"I bet it won't be long," Alden growled. "I wonder what these little triangle symbols mean."
Matt felt a chill, despite the dank, oppressive warmth of the cabin. "I bet those are Grik ships. And the circles around them represent their areas of operation. See? There're three in the Makassar Strait."
"Not anymore," Alden quipped.
"They're everywhere, then," Sandra murmured, her voice quiet with despair. "There must be a dozen triangles in the Java Sea alone. And all those other charts we've looked at—there're scores of triangles on them!"
"My God," muttered Garrett.
Alden was idly tracing the procession of battle marks up the coast of Java and Sumatra. Suddenly he stiffened. "Look," he said, his finger beside a brownish stain near the Banjak Islands. There was another thick line, but with only three smaller lines sticking out. With a rush of realization, Matt remembered a funnel that fell across a davit.
"Mahan," he breathed.
The storm dwindled to nothing as the night wore on, and its only remnant in the boulder-strewn approaches to the refloated Big Sal was a disorganized chop. Otherwise, the sun rose bright above Celebes and the sky was blue and cloudless. All was back to normal aboard the huge ship, fake debris was cleared away and the stores that littered the beach returned. Water still coursed over the side, and it would for some time, since so much had been required to "sink" the great vessel. That was the part of the plan Matt had been most concerned about, but Keje himself suggested it as bait for the trap. He'd assured his friend that sinking and refloating Big Sal wasn't difficult, or even unusual. They did it all the time.
Once a year it was deliberately done to cleanse the lower decks and "sweeten" the air. A suitable, sandy bottom in sheltered shallows was all they needed, and water was let in until Big Sal gently settled to the bottom of the sea. After a few days passed, she was pumped out and all hatches were laid open, allowing the interior to dry. This routine cleared the ship of vermin and insects, and washed away the foul smell of gri-kakka oil that seeped from barrels and grew rancid in the bilge.
The periodic "sinkings" were times for festivities and merriment, and contests in which younglings captured and tallied vermin that escaped to the upper decks. They never got rid of them entirely, and the little ratlike creatures were fruitful if nothing else, but for a long time afterward their numbers were diminished and Big Sal's cavernous hold smelled fresh and clean. None of her previous soakings were accompanied by as much merriment and jubilation as this one, however, particularly when Walker appeared early that morning towing the dismasted hulk over the horizon.
Big Sal 's forward wing still wasn't erected, but otherwise she was good as new when the great sweeps propelled her through the obstacles and into the open water to rejoin her ally. Hundreds of People crowded the shrouds and lined the catwalk to welcome Walker with thunderous roars and cheers of greeting. The great guns were loaded and fired in salute as the destroyer bore down with her prize.
Walker responded with repeated whoops from her horn. Destroyermen, Marines, and Lemurian cadets lined her rail, as did the prize crew on the captured ship. A makeshift flagstaff had been rigged atop her shattered mainmast, and an American flag streamed to leeward above the red and black pennant of the enemy.
For the first time since he'd seen the curious cloth, the meaning of the destroyermen's flag, and what it could represent, was driven home to Keje.
He felt a surge of pride at the sight of it, even if it wasn't a symbol of his own People. There was also a twinge of something close to envy, and he determined then and there that one day his own People must have a flag.
They had symbols aplenty that represented their clans, on the tapestries that adorned their great halls, but nothing they could look to that represented all the People everywhere. In addition to his heady dreams of the day before, it was a legacy that he thought the great uniting prophet, Siska-Ta, would surely approve of. The Americans had their flag and so did the Grik. It was time the People had one.
To cap the magical excitement of the moment, the great flying-boat descended out of the northeastern sky, thunderous motors adding to the joyful tumult of happy people. Keje watched as it skimmed low over the waves and made a proper landing for the first time, and the grace and power of the huge, flying metal contrivance took his breath away. It was a great day!
Walker hove to, her people returning Big Sal 's cheers. The launch went over the side and a few moments later arrived in Salissa's lee, crowded with passengers who immediately climbed the netting lowered for them.
An honor guard of excited Marines met them when the party reached the main deck, and a twitter of bone whistles simulated bosun's pipes.
Captain Reddy saluted aft, as he'd always done, and again Keje wished there was something to salute. Regardless, he fervently returned the gesture Matt offered him and then enclosed him in a mighty embrace.
"We were worried about you, my Brother," he said.
"We were worried about us too," Matt replied. "I never doubted the outcome of your battle."
Keje barked a laugh. "So certain were you? I was not! Not until the great guns spoke! It was . . . glorious!"
Matt couldn't help but catch Keje's infectious grin, but he asked a serious question. "Was the price very high?" Keje only smiled and allowed Jarrik-Fas to answer.
"We had no losses, lord. None! We slew the enemy with contemptuous ease! Our warriors never even drew their blades!"
"I'm grateful for that," Matt said, his smile fading. "We sustained . . . serious losses, I'm sorry to say, but the Marines and cadets fought bravely and well."
Keje lowered his voice in condolence. "Of course you had losses.
Yours was the more difficult task and the People who were slain will find honored places awaiting them in the presence of the Maker and their ancestors!"
"Of course."
"Now!" said Keje, practically rubbing his hands together in anticipation. "What have you learned?"
Matt forced a smile, and glancing at the throng encircling them, he lowered his voice. "We have much to discuss, Keje-Fris-Ar, and unless you want to destroy the celebration, we'd better do it alone."
"You were right to suggest privacy." Keje sighed, shaking his head. "The world has fallen upon me." He sat on his favorite stool beside his simple table in Salissa's Great Hall. Upon that table lay a Grik chart. He was revolted that the vile thing was in physical contact with the dark, warm wood. Other stools were occupied by his personal advisors, as well as Captain Reddy, Lieutenant Tucker, Lieutenant Garrett, and Sergeant Alden.
Adar hovered over the chart, sputtering with rage and indignation.
"Blasphemy!" he hissed. "Unrepentant, black blasphemy! They desecrate the Heavens by their very existence! These . . . counterfeit . . . things must be burned! Destroyed! To think they take the gift of Knowledge of the Path of Stars and do . . . what they do with that knowledge! It is a violation! A rape! I—" Adar was incapable of further speech.
Matt shifted uncomfortably. "Certainly you may destroy them, Adar," he temporized, "but first let's learn as much from them about the enemy as we can."
The Sky Priest looked sharply at him, and a terrible intensity burned in his eyes. "By all means, Cap-i-taan Reddy! Study them well! Do whatever you must to destroy the makers of this abomination and the doers of these evil deeds! When you have done, then I will burn these loathsome pages and I won't rest until I've helped you bring that day to pass."