Iron Gray Sea: Destroyermen (52 page)

Toryu started to ask how that could be, when the car shuddered and began to move. After that, his questions about the city came in rapid fire.

This amazingly exotic capital city of the Republic of Real People, or Volksrepublik, as Becher called it, was named Aalek-saan-draa, and the mixture of architecture and cultures that created it began to make some sense to Toryu as Becher answered his questions, and he saw the evidence with his own eyes.

He finally knew,
knew
, that whatever had happened to his
Amagi
—and the Americans—in the Java Sea was not unique. Many peoples had found themselves in this place over the millennia. The southern cape of Afri-kaa formed a bottleneck of sorts, between the land and the not-so-distant ice of Antarctica. The storms that plagued the same passage on Toryu’s world were even more intense here, and the seas more mountainous. And it was
cold
, if not always on land, then forever at sea. In a way, it was only logical, he decided, that so many people, so many ships throughout the centuries, trying to round the bitter cape, perhaps even unaware of the change they’d endured, should wind up here. They would be exhausted, their ships almost destroyed, but where they would be lost upon some other shore, here they found welcome . . . and a home.

The oldest inhabitants were Lemurians, who’d wound up there after their ancient exodus to escape the Grik. These were later joined by Chinese explorers, Ptolemaic Egyptians, black Africans, and even Romans (from the tenth century!) who established what had become the republic. That didn’t add up. Toryu knew little of history, but there seemed to be a number of . . . different . . . histories represented here. Histories even his limited knowledge told him were not quite right.

He shook his head as his mind flailed in this whirlpool of new, contradictory information, and he wondered briefly why no such place existed elsewhere that he’d been. Then he bitterly remembered the Grik. Any lost explorers, traders, or even small fleets that arrived off
their
shores were only prey to be conquered and devoured. But why did the Americans and their Lemurian allies not have other . . . friends as well? Were their outposts too remote and scattered? Was there no choke point in their seas? Becher told him that the castaways most often came from the west, in “modern times.” Examples of those had been Boers, British, Dutch, and Portuguese. Did that mean the . . . force that took them was more prevalent in the Atlantic? Was it even the same? It was all so confusing! He suddenly felt strangely relieved to learn that
Amerika
’s arrival was the most recent, by far, so, though not unheard of, the phenomenon was rare.

The enmity of their old war suppressed, her German crew and mixed allied prisoners had been working together for thirty years to improve republic technology to a level similar to what Toryu knew of the Alliance. Becher didn’t mention aircraft or steamships, which they obviously had the technology to make, but as the car wound through the streets, drawing nearer to the sea, Toryu saw with his own eyes what looked like good artillery. He also inspected the small arms of the escort riding alongside. They were bolt action, probably large-bore single shots, evidenced by the lack of any floor plate in front of the triggerguard. Decent weapons, then. He wondered what else they had, but didn’t press. Despite what they’d already told him, they had no real reason to trust him yet. He’d admitted the rest of his people were in league with the Grik, after all.

“What is that?” he suddenly cried, pointing at a . . . person? Working alongside others of its kind in what increasingly resembled a seaport district. “I mean . . . those?” The creatures were as tall as humans, but with fur and tails—and their faces were more human than . . . Becher followed his gaze, and frowned.

“They are . . . how should I say . . . half-bloods, yes?”

“Half-bloods?”

“Crossbreeds, hybrids. Made long ago when only the Chinese and Mi-Anaaka—that is the name for the Lemurians, as you call them—lived in this place.”

Toryu shuddered in spite of himself.

Becher noticed. “You do not like that? Well, neither does anyone else. Interbreeding is strictly verboten—forbidden—in the republic. No one, not humans, not Mi-Anaaka, not even the half-bloods themselves are happy such things once occurred. They cannot blame themselves for what they are, and neither does anyone else—now. They are their own species and intent on remaining so. Such things no longer happen; it is the law, but . . . women have always been in short supply. Not often are they on the ships that come. We brought a few, and there were African women. Some others came, and there have always been a few, but never enough, even now.” Becher sighed. “Mi-Anaaka remain the most populous citizens by far.

“We and those who came before have built a good country here, a country to be proud of, but it has not been easy, as you can imagine! There are so many views and so many threats! This is a republic, as I have said, but there is an . . . authoritarian ruler whose word is absolute, and most often just. You must learn the history of this country, but, in short, there was war here for many generations between the humans, Mi-Anaaka, and the half-bloods. It took the Romans to end that—and tension still simmers! Add to that the Grik! Our society is, of necessity, integrated, but very disciplined. We have a tradition of welcoming new arrivals because of low population levels. You would think things would have equalized by now, but women do remain in short supply. This is a harsh land at times, and though we avoid major clashes with the Grik on the frontier, those clashes do occur. There is also the weather, and many predatory monsters encroach on our lands, perhaps driven by the Grik, that can’t be hunted to their source across the Grik frontiers! And there have been other violent encounters at this geographic bottleneck. Some of the occasional arrivals are NOT friendly.” He paused. “This is . . . a bad land for women. A bad
world
. And though we are not now at war, we must always remain prepared. With the news you bring, I hope we are prepared enough.” He stopped, peering southwest.

“Ah! There it is,” he said with some humor. “The War Palace!”

Toryu was still digesting what Becher had said, but when he looked toward the harbor, he was even more stunned. He’d seen the garish ways rickshaws and taxis were sometimes decorated, particularly when
Amagi
visited the Philippines once, before the war, but what had been done to SMS
Amerika
was beyond even that, and on a massive scale.

The ship’s elegant lines remained essentially the same as when she arrived, with her straight up-and-down bow and two tall, slender funnels. Toryu later learned the once-great luxury liner was 670 feet long, 74 feet wide, and displaced more than 22,000 tons. She boasted twin screws and two triple-expansion engines that once drove her through the sea at close to 20 knots, and was still fitted to carry 2,500 passengers in reasonable-to-palatial style. All that was likely still true, but the ship’s upper works were now decorated just at sweepingly as the buildings in the city. Her riveted hull was a riot of colors, painted with everything from what looked like eagles to dragons. Colorful awnings fluttered over her broad decks, and a truly wild variety of flags and banners streamed to leeward of her high, thin foremast.

“Can she still move?” Toryu wondered aloud, seeing black smoke wisping above the aft funnel.

“
Ja
, if she must,” Becher said with an awkward chuckle. “She is the War Palace, after all. The point is that she can move the kaiser and his staff to other places. We have several port cities, almost as large as this, up the southwest coast.” He paused. “Is it
practical
to move her?” He shrugged. “Steam is maintained to power her electrics and her pumps, and her engines are tested twice a year. But she has not been out of the water for over thirty years. There is no dry dock large enough to accommodate her. Whether it is
advisable
to move her is another thing. Her bottom plates have become thin, I think.”

The strange beasts pulling the car grumbled to a stop, and the party stepped out onto a dock and onto a long pier that seemed almost permanently attached to the ship. Doocy climbed down from his horse and joined them.

“The anchorage remains well protected,” he said, pointing at some low mountains to the southeast. “That’s why we keep her here.” There were other ships in the harbor too, sailing schooners mostly, but there were also what looked like iron monitors with low freeboards, tall funnels, and big guns snugged to the pier leading to the big ship. “Those are for harbor defense,” Doocy added, noting Toryu’s gaze. “They cannot survive in the heavy seas beyond—but they serve their function. The schooners trade with our other ports and other places as well, but no sailing ship can hope to round the cape from the east.”

“Even if they could, they would find nothing but Grik along the eastern shore,” Toryu warned.

“Aye. But perhaps there are others beyond?” Doocy pressed, and Toryu wondered what all he may have said while he was delirious, if Doocy already knew.

“There are,” he confirmed simply as they strode along the pier. He’d already determined to be completely honest with these people. He had no more reason to trust them than they did him—yet—but they’d saved him and they weren’t Grik. That’s all that really mattered for now.

They came at last to
Amerika
’s garish side and were met by more Romanesque guards, who saluted his companions in the modern way. He didn’t know what he’d expected—a fist to the breastplate? Maybe German traditions prevailed aboard the ship? He was led inside, down several ornate corridors, up a grand staircase, and finally into what had to have once been the first-class dining salon. It was a very large compartment, and, unlike the exterior of the ship, its passenger-era elegance had not been tampered with—with the exception of a raised “throne,” for lack of a better term, built of matching woods and adorned with similar carvings to those decorating the entire chamber. Upon the throne sat a Lemurian, a Mi-Anaaka, dressed in silklike robes of embroidered blue that matched the curtains and valances over the windows, but of a higher, more ornate quality.

Beside the throne stood a tall, thin man of at least eighty, Toryu guessed, wearing a black-blue coat with twin rows of shiny buttons. He wore a wide, white, waxed mustache, but the only hair on his weathered scalp was a thin white wisp. A dark hat similar to Becher’s was clutched against his side by an arm.

Toryu’s companions saluted, and Toryu saluted and jerked a bow. As fascinating as he found the pair, however, his eyes immediately swept to the carefully painted map that dominated the entire wall behind the throne. The detail was astonishing in certain places, almost as if he were viewing the world from the distant sky above. The borders of the republic were clearly marked, encompassing all of southern Africa behind a diagonal frontier that extended some distance up the west coast. Beyond that line, the detail was much less defined, but the coastlines bordering the Atlantic Ocean had been rendered with confidence, even if they didn’t quite match his own memory. Somehow he knew that confidence must have been a result of exploration, because all the coasts east of the cape, coasts
he
knew, were less exact.

“Ahh! You admire our atlas, eh?” asked the old man in a surprisingly firm, lightly accented English. Toryu was startled for an instant, but the man had apparently once commanded a passenger liner, after all. “We wandered the Atlantic and charted some of the . . . ah . . . differences, before we came to this place,” he said. “That was quite an adventurous time,” he reflected with a frown. “And there are some . . . interesting, and often unpleasant, places beyond our little refuge! Perhaps you can add to our knowledge of points east?” He paused, glancing at the Lemurian. “Excuse me. May I present His Most Excellent Highness, the Emperor Nig-Taak. You may call him Kaiser, Cae-saar, Tszaar—whatever. He does not mind.” He smiled toothlessly. “I am Kapitan Adlar Von Melhausen, commander of this ship and keeper of the War Palace, by the kaiser’s grace. You have already met General Marcus Kim and Inquisitor Choon, as well as your rescuers, Misters Lange and Meek!”

Toryu bowed again. “I am honored, sir. I am Lieutenant Toryu Miyata, formerly Junior Navigating Officer of His Imperial Japanese Majesty’s Ship
Amagi
. Please let me express my appreciation for my rescue and the hospitality that has been shown me.”

“You are welcome, of course,” said the kaiser in a soft, strangely accented voice, speaking for the first time. “As Mr. Lange was instructed to inform you, many people have found refuge with us in the past.” He waved a hand. “It is an unsympathetic world beyond our land. It can be harsh even here.” He peered closely at Miyata with intense, almost purple-brown eyes. “I understand you bring word that further . . . unpleasantness threatens to descend upon us.”

“Yes, your . . .” he paused. “Yes, Your Majesty. I was
ordered
to come to you with an offer of a sort of alliance with the, ah, Ghaarrichk’k, as they call themselves, against other people in the east, similar to those who abide here. People both human and Mi-Anaaka, who threaten the Grik for the first time in their history. I stress again that I was commanded to do this, though, in honesty, I cannot recommend it, and I humbly ask you for asylum.”

Nig-Taak leaned back on his throne. “Indeed? Well, fear not. You shall have asylum. But what do the Grik think they can do to us if we do not accept their offer to join their war against others of our kind?”