Taylor Anderson - Crusade

Most of the survivors weren’t met by anyone. They just wandered around in small, confused groups as though in a daze. Most were females or younglings who’d lost everything they ever knew. They’d suffered the trauma of leaving their homes and had nearly been killed at sea. Many of their loved ones were dead. Now they were cast on the shores of an unknown, alien land. Fortunately, someone in a position of authority had their wits about them, and squads of way. At the urging of officers, the crowd began to disperse and return to their now even more insistent chores. When a lane was cleared, the wounded were carried ashore. There were quite a few.

Matt watched from the port bridgewing while Sandra supervised below. Beside her still was Queen Maraan, giving support and encouragement to the injured-no matter where they were from. Matt’s admiration for the Orphan Queen had grown even greater than before. He knew she was a strong and respected leader to the people of B’mbaado, but she’d also shown herself to be wise and compassionate to her former Aryaalan enemies and strangers as well. He was certain she’d be a major unifying figure and a force to be reckoned with in the events that were to come. Beside him stood Chack, watching as well. The young Lemurian was tired but surprisingly alert after spending virtually the entire night in the crow’s nest. Matt nodded toward the queen.

“Go give them a hand if you want,” he said with a small smile. “Or you can hit the rack. It’s your choice.”

“If it makes no difference to you, Cap-i-taan, I will help the ladies.” He grinned.

“That’s fine, but be back aboard by the first watch. We’ve got a hell of a mess and the Chief’s going to need your help. Try to get some sleep between now and then. It’s going to be a busy night.”

“Aye, aye, Cap-i-taan.” Chack saluted him and bailed down the ladder. Matt shook his head. Very carefully, he tried to stretch. Not long before they opened Baalkpan Bay, he’d finally convinced Sandra to remove the rigid strapping that held his arm immobilized. He felt no pain at all from his ribs and the wound through his shoulder had healed remarkably well. That seemed to be the case with every patient treated with the infection-fighting goo. Sandra knew where it came from now-fermented polta fruit that was further processed in some seemingly mystical way-but she still didn’t know what made it work and she yearned for a microscope to study it with. Matt didn’t care what the stuff was so long as it worked and he was eager to get his considerably atrophied arm back in service. He stretched a little farther, tensing the muscles, and tried to raise the arm from his side. Salvos of pain shot in all directions, and with a wince he let the arm drop. The pain lingered, throbbing with heat, but as it began to subside, he tried again.

“Ahh!”

Deciding to delay his therapy a little longer, he looked back down at the dock. A procession of Guardsmen dressed in the colors of Nakja-Mur’s clan had arrived and Nakja-Mur himself was ascending the gangway with Alan Letts and Jim Ellis. Despite the mess and the chaos on deck, Chief Gray managed to assemble a side party to receive them and the sound of his bosun’s pipe twittered from below. A few moments later, the two men and the rotund Lemurian leader were admitted to the bridge. Out in the open air, salutes were exchanged and Jim and Alan extended their hands in heartfelt relief. To Matt’s surprise, Nakja-Mur enveloped him in a crushing embrace.

“Ah!” Matt said again, clenching his eyes shut.

“I am so glad you and your ship did not die!” the High Chief exclaimed in much improved English. He was oblivious to the pain he’d accidentally caused.

“Me too,” Matt agreed, once he could trust his voice. “ Nerracca wasn’t so lucky.”

Nakja-Mur nodded grimly. “A terrible thing. I am deeply grieved and angered by its loss. As I am for Revenge.” Matt remembered that almost the entire crew of Revenge had come from Baalkpan.

“ Revenge died wchine, the damn Japs got my spice locker! The last black pepper in the whole wide world’s just… gone! Sneakiest stunt they’ve pulled since Pearl Harbor!” Lanier’s tone began to return to normal as he seethed. “Bastards!”

Tabby was surprised by the cook’s priorities, but Isak and Gilbert both nodded solemnly. “It’s a hell of a thing,” Isak agreed. “How’s your gut feelin’, Earl?” Lanier glared up at him.

“None of your goddamn business, snipe!” He straightened up on the stool as best he could and pulled his shirt closed over his grimy bandage. “Now you’ve stolen the best sammiches I had left, why don’t you quit goofin’ off and get back to work! I can’t fix the whole ship by myself!”

They crossed the deck and ducked under the bridge beside the radio shack. Clancy was inside with the hatch open. His earphones were on his head and he nodded as they passed. Who knew what he was listening for. Going through the hatchway that led onto the foredeck, they emerged into sunlight again. Finally they’d found a place that hadn’t been damaged the night before-beyond a few dents and scratches from shell fragments-and so, for now at least, it was probably the quietest place on the ship. They crawled up under the splinter shield of the number one gun and stretched out in the sparse shade beneath it.

“Laan-yeer is a strange man,” Tabby observed at length. “He think whole ship-just so he have galley.”

“Yeah,” Isak agreed from beneath his right arm, which rested across his eyes. “But we’re sort of the same way, I guess. Nothin’ really matters except our boilers. Spanky has it tough. He has to worry about the boilers and the engines. Other stuff too. Chief Gray’s like that with the topsides. But that’s just the way it is. Everybody has a particular part of the ship that it’s their job to take care of. Nobody could do it all.”

“Except the cap-i-taan,” Tabby said thoughtfully. “He have to worry about everything. Not just all ship, but everything.”

They lay quietly for a moment, listening to the racket from aft.

“Yeah,” Yager breathed at last. “I sure wouldn’t want his job.”