Read Rising Tides for Free Online Page B

he also wanted—needed—a Japanese presence at the war councils of the Grik where tactics were discussed. Kurokawa attended those councils dedicated to grand strategy, and his input was now much appreciated, but he readily admitted he had no real knowledge of, or interest in, land warfare. Niwa did. Niwa had also made it abundantly clear that he was wholly aware of his “place.” Regardless of his Grik position, he still served Kurokawa, and through him, the Emperor.
    “I suppose we should hurry.” Kurokawa seethed, picking up the pace. “Our ‘masters,’ ” he snorted, “will be waiting.” Niwa didn’t point out that the Grik High Command had probably been waiting for the better part of an hour. He didn’t say anything at all. Together, the two men strode more briskly among the yard workers, occasionally dodging groups fixated—almost like ants—upon their tasks. Finally, after they’d left the basin and the majority of the dust and stench behind, they joined a group relaxing under the shade of a crude wooden structure, taking their ease and enjoying elaborate bowls brimming with cool liquid. Niwa politely refused an offered bowl. He had no idea what was in it, but assumed it would be something vile and repulsive.
    “You are late—as always,” growled General Esshk, standing to loom above them. Esshk was the most imposing Grik Niwa had ever seen; the mere sight of him always made Niwa cringe a little, at least inwardly. Esshk was First among Generals in the Army of the Grik, and he usually dressed the part. Bronze breastplate, greaves, and cuffs, along with a scarlet cape and kilt gave the vague impression of a Roman tribune. The tufted bronze helmet he held under his massive arm completed the ensemble. A smoky black crest rose slightly atop his head as he spoke.
    “I have been inspecting the work,” Kurokawa said by means of explanation, not apology.
    “How does it proceed?”
    “Well enough on the . . . traditional vessels,” he replied. “Slower than I would like on the other.”
    “What is lacking?”
    Kurokawa shrugged. “Heavy equipment, cranes, pneumatic riveters, a steady supply of good iron instead of the useless cast plating you continue to force upon me. Qualified yard workers most of all.”
    “The cast plating is what we can do. The same iron served well enough for cannons!”
    “And it will shatter the first time a shot is fired against it!” Kurokawa stated, voice rising. “I have told you what is needed and how to make it, yet still you send me the same thing. Have you learned nothing?”
    Esshk seethed. He knew Kurokawa was right. He was always right about such things. He’d even seen the plating shatter when a gun was tested against it. “The Celestial Mother grows impatient,” he temporized. “We stand on the brink of losing Regent Tsalka’s domain. We have withdrawn from contested lands as you suggested, despite the . . . difficulty . . . but Ceylon is important!”
    “And I told you we would lose it before we could take it back,” Kurokawa replied, repeating an old argument.
    “But that is precisely where much of your ‘steel’ is made!” Tsalka interjected, speaking up.
    Kurokawa bowed to the Regent. “Indeed. So we must hold it long enough to produce and remove as much as possible before it falls. Complete the new foundries here, and it will be a lesser loss.”
    “My own realm!” Tsalka almost wailed.
    “This has been decided already,” Kurokawa flatly stated. “You will get it back. In the meantime, I must have true steel, not only for this project”—he waved at the basin—“but for others. There can be no ‘flying machines’ at all, for example, without steel.”
    Esshk glanced at the newly appointed General Halik. Halik had been a mere “entertainment fighter,” basically a gladiator, for many seasons and had grown quite too old for that. That was precisely the reason he’d been “elevated” and tapped as a general. He seemed to have