The Guns of Two-Space

by Dave Grossman

  Under the steely eyes of Dwarrowdelf dockyard officers, the three Ships were careened, and all damage was repaired. Fang, Gnasher, and Biter were rebuilt, reinforced, and made better than new with wood especially grown and twisted to shape over centuries on Nordheim's wintry slopes.

  While the dockyard was doing their work, Melville was locked in a bitter struggle with himself. He yearned to steal some 24-pounders from Gnasher and Biter, and now was the time to make the transfer. He had the authority. Archer and Crater couldn't stop him, they wouldn't even try. They were happy just to have the Ships. They wouldn't complain. And it was his right, wasn't it? But Melville just couldn't do it. A war was coming, and he couldn't bring himself to rape those Ships and leave them with fewer 24-pounders than the Fang had. Damn he wanted more guns for his Ship! But, by God!, he wouldn't do it at Archer and Crater's expense.

  Nordheim's dockyard was good and fast, but still it took almost a month to finish the work. Meanwhile, the crew of all three Ships had a chance to partake of Nordheim's various pleasures. Which consisted mostly of damned fine booze, and little else.

  Most crew members agreed that the Dwarrowdelf food was almost as repulsive and unpalatable as their women, and any thought of a pleasant bar brawl with the locals was immediately rejected as a painful path to suicide. After imbibing enough of the excellent hooch, someone might have been drunk enough to consider the local ladies of negotiable virtue, but said "ladies" were completely uninterested in them.

  Nor could they bring themselves to enjoy the bitter cold of any outdoors activity. As Ulrich put it, "I ain't seen my nutsk in t'ree days!"

  So they adopted the standard operating procedures of the young sailor everywhere: "If it's cold outside, stay inside and drink until ya runs out of money, then head back to the Ship to eat and recover."

  Even Roxy, their cook, had a miserable time as she bartered with the local victuallers for fresh food to fill the larders of their three Ships. This time of year about all that was avalable were potatoes and other root crops, along with dried peas and beans. There were also some smoked hams and plenty of venison jerky, but the Dwarrowdelf had strange ideas about spices that made even the jerky and the hams virtually inedible. And there was beer, of course. Lots of good beer.

  Brother Theo, their purser, had limited success with his efforts to barter for goods to sell on Earth. The cargo they had aquired on Osgil was intended for trading to the earthlings, and the Dwarrowdelf had no interest in Sylvan luxury items. Theo couldn't get a good exchange for any of their current cargo, but he was able to use hard currency to purchase a good variety of luxurious furs, exotic wood, and splendid gems to fill Gnasher and Biter's holds. They were just lucky that the Ship's coffers were filled with gold from the Sylvan prize court. Gold always worked on Nordheim, and these items would bring spectacular prices on Earth.

  So it was fairly safe to say that no one really enjoyed their stay on Nordheim. Except for Broadax and old Hans. They found a local room and "shacked up" happily during this period.

  It could be argued that Lt. Broadax was, if anything, a positive influence on old Hans. Normally by this point in any liberty Hans would have been testing the patience of the shore patrol and most of the tavern owners, trying to prove he was the hardest-drinking, hardest-fighting, and hardest-loving man-jack in any port. Instead, he and Broadax had quietly disappeared... And no one really wanted to think about what he was trying to prove to anyone. Even more, no one wanted to ask him, for fear that he would have told them! Some things are definitely much better left unknown.

  Shortly after their arrival Asquith was given a clean bill of health and released from the hospital. A task which Vodi performed in her own inimitable fashion.

  "You call this a clean bill of health?" he shouted, as his monkey crouched fearfully on his shoulder. "One eye gone and you can't even replace it! What earthly good is your wretched, prehistoric, caveman excuse for medical care!"

  "Ah," said Vodi, shaking her head sadly, "we save your life and nurse you back from the brink of death, wiping yer bottom and changing ya like a baby for weeks on end, and this is how you thank us. I've about had my fill of you, mister. Now," she said, leaning over and getting squarely into his face, "absquatulate!"

  "Absquatulate?" repeated the confused Asquith, crouching back in his bunk, unconsciously pulling his blankets up around him as the large, menacing mass of Mrs. Vodi loomed over him, her monkey peering over her shoulder. Even worse, her huge, evil cat, Cuddles, had launched itself up on the bed to reinforce its master's commands. Asquith's baby monkey, meanwhile, was huddled out of sight under the covers.

  "Absquatulate: verb, meaning to stop squatting, to pick up all your worldly goods, and boogie. Either that or I'll have to definistrate you.

  "Definistrate?" he asked, his confusion and panic mounting.

  "Definistrate: verb, meaning to throw someone out of a window. Failing that I may just jugulate you!

  "J-jugulate?"

  "Jugulate: to strangle. In other words, you ain't welcome here no more. I declare you healed, so y'all git!"

  On that note, he launched himself from his bed and fled, his hospital gown flapping in the breeze behind him and his monkey eeping fearfully as it clung tightly to his back.

  "Well," said one old salt as he watched the half-naked Asquith flee from the hospital, "I see Mrs. Vodi done heal't another one."

  "Yup," replied his friend. "Anuther happy customer."

  Asquith wanted a second opinion. He demanded to be put off the Ship and checked himself into a hospital at a local Dwarrowdelf religious institution, insisting that he was still ill and in need of medical care.

  It took only a few more days for Melville and Brother Theo to coordinate for the burial of their dead. The frozen remains of their fallen comrades were pulled up from two-space, placed in sturdy coffins of local wood, lowered into graves hacked into the icy earth of Nordheim, and marked with fine granite stones carved by Dwarrowdelf stone masons.

  It was cold. Bitter cold. No time for long eulogies today, thought Melville as he and his crew stood over the graves. Even in the best of circumstances, warriors seldom can afford long eulogies or extended periods of mourning. We must grieve intensely and briefly, and get on with living.

  And so he stood over the grave of Warrant Officer Caleb Tibbits and all the others, and said his brief threnody, his lamentation for the dead, choking back his tears.

  "Gashed with honorable scars,

  Low in Glory's lap they lie;

  Though they fell, they fell like stars,

  Streaming splendour through the sky."

  Then Brother Theo led them in the singing of "Taps" and that old, old tune rang out, sad and lonely beneath the snow clad evergreens, echoing from the frozen mountainsides.

  "Day is done. Gone the sun.

  From the lakes. From the hills. From the sky.

  All is well, safely rest. God is nigh.

  "Fading light. Dims the sight.

  And a star. Gems the sky. Gleaming bright,

  From afar, drawing nigh. Fall the night.

  "Thanks and praise. For our days.

  'Neath the sun. 'Neath the stars. 'Neath the sky,

  As we go, this we know. God is nigh."

  Thus, they laid their comrades to rest with proper honors. Promissory notes for their buyout shares had been mailed to everyone who had a next-of-kin on record, along with a letter of condolence from their captain... from Melville... from the man who had led them to their deaths.

  The young captain thought briefly about the souls of all the enemy who had been killed and were not honored. How did the Iliad put it? "The rest were vulgar deaths, unknown to fame." Melville whispered a little prayer for his fallen enemy, and then they left their friends and Shipmates buried in the firm, final embrace of the frozen earth.

  There would be a spring. The Dwarrowdelf assured them that there was a spring in this frozen land. And grass would grow upon these graves. But the Fangs would not be there
to witness it. The dead were interred, and the living must get on with life.

  Across the many days in dock, as Fang, Biter, and Gnasher rested against the Pier of Nordheim, the three sentient Ships were in constant communication with that ancient, sentient Pier. And the Ships told the tale of Kestrel. Or they passed on the essence of Kestrel herself as they exchanged Moss. The effect was the same.

  Kestrel was one of the oldest Westerness Ships, and in her selfless, dying act she had helped her beloved crew capture Fang. And the dead which she slew in her dying were more than those which she slew in her life. In the process she passed on to young Fang the story of a turbulent, generous, affectionate, wolfling race of humans who loved their Ship with a great and abiding love. And a Ship who returned that love with equal intensity and purity. This story did the spawn of Kestrel tell to the Pier at Nordheim.

  The three Guldur Ships also told their tales. Tales of bondage and hate that festered and polluted their decks. Tales of a dark, indomitable tide of death, destruction, and desolation that rolled across two-space. And a tale of the three Ships' liberation and gratitude. Of a strong young captain and brave young pups who now shared a fierce love with their Ships.

  An enemy was coming, full of strength and hate. The race of men could not match that enemy strength to strength. But there was hope, for love belonged to the men of Westerness, and to their allies. And their Ships returned that love! The enemy could not give love, it would destroy them if they tried.

  The ancient Pier at Nordheim listened, marveling that this young race should be worthy of such love from a child of the Lady. And the Pier kept this thing, and pondered it in her heart.

  From that day on, each Ship that docked with the Pier at Nordheim was told this tale. Each Ship that shared Moss with the Pier became a part of Kestrel, and took her forth with them when they departed.

  "Look over there, at the other end of the bar," said Mrs. Vodi. "I'll be damned if it isn't Cuthbert Asquith Ex Vee Aye hisself."

  It was the crew's final night on Nordheim. Tomorrow they would set sail for Earth, and the Fang's wardroom had gathered for one last night of drinking at Glod's Rest, which had become their favorite watering hole. Melville and most of his officers were gathered beside a table—they generally didn't fit under it—next to a crackling fire.

  Broadax and Hans were still in their love nest. Broadax had let Melville know that the Dwarrordelf here on Nordheim weren't particularly bothered by her choice of boyfriend. "They jist think 'e's a bad habit I'll grow out of," said Broadax.

  Some of the other Fangs were relaxing with Ambassador Theilharsen and Captain Strongfar, both of whom had become staunch friends. A group of Dwarrowdelf miners were gathered around the bar lustily chanting a classic Robert Service poem about gold, of course.

  "I wanted the gold, and I sought it,

  I scrabbled and mucked like a slave.

  Was it famine or scurvy—I fought it;

  I hurled my youth into a grave."

  And sure enough, on the other side of the room, Asquith and his baby monkey were morosely nursing a beer.

  "I wanted the gold, and I got it—

  Came out with a fortune last fall—

  Yet somehow life's not what I thought it,

  And somehow the gold isn't all."

  Vodi had visited the little earthling several times while he was at the local hospital, boring him in her delightfully distracting manner with all the minutia and gossip of the Fang. And she had a delicious tidbit of news to share.

  "No! There's the land. (Have you seen it?)

  It's the cussedest land that I know,

  From the big, dizzy mountains that screen it

  To the deep, deathlike valleys below."

  "It seems that our earthling checked himself into a Dwarrowdelf hospital, which happens to be run by a church. He was placed under the care of a Dwarrowdelf sister. And apparently the name 'Mattila' is a common Dwarrowdelf name."

  "No!" said Fielder, looking up with pleasure.

  "Yes!" Vodi replied gleefully. "I swear to you. After just a few days he was desperate to escape the tender mercies of Matilla the Nun!"

  "Some say God was tired when He made it;

  Some say it's a fine land to shun;

  Maybe; but there's some as would trade it

  For no land on earth—and I'm one."

  "I declare, that man's got no more sense than a dog," said Vodi. "It's because he's color-blind," she continued. "Everyone knows that dogs are color-blind. In humans, color blindness is almost entirely a male disorder. Really. People who are color-blind have a dog gene. They also often pee in corners. That's why they're mostly male."

  The purity and beauty of her logic stunned them all into silence for just a second, then they all nodded solemnly and drank to that. And the Dwarrowdelf continued their Service chanty in the background.

  "You come to get rich (damned good reason);

  You feel like an exile at first;

  You hate it like hell for a season,

  And then you are worse than the worst."

  Then the Fangs all watched as Asquith stood up on unsteady feet and lifted his mug to the assembled Dwarrowdelf at the bar. The miners paused their chant politely to let him have his say.

  "I will drink beer," began Asquith loudly.

  The Dwarrowdelf all roared their agreement and drank to that. Asquith's monkey stretched out its head and drank deeply from his mug as he continued.

  "Beer is the mind-killer. Beer is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my beer. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the beer has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain."

  That brought a fierce roar of approval from everyone in the tavern, human, and Dwarrowdelf alike. Especially the Dwarrowdelf, who thought it was wonderfully clever. After gold they loved to sing and chant about beer and ale more than anything else. And they liked Dune. A lot. Even if there weren't any dwarves in the book. Anyway, the Fremen did have a lot of beards.

  Then the miners raised their tankards in a vigorous reply to Asquith's salute, and continued,

  "It grips you like some kinds of sinning;

  It twists you from foe to a friend;

  It seems it's been since the beginning;

  It seems it will be to the end."

  Melville took the opportunity to walk over to Asquith. He put a friendly hand on the earthling's shoulder and said, "Well said! Now come and join us, my friend."

  "Am I welcome?" asked Asquith.

  "You are a Shipmate, and the Fang is your home for now," replied Melville with a friendly grin. "My dad always said that 'home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you!' Come on."

  So the two of them came back to join the Fangs and they all drank a toast to the diminutive earthling.

  "Tell us about Matilla the Nun!" said Fielder.

  "Oh, God, you don't want to know," replied Asquith. "I thought it was bad aboard the Fang, but now I apologize. It's a harsh old world out there, my friend."

  "Eep," agreed Asquith's monkey sadly as it gulped his beer.

  There was a chorus of agreement and long quaffs all around in response to that.

  "The winter! the brightness that blinds you,

  The white land locked tight as a drum,

  The cold fear that follows and finds you,

  The silence that bludgeons you dumb."

  "Old Bobbie Service was at the top of his form when he wrote this one," said the ambassador as he leaned back and enjoyed the miners' chanting with sincere emotion. "What a master of our language that man was, and how the Dwarrowdelf honor him."

  "Aye," added Captain Strongfar. "It's that damned 'all conquering English language' of yers, as Churchill put it. There was some Dwarrowdelf blood in Churchill, ye know. All ye have to do is look at him to see it. And the Words, ah them Words, aye they capture our very soul."

  "
You know," said the ambassador, "the English language became dominant because the British Empire was dominant, but also because there was never any governing body to control it."

  "Aye!" said Strongfar. "Kind of like the Dwarrowdelf, ye know. No central government for us! Even our planetary leaders, what you would call our kings, are best translated 'mine boss' or 'union steward.' And we'll run the rascals out of office if they don't take care of the people and the land."

  "I've stood in some mighty-mouthed hollow

  That's plumb-full of hush to the brim;

  I've watched the big, husky sun wallow

  In crimson and gold, and grow dim,"

  "So English was allowed to grow, to live, to evolve naturally," continued the ambassador with a nod. "It's the kind of thing that ambassadors study, but most people don't really understand. Latin was killed by the Ciceronians, who maintained that only words used in the writings of Cicero were true Latin. Essentially their efforts were to freeze Latin from the time of Cicero, and because of that they stopped Latin from evolving. What does not grow, dies."

  That sounded like it deserved a toast, so they all drank happily to that concept as the ambassador continued.

  "Once upon a time French was the lingua franca. But the French Academy was established to guard the 'purity' of the language, which doomed it, because they wouldn't allow it to evolve, to adapt. The failure of their language to adapt to the needs of their empire might actually have been why their empire failed."

  "But English has never had a controlling body, has it?" asked Melville with keen interest.

  "Aye, lad," replied the old ambassador. "And English is the only language on Earth in which the first-person singular is capitalized. Therefore 'I' is emphasized, empowering the individual. 'I' decide what my language is. And English is the only major language that keeps the original spelling of the language from which the word came. We have no qualms about stealing words. And it is stealing, not borrowing, because we have no intention of returning them. We even keep some of the original rules."