The Guns of Two-Space

by Dave Grossman

"Ah, Grasshopper," replied Theo. "Once two peasants saved a fairy. The fairy gave them each one wish. The one asked for a cow. The other said, 'I wish his cow would die!' Do you see? It is an eternal human tendency toward shortsighted selfishness. We are the first peasant, and the Admiralty is the petty, vindictive second peasant."

  Hayl was feeling the wine and he also felt a bit overwhelmed and sulky. His monkey sunk its head deep into its thorax, and the middie looked down at the table as he muttered, "Please don't call me 'Grasshopper,' sir."

  "Very well," replied Theo with a twinkle in his eye and a chuckle that took the sting out of his words. "Members of the mess, I propose a toast to he who shall now be known henceforth as 'Cockroach.'"

  That brought general laughter and a cheer as they all raised their glasses, and a chorus of voices said, "To Cockroach!"

  "That's not so bad really," laughed Westminster. "Since the little bastards are almost impossible to kill!"

  Lady Elphinstone favored Hayl with a gentle smile that made his heart melt and his spirits soar. "The boy's question deserves an answer," she said, kindly turning the conversation away from poor red-faced Hayl. "Generations without war can do this to a nation. History becomes legend, and legend became myth. And some things that should not have been, are forgotten."

  "Aye," growled Broadax. "Yer Westerness has had it too damned soft, and now ye pays the price! But there's been many places an' times when people've thought of war as the given, an' peace the perversion. Take the Greeks o' Homer's time, fer instance. They saw war as the one endurin' constant, as routine an' all-consumin' as the cycle o' the seasons. They knew full well that war can be grim an' squalid in many ways, but it wus still the time when the will of the gods were manifest on Earth. To the Greeks, peace wus nothing but a fluke. A delay brought on by bad weather, or when ye had ta keep the troops at home until the harvest wus done. Any o' Homer's heroes would see the peaceful life o' yer average Earthling, or even most citizens o' Westerness, as some bizarre aberration. An' in truth, 'at might jist be the wisest way ta look at it."

  That brought a series of solemn and somewhat surprised nods. No one had ever heard Broadax pontificate in such depth. Frankly, no one knew she had it in her, but clearly this was touching on a topic that was near and dear to her heart.

  Lt. Fielder nodded and added, "I fear that the powers-that-be in the Admiralty have become something dreadful and disgusting: politicians. Over the centuries we've protected them from the natural results of their actions, so we've bred all the sense out of them. They weren't too smart to begin with, and it's been downhill ever since. Now they have become urbane terrorists, fighting with memos and news leaks instead of muskets and cannnons. For them it is total warfare, and there is no rule book."

  "Excuse me," said Asquith, hesitantly, "and I mean no disrespect, but isn't it disloyal to speak of the Admiralty this way?"

  "Yep, we're a strange mix," replied Hans. "Outspoken, freebootin' merchants, combined with the warriors of a democracy." The others nodded in agreement to this as he continued. "'Ere in the wardroom we say what we damned well think. But we obey orders, by God. An', young midshipmen," he said, pointing a stern finger at the middies, "you'll do the same. It's a fightin' man's right ta gripe, but we will do our duty. Aye, lads?"

  There was a chorus of agreement from the midshipmen as Hans concluded, "Otherwise, we be no different from them vacuum-suckin' scumbags we despises."

  "Aye," said Lady Elphinstone softly as she held her wineglass up so that her monkey could take a dainty sip. "Ye who knowst what war is like shall find it almost impossible to communicate with the children of peace. To a warrior, war is a teacher of positive values: courage, self-sacrifice, respect for authority, dedication to a common goal. But these are signally absent in the soft and cynical selfishness of Earth's culture. The men of war can't crack the cynicism of such a culture. 'Everyone' knows that if those values had ever really existed in the past, they were only the result of some collective delusion. The children of peace think they are too smart for that, but they are really just cynical. Most of them, like Earth, and the Admiralty today, think 'tis but a sick joke to suggest that war could ever teach anybody anything good. But thou knowst better, and in the end thou shalt do thy duty. We shall all do our duty. And if thou livest, thou shalt be the wiser and the better for it, like Merry and Pippin returning home to the Shire."

  "Well said, my lady," said Brother Theo. "Forgive me, Cuthbert, I mean no personal offense, and I am sorry to speak so bluntly, but the leaders on Earth, and most of those among our Admiralty, are wraiths. Like Tolkien's Ring Wraiths. Wraith derives from words like wrath, as in anger. Writhe which is to twist and turn. And wreath, which is a twisted thing. The wraith is defined by shape, not substance. They are creatures of vacuity. Emptiness. They sell their souls a nickel at a time to get power, and when they get it, they are empty, hollow, soulless creatures."

  "Yesss," replied Asquith cautiously. "I fear that there is some truth in that, and I take no offense. But do we really want to be saying all of this in front of these lads," he said gesturing toward the midshipmen.

  "These 'lads' are military officers and warriors," scowled Lt. Fielder. "They are all veterans of battle. Many battles for most of them. The boy asked, dammit, and he has a right to understand what has happened, and why it happened. We do them no favors by protecting them from reality."

  "Aye and what they must comprehend," said Theo, "is that one of the great instruments of power is technology, and one of its great victims is nature: the world, the pastoral environment that we know and love on all the worlds of Westerness... except for Earth."

  Then Theo reached out to the bottle, and frowned as he poured the last few dribbles into his empty glass. "Mess steward!" shouted Fielder. "I say there, a fresh bottle. We're dry as a hangman's eye here!"

  Theo nodded his thanks and continued. "Tolkien despised the internal combustion engine, you know, which polluted and defiled his environment and his world, usurping the horse, the walk, and the community. Tolkien, who we venerate, is all about applicability, not allegory. And he can definitely be applied to technology. Lord how he would have despised television, video games, movies and vids on demand, and all the other, modern versions and perversions thereof. Especially when each individual can pursue and feed his worst perversity."

  There was a pause as the mess steward brought a new bottle and topped off Theo's glass. The monk and his monkey sipped and sighed with satisfaction as Mrs. Vodi picked up the conversation.

  "For Earth, this technology is a cancer, a tragic disease," said Vodi. Like the Rings of Power in Tolkien's writings, all the different versions of the electronic screen pollute and defile Earth's cultural environment. Art, the home, the conversation, and most especially the written word are its victims."

  "Aye," continued Theo. "Westerness escaped that when we burst out into two-space and embraced our retro-culture, but Earth did not. We left our Admiralty at Earthport because our best naval facility was here. And, lamentably, across the centuries the Admiralty has become a part of Earth. But we, and the rest of the Kingdom of Westerness are frontier worlds. We espouse and embrace the old ways. And one thing we can be sure of—the thing that Tolkien, Heinlein and the other masters understood so well—is that sometimes there is evil in the land and brave men must go to war."

  "Darkness comes," whispered Lady Elphinstone. "A kind of darkness that most men cannot imagine. Blacker than the space it moves through. And good men must go forth to fight it."

  "'War,'" said Brother Theo, looking at the middies, "is Sanskrit for, 'desire for more cows.' And 'checkmate' in chess is from the Persian 'Shah mat' or 'the king is dead.' So what does that suggest to you, my young gentlemen?"

  This was met with wide-eyed silence from the midshipmen, and finally old Hans answered the question.

  "'At means we gots the choice o' givin' 'em all our cows, or whackin' their king!" said Hans. "I'm all for takin' a stab at the big kahuna, cause I kinda likes m
y cows. I'll be damned if'n I'll give em a single damned cow!"

  "Aye," replied Brother Theo. "Well and succinctly put, Mr. Hans. On that note, let us conclude this evening's class and proceed to a more pleasant topic. The bottle stands by you, Mr. Jubal."

  While the Fang's officers were hosting the middies in the wardroom, Lieutenants Archer and Crater were Melville's guests in his cabin. They had all read themselves in as Master and Commander of their respective Ships, and this meal was a form of celebration, as well as a good-bye.

  McAndrews was, at best, an unimaginative cook. And Mrs. Vodi, who was sometimes called upon to cook for special occasions, was dining in the wardroom. So the meal in Melville's cabin was catered from the Pier, and it was excellent since they could afford to pay for the best.

  Key members of the Fang's crew had been sent to form a cadre for Gnasher and Biter. The young commanders did not have authority to promote anyone to officer ranks, and the Admiralty was not going to give them any officers. But they did have the authority to upgrade from within the enlisted ranks, so top-quality young petty officers had been promoted and transferred. These individuals would form a loyal core of combat-hardened shareholders who would help Archer and Crater get off on the right foot.

  For example, young Bernard Hommer (he of the golden halo of hair) had largely recovered from his wound and had been sent to Lt. Archer's Ship to serve as bosun and acting sailing master, and another top bosun's mate had gone to serve in the same capacity aboard Crater's Ship. Cookie sent her two best helpers to be Ship's cooks. Brother Theo sent his two top mates to serve as acting pursers. Each of the Fang's departments sent two trusted, experienced, loyal young NCOs to fill key leadership positions aboard these two new Ships. And, of course, they already had two Dwarrowdelf NCOs to lead their marines.

  The remaining enlisted berths had been filled with eager volunteers from here on Earthport. There was no lack of experienced sailors and marines from aboard Earthport's swarm of luggers, brigs, and sloops who were willing to jump Ship to earn shares aboard a Westerness Navy Ship. This was especially so considering the wealth and fame of these three Ships. (Which was yet another good reason to appreciate Asquith, since it was his novel that helped to spread their fame on Earth and on Earthport.)

  Archer and Crater were also able to find plenty of young midshipmen who were eager to sign on with them. Judicious selection from among many applicants had given them some experienced watch officers who would help cover their lack of commissioned officers. But the Admiralty and NAVPERS (the Naval Personnel Office) kept a tight grip on all officer assignments, and there would be no more officers for the Fang and her sisters.

  Melville had given Archer and Crater what advice he could, encouraging them to stick to that harsh mistress, Duty, while listening to their experienced NCOs and acting fairly. "Your Ship will remain faithful," said Melville, "and you have a cadre of loyal, experienced NCOs. Listen to the advice of others, then make your own decisions. Be guided by your sense of duty, and allow yourself the time to grow into your position. Don't destroy yourselves because of the bad days, take pride in the good days, and never stop learning."

  "We'll try to remember that," said Archer solemnly, while Crater nodded.

  "You will not, you rascals!" replied Melville with a laugh. "After a brief, cautious period you'll think you know better than everyone else alive! Your Ship will give you confidence, and you will be full of piss and vinegar. Which is as it should be, I think. Just be conscious of what is happening, listen to your NCOs, and never forget your duty."

  Then he concluded, lifting his glass, "To Duty, my brothers! And to our Ships!"

  "To Duty and our Ships!" replied his companions.

  "Eep!" echoed their monkeys happily.

  Fang, Biter, and Gnasher had rubbed against the Moss of Earthport, Mankind's most ancient Pier. And these three sentient Ships told their tale, just as they had told it to the Pier at Nordheim.

  Kestrel had been an old, old friend to Earthport. Her passing was mourned, and a fierce anger was kindled in the heart of that ancient Pier. Earthport intuitively and instinctively understood Kestrel's selfless, dying act that had helped her beloved crew capture Fang. The sentient entity that was Earthport was not surprised by Kestrel's sacrifice. It had exchanged Moss with Kestrel thousands of times across the centuries. In the end Earthport was Kestrel, and Kestrel was Earthport, and she loved her humans with the same intensity and purity.

  Under the circumstances, Kestrel's sacrificial actions came as no surprise to Earthport, but the ancient Pier was shocked to its core by the three Guldur Ships' experiences. A Pier that had known only gentle, loving symbiosis with humanity was stunned when Fang, Gnasher, and Biter told of the bondage and hate that had festered upon their decks. And a Pier that had known only joy and prosperity suddenly knew fear and dread when it learned of the dark tide of death, destruction, and desolation that was spreading across the vast face of two-space.

  From that day forth, each Ship that rubbed Moss with the Earthport became a part of Kestrel, Fang, Biter, and Gnasher, and they carried their tale and their warnings via a system of communication that could not lie, and could not be ignored.

  A message was also sent through the bare feet of all those who strode upon the decks of Westerness' Ships, and to all who stood upon her Piers. The message that came to the men of Westerness via their Ships and Piers was not one of words, but rather of feelings, emotions, and concerns. If you could put those diffuse feelings and emotions into a single word, it would be "War!" Red war was coming. War to the knife.

  And Westerness began to prepare herself for war. The Moss knew, even if the Admiralty was in deep denial. Even if her sailors and marines did not know it yet, they felt it. Oh yes, across that vast star kingdom, they could not help but feel it... and prepare.

  The next morning the Fang's sails boomed and cracked like thunder as each piece of canvas, from the vast mainsails to the tiny royals, filled and hardened to the constant downward wind of two-space. The Fang took on ever more speed as each sail began to draw, until finally she left Earthport under a cloud of canvas.

  As they sailed away from Earth, old Hans and Midshipmen Hayl were again high up in the cold air of the crosstrees.

  "Okay, lad," said Hans, "that Poet Class frigate comin' in, who is she and what's 'er boats?"

  "That's the Emily Bronte," replied Hayl promptly. "And her boats are Remembrance, High Waving Heather, Night Is Darkening, Happiest When Most Away, How Still How Happy, and No Coward Soul Is Mine."

  "Well done, lad! Well done! I can see ya ain't been wasting yer time here at Earthport. Ya been studying, have ya?"

  "Aye, sir. But I also knew that she was due in, so I paid special attention to her."

  "Hoo-yah! Well done, again," said the old sailor with a wink. "Ya'd do well to study Emily Bronte, indeed. Like all the Bronte sisters, she died young, but what a mark she made, what a light she lit! 'No Coward Soul Is Mine,' indeed! May we be able to make such a mark before we're called home, lad. An' may we be able to say the same."

  * * *

  No coward soul is mine

  No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere

  I see Heaven's glories shine

  And Faith shines equal arming me from Fear

  CHAPTER THE 9TH

  Forsaken:

  "Risk the Wrath of the Gods!"

  Shove off from the wharf-edge! Steady!

  Watch for a smooth! Give way!

  If she feels the lop already

  She'll stand on her head in the bay...

  Raging seas have we rowed in

  But we seldom saw them thus,

  Our master is angry with Odin—

  Odin is angry with us!

  Heavy odds have we taken,

  But never before such odds.

  The Gods know they are forsaken.

  We must risk the wrath of the Gods!

  "Song of the Red War Boat"

  Rudyard Kipling

&nb
sp; The Fang and her crew sailed on, forsaken but not forlorn. The tin gods of the Admiralty were angry with them, and they were disgusted with the powers-that-be.

  The important thing was that they had survived. Once again the Fangs had faced heavy odds. They had risked the wrath of the tin gods, and they had survived.

  And that was good enough for now.

  The good news was that at least Melville was now formally and legally the Master and Commander of the good Ship Fang, the crew and midshipmen had managed to put in some quality training time, and the Fang had been resupplied. The bad news was that they were forsaken: rejected, denied, and cast out by the Admiralty. And the unkindest cut of all came from NAVPERS.

  The Naval Personnel Office was generally considered to be the Westerness Navy's version of Russian roulette. NAVPERS was responsible for all officer assignments, but it also assigned petty officers and warrants to Ships. And so, as one final indignity, NAVPERS (or some clerk hiding deep in the bowels thereof) had stolen away Roxy, their old, one-eyed, Jewish cook at the last moment before sailing.

  There was still a good stock of food from the victuallers, since like all good department heads Roxy had completed refitting and resupply before going on liberty. She had been a sweaty, repulsive old figure, often with a chaw of tobacco in her mouth as she slaved over her boiling pots and pans, with a yarmulke pinned to her head. (Apparently, in her particular sect, the women wore yarmulkes.) But the fruit of her labors was the best Ship's fare anyone had ever known, and she was much appreciated and beloved. And during the mass-exodus of the boarding action in which they had captured the Fang, Roxy had proven herself to be hell-on-wheels in close-combat, with a meat cleaver in one hand and a pistol in the other. She would be missed.

  Since drinking to excess, fighting, and consorting with the opposite sex are frowned upon aboard military Ships, that left eating and sleeping, reading and studying, competitions and crafts, drills and exercises, and daily duties as the main entertainments aboard. Eating was the first and foremost of these, and eating well was regarded as an absolute necessity to keep a crew's morale up.