Destroyer 121: A Pound of Prevention

By Warren Murphy and Richard Sapir

PROLOGUE

In the glory days of the great Luzu Empire, on the fringes of what would one day become East Africa, before the final encroachment of Europeans, which would change the face of the continent for centuries to come, before the bloody Boer Wars and the countless deaths that they would bring, the people of the tribe of the mighty Luzu chief Kwaanga met in ceremony on the shores of the great azure sea.

The day was warm, not hot, the sky as clear as glass and as blue as the smooth waters of the sea that stretched out boldly to the horizon. At some distant point, sea snatched sky from the heavens and clutched it firmly to its undulating bosom.

In the center of the small bay--barely an inleta sleek, strange ship from some distant land lay at anchor. The wooden vessel bobbed lazily on the gentle waves that rolled toward the sandy yellow shore, where they became thin froth.

Out of respect for their parting guest, the females of the Luzu tribe covered their breasts with silks from far-off lands where dwelled men with slits for eyes and skin the hue of a lion's belly. The Orient. The place from where their honored guest had come. The place to which he would now go, never to return to the land of the Luzu.

The elders of Luzuland were dressed in flowing caftans and dashikis, the wealth of the empire reflected in their raiments. The young males were smeared in green and red paint and carried finely crafted metal-tipped spears-an honor guard for the man who had served them all so well for so long.

The recent news of the revered one's departure had been a surprise to all. Or perhaps not all. Surely great Chief Kwaanga had known. It was he who had summoned the mysterious warrior from his faraway land to aid the Luzu. They had not been told because, as mere subjects, it was not their place to know. But Kwaanga had to have long known that the thin man with hands and feet as swift as an arrow in flight would this day take his leave of the Luzu.