The instruments she heard were familiar; bows with tight strings and resonance chambers. “Laaukas,” mostly. Many Mi-Anaaka knew how to play them, and they were compact and portable. The tune was unfamiliar, though… if it could be called a tune. It had the jaunty, repetitive air reminiscent of “Amer-i-caan” songs she’d heard, but the players were obviously learning it as they went, while a familiar voice hummed the melody. Suddenly, the voice broke into song.
“Ooooh! Cat-monkeys got long tails on Zambo-anga!
“’Cause Zamboanga ain’t Zamboanga anymorrr!”
Lelaa recognized Silva’s deep voice, but realized Orrin Reddy was singing along, squinting at a piece of paper in his hand. The Imperial midshipman, Stewart Brassey, was trying to play a laauka.
“An’ the whales didn’t get ’em, ’cause the whales would be chikkin,
To face things I have seen here, that’s for sure!”
It was nonsense, but Lelaa chuckled in her throaty way. She’d tried to be strict with Silva that day, but didn’t think she’d succeeded. She couldn’t help it. She hated the big ridiculous brute. .. and adored him. He’d saved her life and avenged Simms, and done so many other things, but as Sandra said, he was depraved. Whatever else he’d done to get aboard Maaka-Kakja, he’d abandoned Paam Cross, a female who was devoted to him, for some reason. And even Lelaa occasionally speculated what exactly there was between him and Risa-Sab-At… But the song amused her. She didn’t know what a “chikkin” was, but “whales” were something like mountain fish… she thought.
Oh, we won’t go back to Subic anymore,
Oh, we won’t go back to Subic anymore!
Oh, we won’t go back to Subic, we drink seep instead of tubic!
Oh, we won’t go back to Subic anymore!
Orrin had harmonized quite nicely with Silva on that verse. Lelaa liked songs with harmony. She could see the growing musical throng much better than Orrin could see his page, and noticed Gilbert Yeager standing off to the side. He’d attempted some of those last words, and she was stunned to see tears streaking his face. She didn’t understand. The song sounded like others she’d heard hu-maans sing with mirth.
Oooh! The birdies ain’t real birdies in Maa-ni-la!
Instead of feathers-they have teeth and fur!
Some are green and blue, and they eat each other too!
… an’ I can’t make up nothin’ that rhymes with furrr!
Those in the crowd laughed and stamped their feet, but Gilbert was gone.
Oooh, we lived ten thousand years in old Chefoo,
The Japs got it, and then Caveetee too!
I wouldn’t give a fart for a piece of either part,
But I’ll make ’em rot in hell before I’m throooo!
Lelaa realized Colonel Shinya was beside her in the dark. “You are a ‘Jaap,’ as they say, yes?”
“Yes.”
“You had a war, on your world. Do Amer-i-caans really hate you that much?” She paused. “Does Silva?”
Shinya hesitated. “Some do, even here. Even now. There was… unpleasantness. I never witnessed anything like what Commander Okada saw, perpetrated by either side, but ‘my’ war with the Americans was different… earlier. I cannot say how things would have gone had the war continued as it was when I… left it, but it was ugly enough already. And there were rumors of things happening in China. If the tide truly has turned as Okada says, it’s possible things have become as ugly as they are here.” He sighed. “But I don’t think Silva hates me, not anymore.” Unconsciously, he blinked irony in the Lemurian way. “We’re on the same side now, are we not?”
“His song might leave some doubt, and he sings it to my People.” Lelaa shook her head. “I am ‘Amer-i-caan’ now, in the Na-vee clan, but I don’t hate Jaaps. I hope my people don’t come to.”
“American songs are almost meaningless,” he assured her. “This one more than most.”
Lelaa looked at Shinya. “Okada must stop the rogue destrer, or you may end up mistaken.”
CHAPTER 11
Southeast Coast of Africa
I t was blustery, wet, and very cold. Lieutenant Toryu Miyata stood forlornly on the soggy sand with his two companions, Aguri and Umito. Wrapped in damp fur coats, they were watching the Grik longboat struggle back through the heavy breakers they’d just barely-in Toryu’s view-survived. He’d longed to escape the Grik, and the mission he’d embarked upon had seemed a good opportunity at the time, but the journey so far had been a hellish experience. And it had only begun.
The “Cape of Storms” on this world had apparently earned its name for the same reason as the one “back home.” Not only was it so designated on the ancient, stolen charts, but the storms were even more intense and constant. The Grik didn’t believe any ship could round the cape, or even steer too close, and the world beyond was unknown to them. Toryu supposed that was one good thing. The only charts they’d captured intact from the long-dead British Indiamen showed only the coast of Africa and Madagascar. The Grik had been forced to earn their knowledge of other places.
Because of that, the transport that brought his little expedition had set them ashore far short of their destination. They’d have to trek overland across unknown and probably hostile country long before they could deliver General of the Sea Kurokawa’s note to the strangers of this land. The Grik had a few frontier outposts to the north, and the “others” apparently maintained their own to the southwest. Toryu would have to cross the “no-man’s-land” between them-and he hadn’t even escaped the Grik. There were six Uul warriors along, and a low-level Hij-probably a lieutenant or something-named Bashg. He was to command them, interpret General Esshk’s orders, and generally “lead” the expedition.
Ordinarily, Toryu believed he’d have killed Bashg and as many Uul as he could as soon as they arrived. He and his friends had discussed that very thing: kill their captors and flee to the mercy of the “others.” Toryu and Aguri each had a precious Arisaka rifle and fifty rounds of ammunition. Umito had a Grik crossbow that had been fitted to him. The problem was, Bashg and his troops weren’t “ordinary” Grik. They were some kind of “elite” Grik trained by Niwa and Halik before they left for Ceylon. Bashg was imperious and rude and probably not much of an “officer” to have been given this assignment, but his troops displayed an alarming level of awareness compared to other Uul Toryu had seen. They also carried guns.
The guns weren’t really that threatening, particularly under the circumstances. They were essentially simple Japanese matchlocks formed to fit Grik physiques. Easy to produce, they were the most foolproof firearms Kurokawa and the surviving Japanese engineers could-or would?-give the Grik. They weren’t terrible weapons, but they were useless in wet air. Toryu doubted they were even loaded. Their matches certainly weren’t lit.
No, the guns weren’t the issue. These Grik also carried swords, of course, and truly were superior warriors. Two Arisakas and a crossbow might not be fast enough. They also had a long way to go, through dangerous country. They’d need the Grik to defend them and carry their supplies-at least for a while.
“I can’t believe they made it back through the breakers,” Aguri said, referring to the longboat. Toryu couldn’t see it anymore, but Aguri was taller.
“A shame,” managed Umito, but he paid for his words with a racking cough that sounded deep and wrenching. Toryu looked at him with concern. The cough had begun during the wet voyage south, then west. They couldn’t stand being belowdecks on the Grik ship-the stench was simply too great-and they’d slept exposed on the cold, damp deck.
“Come,” snarled Bashg in his own tongue. The three of them had been chosen for the mission partly because of their ability to understand some Grik and speak some English, which Bashg could sometimes grasp. “Get things. We go!” Bashg wrapped his own fur coat more tightly around himself. “Sooner we go, sooner we done! Get back to warm!”