"There they are!  Aircraft ho-o-o!"

Keanua's bull bellow came faintly down to Ranu from the crow's nest, almost drowned in the slatting and cracking of sails.  He could have spoken clearly head-to-head, but best save that for real emergencies.  Otherwise, by some accident, the Brahmards might learn about it.

If they don't already know, Ranu thought.

The day was too bright for what was going to happen.  Big, wrinkled waves marched past.  Their backs were a hundred different blues, from the color of the sky overhead to a royal midnight; their troughs shaded through gray-amber to a clear green.  Foam swirled intricately upon them.  Further off they became a single restlessness that glittered with sunlight, on out to the horizon.  They rushed and rumbled,
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they smacked against the hulls, which rolled somewhat beneath Ranu's feet, making him aware of the interplay in his leg muscles.  The air was mild, but had a strong thrust and saltiness to it.

Ranu wished he could sink into the day.  Nothing would happen for minutes yet.  He should think only about sunlight warming his skin, wind ruffling his hair, blue shadows upon an amazingly white cloud high up where the air was not so swift.  Once the Beneghalis arrived, he might be dead.  Keanua, he felt sure, wasn't worrying about that until the time came.  But then, Keanua was from Taiiti.  Ranu had been born and bred in N'Zealann; his Maurai genes were too mixed with the old fretful Inglis.  It showed on his body also, tall and lean, with narrow face and beaky nose, brown hair and the rarity of blue eyes.

He unslung his binoculars and peered after the airship.  A light touch on his arm recalled him.  He lowered the glasses and smiled lopsidedly at Alisabeta Kanukauai.

"Still too far to see from here," he told her.  "The topmasts get in the way.  But don't bother going aloft.  She'll be overhead before you could swarm halfway up the shrouds."