"There's my darlin' angel!" he cooed.
The other brindled shape caught up and slammed to attention, but even in the dark, it was clear that Chack-Sab-At was quivering with rage.
"What the hell's going on here!" Matt bellowed. "Silva, what have you done?"
"Cap-i-taan!" said Chack, "that's my sister, Risa. She is unwell. That giant . . . creature has intoxicated her and . . ."
"He mate? He marry me!" Risa squealed happily. "He Sab-At clan now!"
"Never!" seethed Chack. Sandra's hand now covered her mouth in earnest, but Matt couldn't tell if she was hiding shock or laughter.
"My God, Silva, I swear! If you've done anything to damage our relationship with these people, or if you forced . . . God! Are you insane? I'll hang you!"
"Skipper, I'll swear on a Bible or Marvaney's record stack—whatever you say—"
"You lie!" shouted Chack.
"He no lie!" Risa purred. "Nobody mad but silly Chack. People no mad. People no . . . embarrassed? By mate! Si-vaa love Risa!"
The shore party, those that could, eased away. Chack's ears were back and his tail swished like a cobra. He looked about to strike. Matt was preparing another volcanic response when Sandra tugged his sleeve and whispered in his ear. He looked sharply at her and was incredulous when he saw her nod.
"We'll get to the bottom of this," he promised darkly. "Mr. Chack, please escort your sister to her Home. At the very least, she seems . . . indisposed."
"But . . . Aye, aye, Cap-i-taan."
"What about my weddin' night?" Silva moaned, and Matt turned to him.
"My orders were that all personnel be back aboard by 0100. Since you had no special permission, you may not stay ashore to . . . consummate your `marriage,' nor may you do so on my ship! USS Walker is not a honeymoon barge!" He paused. There was one way to find out if Sandra was right. "Tomorrow I'll speak to Keje and Nakja-Mur and discover what further process, if any, is required to finalize your and Risa's . . . nuptials.
Perhaps a joint ceremony?"
He was rewarded by a marked widening of Silva's surprisingly sober eyes. Getting even with Chack was one thing, but he wouldn't enjoy the consequences of including his captain in the joke.
"Nighty night, sugar-lips!" Silva said, and gave Risa a kiss, which she returned with evident relish.
God, I hope it isa joke! Matt thought with a shudder.
After Chack stiffly led his sister away and a suddenly docile Silva was carried to the ship, Matt removed his hat and rubbed his eyes. "Jesus!"
Sandra laughed. "Is this the way it always was with these guys, back in the Philippines?"
"No! Well, yeah, but . . . yeah." He smiled.
"I told Chack to watch his back." Sandra chuckled. "I wonder when he'll figure it out?"
"I wonder if it's over!"
"You don't think he really . . . ?" Sandra gasped.
"If we're not surrounded by angry 'cats with torches in the morning, I'm going to pretend it never happened. But I guarantee Silva won't have the last laugh!" For a moment, the pier was empty again, but the electric tension between them was damped. Just as well.
Sandra cleared her throat. "Earlier, you said you had an idea. What was it?"
"What? Oh. Well, let me see if I can put my thoughts back together!"
CHAPTER 7
What, then, would you have us do? How do we defeat them if the Ancient Ones could not?" The speaker was the High Chief of one of the great Homes. Seven of the huge vessels now floated in Baalkpan Bay, and all their chiefs, as well as a large number of senior "officers," were present in Nakja-Mur's Great Hall for this long-awaited council. There were even representatives from several smaller "land colonies." Gatherings on such a scale were rare, usually happening no more than once or twice a decade, and there was no official mechanism for summoning one.
As far as Matt could tell, it might be as simple as shouted words from passing fishermen: "Big meeting at Baalkpan. Come if you want." Without better communications, that was probably exactly how it happened.
Great Gatherings were usually occasions for festivities, games, trade, and socialization. They were also times for crowded, prosperous Homes to branch off. To build new Homes and form new clans. It was a time that the People on their solitary wandering Homes looked forward to with pleasure and anticipation, wondering where and when the next would be held. But this one was different. All were aware of the seriousness of the growing threat, and those present, at least, seemed willing and even eager to discuss their next move. Few agreed what that move should be, however.
The Lemurian who'd spoken was Anai-Sa, High Chief of Fristar, one of the Homes that had been in Baalkpan Bay since before Walker arrived.
He seemed young for his rank, with a jet-black pelt and a spray of white whiskers surrounding his face. His green eyes were intent. Besides his heavily embroidered kilt, he wore only a multitude of shimmering golden hoops around his neck and upper arms. His people were "far rangers" who rarely entered these waters. Their "territory" was most often the South China Sea, but Grik pressure had pushed them south. He was also the most outspoken of the "why don't we just sail off where there are no Grik" crowd.
Keje spoke in reply. "I would have you hear the words of Cap-i-taan Reddy of the Amer-i-caans, and High Chief of Waa-kur. He is High Chief of an independent clan and has as much right to speak as anyone here.
More, to my thinking, since he saved my Home from the Grik. The Amer-i-caans have helped us prepare for this time with no concern for personal gain." Keje stood before the silent group, looking out among them. He said nothing about Walker's brief sortie two weeks before that destroyed two more Grik ships. All were aware of it, even if they hadn't been there yet, and boasting sometimes detracts from self-evident truth. Besides, the last thing Matt wanted was everyone thinking Walker would save them all.
As Keje suspected, there were murmurs of protest. Not because the humans weren't People, but because their ship was so small and sparsely populated. Would they grant "Home" status to fishing boats too?
Keje squared his shoulders and placed his hand upon the scota at his side. "I declare Cap-i-taan Reddy is my Brother as surely as any High Chief, and I offer combat to anyone saying he does not deserve to speak."
These last words came in a growl.
There was some very unusual body language in response to this threat, and some glanced to see Nakja-Mur's reaction. He merely stared at Keje's back across steepled claws with his elbows on his knees.
"These Amer-i-caans come from far away, and know more about war than we. Before they came to help us, they were engaged in a struggle that defies belief. Their wondrous ship was just one of perhaps hundreds, and they modestly tell me theirs was but the smallest and least powerful Home to fight in that unimaginable conflict! Yet it prevailed!"
Matt winced at Chack's translation. Okay, so much for not bragging. Besides, they'd "prevailed" in the sense that they'd survived, but that was the only appropriate context for the word. Keje grinned at him ironically.
"Would you speak to them, my Brother? Perhaps you can sway them.
I'll tell them your words."