The Guns of Two-Space

by Dave Grossman

  "But how does it work?!" said Asquith with sincere distress in his voice. "I really am trying to understand it all. Mind you, this is coming from someone who once readily accepted that a John Carter could be telepathically summoned to Mars."

  "Don't ask me how the universe works!" replied Mrs. Vodi. "I'm just a lob-lolly girl. And, truth be told, I don't think anyone understands it. But for that matter, whoever really understood 'warp space' or 'hyperspace' in all those old science fiction books? The bottom line is, here we are. And right now the key question is, 'How will the Dwarrowdelf receive us?'"

  "Eep!" agreed their monkeys in chorus, gazing fearfully at the oncoming longships.

  "Who be ye?" asked an imposing Dwarrowdelf standing in the upper bow of the lead longship. He had a horned helmet on his head, was coated in glistening mail, and held a huge, double-bladed ax over his shoulder. He was a bit more than half the height of a tall human, and almost half again as broad as Broadax, with a nose like a turnip and a dense black apron of a beard that made their marine lieutenant's whiskers seem like a lady's peach fuzz.

  The longship's forward-mounted guns were fully manned, and the crew seemed to have their huge axes close to hand. Melville's three Ships had all cleared for action. Their guns were not run out, but otherwise they were ready for battle.

  It was a bit of a nuisance to take this precaution. It meant that everyone's bedding and personal equipment had to be swept up in a great bundle and taken below. It would take hours of hard work to straighten up and sort out his cabin afterward, and McAndrews would let him know about it. But, dammit, that was his steward's job. And if those longships were determined to fight, Melville and his Ships could be in a world of hurt if they were not ready. It would be pure chaos trying to clear away the guns and go into action while actually under fire. The battle, if there was going to be one, would be lost even before it was begun.

  Bad enough to be shot at by allies, thought Melville. Even worse to not be able to respond if it happens.

  Clearing for action was also a wake-up call to one and all. The anticipation and thrill of the preparation for battle, the piping of whistles, the harried commands of petty officers, the orderly rush of sailors, the tramp of marines marching to their stations, and the sharp orders of the officers all said that everyone aboard had to be at the ready. Ready for anything and everything the galaxy might throw at them.

  Or as ready as three badly battered, undermanned Ships could be.

  Nordheim had diplomatic relations with Westerness, complete with a human ambassador in residence, so Melville didn't anticipate too much difficulty. Still, he couldn't help but be anxious. But there was not a hint of nervousness in his voice as he responded.

  "I am Captain Thomas T. Melville, of Her Majesty, the Queen of Westerness' 24-Pounder Frigate, the Fang." Melville was wearing his best uniform—lovingly brushed, primped and prepared by McAndrews and his monkey—complete with the gold medallion and emerald ribbon of the Order of Knights Companion of the King of Osgil hanging around his neck beside the platinum medallion with scarlet ribbon that denoted him as a member of the King of Stolsh's Royal Host of Glory.

  The two Ships had come to a dead stop with their redside bows facing each other. They had to be fairly close for their two atmospheric fields to overlap enough for a conversation, but still each officer had to speak in a loud, clear voice to be heard, and every ear on the upperside of both Ships was listening.

  "Aye!" replied the Dwarrowdelf. "By the Lady, we know of Melville, Friend of the Dwarrowdelf League. And we know of the mighty Fang. An' we honor ye, saviors of Osgil. Though ye do look a wee bit worse for the wear! But who be yon two raggedy Guldur Ships a bearin' the Westerness ensign?"

  "They are two recent additions to the Westerness Navy. Four Guldur Ships attacked us. We sunk two and boarded the others. Now they are ours."

  The Dwarrowdelf's eyes grew wide and he grinned, as a rumble came up from the longship's crew.

  "Aye, laddie! Just like that, was it? Ye make it sound simple. Well I be Captain Strongfar, and I'd bet my beard ye've got one hell of a tale to tell. An' damn me if I wouldn't buy the ale to hear it!"

  "Captain, I'd gladly swap that tale for a brew, but I'm here for a bit more than your famous ale. I'd like to barter for a complete refitting of our three Ships, and I have something of great value to offer in trade."

  "Aye, do ye now laddie? Truly ye know the way to a Dwarrowdelf's heart! Tales of fierce battles against overwhelming odds and an offer to barter something of 'great value.' Then follow me. If yer raggedy pack o' wee battered boaties can make it the rest of the way without a tow!" Then he roared a great thundering laugh as his crew quickly and expertly pulled taut the spanker and jib sails at stern and bow. The longship spun sharply about under the pressure of these sails, then the mainsails were pulled taut and the Dwarrowdelf led the way to the Pier.

  The Nordheim Pier spanned the dark blue plane of two-space like a great, glowing white wall. The Dwarrowdelf dislike of light gravity kept all of their buildings low, but they were spread wide and long and topped with endless crenelations, and all of it was coated with lambent, life-giving Moss.

  As soon as they came into the atmospheric field of the Pier Melville had the Fang's 24-pounders bang out the proper salute. It seemed like every Dwarrowdelf on Nordheim gathered on the Pier to hear the fierce thunder of the Fang's 24-pounders. The answering salute by Nordheim's 12-pounders seemed weak in comparison.

  Captain Strongfar directed Melville's Ships into the nearest dockyard. The three Ships came to rest at their designated docks, then Melville and Brother Theo stepped onto the glowing white surface of Nordheim's Pier. As the Ship's purser and a master negotiator, Brother Theo would play a key role in their transactions with the Dwarrowdelf.

  Captain Strongfar met Melville and Theo, clasping wrists in the Dwarrowdelf fashion. Both humans had the powerful forearms of master swordsmen, but it was clear that Strongfar could have crippled them, snapping their wrists like twigs if he had wanted to. The Dwarrowdelf claimed that this was their traditional greeting, but Melville was convinced they did it as the most effective way to demonstrate their strength and intimidate any other species. Which was a good tradition by the best measure of such things, in that it seemed to have worked so far.

  There was a brief exchange of pleasantries and an assistant came up with a huge pile of fur in his arms. Strongfar donned a cloak and a pair of boots made of thick black pelts, making him look even wider and fiercer. Melville and Theo followed his lead, then the Dwarrowdelf captain led the way down a stairway.

  As soon as they stepped down the stairs and left the realm of two-space, Melville was met by a blast of icy cold and the strong pull of Nordheim's gravity. He could see his breath, and the air felt heavy. Cold and heavy. He was immediately grateful for the cloak of thick pelts that hung awkwardly over his uniform, and the soft fur boots that covered his otherwise bare feet.

  He was on Nordheim! In the twinkling of an eye he has stepped down into a realm of bitter cold air, low wooden buildings, and sparkling snow and ice. From the stairs it was only a dozen steps through the biting cold before they came to a tavern. The sign overhead said "Glod's Rest" in English (and he assumed that the runic writing beside it said the same thing in the local tongue) above a swinging board with a disgruntled Dwarrowdelf painted on it. Melville and Theo ducked through the doorway behind Captain Strongfar, entering into a warm, cozy taproom amidst a swirl of snowflakes. The heat enfolded them like a blanket while Strongfar called out, "Ale, ye lazy laggardly wench! Hot ale for a Friend of the Dwarrowdelf League!" As they sat down to leather tankards of steaming hot mulled ale, they were joined by the Dwarrowdelf admiral and the Westerness ambassador.

  "Now tell us yer tale, lad!" said Strongfar.

  "Ha!" cried Captain Strongfar after Melville had related every detail of their battle, marking the positions of the various Ships with tankards atop the table, and charting their maneuvers in wet streaks of ale. "That is
one grand tale to be telling yer babes and grandbabies in the years to come!"

  A densely packed host of Dwarrowdelf had crowded around to hear the story, responding with roars of pleasure as Melville told of each Guldur Ship sunk or captured. His audience was especially enthusiastic when he told of Broadax's exploits in the battle.

  Admiral Smitehard, the senior Dwarrowdelf naval commander, called out, "A toast to our brave friends: to Melville and his Fang, true Friends, noble Friends, worthy Friends of the Dwarrowdelf League!" This was greeted with a great roar of agreement and much quaffing of ale from the crowd. The admiral had a white avalanche of a beard, and the avalanche flowed with rock slides of golden ale as he drained his tankard.

  Ambassador Theilharsen, the Westerness representative to Nordheim, was a fourth-generation citizen of this hi-gee world. He looked a lot like a Dwarrowdelf and had taken on distinctly Dwarrowdelf tendencies. The ambassador's eyes filled with tears of pride as he heard his countryman's tale.

  "Tell me what it is you need, lad," boomed the ambassador. "And tell me what it is that you have to offer in payment, and I'll do my best to make sure these rascals don't swindle you."

  "Swindle!" cried Admiral Smitehard. "Swindle, ye say! We'd nay swindle a hero and a friend such as this."

  "Ha!" replied Ambassador Theilharsen. "You'd try to cheat your own mother if she wasn't twice as smart as you'll ever hope to be, you wretched rascal."

  "Oh, aye, and me mother'd disown me if I didn't try," replied the admiral, "but that has nothing to do with this case. This is different. By the Lady I swear to ye, I barter with no axe in my hand!"

  "Don't listen to him, son," said the ambassador. "When it comes to trade, these scalawags always go for the throat. It's in their genes. They don't know how to do anything else. They're like sharks smelling the scent of blood, or lawyers drawn by the promise of contingency fees."

  "'Lawyers!'" roared the admiral, thumping his hand on the thick, wooden slab of a table with such force that the tankards bounced. An angry roar went up from the crowd as he continued. "'Lawyers' ye say! By me gramma's gray beard, ye've gone too low, sir! If ye weren't an ambassador that would demand a duel, it would!"

  Melville looked at the thick underbrush of bristling beards that were crowding in around them. It occurred to him that if not for a steady dousing of ale, one stray spark could send them all up like dry straw.

  "Pay no heed to him," said the ambassador with a wink. He seemed remarkably calm as he leaned back to take a drink of ale. "It's all bluff and bluster. They could teach greed to lawyers, and bloodsucking to leeches, but as long as you have something they want, you've got 'em by the beard. So what is it you're offering?"

  "Well, sir," drawled Melville, working hard to remain nonchalant and cool in the face of so many angry Dwarrowdelf, "I'll tell you, but are you sure this is something we want everyone in the tavern to hear? If they're such fierce negotiators, is it wise to put all of our chips on the table?"

  "Well said, Captain!" replied the ambassador, thumping his tankard down on the table. "Well said. Let us retire to your Ship, and these wretches can all stew in their juices. You outline the situation to me, and then I'll come back and cut a deal for you."

  "Nay, nay!" cried the admiral and Captain Strongfar in what appeared to be sincere consternation.

  "There's no need for that, laddie," said the admiral. "Ye can trust us to take good care of ye. Don't ye be turning us over to that penny-pinching, pencil-necked pen pusher. Anything but that!"

  "Aye," replied Ambassador Theilharsen. "What he means is that I know their tricks, and I know to get it all down in writing, in triplicate. They hate to get their agreements in writing you know."

  "O woe. Woe and doom! There it is!" cried the admiral, burying his head in his arms. "The writin' of it down with words on paper it is, and the living with it for generations to come. How's an honest man's children ever to re-negotiate—"

  "You mean renege!" added the ambassador.

  "—or rework a deal—" continued the admiral doggedly.

  "Ha! You mean go back on your word!" interjected the ambassador.

  "—in a world that's full of writing and paper everywhere?"

  "Come on then, Captain Melville," said Ambassador Theilharsen as he stood up and finished his ale with a gulp.

  Melville looked over at Brother Theo, who had been sitting serenely throughout the conversation, contentedly nursing his ale and never saying a word. The monk simply looked over at his captain with a benevolent smile and nodded.

  "Aye, sir," replied Melville, standing up. "Under one condition, and that is that you keep my purser with you every step of the way, and he has final approval on the deal."

  "Captain," said the ambassador, "you are young, but it is obvious that you are wise for one of your age. And the surest sign of that wisdom is your willingness to delegate to those who are experts in their field. My friends, one last toast to Captain Melville, and his good Ship, Fang!" Then he took the admiral's mug off the table, raised it high, and gulped it down.

  Suddenly all the anger and animosity in the room fell away like the facade it so obviously was. A great roar of agreement shook the room, the admiral snatched a drink away from a hapless bystander, and everyone in the tavern drank to the toast. Except for the one fuming, flustered bystander.

  "Well, it worked," said Ambassador Theilharsen three days later, as he sat in Melville's office aboard the Fang. Theilharsen was less than five feet tall, and twice as wide as a normal man, with a good-sized gut to go with it. Melville imagined he could hear the ambassador's chair groan as he plopped down into it.

  McAndrews hustled in with two big mugs of ale while the monkey on his shoulder clutched a bowl of pretzels. Melville handed one mug to his guest and took the other as he sat down across the table while the steward set the pretzels between them. The ambassador grunted his thanks and drank deeply before he continued. "Once the Dwarrowdelf checked with their local chapterhouse of the Celebrimbor Shipwrights guild, they were ready to sell their mother's beards for two of those 24-pounders. How did you know it would take two guns? What do you suppose that's all about?"

  "I don't know for sure, sir," replied Melville, "but when we were on Osgil the Sylvans were prepared to trade just about anything for two 24-pounders. I hate to even guess about matters involving the Celebri. Nobody in the galaxy wants to get crosswise of them. Still, I can't help but think they need two guns to... well to breed more."

  "Damn!" replied the ambassador. "Breeding you say!" His thick gray beard burrowed into his barrel chest as he scratched his head in thought. "Do you really think so?"

  "Well, it's one possible explanation," said Melville, taking a deep drink of his ale. "For whatever reason, however they do it, they seem to need at least two to create more, and I'd call that breeding stock."

  "Aye, son. It may be best not to spread that thought around, but I appreciate you sharing it with me. Knowledge is power, but if you become too powerful you become a target. Whatever the reason, it worked. And the Dwarrowdelf were excited about what your pint-sized alien allies could do for them."

  The ambassador chuckled and lifted his ale in a mock salute to the monkey on Melville's shoulder. The creature responded with a nod, an "Eep!" and a sip from Melville's mug as the ambassador continued.

  "Broadax's little demonstration made true believers out of the admiral and old Strongfar," continued the ambassador. "Who'd have thought that critter could stop bullets like that? Your Broadax didn't seem worried, but damn her monkey fussed when they shot at her!" The Ambassador looked down thoughtfully and said, "You know, no offense intended, but in my humble opinion, anybody who would volunteer to be shot at, no matter how confident they are, is either foolishly optimistic or nuts!"

  "And our Broadax is both!" said Melville with a chuckle.

  "Aye," continued the Ambassador. "Anyway, after Broadax demonstrated that the monkeys can actually block bullets, Admiral Smitehard readily found a couple of Dwarrowdel
f marine sergeants who were willing to transfer to the Westerness Navy and serve on the Biter and the Gnasher."

  "Thank you sir," said Melville with a satisfied nod as he held his mug up, offering his monkey a drink. "This is one of the best gifts I can give those young commanders. Broadax has proven the value of a good Dwarrowdelf to lead their marines. And it will take time, but this is their best route to get some monkeys. I'm betting one will adopt them shortly after arriving aboard. When their enlistment ends they'll probably bring their monkey back with them, and wherever there is one, soon there will be more."

  "Aye, so I understand," replied the Ambassador. "In a galaxy full of wondrous and amazing occurrences, those mysterious monkeys of yours are one of the damnedest things I've ever seen."

  "Amen to that, sir. But how does it look for the Fang to get a few more Dwarrowdelf to enlist with our marines?"

  "Ah, not so good there, lad. When a Dwarrowdelf goes out on a Wander-yahr and leaves his own people like this, he—or she—has to do it alone. So you only get one per Ship. It's a matter of honor, you see. With the Dwarrowdelf you either get a Shipload, or you get one, nothing in between."

  "I guess it was too much to hope for more marines like Broadax on my Ship," replied Melville. "But just one could make all the difference for Archer and Crater. I figured the Dwarrowdelf would be willing to do it, just for the possibility of picking up some monkeys along the line. But, sir, do you think there's any way we can keep this business about the monkeys a secret, even to Earth?"

  "Son, they wouldn't believe me, even if I told them. Hell, I'm not sure I believe myself, and I saw it! Besides, I'm doing this as a private contractor, making a tidy commission along the way. And what I do in private is nobody's damned business but my own. Eh?"

  Then the ambassador stood up, finished his ale, wiped the froth from his beard, and concluded, "The Pier's dockyard captain superintendent will be coordinating with you tomorrow morning, and the dockyard will be giving their very best to each of your Ships. And Nordheim's best is very good indeed!"