He shook away those thoughts and tried to concentrate on the business at hand. This was a staff meeting, planned days before the strangers from the east arrived. They had much to discuss before Commodore Jenks and his officers entered for their first official audience. Adar had actually already met them. Instead of waiting for the strangers to come to him, as was traditional among the People when visitors called, he’d greeted them on the dock with the full courtesy and fanfare Matt told him they’d expect. Adar was nervous at first in the presence of those he had no doubt were descendants of the “ones who came before,” since so much Lemurian liturgy was founded on that ancient visit. But he’d been struck by how different they’d been from what he’d expected. Jenks, in particular, had been formal and polite, but also… condescending. Adar quickly shed his initial awe when he realized these representatives of the Empire of the New Britain Isles were mere men, after alclass="underline" other humans like those he’d come to know. Certainly not holy messengers. They no longer made him nervous, except for whatever… worldly significance their presence might imply. That added yet another dimension to his religious ponderings.
Adar was anxious to speak to their leader again, but this meeting was for high-level staff only. Even those residents of Baalkpan who’d begun returning after the battle were not allowed. They’d run before; they might again-this time carrying sensitive information. There were foreigners present, but only ones who’d proven themselves steadfast allies.
Saan-Kakja, High Chief of the Fil-pin Lands, was perched rigidly on an ornately embroidered cushion, attended by several of her closest advisors. She and her personal guard had arrived at the height of the land battle for Baalkpan and had helped turn the tide. Since then, more of her troops, artisans, laborers, and beasts of burden-not to mention precious materials-continued to arrive in an uninterrupted stream. Saan-Kakja herself was a spirited, darling creature. She was quite young for her office, but Adar had discovered she had a will of iron. She’d once been led astray by self-serving advisors and seemed determined that it never happen again. She had the most mesmerizing eyes Adar had ever seen: warm and inquisitive like yellow-gold stars, but woe was he they fell upon when they were touched with fire. Adar thanked the Heavens continuously for the alliance Captain Reddy had forged between them.
Safir Maraan, Queen Protector of B’mbaado, was striking as always, her jet-black fur and polished silver breastplate complementing her penetrating eyes. She was older than Saan-Kakja, more experienced, and far more self-assured, but she too was an “orphan queen,” and despite the utterly different societies they’d sprung from, she and Saan-Kakja had become fast friends.
Her betrothed, Chack-Sab-At, accompanied Safir. Once a simple, pacifistic wing runner on Salissa Home, the amber-eyed, brindled Chack was now a scarred and hardened veteran. Somehow, he’d managed to retain a measure of his irrepressible humor, but it had been tempered by a sharp, worldly wit. He’d seen so much of war already that his innocent youngling’s soul was gone forever. He was now a respected warrior, bosun’s mate for sunken Walker, and a captain of Marines.
General Muln-Rolak, onetime High Protector of Aryaal, also attended Safir. He was old and scarred from many battles-almost to the point of disfigurement. Many of the scars dated from a time when he’d battled Safir’s own father. He stood with her now as a trusted friend and colleague. Their lands had once been bitter enemies, but in this war, they fought together as inseparable allies and their relationship had become almost one of father and daughter. Together, at least until Saan-Kakja’s regiments were up to strength, they commanded the second-largest army in the Alliance. It was composed of warriors and refugees from both their enemy-occupied homelands on Java.
People of lesser rank stood for the steadfast Sularan regiments who’d remained to fight after the bulk of their own people, across the Makaassar Strait on Sa-leebs, fled in the face of the Grik horde.
Then there were the Amer-i-caans, of course.
Beside Captain Reddy, as always, stood Nurse Lieutenant Sandra Tucker, petite, sandy haired, and much shorter than the towering (by Lemurian standards) man she so clearly loved. Despite her size, she was a dynamo, and through her skill at administration and trauma surgery, a truly astonishing number of People literally owed her their lives. Adar had appointed her Minister of Medicine. With the other surviving nurses who’d come through the Squall-Karen Theimer (Letts), Pam Cross, and Kathy McCoy-she’d created, from scratch, a highly efficient and professional Hospital Corps.
Commander Alan Letts (Karen’s new husband) was still chief of staff, and due to his administrative abilities-he’d been Walker ’s supply officer-Adar had named him Minister of Industry. He’d undergone a transformation from his old Asiatic Fleet days, and Karen was probably responsible for changing the easygoing, arguably lazy, fair-skinned kid from a place called Idaho into one of the most industrious and indispensible logisticians in the Alliance.
Bradford, who emphatically claimed not to be an Amer-i-caan, was Minister of Science, and served as plenipotentiary at large.
Commander Perry Brister, Mahan ’s former engineering officer, was Minister of Defensive and Industrial Works. Lieutenant Commander Bernard Sandison, Walker ’s torpedo officer, was Minister of Ordnance. The big Marine, Pete Alden, was General of the Army and Marines, and Tamatsu Shinya was his second in command. Lieutenant Steve Riggs was Minister of Communications and Electrical Contrivances, and Brevet Major Ben Mallory was minister for their still nonexistent Air Corps. Ben, like Bernie, was still recovering from serious wounds they’d suffered in the battle.
Adar recognized that he’d bestowed lofty-sounding titles upon them, despite the fact they each had other jobs. It was also clear that, except for “Aahd-mah-raal” Keje-Fris-Ar being Assistant Chief of Naval Operations, and a few other People in charge of agriculture, labor, etc., most of the titles belonged to destroyermen. It didn’t matter. After the battle, they were so popular they could all have become kings, but they’d insisted he take the lead. No one would object. Besides, they knew best what they were doing. That being said, everyone except Matt, Sandra, and Pete were new to their “jobs,” including Adar, and though he’d never had any difficulty with public speaking before, he decided to let them go first, to set the tone.
He began to call on Matt, but briefly wondered what to call him. “Supreme Commander of All Combined Allied Forces” seemed much too stiff and unwieldy for everyday use. Matt had refused the rank of aahd-mah-raal for reasons of his own, but even though there were other aahd-mah-raals now, and many captains, there was no question who was in charge. Adar supposed it didn’t matter. There was only one Captain Matthew Reddy. That was how Adar addressed him now, summoning him to speak: “Cap-i-taan Reddy, if you please. Before we begin this discussion in earnest, what was your impression of our visitors?”
Matt appeared thoughtful for a moment. “My initial impression,” he began, “was much like Chief Gray’s. I thought they were a pack of arrogant jerks. In fact, the more we talked with them-with Jenks, anyway-the stronger that impression became. If I’d had time to think about it, I’m not sure I’d have let them send off a ship.”
“What would you have had us do?” Bradford retorted, sensing a reprimand for his compromise. “Hold them hostage? We were not in much of a position to do that. Or were you thinking of holding the girl against her will?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Courtney. Of course not. But the girl doesn’t want to go with them; she wants us to take her home. We might have used that as leverage to keep all their ships here. As it stands, they’ll know about us, and where we are, long before we’re ready to send an expedition to meet them.”