Distant Thunders by Taylor Anderson Page A

problem here. Even if the Japs still have a receiver, we’ll be transmitting everything in code. Good work. I guess that still just leaves us with power—power to make the things that make power, I mean.”
    “Yes, sir. No fast-moving water or anything so, at first, I guess we keep using the method the Mice cooked up. The ‘brontosaurus merry-go-round. ’ ”
    “Right.” Matt glanced at the precious watch on his wrist, then looked at Adar—almost apologetically, it seemed—as if he regretted taking over the meeting. “I guess that’s it then. Mr. Chairman, do you have anything to add before our guests are shown in?”
    “Nothing for now. I do so enjoy having a plan. Let us speak with these Brits, as you call them, and discover whether anything we learn from them conflicts with our own priorities. I may have something to offer then.”

CHAPTER 3
    A s 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 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 unobtrusively 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 coxswain 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 glass fragments on 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