CHAPTER 7
Baalkpan
Alan Letts, redheaded,
with fair, peeling skin, stood up from behind Matt’s desk in the
“War Room” office of the Great Hall when Adar swept into the
chamber. Perry Brister and Steve Riggs also stood from their stools
and faced the High Chief and Sky Priest of Baalk- pan, and chairman
of the Grand Alliance. Despite his new, exalted status, Adar still
wore only the trappings of his previous occupation: a hooded purple
robe with silver stars embroidered across the shoulders. It was the
vestment of a Sky Priest of Salissa
Home, or Big Sal, as the Americans had
practically rechristened her. A Sky Priest was all Adar had ever
wanted to be, but like everyone, his American friends in
particular, he’d been forced to become much, much
more.
“Your Excellency!”
the three men chorused.
“This is certainly an
unexpected pleasure, sir,” Letts continued. “What can we do for you
today?”
“First, you may cease
calling me ‘Excellency,’ ” Adar grumbled, blinking frustration. “I
don’t feel particularly ‘excellent’ at anything these days.” He
stepped to a more traditional Lemurian cushion in a corner of the
room and collapsed tiredly upon it. “If you simply must call me
something official, I assure you ‘Mr. Chairman’ is sufficiently
lofty and undeserved to spoil my appetite, but it does not imply
that I have actually accomplished anything.”
“You’ve accomplished
a great deal, sir,” Riggs assured him. “A lot more than anyone else
could have, guaranteed.”
Adar waved his hand.
“Captain Reddy did most of the ‘accomplishing,’ I’m afraid. I am
merely a ’Cat wrangler.” He chuckled. “What a delightful term! I
have never seen one of these small cats that inspired your
diminutive of my people, but I gather from descriptions that, in
addition to a barely measurable level of intelligence, they are
extremely independent, maniacally self-centered, and virtually
incapable of concerted action. Not so?”
Letts, Riggs, and
Brister couldn’t help chuckling in reply. “I assure you, Mr.
Chairman, the diminutive was never meant as an insult, but you know
that. It had more to do with what your people looked like to us
than how they act.”
“Well, then,” Adar
said, “imagine how coincidental it seems to me to discover how like
your ‘cats’ my people actually are!”
“More trouble in the
Allied Council?” Brister asked.
Adar sighed and his
ears flicked back irritably. “Of course. What else? More and more
of the ‘runaways’ return all the time, now that it is ‘safe,’ and
they somehow manage to get themselves selected to the People’s
Assembly of Baalkpan regardless of their past behavior. They are
but an irritating minority for now, and have no real voice, but our
allies fear they may subvert Baalkpan’s commitment to the cause.”
He shook his head and blinked again in a series most of the humans
had learned represented reluctant acceptance. “The People do grow
weary of war and all the demands it makes upon them. When we fought
here, to defend our Home, the war was much easier for them to
understand. But now we are raising and equipping armies and navies
for expeditionary campaigns. You would think that would reassure
them, but all it does is make them feel that the war has become
distant enough for them to safely ignore it.”
Adar had learned
enough about human face moving to recognize the concern his words
brought, and he raised a placating hand. “Oh, don’t worry. I
apologize if I have alarmed you unduly. As I said, the elements
that believe thus are still few, but the longer it takes to defeat
the Grik, the more difficult that task becomes—not only militarily
but politically.” He sighed again. “That filthy Billingsley
creature could not have struck at a worse strategic time. He caused
us to divert Captain Reddy and Walker—two of our most precious assets—in an
entirely different direction. I do not begrudge the mission they
have undertaken. I still blame myself for its necessity. I also
believe it may be essential for our long-term success. I just can’t
help thinking, however, that it has delayed our offensive in the
West.”
“So,” Letts asked
carefully, “why exactly have you come here? Is there something
you’d have us do differently?”
Adar chuckled. “Of
course not! This little room is part of my residence after all, but
it is the one room that is secure from office- and favor-seekers
and petty, self-interested functionaries.”
“Like Laney used to
do,” Riggs said, rolling his eyes.
“Well, yes,” Adar
confirmed, “but he was not the only one, nor the worst. He sought
advancement, but he did contribute to the greater good in his own
way. He still does. He may even be happier on this trip with Major
Mallory.” There were chuckles. Riggs would certainly be happier
without Laney and Chief Electrician’s Mate Ronson Rodriguez feuding
over resources and personnel all the time. With Spanky gone, Riggs
had been feeling singularly picked on. “No, it is the others,” Adar
continued, actually showing his sharp white teeth in a grin, “that
have sent me scurrying here to hide among trusted
friends!”
When the relieved
laughter died down, Adar asked a serious question. “So, what is the
latest news? I assume Mr. Riggs has brought you the most recent
communications?”
“Yes, Mr. Chairman,”
Letts replied. “We were just going over the message forms. Do you
want east or west first?”
“I admit I am most
anxious to hear the latest from Captain Reddy,” Adar
replied.
“Very well. As you
know, Walker, Achilles, and their ‘prizes’ safely arrived at an
uncharted atoll. They’re completing repairs. Captain Reddy says he
has sufficient fuel to reach Respite; that’s the first Imperial
possession they’re heading for. We have the coordinates and he
intends to await the arrival of the squadron of tankers Saan-Kakja
has dispatched before pushing on into the heart of the Empire. That
squadron is making good progress, by the way, and should reach
Respite within a month of the Skipper. They’re taking a more
direct, northerly route, and should be able to expand the search
for Ajax, in case she stopped anywhere
along the way.” He frowned. “The Skipper hasn’t seen any sign of
her yet and assumes she’s still ahead of them. Anyway, the Y guns
are scaring off the mountain fish, and the big brutes haven’t been
much of a problem for the tankers. I wish we had something better
because I still worry about nighttime encounters and the crews have
to be able to see the devils before Y
guns can do any good.” He shrugged.
“Our communications
with Lieutenant Laumer on Talaud Island are still intermittent,
even though they’ve got a new transmitter up and running.” He shook
his head. “It’s got to be atmospheric interference from that damn
volcano they’re sitting on top of. Laumer’s still confident they
can get that old sub off the beach, but as much as I’d like to have
it, I almost wish Captain Reddy would order Laumer and his people
out of there.” He looked at Adar. “Maybe you should do it,” he
suggested hesitantly.
Adar shook his head.
“I will not second-guess Captain Reddy or Lieutenant Laumer. Mr.
Laumer is ‘on the spot,’ as you would say, and believes he can
accomplish his task. Captain Reddy must trust his judgment or he
would have ordered him to abandon the project. I too worry about
Mr. Laumer and his people. The smoking mountain on Talaud Island
has long been known to be irritable, but when the world grumbles,
not even Sky Priests can divine the reasons for its complaint.
Apparently Talaud is complaining most bitterly about something, but
there is no way to tell what it will do. It might return to sleep
as it has often done, or it might bellow its rage as the scrolls
record it has also done before. Mr. Laumer is there. He must
decide.”
He leaned forward.
“Now, tell me what Colonel Shinya has to report. How go things in
Maa-ni-la?”
“Swell,” Letts said.
“As you know, the first thing he did when he got there was turn
that goof ball Jap, Commander Okada, loose, and see to it he had
passage to Honshu—you know, Jaapan?”
“I still do not
understand why he wanted to go there,” Adar said. “He could have
been of much assistance had he chosen.”
“No telling,” Riggs
replied. “He did tell us quite a lot about the Grik and that damn
Kurokawa. A hell of a lot more than we would’ve known otherwise.
Shinya’s a Jap too, but he’s gotten to know us. He’s a friend. He
also spent time in the U.S. before the war, in California, so he
might be more prune picker than Jap nowadays, anyway.”
“I doubt that,”
Brister said. “But he’s a good guy, and he isn’t nuts. He knows
what this fight is about. Okada just doesn’t seem to get it. Shinya
said he even recruited some oddball ’Cats and started teaching them
a bunch of crazy samurai stuff!”
Letts sighed. “Not
much we can do about that, and according to Shinya, it’s probably
not a bad idea. The Fil-pin colonists on Honshu aren’t soldiers.
There are some pretty strange creatures there that can be really
dangerous. That’s where the me-naaks, or ‘meanies’ originally come
from, as I understand it, and there’s a lot worse stuff there too.
Manila has always had trouble getting folks to move there. They
actually need soldiers, and who knows? If a Grik probe or scout
ever penetrated that far . . .”
“Yeah,” agreed
Brister, “and besides, it gives us a place to ship the Jap
prisoners we ‘rescued’ from the Grik on Singapore. A couple of them
want to help us out, and that’s swell, but what were we going to do
with the other ones? I don’t think Okada’ll rebuild the Japanese
Empire with a handful of Japs and a few kooky ’Cats.”
“I’m sure you are
right,” Adar said. “I hope they may find happiness there. But what
else has our illustrious Colonel Shinya been up to?”
“Training
Saan-Kakja’s army, mostly. We left a few Marines to begin the
process before we went looking for the sub in the first place, and
judging by the quality of the troops Saan-Kakja has already sent,
they’ve done a pretty good job with the basics. Shinya’s been
training them in larger unit tactics so they’ll be more prepared to
step right into line as fully formed, independent regiments once
they get here. That’s what’s taken the most time in the past; they
show up with excellent basic infantry skills such as those we’ve
taught our own troops, but their officers and NCOs don’t have any
experience. In other words, Shinya’s trying to teach them all the
stuff we’ve had to learn the hard way.”
“What of the Fil-pin
industry? How does their shipbuilding proceed?” Adar asked
anxiously.
“It’s not up to our
level yet,” Alan Letts replied, “but I expect it will be pretty
soon. No offense, but the Fil-pin Lands had already outstripped
Baalkpan as an industrial trading center before the war even
started.”
“You certainly do not
offend me.” Adar chuckled. “Remember, I was but a lowly Sky Priest
when this war began. I had no notion or concern regarding the
relative industrial capacity of Baalkpan or Maa-ni-la. Any
disparity may have troubled the great Nakja-Mur, but my only
interest lies in what our combined capabilities might
accomplish.”
“Well, as I said,
their production of ships, weapons, and heavy equipment hasn’t
quite matched ours just yet, but their fundamental industrial base
and capacity is greater. Baalkpan had one large foundry when we
arrived. It was mostly devoted to casting huge anchors or ‘feet’
for your humongous floating homes, but we turned it to pouring
large cannons easily enough. We have upwards of half a dozen even
larger foundries now, some pouring iron, but Manila had that many
to start with. Once they hit their stride, I think we’ll be in
pretty good shape. They’ve already blown us away as far as leather
implements, canvas, grain production, even leather body armor are
concerned. They had a bigger labor pool to begin with, and when
everybody began fleeing there in the face of the Grik, that labor
pool grew even more.” Letts’s expression was philosophical. “We’ll
catch back up to some degree as people continue returning. In the
long term, Baalkpan has much greater potential than Manila. Borno
is a big island. Lots of space and raw
materials. There’s no reason why Baalkpan and Manila ever need to
become rivals, if any of your people are worried about
that.”
Adar waved his hand.
“That is the least of my worries, although I must admit the
possibility is a concern to some. As you know, I ultimately seek a
greater, more permanent union than our presently strong but
potentially fragile Grand Alliance represents.”
“I think he was
asking ‘How many ships have the Maa-ni-los built so far?’” Riggs
supplied, sotto voce.
“Oh! I’m sorry, Mr.
Chairman.” Letts shook his head. “I guess I’m a little preoccupied
today.”
“Quite understandable
under the circumstances,” Adar allowed. “Our people share far more
similarities than one might ever imagine just by . . . looking at
us. There are profound differences, of course, but our unity and
friendship feed upon a number of fundamental commonalities.” He
grinned. “Such as our devotion to mates and younglings, it would
appear. I have watched how the mid-age younglings you rescued from
the Talaud submarine behave, and that behavior is somewhat
consistent with that of our own young of like age. Your mate’s
youngling is due to arrive at any time, I understand, and I am most
anxious to observe the behavior of a human infant!”
“Trust me,” Riggs
jabbed, “the behavior of the human parents is far more
bizarre!”
“Say—” Letts grinned.
“Steve’s probably right. Anyway, Shinya reports that the Maa-ni-los
have only finished two steamers, but they’re close on a couple
more, and they have ten that’ll be in the water within a month. He
says the wood isn’t as good—they weren’t drying it like we were—but
they’ve set up kilns. Hopefully, that’ll work. Their hardwoods are
a little different than those around here too.”
“Maa-ni-lo-built
Homes and feluccas last just as long as those built here,” Adar
mused. “As in all things, ‘different’ may not mean ‘not as good.’
”
“Of course, Mr.
Chairman,” Letts replied. “I think he meant it wasn’t as good in
the sense that it wasn’t as ‘ready.’ Maa-ni-la was building two or
so Homes a year, and their hardwood supply has moved away from the
city. It takes them longer to cut it, move it to the construction
area, and lay it up for drying. That’s why they’re setting up
kilns. Aside from the hardwood we’d already laid up when we cleared
the jungle away from the city, the people here only used to build a
Home once every couple of years, so there was a lot more suitable
wood nearby. A Home takes at least ten times as much wood as one of
our new frigates. Don’t worry,” he said soothingly, “they’ll catch
up pretty quick, and probably surpass us in
shipbuilding.”
“How is our dear
Saan-Kakja holding out?” Adar asked. Saan-Kakja was a remarkable
High Chief in many ways. Like so many of the “youngling rulers” or
commanders this war had created or “brought of age,” Saan-Kakja had
“stepped up to the plate” with poise, resolve, and a singular
dedication to “the cause.” They’d been fortunate in her, and others
as well: Tassana-Ay-Aracca, Safir Maraan, Chack-Sab-At, Princess
Rebecca—arguably even Matthew Reddy himself. He was no “youngling”
at thirty-three, but he was awfully young for the responsibilities
heaped upon him. So was Pete Alden. He’d been just a sergeant in
USS Houston’s Marine contingent, and
now he was General of the Armies and Marines. Alan Letts himself
had been a lazy, freckled kid from Idaho, marking time as
Walker’s supply officer. Now he was
Adar’s and Captain Reddy’s chief of staff. It was like that for
most of the men and women who’d ridden Walker, Mahan, and S-19
through the Squall that brought them here.
Of them all, however,
Saan-Kakja was burdened with the greatest responsibility for her
age. While in Baalkpan, she’d passed her fourteenth season and, as
High Chief of all the Fil-pin Lands, she ruled over the largest
single territory claimed by any one High Chief. Even Adar didn’t
claim all of Borno. He ruled only the inhabited settlements
thereon, and then only until they were independent. Most of the
many islands of the Fil-pin Lands were populated to some degree or
other, and all were “daughters” of Ma-ni-la. Only her brother’s
settlement on southwestern Mindanao, Paga-Daan, had been close to
independence, and now that brother was dead—killed by Walter
Billingsley and the HNBC.
In addition to the
difficulties of overseeing a painful and somewhat resentful
industrial revolution in a land that was rapidly becoming the
“arsenal of freedom,” Saan-Kakja had to deal with an even larger
population of malcontents and antiwar “runaways.” The guilds were
more entrenched there, and she hadn’t even had the support of her
own Sky Priest, Meksnaak, at first. Her iron will had finally
co-opted Meksnaak and the council members she hadn’t fired, and
with Shinya’s help and the devotion of her army and the majority of
her people, she’d steamrolled the guilds. Adar—and most of the
chiefs of the allied Homes and cities—worried most about the
“runaway” faction. With Maa-ni-la firmly in the Alliance, they had
nowhere left to flee, and it is always remarkable how violent some
“pacifists” can become in order to maintain their
status.
Adar worried for
Saan-Kakja, with her mesmerizing golden eyes. He worried for Matt
and Walker. He worried about the fate
of Princess Rebecca, Sandra Tucker, and even Dennis Silva. He
feared for the safety of his own new realm and the exposed distance
of the 2nd Allied Expeditionary Force. He couldn’t help it. All
were beyond his help and all were people he cared about a great
deal.
He glanced through
the small shutter at the world beyond the War Room. The rain that
had come with the dawn was over, and as though the Heavens had
exhausted themselves early that day, the sky was suddenly clear and
bright.
“I am, of course,
well informed regarding those events that have transpired in
Baalkpan today,” he began. That was certainly true. He’d been at
the docks himself when his old Home, Big
Sal, finally rebuilt and completed as the allies’ first
“aircraft carrier,” or more appropriately, “seaplane tender,” got
underway and steamed slowly out of the bay under the command of his
oldest friend, Keje-Fris-Ar.
Watching that had
been a bittersweet experience. His old Home had risen from near
destruction to become the most powerful warship known to exist, but
she was no longer his Home. Baalkpan was his Home now; he’d made
that choice. But Salissa epitomized the
changes his society—his world—was undergoing at such inexorable
speed. No longer did she stand to sea under her lofty, mighty,
beautiful wings. Instead, she belched smoke, and two massive
engines turned a single giant screw propeller. She would never be
fast, like Walker, but she would always
be faster than she’d ever been, and in any direction.
Adar knew
Salissa’s conversion was the only way
she would ever survive this new kind of war. It was the only way
she could really contribute. Other High Chiefs had volunteered
their Homes as well: Tassana had offered Aracca, with the consent of all her people.
Geran-Eras’s Humfra-Dar was in the dry
dock, with work already begun. Still, it made him sad.
“But what news is
there from the AEF?” he asked. “I noticed the messenger from the
telegraph office seemed more heavily burdened than usual. Has there
been a major action?”
“No, sir,” Letts
replied. “If there had been, that would’ve been the first thing I
told you when you came in.” He shook his head. “No, it’s mostly
just a bunch of logistical stuff. Alden and Mr. Ellis are gearing
up to jump on that Grik force at Rangoon.” He stood and paced to a
map on the wall. “Mr. Ellis was inclined to bypass it at first, but
General Alden changed his mind. He thinks a bunch of the Grik that
abandoned Singapore might have wound up there by now. Some didn’t
break. We still don’t know what to make of that. We’ve got those
Grik ‘guards’ Rasik-Alcas had, and I wish we could understand them.
They seem to understand’Cat but can’t speak it. You ask me, I think
they’re too young. They act crazy to please, like dogs, but don’t
seem to really know what’s up.” He scratched his nose. “I sure wish
Lawrence was here.”
“As do we all,” Adar
agreed. “I sincerely doubt he speaks the same language, though. He
had no idea what the aboriginal—I think Mr. Silva called them
‘Injun Jungle Lizards’?—had said to him during their encounter.
Perhaps he would be better able to learn their language, or teach
them his, however.”
“Yeah. Anyway, it’s
starting to look like being on their own for a while kind of ‘wakes
them up’ a little, or something. Pete says that gives him the
willies.”
“Do you think they
might influence this Grik force at Raan-goon?”
Letts shook his head.
“Not really, and neither does Pete. Chances are, the Singapore Grik
will never even make it to Rangoon. Alden, and Mr. Ellis now too,
see the campaign more as a chance to test new tactics and equipment
before the bigger push later, than anything else. But face it, Mr.
Chairman, our ‘tame’ Grik aside, meeting Lawrence has forced us to
realize that the Grik probably aren’t all nuts. They may be born
nuts, and the Hij may do their best to keep their Uul that way, but
that doesn’t mean they just naturally have to stay that
way.”
Adar stroked his
whiskers in thought. “A most disturbing ...
speculation.”
“You said it,” agreed
Brister.
“I suppose that
leaves only Mr. Mallory’s expedition to discuss,” Adar
said.
Riggs looked at the
other men, then back at Adar. “Mallory’s little squadron has passed
through the Bali Strait and should reach Tjilatjap—’scuse me,
‘Chill-chaap,’ within a few days. They picked up another transport
and two hundred more troops and laborers at Aryaal.” He shook his
head. “That whole deal is going to be complicated as hell. I really
wish we didn’t have to spend the resources on it just
now.”
“I agree with you on
that,” Brister said, “but think of the payoff if he succeeds! I
wish I was with him. He’s going to need a good engineer, and time
isn’t on our side. The longer we wait, the more deterioration there
will be.”
“He’s got Mikey Monk,
Gilbert Yeager, and Jim’s dispatching Isak Rueben to help
out.”
Letts laughed. “Both
original Mice back in one place, working together!
Ha!”
“An effective
combination, surely, but who will ‘wrangle’ them?” Adar
asked.
“Well, they’re all
‘chiefs’ now, but Monk’s a lieutenant. He worked with Mr. Mallory
throughout the development of the Nancys. At least he knows
something about airplanes, and Ben Mallory likes him.”
“Yeah, but he’s
almost as screwy as the Mice, and all of them will be under the
command of a hot-pursuit jock who’s just been given the greatest
Christmas present of his life,” Riggs pointed out.
“No, I sent a message
to General Alden and he talked Captain Ellis into giving
Tolson to Russ Chapelle. Russ has
earned her anyway. He’ll take Tolson
down to Chill-chaap for two reasons: first, it’ll give the
expedition some real defensive firepower if they need it, and
second, Russ will assume overall command. Tolson’s current skipper will get one of the new
steam frigates when it arrives.”
“Russ Chaap-elle,”
Adar mused. “An interesting choice,” he continued delicately. “He
has always struck me as a most formidable man, but perhaps a little
. . . too much like Sil-vaa? In some ways.”
“He is like Silva in some ways,” Letts agreed. “But
Silva—if he’s alive—is like a lone marauding wolf that might take
on protecting a cub now and then. He’s loyal to the Skipper and
damn handy in a fight, but otherwise, his most predictable
personality trait is to ‘kill whatever worries you so you won’t
have anything to worry about.’ ” Letts shook his head. “Honestly,
regardless of the fate of the other hostages Billingsley took, I
expect Silva’s dead. I can’t imagine even Billingsley being crazy
enough to let somebody that dangerous live.”
There was silence in
the War Room for a moment while those present reflected on the
probable loss of a bold and valuable warrior, as well as what his
death might mean for the other hostages under Billingsley’s
control.
“Anyway,” Letts
continued, “Chapelle is sort of like Silva. He’s a wolf, but he can
lead a pack—or be part of one.” He glanced at Adar. “Sorry for all
the human euphemisms. What I mean is that he can be aggressive as
hell, but he can also be counted on to follow explicit orders and
lead others in carrying them out. He started out as a torpedoman,
so he’s got some engineering smarts, but he’s also been exec of two
square-riggers now, so we know he can sail, lead, and organize men
and ’Cats. With him riding herd on Ben Mallory, I’ll feel more
confident that the mission will proceed in an efficient, timely
fashion than if the ‘euphoric pursuit jock’ was running the
show.”
“Does the ‘euphoric
pursuit jock’ know all this yet?” Riggs asked.
“Sorta,” Letts
hedged. “He knows he’s in charge of recovering and/or preserving
the airplanes, and he’s already done a good job preparing for that.
He’s mixed up a quantity of what we hope will serve as high-octane
fuel with all the ethyl alcohol we could cook up in so short a
time. He says if we mix it with the gas we’re running in the Nancys
it ought to work; it’ll just be inefficient as hell.”
“And I still don’t
think it’ll stay mixed,” Brister
objected, continuing an apparent argument.
“Maybe not,” Letts
allowed with a sigh. “I’m not the guy to ask. There’s no way, under
the present circumstances, we can come up with
tetra-ethyl-lead—that’s the stuff Mallory and Bradford told me they
usually add to the gas. Anyway, we’ve got an airstrip started north
of the shipyard. If he and Russ decide to try to fly the things
out, we’ll have a place to land them. God knows who’ll fly them,
though. He’s got a few of our new pilots with him, but as I
understand it, learning to fly a P-40E is about as far beyond
flying a Nancy as brain surgery is beyond picking your nose.” There
was general laughter at the analogy, but Adar clearly didn’t quite
understand. Hopefully, he would one day.
“Personally,” Brister
said, “I’d rather they try to get the ship out, with the crated
planes on board.”
Letts nodded. “That’s
my hope too, and one of the main reasons Russ will be in charge.
Ben won’t give a hoot about the ship; he’ll just want the planes.
I’d rather have it all, and if there’s any way that can happen, I
bet the Mice and Mikey Monk will figure it out.”
“Captain Ellis said
the area the ship’s in, this . . . swamp, is a really spooky
place,” Riggs pointed out.
“Yeah, well, if it
was easy, we wouldn’t have to send as much to do the job.” Letts
looked at Adar. “I know you’ve been a little reluctant about this.
You think ‘we’ve got airplanes, why do we need these?’ All I can
tell you, until you see one fly, is that they’re even further out
of our Nancys’ league than Amagi was
out of Walker’s.”
With an exhausted
grunt, Adar stirred himself from the cushion and stood. “Oh, I
believe you. I just hope the gain will be worth the effort—and the
cost as well, I fear.” He sighed. “I have been hiding here long
enough, however, not to mention interfering with your meeting.” He
bowed to Alan Letts. “Please do convey my kindest regards to your
mate, Nurse Kaaren. I know nothing of human birthing customs, but
among our people it is expected that the male should be nearby, to
render support and protection to his mate during her time of
helplessness.” He blinked, and Alan Letts shifted
uncomfortably.
“Another similarity
our cultures share,” Riggs proclaimed. “It’s not like a fellow is
supposed to be in the room or anything,
but he ought to be there. That’s pretty much what we told him when
we showed up for this meeting.”
Letts cast a scathing
look. “Pam and Kathy said they’d send word when . . . you know, the
. . . water thing ...”
“I know you are
busy,” Adar said. “You have great responsibility over momentous
events, but the first human youngling born in Baalkpan is momentous
as well. The city stands still in anticipation! Perhaps you might
consider that, as well as the possibility that the war might manage
to muddle along without you for a short time.” He turned to the
others. “Mr. Riggs, Mr. Brister, good day.”