Distant Thunders_ Destroyermen Part 3

As always, Matt was happy to be back on the water. He sat comfortably in the stern sheets of Scott's launch with Sandra Tucker snuggled tight against him, companionably quiet, ostensibly shielding herself from the occasional packets of spray with his larger form. Her mere proximity seemed sufficient to infuse him with a sense of well-being and optimism that was sometimes so elusive when he was alone with his thoughts. The launch moved through the light chop and the engine burbled contentedly while Matt gazed about the bay, memories of the battle still fresh in his mind. For once, the company and the quality of the day eased the pain those memories brought. His eyes lingered a moment on the two Imperial frigates moored near the fishing wharfs and he felt a twinge.

The Imperial liberty parties had generally behaved themselves, but there had been some incidents. Matt often met with Commodore Jenks, but their discussions were always short and to the point and Jenks invariably asked the same questions: "How much longer must we wait?" and "What progress have you made toward outfitting an expedition to return the princess to her home?" Matt's answers were always the same as well: "Not much longer," and "Quite a bit." The answers were lame and he knew Jenks knew it too. Sometimes Matt got the impression Jenks didn't expect expect a different answer and he asked only so they'd have something to argue about. He was a weird duck and Matt couldn't figure him out. He chased Jenks out of his thoughts and concentrated on enjoying himself. a different answer and he asked only so they'd have something to argue about. He was a weird duck and Matt couldn't figure him out. He chased Jenks out of his thoughts and concentrated on enjoying himself.

Sandra was pleased on a variety of levels. She was glad she and Matt no longer had to hide their feelings. She remained convinced it had been the right thing to do, but their ultimately futile attempt to conceal their attraction had added even more stress to their situation. Now, even though their public courtship remained strictly correct, the feel of his large hand un.o.btrusively enfolding hers seemed comforting and natural. It was amazing how restorative such simple, innocent pleasures could be. The day had a lot to do with her mood as well-their situation always seemed less grim when the sky didn't brood-but she was also pleased with the progress one of her patients was making.

Norman Kutas, quartermaster's mate, was the c.o.xswain today. After the battle, she wouldn't have given odds he'd ever even see again, much less handle a boat. He'd taken a faceful of gla.s.s fragments on Walker Walker's bridge, and though she'd worked extra hard to get them all out, the damage had frightened her. But Norm was tough and his eyes were were still intact. Norman would be scarred for life, and those scars were still pink and angry, but he could see. It bothered her that she hadn't been able to save Silva's eye, but in his case there hadn't been anything left to save. At least his empty socket was healing well. Once again she'd been amazed by the healing powers of the Lemurian polta paste.

Courtney Bradford, Jim Ellis, Spanky, and the Bosun were in the boat as well, but they seemed equally charmed by the pleasant day. Either they just weren't inclined to speak, or they were allowing Sandra to treat her most important patient for a while in the best way she could at present. By mutual consent, apparently, all the men knew that a day on the water with his girl was a dose their skipper needed.

Inevitably, however, someone had to break the silence. They were in the boat for another reason too, after all. Just as inevitably, that person was Courtney Bradford.

"I say!" he practically shouted over the noise of the engine, "the military equipment is all well and good, but have they managed to salvage anything interesting interesting at all?" he asked. He'd turned to face Matt and had to hold his ridiculous hat on his head with both hands. at all?" he asked. He'd turned to face Matt and had to hold his ridiculous hat on his head with both hands.

Matt shrugged. "Not sure what you mean by 'interesting,' Courtney, but they haven't gotten far into the hull yet. No telling what's in there. We'll see." Bradford turned back to face their destination. Not far away now, the huge paG.o.dalike structures of four Homes protruded from the sea, as if the ma.s.sive vessels had sunk there in a square. The tripod masts were bare, and ma.s.sive booms lifted objects seemingly from beneath the sea between them. Matt knew the Homes were were sunk-in a sense-having flooded themselves down to within thirty or forty feet of their bulwarks. As they drew closer, they saw there was still more freeboard than Matt's old destroyer ever had when fully buoyant. Courtney's question had ruined the moment, but not in an entirely adverse way. They were all anxious to see what had been revealed within the cofferdam formed by the Homes. At last, they'd see what was left of sunk-in a sense-having flooded themselves down to within thirty or forty feet of their bulwarks. As they drew closer, they saw there was still more freeboard than Matt's old destroyer ever had when fully buoyant. Courtney's question had ruined the moment, but not in an entirely adverse way. They were all anxious to see what had been revealed within the cofferdam formed by the Homes. At last, they'd see what was left of Amagi Amagi.

Kutas throttled back and the launch gently b.u.mped Aracca Aracca's side. Cargo netting of a sort hung down from above and they carefully exited the boat and climbed to the deck. Ta.s.sana, High Chief of Aracca Aracca Home, greeted them with a formal side party and full honors as they'd evolved among the Lemurians that were technically independent of Navy regulations. Her short, silken, gray-black fur glowed with the l.u.s.ter of healthy youth, and around her neck hung the green-tinted copper torque of her office. Her father had been High Chief of Home, greeted them with a formal side party and full honors as they'd evolved among the Lemurians that were technically independent of Navy regulations. Her short, silken, gray-black fur glowed with the l.u.s.ter of healthy youth, and around her neck hung the green-tinted copper torque of her office. Her father had been High Chief of Nerracca Nerracca , and when that Home was brutally destroyed by , and when that Home was brutally destroyed by Amagi Amagi, she became a ward of her grandfather, the High Chief of Aracca Aracca. She was also his only remaining heir. When he died in the Battle of Baalkpan, she was elevated-at the tender age of twelve-to take his place. Lemurians matured more quickly than humans, but she was still considered a youngling even by her own people. She'd been through an awful lot and was clearly aware she had much to live up to, but Matt suspected she'd do all right. Her father's blood ran in her veins and she had a spine of steel. She also had a lot of help. Keje had practically adopted her, and a better tutor in seamanship and command didn't exist. Already, Keje loved the tragic child as his own, and Ta.s.sana adored him as well. In fact, she had quite a serious case of hero worship for just about everyone present, since they'd all been instrumental in avenging the death of her kin.

As always when he stepped aboard one of the enormous seagoing cities of the Lemurians, an awesome sight greeted Matt. The main deck, with the polta fruit gardens lining the bulwark, was normally a hundred feet above the sea, and three huge paG.o.dalike "apartments" towered above it like skysc.r.a.pers. The ma.s.sive tripods that supported the great sails or "wings" soared another two hundred and fifty feet above the deck. Larger than the new Ess.e.x Ess.e.x-cla.s.s aircraft carriers Matt had glimpsed under construction so long ago, Aracca Aracca was double-ended, flat-bottomed, and built of diagonally plank-laminated wood that was six feet thick in places. He was always impressed by the incredibly tough, sophisticated design that ensured that she and others like her would last for centuries upon this world's more hostile seas. Looking at was double-ended, flat-bottomed, and built of diagonally plank-laminated wood that was six feet thick in places. He was always impressed by the incredibly tough, sophisticated design that ensured that she and others like her would last for centuries upon this world's more hostile seas. Looking at Aracca Aracca, he couldn't imagine any natural force overcoming her. He vividly remembered how vulnerable her daughter Home, Nerracca Nerracca , had been to ten-inch naval rifles, however. , had been to ten-inch naval rifles, however.

After the ceremonial greeting, the youngling High Chief embraced Matt. He knew she felt great affection for him and he certainly returned it, but hers always made him feel a little awkward. He couldn't convince himself he deserved it. Ta.s.sana hugged Sandra next, then Spanky and Courtney. Kutas had stayed with the boat.

"Good morning, my dear!" Courtney said, pecking the High Chief's furry cheek. "We have come to view your progress firsthand! Judging by the increasing quant.i.ties of sc.r.a.p arriving at the shipyard, you must be proceeding beyond our dreams!"

"It goes well," Ta.s.sana admitted with a touch of pride. She had the support and a.s.sistance of the vastly more experienced High Chiefs of the other Homes, but she was essentially in charge of the project.

"Anybody hurt today?" Sandra asked solicitously.

"A few, not serious. Torch burns, most. The new 'a . . . aa-set-aaleen' does not, ah, reg . . . reg-ulate the same as old, and of course we no have gay-ges for new torches either."

"It takes a little trial and error, I'm afraid," Courtney commiserated. Raw materials had been their very first priority, so fulfilling their need for more acetylene had dominated all other concerns for a while. The first large steam-powered generator was devoted entirely to the new furnace for cooking limestone, and the stuff was coming in from everywhere. Great, billowing white clouds arose from the crushing grounds near the shipyard, and workers emerged from a day's labor resembling long-tailed spooks. A still for the acetone was much easier to manage, but just as hard to feed. The volatile liquid resulting from the process also tended to evaporate as quickly as it was made, negating tremendous labor, so the quality control required for the combination and compression of the gas was a little haphazard. Courtney had taken personal charge of the project, with Letts's logistical a.s.sistance, so he felt a little responsible for each injury sustained.

"The burns not serious," Ta.s.sana thoughtfully a.s.sured him.

"I'm glad to hear it," Matt said, a little impatient to see the work. "Mind if we take a look?"

"'Course not." Ta.s.sana led them up a long stair from the catwalk above the polta garden to the amidships battlement platform above. They strode across it to starboard and peered down over the rail. The view they beheld was amazing and terrible, like something from Dante's Inferno Inferno. The water level within the cofferdam was considerably lower than that outside, and pumps heaved great geysers into the bay. The main portion of Amagi Amagi had actually settled atop her own amputated bow, and the scene of tangled, twisted wreckage and destruction was horrifying in a visceral way. The once mighty ship lay exposed down below her main deck and was still quite recognizable, but great arcs of molten steel jetted away from dozens of torches, spewing into the sea and causing a haze of steam to linger in the basin. Heavy booms lifted rusty, unrecognizable chunks, and even small structures. They heaved them across the expansive decks of the Homes and placed them on barges alongside. had actually settled atop her own amputated bow, and the scene of tangled, twisted wreckage and destruction was horrifying in a visceral way. The once mighty ship lay exposed down below her main deck and was still quite recognizable, but great arcs of molten steel jetted away from dozens of torches, spewing into the sea and causing a haze of steam to linger in the basin. Heavy booms lifted rusty, unrecognizable chunks, and even small structures. They heaved them across the expansive decks of the Homes and placed them on barges alongside.

"G.o.dd.a.m.n," muttered Spanky around his perpetual wad of yellowish Lemurian tobacco leaves. " 'Scuse me ladies, but . . . G.o.dd.a.m.n. Looks like Mare Island down there. Upside down or inside out-whatever-but d.a.m.ned impressive." He looked at Ta.s.sana, the usual fond expression he bestowed upon her mingled with respect. "I'm impressed," he repeated. "Keje said you could do it, that I should worry 'bout other stuff, but you know, I admit I was a little skeptical. I had a chief when I was a kid who helped cofferdam the Maine Maine, to refloat her, and he told me about it. That was a h.e.l.l of a job-but this!" He gestured around. "The Maine Maine was a rowboat compared to was a rowboat compared to Amagi Amagi."

"You proud?" Ta.s.sana asked eagerly.

"You betcha. You're going to get a lot of leakage, and I'm not sure how you'll manage to get her bottom up, but it looks great so far."

"There already leakage," Ta.s.sana admitted, "but pumps stay ahead. Also, when we get to bottom, we sink holes to pump with you hoses. We get bottom."

Spanky shook his head. "I bet you will."

Gray was watching the workers. Now that they weren't on a moving boat, the day had turned hot, and with all the steam . . . "Poor devils down there must be boilin'," he said.

"It . . . uncomfortable," Ta.s.sana agreed, "but I go down much . . . The workers . . . cheerful, yes? They cheerful knowing steel they bring up will kill Grik." She grinned. "Some would like to bring up whole ship."

"That might make salvage more convenient," Matt said, "having her closer to the shipyard. But it would take years to fix her. She's torn in half, and that doesn't even count all the damage she took before she got here. And everything on her is just so d.a.m.n big! We still don't even have cranes remotely big enough to lift her guns."

"Prob'ly have to cut 'em up," Spanky lamented.

Matt shook his head. "I'd rather have her steel now than maybe have her her a few years from now." He didn't add that they'd need some of that steel to restore his own ship-if it could be done-but Sandra heard it in his voice. a few years from now." He didn't add that they'd need some of that steel to restore his own ship-if it could be done-but Sandra heard it in his voice.

They lapsed into silence for a while, just staring at the monumental undertaking below. There must have been five hundred 'Cat workers on the wreck, cutting, unbolting, swinging heavy sledges, and dragging loose objects to convenient locations for the booms to reach. Their old nemesis resembled nothing as much as a murdered beetle on an ant mound being dismantled, ever so slowly, by the proud but remorseless mandibles of its killers.

Matt shook the thought away. Any sailor hated the breaking yard, but he would not not attach any sentimentality to that . . . monstrosity that had tormented his dreams and threatened the existence of everything he loved on this world for over a year. He knew attach any sentimentality to that . . . monstrosity that had tormented his dreams and threatened the existence of everything he loved on this world for over a year. He knew Amagi Amagi herself was not to blame; Captain Kurokawa and the Grik had wielded the weapon she'd been. Still, she'd embodied the threat they posed, and he enjoyed the irony that he and his people would now use her against her former masters. She'd been a scourge, but now she was a precious gift. She wasn't given willingly or received without great cost, but her corpse would provide the bones to which they could attach the sinews of modern war. She'd been the ultimate weapon of the Grik and the j.a.panese on this world. Now she would help destroy them. herself was not to blame; Captain Kurokawa and the Grik had wielded the weapon she'd been. Still, she'd embodied the threat they posed, and he enjoyed the irony that he and his people would now use her against her former masters. She'd been a scourge, but now she was a precious gift. She wasn't given willingly or received without great cost, but her corpse would provide the bones to which they could attach the sinews of modern war. She'd been the ultimate weapon of the Grik and the j.a.panese on this world. Now she would help destroy them.

Sandra had noticed the range of expressions that crossed Matt's face. Some she recognized and her heart went out to him. A few confused her. The strange smile that replaced them all left a chill in her bones.

Dean Laney, former chief machinist's mate aboard USS Walker Walker, winced and shifted uncomfortably on his stool. d.a.m.n, his a.s.s hurt! It had started bugging him a lot lately, and now he had an intermittent case of the screamers, which only aggravated the problem. He sipped his coffee, or "monkey joe," and gazed around. Large, crude machinery hummed, rattled, and roared loudly all around him. The cha.s.sis and casings were mostly copper or bra.s.s, but some were even made of wood. Only bearings, shafts, chucks, and tool heads were made of real, precious steel, although more and more iron parts and castings were coming from the foundries. Over his head, high in the ceiling beams, leather belts whooped and whirled and spun in all directions around a precarious clockwork of rattling wooden pulleys of various sizes. Having all that motion right over his head sometimes gave him the creeps, but usually he was able to ignore it.

He didn't know what his rank was anymore. Everybody had been getting fancy-sounding promotions, but if he had a new t.i.tle, word hadn't leaked down to him yet. It didn't really matter, he supposed. It wasn't like he'd get a raise in pay. Besides, his domain had certainly been enlarged. Instead of Walker Walker's cramped engineering s.p.a.ces and modest machine shop, he now oversaw a sprawling, impressive industrial complex. Three long buildings and hundreds of workers were under his direct supervision, and he was responsible for turning out the machines that would make other machines that would ultimately go to the various project directors.

It wasn't as much fun as what Bernie, Ben, and Spanky were doing-making all sorts of swell stuff to use directly against the lizards-but they couldn't do their thing unless he did his. Besides, he never really was a "tight tolerance" guy, he admitted, and the majority of the machines that made machines could be relatively crude.

His wandering eyes fell on a 'Cat machinist almost in front of him. "Hey, you," he grumbled loudly, "watch what the h.e.l.l you're doing!"

The 'Cat stopped turning the traverse handle, and the coils of bra.s.s that had been crawling away from the shaft she was turning abruptly sprang away to join the growing pile around her feet. "What I doing?" she demanded.

Caught off guard, Laney was stumped. Usually, his gruff comments went unanswered. He felt it was his duty to make them periodically to keep the workers on their toes. His face turned red and he stood up-making his a.s.s hurt even more. "You mean you don't know know what you're doing?" he demanded hotly, questing with his eyes for some fault. what you're doing?" he demanded hotly, questing with his eyes for some fault.

"I know what I doing," came a shockingly abrasive retort. "Do you?"

"Why you . . . ! Just look! Look at all that s.h.i.t coiled around your feet! It looks like a G.o.dd.a.m.n tumbleweed! What if that chuck s.n.a.t.c.hes it up? It'll yank you in by the tail and all there'll be is a cloud of fuzz! Who the h.e.l.l taught you to be a machinist's mate?!"

"Dennis Si-vaa! He teach me good! He make weapons to kill Grik, not stand around all day making big pole less big!"

Laney's eyes bulged. "Silva?! Why, that big malingering ape couldn't machine a proper t.u.r.d with his a.s.s!" Inwardly, Laney blanched at his own comment. Lately, he literally couldn't do that himself. He forged ahead. "I want you to slip the belt on that machine this G.o.dd.a.m.n minute, find your chief, and tell him you want to learn how to be a real real machinist!" machinist!"

Dean was so intent on his harangue that he didn't hear the sudden snap-hack! snap-hack! or the shrill, warning cries of alarm. He or the shrill, warning cries of alarm. He kind kind of heard the dull, buzzing of heard the dull, buzzing whoosh! whoosh! of the broken belt that slapped him on the back of the head. of the broken belt that slapped him on the back of the head.

He was still mad when he woke up in an aid station sometime later, but couldn't remember why. He felt like he'd jumped off a roof head-first, though.

"Whadami doin' here?" he mumbled. When no answer was immediately forthcoming, he closed his eyes and raised his voice. "Hey, G.o.dd.a.m.n it! Why am I here?"

"Shut up!" came a harsh, heavenly, female voice. "You want to wake everybody up? Besides, you might burst a vessel!"

Laney opened his eyes and saw Nurse Ensign Kathy McCoy hovering over him.

"It's an angel!" he said wonderingly.

"Nope." Kathy laughed. "Just me."

"You're an angel, all right," muttered Laney, "and there's d.a.m.n few of you. Scarcer than the kind with wings, I bet. You danced with me a couple o' times at the Busted Screw."

Kathy grimaced. "Yeah. I try to dance with all the fellas. I'd never forget you, though." Laney's eyes went wide and he beamed. "You stomped all over my feet," Kathy explained. "I haven't walked right since."

Destroyed, Laney uttered a groan.

"Head hurt?"

"Yeah. Who hit me? One of those chickens.h.i.t monkeys I have to put up with?"

Kathy frowned. "Not who, what. One of those leather belts that runs your machines broke. Conked you pretty good. Didn't break the skin, but you'll have a goose egg the size of a baseball. You guys ought to be wearing helmets in there."

"Mmm. Ought to be doing lots of stuff. We do what we can."

"Yeah. Hey, you hurt anywhere else? You've been squirming around like a worm on a hook, even in your sleep. By the way, now that you're awake, you need to stay that way for a while in case of concussion."

Laney nodded-painfully-but hesitated.

"What? You are are hurting somewhere else. Where?" Kathy demanded. hurting somewhere else. Where?" Kathy demanded.

"I'd, uh, rather not say. I'm fine."

Kathy nodded. She easily recognized the code words for "I'm not telling a broad about my private agonies." "Okay, without telling me what what hurts, tell me what it hurts, tell me what it feels feels like." like."

"Like I'm s.h.i.tting busted gla.s.s!" Laney blurted, then caught himself. "Hey! You tricked me!"

"It's my job," Kathy said. "And it was easy. I won't even ask to do an exam, and I don't really want to. But judging by your physique, your complaint, and your job, I bet you spend a lot of time sitting, right?" Reluctantly, and somewhat indignantly, Laney nodded. "Just as I thought. Hemorrhoids. Piles. You know."

Laney shook his head. "Piles! That can't be it. Sometimes I think I'm gonna die! You can't die from piles . . . can you?"

Kathy almost laughed, but shook her head. "No, and I'll give you something that ought to help, at least a little . . . on one condition."

Laney's eyes narrowed. "Doctors ain't supposed to put conditions on helping folks, are they?"

Kathy shrugged. "Maybe I'm a doctor here, but I'm just a nurse back home. I can do what I want."

"What's the scam?"

"Tell you what. I get a lot of guys-'Cats-in here who work for you. Just like you, they get hurt now and then. Anyway, they're doing important work and they're proud of that. Some would rather be doing something else, and I understand, but your division, or whatever it is, is just as critical as any other-maybe more so-and they know it. They don't mind the work or the hours or even getting hurt, but nearly everyone I see-though anxious to get back to work-is not not anxious to get back to work for anxious to get back to work for you you. You're a jerk, Dean. Right now you're a hurt jerk, so I'm trying to be nice. What it boils down to, the 'scam,' I guess, is this: promise to try try to quit being such a pain in the a.s.s, or I'll let your 'pain in the a.s.s' keep reminding you how you make everybody around you feel. Deal?" to quit being such a pain in the a.s.s, or I'll let your 'pain in the a.s.s' keep reminding you how you make everybody around you feel. Deal?"

[image]

Chief Electrician's Mate "Ronson" Rodriguez heard the exchange between Ensign McCoy and Laney through the thin reed screen that separated them. He'd come in to get his hand fixed after he'd cut it on some of the sharp Lemurian copper wire. Now st.i.tched, disinfected, and bandaged up, he'd been taking his ease for a few moments away from the "powerhouse," the factory he'd been put in charge of where they built, refurbished, and experimented on the various electrical contrivances Riggs was in charge of. The problem was, that stupid ox Laney was always cruising through his shop looking for deserters. Rodriguez knew Laney resented him as a jumped-up electricians' mate third cla.s.s, and thought he could toss him around with his size and personality. He was wrong.

Ronson might have let him get away with it once, but a lot of things had changed besides relative ratings. Rodriguez had been wounded in action far more often than Laney, and besides Laney's genuinely impressive underwater adventures, Rodriguez had seen a lot bigger "elephants" than the chief machinist's mate. His most recent escapade was the one that finally earned him a nickname. His first name was Rolando, and his shipmates had tried to tag him with "Rolo," "Rodent," and even "Rhonda," but none ever stuck. When Walker Walker took that j.a.p sh.e.l.l in her auxiliary fuel tank in the forward fireroom, somehow Rolando's sweatband and longish hair had caught fire. Silva put him out, but the mental image of him running around on the amidships gun platform like a lit match had left him with "Ronson" Rodriguez, and this time it took. took that j.a.p sh.e.l.l in her auxiliary fuel tank in the forward fireroom, somehow Rolando's sweatband and longish hair had caught fire. Silva put him out, but the mental image of him running around on the amidships gun platform like a lit match had left him with "Ronson" Rodriguez, and this time it took.

Since then, he kept his head shaved to his slightly scarred scalp and the only hair he cultivated was a Pancho Villa mustache. The men were allowed trimmed beards and razors were scarce, but the chiefs were allowed a little more leeway by everybody, captain to Lemurian cadet, because in most cases, they'd earned their stripes the hard way. All of Walker Walker's and Mahan Mahan's chiefs who hadn't gone to other ships had filled dead men's shoes except Campeti-and the Bosun, of course-but Rodriguez didn't think Laney filled Harvey Donaghey's very well. If Laney felt the same way about him, he could eat t.u.r.ds and chew slow.

The arguments they had over Laney's "defectors" always escalated to bellows of rage and interfered with work in the powerhouse. Laney did know better than to take a swing, and the contention between them always had to be taken to Riggs or Spanky-more lost work in both departments. Riggs and Spanky tried to be fair, but if Laney really needed the deserter in question, the poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d got sent back. Rodriguez suspected the two officers were getting as tired of the situation as Rodriguez was, and Laney was probably out on a cracking plank. He wondered whether Kathy McCoy's comments would do any good.

Well, with that b.u.mp on his head, Laney would probably leave him alone for the rest of the day, anyway. Time to quit malingering. He stood up from the chair he'd been sitting on, cradling his wounded hand. The throbbing had nearly pa.s.sed. Neat stuff, that pasty goo, he reflected. Not waiting to be released by the nurse, he ducked out of the aid station and headed back for the powerhouse.

He trudged through the muck of the recent rain and avoided the heavy carts pulled by bawling brontosarries until he saw the smoke rising from "his" boiler. Several 'Cats tended the beast, and it shimmered with heat and suppressed energy. The engine it powered was one of the first they'd built, and it wheezed and blew steam from its eroded and imperfectly packed pistons. He hated the engine and wanted another one, but he had to respect it as well. It had been a prototype, crudely built and not expected to last, but here it was, still chugging away after, well, thousands thousands of hours. The generator it turned was also one of their first and he was proud of it. He'd designed it himself, and it was doing fine. Laney's shop had actually made the transmission gears that boosted the RPMs of the slow-turning engine to spin the generator fast enough to provide the calculated voltage, but Laney probably didn't do it himself. of hours. The generator it turned was also one of their first and he was proud of it. He'd designed it himself, and it was doing fine. Laney's shop had actually made the transmission gears that boosted the RPMs of the slow-turning engine to spin the generator fast enough to provide the calculated voltage, but Laney probably didn't do it himself.

"Silly, useless b.a.s.t.a.r.d," he muttered, and opened the fabric flap that covered the entrance to his domain.

"How you hand?" asked one of his new strikers solicitously. Rodriguez didn't remember the 'Cat's name. It was unp.r.o.nounceable and he hadn't earned a nickname yet, but he'd been one of the deserters he'd succeeded in keeping. The kid was working on one of their simplest products: thermocouples for the vast variety of temperature gauges everybody was screaming for. Essentially all he had to do was join a piece of copper to a piece of iron. When heat was applied to the joint, current was produced. The higher the heat, the more current. The reason he got to keep this this 'Cat was that when he was trying to explain intangible, invisible free electrons, the little guy actually seemed to understand. He had high hopes for him. 'Cat was that when he was trying to explain intangible, invisible free electrons, the little guy actually seemed to understand. He had high hopes for him.

Lemurians in general were almost naturally mechanically inclined and great with practical geometry. They were accomplished jokesters and pranksters and could conceptualize common hypothetical outcomes. They loved gizmos, and if they could see see something, they could understand it without much trouble. They were very literal-minded, though. When it came to things they couldn't see-like electricity-or even hypothetical outcomes they had no experience with, they had more trouble. He'd been forced to set up a few grade-school demonstrations to let them something, they could understand it without much trouble. They were very literal-minded, though. When it came to things they couldn't see-like electricity-or even hypothetical outcomes they had no experience with, they had more trouble. He'd been forced to set up a few grade-school demonstrations to let them see see electricity before he could convince them it was real. He also let them electricity before he could convince them it was real. He also let them feel feel a little now and then, but had to caution them very carefully about feeling too much of it! He still wasn't sure how much most of his 'Cat electrician's mates and strikers really grasped, but they knew they had to make gizmos to create and harness the semimythical electricity, and they were good about scrupulously following safety regulations. The fact that he'd threatened to give them to Laney if they goofed around with the juice probably helped in that regard. a little now and then, but had to caution them very carefully about feeling too much of it! He still wasn't sure how much most of his 'Cat electrician's mates and strikers really grasped, but they knew they had to make gizmos to create and harness the semimythical electricity, and they were good about scrupulously following safety regulations. The fact that he'd threatened to give them to Laney if they goofed around with the juice probably helped in that regard.

He waved his bandaged hand at the 'Cat with the unp.r.o.nounceable name and moved along. He wanted to check on the progress of the portable DC generators they'd been working on when he hurt himself. He was surprised to find Steve Riggs waiting for him at the benches they'd set aside to a.s.semble the things.

"Mr. Riggs! Good to see you, sir."

Steve laughed. "You mean it's good to see me without Laney for a change. Otherwise, you're probably wondering what I'm doing here, getting in the way."

"Well, yes, sir."

"How's the hand?"

Rodriguez raised his hand and flexed the fingers in the bandage. "Fine."

"Good. Look, I really don't mean to pester you, but these transmitters we're putting together are pretty simple affairs. They don't have tubes and their voltage requirements are somewhat critical. I just wanted to see for myself how you're coming along."

"Fair enough." Rodriguez motioned him to a bench where several 'Cats were cleaning up a stack of short, pipe-shaped objects. "Those are the frames. They came out of Laney's shop and they're rough as h.e.l.l. I have to have the guys file the burrs-with s.h.i.tty files out of Laney's shop. . . ."

"I get the picture. Laney's a piece of work. Skip it."

"Aye-aye, sir. Anyway, those are the frames. These guys over here are wrapping the field coils." He stopped, self-consciously. "That's how I cut myself. It's great the 'Cats can make wire; I just wish it was a little more, you know, round."

"We'll get to that someday," Riggs said patiently. "For now, just be thankful. We're starting to get a lot of wire out of Amagi Amagi, but we need it for other stuff."

"Yes, sir. Anyway, there's the pole shoes. We screw 'em to the frame on the inside and it holds the coils in place."

Riggs gestured at a bin with a number of internal a.s.semblies. "Those armatures look like they came out of the Delco factory."

"Thank you, sir. They're a b.i.t.c.h. First we have to turn the shafts on the one little lathe we have. . . ."

"It is is one of the ship's lathes." one of the ship's lathes."

"Yes, sir, thank you, sir. It would be nice if we could get the guys in the ordnance shop to make those, though. Them and the core. We can't make those like they do at Delco. We have to mill the slots on the rotary table. It's still not a huge job, but we're going to need more capacity. We have to make the big generators one at a time, mostly using c.r.a.p from Laney, and we can't work on those at all while we're doing this."

"The guys at ordnance have their hands full. I'll see if I can get you one of the new, bigger lathes, and maybe a bigger mill. You'll have to make motors for them, though. This isn't a belt-drive shop, and it isn't going to be."

"I understand. Motors we can do."

"So, what are you insulating the coils with?"