Another giggle escaped compressed lips when the image of a naked Tsalka, teeth smashed, claws ripped out, convulsing against his bonds-and shrieking in wild, animalistic terror and agony while dozens of famished hatchlings fed on his living body-floated behind Kurokawa’s eyes once more. He’d maintained a somber demeanor at the time, which cast a pall on his enjoyment of the proceedings. It wouldn’t do for his allies at the court of the Celestial Mother to recognize his deep pleasure. Even the Chooser would have been horrified. Instead, he’d been forced to assume a mask of regret that accompanied his sad insistence that Tsalka’s debt be paid.
First General Esshk had actually been shocked by Kurokawa’s attitude, as if he’d expected something resembling loyalty from him! How ridiculous! All along, Kurokawa had been nothing but a tool for Tsalka and Esshk, and they’d shown no loyalty to him! Did they think they were friends? They’d become his tools now, and the expenditure of Tsalka was a first, necessary step toward achieving his goals, for a change.
Perhaps the greatest irony of all was that though Ceylon was lost, the air raid had actually accomplished far more than Kurokawa ever dreamed. An enemy aircraft carrier was destroyed-and not every airship was lost after all. Some had survived, and a pair of bases had been established in India that more and more airships could make use of as they were completed. They now also had reasonably quick communications with the garrison there, under Halik and Niwa’s command. At least once a week, airships came and went bearing messages, fuel, weapons, and priceless reconnaissance intelligence. For the first time, Kurokawa knew what his fleet would face.
The American-Lemurian Alliance had been busy indeed! The quality of the enemy aircraft-and their carriers! — had come as a particular surprise, and he’d instructed that certain modifications be made to his capital ships accordingly. He’d long been a member of the conservative, battleship school, and though he’d come to respect the role of aircraft at sea, he still believed he could sweep the waves of the comparatively puny Allied fleet once he came to grips with it. Regardless of their ingenuity, the frail Allied aircraft couldn’t possibly threaten Hisashi Kurokawa ’s battleships! Besides, he had geniuses of his own, now.
He was in a very good mood, and he smiled with real benevolence while Japanese crewmen tossed lines to Japanese sailors and steam rushed skyward from the tall, thin funnel behind the pilothouse. Kurokawa had a dozen Grik guards that attended him at all times, even to this place, but by the grateful order of the Celestial Mother herself, the entire island of Zanzibar had been set aside as a Japanese preserve-a temporary homeland for the 350-odd remaining survivors of Amagi. Kurokawa considered the acquisition of his own “Regency” a major coup for a variety of reasons, and a sure sign that his grand scheme to insinuate himself irreplaceably within the upper echelons of Grik society was bearing fruit.
Incidentally, Kurokawa began to realize that by securing that boon, he’d also secured a new, burgeoning, and strikingly real loyalty from his own countrymen at last. It was fortuitous, because as his schemes moved forward, he needed that loyalty more desperately than ever. It rankled that he’d been forced to essentially bribe his men for what should have been his natural due, but amazingly, this small thing he’d done-for them, they thought-had worked wonders. He’d never been more respected, actually appreciated, before. It was maddening, but he would accept their loyalty on whatever terms now, as long as it was real. Living with and dealing with the Grik for so long had forced a measure of… pragmatism upon him, a realization that every so often, he must make unpleasant compromises, at least for the short term. In spite of himself, his survival had depended on his ability to become a long-term thinker, to plan far ahead, and it had not been easy.
Less than a third of his men were ever on Zanzibar at any given time. Most were employed in the Grik war industry, designing and overseeing the construction of the tools of battle. Those not critical to their posts were allowed “liberty” on a rotating basis and shipped from the hellish Grik factories and industries where they worked to this comparatively idyllic place. Though close to the equator, almost constant breezes kept the temperature refreshing, compared to the mainland jungles, and the air was fresh and clear of the stench of death and filth. It was a place where they could get away from their vile Grik “allies” for a time, enjoy the scenery that was little spoiled by the few previous Grik inhabitants-large prey could not sustain themselves there, even if imported-and try to remember what it meant to be Japanese. They worked here as well, even harder than they did for the Grik, but here they enjoyed the illusion that they were working for themselves.
Kurokawa enjoyed “vacationing” away from the Grik as well, but the most important thing, from his perspective, was that he finally had a base secure from Grik interference, where he and his countrymen could gather and discuss their own plans and work on Kurokawa’s own projects. He had secretly collected certain-he believed-trustworthy notables who had distinguished themselves through their technical efforts on his behalf. Men who finally seemed to understand that what reflected well on Kurokawa benefited them. Other pragmatists, at least, if not patriots. Men unswervingly hitched to his rising star. They would be his captains in the heady times to come. They were fully versed in those aspects of his scheme that had brought them this far, but no one knew its ultimate, audacious scope. Today, he would share with them, and as many of his department heads, trusted technicians, and upper-level advisors to the Grik who could reasonably get away, a further portion of his strategy. It was a thing that had been growing and maturing in his mind like a perfect flower for over a year, but it would never do to reveal it all. Not yet.
For now, he would tell them only what they needed to know to get him to the next level. Once there, it would be time to reveal at last that his ultimate goal was not merely to continue to rise as a respected figure at the Celestial Mother’s court, but to rule the entire Grik Empire-on behalf of Emperor Hirohito, of course. He and his loyal captains would rule the world! The other remnants of his own people-once treacherous, but benevolently forgiven-would bask in the radiance of his glory! They would reap the benefits of his achievement-and owe it all to him!
He smiled again. Today there was much to do and plan, and he had left his provisioning fleet across the channel at the premier Grik naval base to preside over a meeting he’d set several weeks before, time enough for all the men he needed to find reasons to attend. He could hardly wait. Soon would begin the final campaign to destroy the hated Americans, their Lemurian lackeys, and the Grik he hated most of all.
A young signals lieutenant met him on the dock with an honor guard. Kurokawa’s Grik protectors were gently but forcefully led aside and fed. They were used to that here, and made no complaints. The lieutenant led him past a large steam-generator building that provided power for their own, apparently modest repair facilities. Other generators and engines, beyond the view of unexpected guests, powered more ambitious enterprises. From a distance, their smoke resembled only a humid haze. They passed a cluster of long, thatched-roof barracks, supported on high pilings in the Lemurian way, and continued on to a slightly smaller but more traditionally constructed building. The honor guard was more than ceremonial, and was armed with some of the few Arisaka Type 38 6.5 mm rifles they’d managed to carry away when Amagi went down. In addition to countless colorful flying reptiles that fed on an even more numberless variety of insects resembling butterflies, there were some fairly small but surprisingly dangerous creatures on Zanzibar.