Matt stared at the berobed phalanx, and tried to figure out which was the High Chief. The High Sky Priest was simple enough to identify; he was dressed exactly like Adar: younger, skinnier, and not as tall, but with the same silvery gray fur, barely revealed by the closely held purple cape flecked with silver stars. Perhaps San-Kakja was one of the beings standing near him? Sotto voce inquiries of Adar and Keje revealed nothing, since San-Kakja had risen since their last visit, and the old High Chief had been childless then. An awkward dilemma.
Decisively, Matt unbuckled his sword and pistol belt and thrust it at Silva before striding forward and holding his right hand aloft, palm forward.
“I’m Captain Matthew Reddy, High Chief of Walker, Mahan, and other units of the United States Navy, as well as Tarakan Island. I come to you in peace and friendship, representing all the allied Homes united under the Banner of the Trees, against the vicious onslaught of our Ancient Enemy, the Grik. As supreme commander, by acclamation, of the alliance, I’ve been granted plenipotentiary powers, and would treat with the High Chief of this Home. Do I have permission to come aboard?”
Adar nodded approval at Captain Reddy’s words and interpreted what he said. For a brief, awkward moment they waited, but there was no response; then the short sky priest took a step forward as if preparing to address them. Before he could speak, however, he was jostled aside by an even smaller form that strode directly up to Captain Reddy. The Lemurian was robed as the others in the same yellow and black, but the black hem was magnificently embroidered with gold thread and sparkling, polished sequins of shell. A fringe of glittering golden cones chinked dully with every step. A matching sash, complete with cones, coiled around a wasp-thin waist, and a gold gorget, intricately chased and engraved, swayed from a ropelike chain. On its head, the Lemurian wore a magnificently engraved helmet, also of gold, reminiscent of the ancient Spartans except for the feathery yellow plume. Large hinged cheek guards and a rigid nosepiece obscured the face entirely except for a pair of brightly inquisitive but astonishing eyes. They were yellow, which was not uncommon for ’Cats, but they looked like ripe lemons sliced across their axes, and dark, almost black lines radiated outward from bottomless black pupils. A small hand rose up, palm outward, in an openhanded gesture.
“I am Saan-Kakja, High Chief of Maa-ni-la, and all the Fil-pin lands,” came a small muffled voice from within the helmet. “I greet you, Cap-i-taan Reddy, High Chief and supreme commander of the allied Homes.” With that, while Adar translated, another hand joined the first, and together they removed the helmet. Behind it was the fine-boned, dark-furred face of a Lemurian female of an age barely eligible to mate.
Matt was surprised. He’d suspected a youngster simply because of their host’s size. But even though he’d learned to accept that Lemurians made no distinction between the sexes regarding occupation-one of the seagoing members of the alliance, Humfra – Dar, had a female High Chief, after all-he’d never even considered the possibility something the size of the entire Philippines might be ruled by one. Stupid. Even in human history, there’d often been powerful women, sometimes supremely powerful. He hopn, because even though Saan-Kakja had never seen a human before in her life, young as she was, he detected no surprise, shock, distaste or… anything that might offend. Of course, she’d had that helmet to hide behind during her initial reaction, he consoled himself.
“Please do come aboard,” she continued. “I have heard a great deal about you and your amazing, gallant ship, and how you came from some incomprehensibly distant place to defend our people against unspeakable evil.”
“Thank you,” Matt replied gravely in her own tongue. That much he could manage.
She turned slightly and nodded respectfully to Adar first, then Keje-yet another departure from protocol, since Keje was, after all, another head of state. But while Adar’s status might have grown ambiguous-there’d never been a Sky Priest who, in effect, represented multiple Homes-it was certainly real, and perhaps even groundbreaking in importance. “High Sky Priest Adar, your reputation as a scholar is well remembered here, as is your knowledge of the pathways of this world and the next. I know of your oath to destroy the Grik forever, and I crave your counsel…” She paused, and it seemed she’d left something unsaid, but then she continued. “Keje-Fris-Ar, you have long been renowned as a master mariner. Now you are a great warrior. I am honored to be in your presence once more, though I do not expect you to remember our last meeting.” Her eyes flicked across Bradford, then lingered on Silva and Chack. Especially Chack. They rested on Matt once more. “Do come aboard, and welcome. I would prefer to celebrate your arrival in the traditional way, but the times we live in do not countenance ordinary pleasures, it seems. We have much to discuss and”-she blinked apology, while at the same time the posture of her ears conveyed intense frustration-“little time.”
The entire sky was a leaden, dreary gray, unusual for midmorning over Baalkpan Bay. It seemed to radiate no malicious intent to become truly stormy, but there’d definitely be rain and lots of it. (Brevet) Captain Benjamin Mallory stalked back and forth on the beach, his arm still in a sling, watching while the huge but horribly battered PBY flying boat slowly rolled, landing gear extended, back into the sea.
“He looks like a worried mama cat whose kittens are climbing a tree for the first time,” Jim Ellis said aside to Alan Letts. Both had come to observe the launching, and they’d escorted Sandra Tucker, who’d decided to join them at the last minute-probably to make sure Mallory didn’t strain any of his wounds. It was a good thing too. He clearly felt inhibited by her presence. Letts chuckled, and so did Sandra, although the nurse’s laugh seemed fragile, exhausted. Letts looked at her. She’d come straight from the hospital, where she’d been working quite late or quite early, training ever more nurses and corpsmen for the looming showdown, or tending personally to a hurt beyond her students’ abilities. Her long, sandy-brown hair was swept back in a girlish ponytail that belied her twenty-eight years and extreme professional competence. It accented her pretty face and slender neck, but it did make her look younger than she was. Younger and more vulnerable.
Alan Letts liked and admired her, as did everyone, human and Lemurian, but he always felt a little guilty when she was near. He was morally certain he’d married Karen Theimer because he loved her, and not, as some whispered, to snatch up one of the only “dames” known to exist. He knew he loved her, and they were happy togee starboard engine should be was just a tangle of mounts, hoses, and lines, covered with a bright green tarp.
“How’s she doing?” Mallory bellowed, and Ensign Palmer-formerly signalman second-poked his head out of the cockpit.
“There’s a few leaks…” he hedged.
“How bad?”
“Just a second, Tikker’s checking them now.” Moments later, a sable-colored ’Cat with a polished brass cartridge case thrust through a neat hole in his right ear appeared. Sandra put a hand over her mouth and giggled as he conferred with Palmer.
“Yeah,” Mallory said aside to her with a grin, “little booger doesn’t want anyone to forget his ‘noble wound.’ I wish I had a medal for him, but I guess that’ll do.” He shook his head. “I still can’t believe the two of them flew that plane back here after I passed out. Especially in the shape it was.”
“He’ll get a medal one of these days,” Ellis assured him, “and he’s already been made an ensign.” He laughed. “Of course, he’s not in the Army Air Corps. The Navy’ll get to claim the first commissioned Lemurian aviator!”
Palmer shouted at them: “She’s doing okay, mostly, but leaking pretty fast in a couple places. We’d better drag her out!”