THE MAGIC LABYRINTH by Philip Jose Farmer

Byron said, “No, sir. I suggest…”

“That we send search parties looking for the bastard? Or bastards? They’ll be back at their posts by now. Maybe. Maybe they’re planning on wrecking the generators. Send some men down to the engine room to stand guard.

“And start checking the stations. See if anybody left his post for any reason whatever. There may be some innocents there, but we can’t take any chances. Anybody who left his post, throw him into the brig! I don’t care if it’s an officer and he seems to have a good excuse. We can’t fight John and worry about being stabbed in the back at the same time!”

“Aye, aye, sir!” Byron said, and he began calling the stations by number.

“Enemy vessel is five miles away, Captain,” the chief radar operator called. “Traveling at fifty-five miles per hour.”

The Rex had a top speed of forty-five miles per hour in still water and no headwinds. Aided by the current and the wind, it was going at a speed equal to the Not For Hire’s.

“Any indication of the Goose!” Sam said.

“Nothing sir.”

Sam looked at the chronometer. The big plane should still be flying alongside the mountains, hugging the top of the trees, down below the forest whenever possible. But it would not be attacking the Rex by itself. Its orders were to wait until the Rex was engaged with the motherboat. Then, while John’s crew was occupied with firing upon the enemy; the Goose would come roaring out across the trees, swoop down to The River, and make a run for the broadside of the Rex. If John had had any sense, he would have held back his own torpedo plane until the full-scale battle started.

But then John had hoped that the people on the Not For Hire would be so busy watching the aerial fight that they would be taken by surprise.

“Enemy vessel four miles away, Captain. Dead ahead.”

Sam lit another cigar and asked the medic to put some salve on his chin-burn. Smollett did so, and then Clemens stood by the starboard port, watching the smoke clouds rising from the fires on the left bank about a quarter of a mile ahead. Flames were eating the bamboo, pine, and yew structures. Pieces lifted off the blaze, carried by the wind, and landed on the bridges and houses. People were scurrying around, carrying belongings out of burning houses or climbing down ladders before the fire got to them. Others had formed lines, dipping their grails and fired-clay buckets into The River, passing the containers along to the other end, where the water was thrown onto the fires at the bases. That was a hopeless procedure; there was nothing to do but let the fire go. Apparently half of the sightseers had decided to do that. They thronged to the plains, where there were a few buildings and continued to wait for the meeting of the boats.

“Before we’re done, we’ll have leveled Virolando,” Sam said to no one in particular. “We won’t be very popular here.”

“Enemy is three miles away, sir.”

Sam walked to the intercom, where Byron was still talking to the stations. Joe/s huge bulk came up behind him, and Sam could smell the bourbon emanating from the enormous nose. The titanthrop always liked to take several belts before a fight. It wasn’t that he needed Dutch courage, he explained. It was just for his stomach’s sake. It quieted the “butterflies.”

“Bethideth, Tham, I need lotth of enerchy. You thaid alcohol giveth enerchy. My body burnth it up like a motor burnth fuel. And I got a big body.” ‘

“Yeah, but a whole fifth?”

Byron looked at him. “So far, nobody’s been away from his post.”

“Vhat if they had to take a pithth?” Joe said. “I alvayth have to pithth a lot chutht before a fight. No matter how brave I am, and I am, I get tenthe. It ain’t nervouthneth. Chutht tenthion.”

“And of course all that booze doesn’t have a thing to do with it,” Sam said. “If I had a fifth in me, I wouldn’t be able to get out of the toilet. In fact, I’d be lucky if I could find it.”