Taylor Anderson - Maelstrom

“He is driven,” Adar conceded. “After what happened to Nerracca, he hates the Grik just as passionately as I, and if anything, I believe he hates the Jaapaan-ese even more.” He cocked his ears. “Tragic as Nerracca ’s loss certainly was, it is stunning how it has strengthened the alliance.”

“True, but he seems distracted as well.”

“There is tension,” Adar confessed. “He is reluctant to mate with their healer, although their attraction is plain to all. I believe it has to do with the scarcity of females available to the rest of his people.”

“Absurd.”

“Perhaps. But there is also the issue of his secondary commander of land forces, Lew-ten-aant Shin-yaa.”

“Shin-yaa is a ‘Jaap,’ I believe they call them, is he not?”

“Indeed. An enemy, yet they trust him; rely heavily upon him, in fact. Shin-yaa is of the same race, or clan, controlling Amagi, and he recognizes the evil she aids-represents-but he cannot believe all the beings aboard her have become evil as well. He is… conflicted, to say the least. It tortures him that his own people assist the Grik and did what they did to Nerracca. Yet, like us, the idea of fighting his own people tortures him just as much.”

“But it is not the same! Hu-maans are much more warlike than we; they are more like the Aryaalans and B’mbaadans in that respect… Oh.”

“Precisely. To them, belonging to the same species does not keep them from killing others of different clans, or races within that species. And among the Jaap clan, the ties that bind them together seem even closer than those that bind the Amer-i-caans. The Amer-i-caans have much freer will to decide for themselves what is right and what is not. Among the Jaap clan, that decision is taken by a leader and imposed upon all others, regardless of what they might personally think.”

“I see,” murmured Nakja-Mur. “Do you think Shin-yaa can be trusted? Will he aid his clan against n fashioned with the ears in mind. Some, like Chack, insisted on wearing the round “doughboy” helmets of the Americans and managed to do so-uncomfortably-by wearing them at a jaunty angle that allowed one ear to stick out to the side and the other to protrude inside the crown. It worked, after a fashion, and the American helmets certainly provided more protection in battle than anything else the ’Cats had ever put on their heads. But Courtney didn’t have even that excuse. He looked ridiculous and didn’t care, and that was part of his charm. Or maybe he did care, and did it anyway. He and Captain Reddy had once discussed how important amusement was to morale, and sometimes, just by being himself, Courtney Bradford was very good for morale. Like now.

As entertaining as the eccentric Australian could be, he was also profoundly valuable-besides his knowledge of oil-bearing strata. He could be highly annoying, and the word “eccentric” wasn’t really quite descriptive enough, but despite his amateur “naturalist” status, he was also the closest thing to a physical scientist they had. His specialty-if it could be said he had one-was comparative anatomy, and he’d provided many important insights into the flora and fauna they’d encountered. The Lemurians were always more than happy to tell them everything they could, but this information, of course, came from some of the very creatures he was intent on studying. In addition, he was the quintessential “Jack of all trades, master of none,” but in his case, that was often a real asset. True, he didn’t know everything about, well, anything, but he did know at least something about quite a lot, and that was more than anyone else could say.

Silva was darkly certain that when the captain found out he’d allowed Bradford to tag along, there’d be hell to pay, and with that realization came another: he cared. For Dennis’s entire life, particularly since he joined the Navy, he’d always lived for the moment and damn the consequences. He was acting chief of the Ordnance Division, now that Campeti was Walker ’s acting gunnery officer, but with his skill and experience he should have been one long ago. He just never cared before, and didn’t want the responsibility. Now everyone was having new responsibilities thrust upon them whether they wanted them or not, and most had risen to the challenge. His old boss, Lieutenant Garrett, would soon have a command of his own. Alan Letts, once an undermotivated supply officer, had risen to the position of Captain Reddy’s chief of staff. Bernie Sandison was still Walker ’s torpedo officer (not that she much needed one), but he was also in charge of developing “special weapons.” Sergeant Alden, formerly of the ill-fated USS Houston ’s Marine contingent, was now “general of the armies.” Chief Gray had been elevated to something else, still ill-defined. Maybe “super chief” described it best. Even the Mice had evolved beyond the simple firemen they still longed to be. He glanced at Bradford, who’d changed his appearance, perhaps, but remained essentially the same person. In all the ways that counted, Dennis suspected he himself may have changed more than anyone.

He hated the thought of letting the captain down, but felt a moral imperative to avenge the death of Tony Scott-someone he’d barely known before the Squall. He couldn’t shake a sense of protectiveness toward all those who remained. He continued to act like the same Dennis Silva everyone expected to see: careless, fearless, irreverent, happy-go-lucky, perhaps even a touch psychotic. Outwardly, except for some new scars and a luxuriant blond beard, he remained the same. But now he did care, and that was a big change indeed.

They’d seen plenty of larger piles: the stupid, domesticated “brontosarries” the Lemurians used as beasts of burden created much more mass, but the droppings of the strictly herbivorous sauropods more closely resembled titanic cow-flops. The object they were studying so intently was clearly a giant, compacted turd, manufactured by an equally giant carnivore. A “super lizard,” to be precise.

Bradford hated the term “super lizard,” and insisted the creatures were unquestionably allosaurs, relatively unchanged from specimens in the fossil record. Also, unlike most other “dinosaurs” they’d seen throughout what should have been the Dutch East Indies, super lizards were not stunted in size. If anything, they were bigger than their prehistoric cousins. Fortunately, there weren’t many of them, and they seemed highly territorial. When, rarely, one was killed, it was often quite a while before another took its place. They were ambush hunters that positioned themselves along game trails and the odd clearing. Bradford said they were built for speed, but they hunted lazy, Silva thought. That was probably how this one got Tony. Just snatched him up when he came ambling along the cut. Fresh anger surged within him, and he stood and brushed damp earth from his knee.

The voices of the work detail diminished as it slogged on toward the well, leaving them behind. Silva turned to a gap-toothed ’Cat with silver-streaked fur. He had no clan, and he was known simply as the Hunter. All ’Cats wore as little as they could get away with, but the Hunter wore nothing but a necklace and a quiver of large crossbow bolts. The massive crossbow he carried, and the super lizard claws clacking on the thong around his neck, seemed to establish his bona fides. “That not you friend,” the Hunter said simply, referring to the spoor. “See thick black hairs? They from… I think you call ‘rhino-pig’?”

“Rhino-pigs” were rhinoceros-size creatures, one of the few large mammals indigenous to this Borneo, and looked remarkably like massive razorbacks. They were extremely prolific and dangerous omnivores with thick, protective cases, and savage tusks protruding a foot or more from powerful jaws. They also sported a formidable horn on top of their heads. Regardless of the challenge, they were the Hunter’s principal prey due to their succulent, fat-marbled flesh. Evidently, in spite of their horn, they were also the preferred prey of super lizards.