancelike study of the wildlife by the launch's capering.
"If you mean the preparation of the militia, Captain Reddy, I must report progress is poor, but improving." Nakja-Mur had decreed that all able-bodied People, male and female, should take training with Sergeant Alden and Lieutenant Shinya, as well as some of their own few warriors every other day. Attendance was mandatory, but from the beginning, participation was somewhat sparse. Many of the younger, more adventurous townsfolk turned out with a will, and some had achieved a level of training that let them perform as NCOs for the less-proficient attendees. Alden had even begun training an "elite" force of a hundred of the sharpest and toughest, which would, of course, become his "Marines."