The Guns of Two-Space

by Dave Grossman

  "yesyes!" cried the little creatures in ecstasy. "itisRoyalty! wearescum! wearescumtoher! shecrushesusbeneathherfeet! isproofofRoyalty!"

  Then they pursued the panic-stricken Fielder across the quarterdeck with renewed vigor, crying, "crushme!crushme!"

  Fielder was trapped in a corner, so he readily obliged them, still shouting, "Get back! Get back!" as the Crabs crunched beneath his feet.

  One of the Crab officers, significantly bigger than the others, interceded. He started pushing the royalty smitten Crab crew out of the way, enlisting some help from a few of his crabby subordinates.

  Finally they pushed back the infatuated tide, and the Crab officer approached the terrified Fielder.

  "ihavekeptthemback!" it chittered, turning its eye stalks and feelers up to him. "ihaveservedyouwell!"

  "Yes, yes, well done" said Fielder.

  "nowcrushmeplease! crushme! chrushmeplease!"

  "No! You are unworthy! You must take command of this vessel. Obey every order from our Ship. Obey every one of our crewman who is assigned to this Ship. If you serve us well in battle, I will come crush you as a reward, and place someone else in charge."

  The Crab officer trembled in such ecstasy that his appendages rattled together. "yesyes! iwillserveyou!"

  "Yes. Good. Be sure that you do." Then Fielder departed by the same route he arrived, and the Crab officer called after him.

  "yes!yes! mayyouhavemanyyoung! mayyoureggsacksburst!"

  Broadax and her marines simply looked on in openmouthed wonder. The Dwarrowdelf race had a strong meritocratic streak in them. Their leaders were often hereditary, but only if they proved themselves worthy. So it was that Broadax could speak with a passionate sincerity that most of the men of Westerness could not understand when she concluded, with wonder and disgust, "Gawddamn royalty. They're nothin' but stiff, starched, prong heads anyways!"

  Later, Elphinstone tried to tend several of the dying aliens, attempting to treat them (or at least reduce their suffering) but also to understand them.

  "I'm sorry that you had to die like this," the Sylvan surgeon told one of the little creatures that had been stomped by Fielder.

  "no! isgood!" the alien gasped out. "isRoyalty. isNobleblood." Then its eye stalks rolled up and looked at her. "istrue? isRoyalty?"

  "Yes," she said sadly. "I understand that he is a baronet."

  "he? ismale?"

  "Yes."

  "ahhh. isgood," the crushed creature replied as it shuddered out its last breaths. "isRoyalty. couldbebetter. couldbefemale. likeQueen."

  In dying ecstasy it spoke of its queen mother like a delirious, dying soldier would call out to his mother. "terribleasthedawn. treacherousasthesea. strongerthanthefoundationsoftheearth. allshallloveHer... anddespair. ilickQueenfoot asitcrushme...

  Elphinstone could only shake her head sadly.

  Midshipman Hayl stood, swaying with exhaustion and horror.

  He could never tell the people at home about this. He could not speak of it, but he could never forget. He knew there would be dreams and nightmares about this battle.

  But there was also a surge of pleasure, of great joy! There was the pure elation of being alive when he thought all was lost. There was the unspeakable satisfaction of looking in the eyes of living Shipmates and dead foe. The smell, the feel. It was in his blood!"

  "Art thou happy, lad?" asked Grenoble, who came up beside him.

  "Aye, sir," he replied with sincere surprise. "Aye. Is... is that okay, do you think?"

  "The Scots, that great warrior tribe of thy homeworld have a proverb that says, 'Danger and delight grow on the same stalk.' Thou hast cause to be happy, lad. Thy Anne Bronte said that he who 'dares not grasp the thorn should never crave the rose.' Be happy. Rejoice in it. Thou hast earned it."

  As the Fang limped into the Pier's atmosphere cloud, the guns on the glowing white bulwarks began to roar out a salute. A band was playing, the drums beating and the bugles calling out with wild, piercing cries of delight.

  The Fang would have dipped her flag in return but the flag, the halyard, and the mast it flew from had all been shot to hell. A weary crew manned one of the 12-pounders and tried to return the Pier's salute, gun for gun, but they gave up after the cannons on the bulwarks just kept banging on and on...

  Young Hayl was not the only one with tears in his eyes as the Fangs watched the crowds on the docks cheer themselves hoarse. Hayl's monkey screeched in triumph and his new arm surged with feral alien elation. God help him, he loved it.

  * * *

  I remember the bulwarks by the shore,

  And the fort upon the hill;

  The sunrise gun, with its hollow roar,

  The drum-beat repeated o'er and o'er,

  And the bugle wild and shrill.

  And the music of that old song

  Throbs in my memory still:

  "A boy's will is the wind's will,

  And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

  * * *

  Months later, the shattered remnants of the Fleet returned to The Hive and He who commands the Fleet knelt trembling before The Queen, She from Whom All Authority flowed. He sighed with relief as he felt his skull crunch beneath The Queen's powerful mandibles. At last the responsibility—and his head—was off his shoulders...

  The Queen carefully considered the information that flowed into her mind as she digested the neural matter of the pathetic, ineffectual male. He who was he who commands the Fleet had developed quasi-Royal status during his long trip home, and She had briefly considered mating with him before sucking out his brain, but there was nothing of value in his genes. His status was pure happenstance, and then he failed to excel.

  So, Her Fleet had been defeated. And Her best agent, a virtually immortal being that had served her species for untold thousands of years, had come back not just defeated but traumatized and destroyed. These "humans" had overcome the best She had to offer. Twice!

  But lives lost in battle were as nothing to her. She felt about them like a sailor might think (if he thought at all) about brain cells lost to a hard night's drinking. The important thing was that She had learned much in the process.

  She now knew the enemy's two great strengths. The humans' two ultimate weapons. One was a powerful, virtually unbeatable Ship, stolen from Her Guldur allies. The other was a malevolent, vicious creature called "cats."

  The human's ill gotten Ship was slow, and its sails were dead. Still, this enemy Ship was going to be hard to destroy, and She would not underestimate it again.

  The good news was that Her agent had brought the solution to cats. Soon Her agents everywhere would begin to distribute the powerful bio-toxin that would strip the humans of their cats.

  She savored the knowledge that these "cats" would soon suffer every flavor of torment!

  CHAPTER THE 17TH

  Taking the Long Way Home:

  "The Souls of Fire"

  But to the souls of fire I give more fire,

  and to those who are manful

  I give a might more than man.

  These are the heroes,

  the sons of the immortals who are blessed...

  for I drive them forth by strange paths

  that they may fight the titans and the monsters

  and the enemies of Gods and men...

  Charles Kingsley

  Canon of Westminster and Chaplain to Queen Victoria

  Who was that old general who said that the only thing as bad as losing a battle is winning one? Melville thought to himself in pain.

  He had left the sick bay after being treated by Mrs. Vodi and Lady Elphinstone. As usual, they had also treated the young captain to a tongue lashing intended to make him more careful in the future.

  "Its my job," he replied. "I've got to be a good example to the crew," he replied.

  "Sorry to burst your bubble, Captain," said Mrs. Vodi, "but you look more like a horrible warning!"

  He responded with a shrug—which hurt—and
an insouciant grin, saying, "An anonymous wise man once wrote that, 'Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming, "Wow! What a ride!"'"

  "Well, Captain, thy 'ride' hast been naught but an uncontrolled fall thus far." replied Elphinstone. "In medical terms thou art what we call CTD: circling the drain. If thou hast any plans beyond the next few years, thou wouldst be well advised to learn how to apply the brakes."

  Melville looked at his Ship in dismay as Fielder, Hans, and DeWalt stood with him on the upperside gundeck.

  The Fang's hull had been pierced, smashed, and gouged in a surprising number of places. The rigging looked as if a maniac with a carving knife had been hacking out bits and pieces of rope, canvas, and wood, and then reglued them together at random. That was due to the topmen working like fiends to keep the masts, spars, sails, and rigging functional throughout the battle.

  The Keel though (the all-important Keel!) was miraculously untouched.

  The nets rigged above the main deck had proven useful in saving more than a few lives—much to Fielder's mixed disgust and satisfaction. Disgust that the idea worked, and satisfaction that he wouldn't have to find more men to man the Ship.

  No, give the man his due, Melville thought. The satisfaction was due to the men's lives being saved. Fielder might be a thorough bastard at times, but he cared about his men. Of course, the reason (or so Fielder explained to anyone who asked) was that qualified, competent men who were thoroughly trained would keep him alive longer. Luckily, no one had ever said he had to like them all! But respect for competence, now that was important. And the thought of losing a competent sailor was enough for Fielder to suggest that the idea for rigging nets be submitted to the Admiralty as well as the Naval Institute Proceedings. Melville suspected that his first officer might need to visit a local dentist before they left again—the way that man ground his teeth!

  Walking with Fang's first officer, carpenter, and sailing master to survey the damage to their Ship was a sobering experience. Here, a shattered gun carriage, the 12-pound cannon still lying on the deck, with the area around it splashed with dark, dried blood, emitting a faint burned-pork smell overshadowed by the iron-coppery reek of blood and the stench of feces and urine—both purged and riven from sailors—still hanging in the air. Underfoot the deck was littered with splinters (as if a chunk of wood a foot and a half long and an inch through could truly qualify as a "splinter"!) rammed into the Nimbrell wood. And over there, a smear of blood and other... things less easily identifiable coated the bulkhead. Enough! he thought bleakly.

  As they climbed down into the upper hull, the first thing that met the captain's eye was a hole in the hull that a boy could crawl through. "Gentlemen," he said, "your opinions of the damage?"

  They looked at each other, then Hans nodded and spoke first. "Well, sir," he said, then paused as he and his monkey spit tobacco juice out yet another hole smashed through the hull of the Ship, "yer know, the old gal is actually pert' near seaworthy. Hull's good, got sum patchin' ta do. Prolly have ta replace the upperside mainmast and mizzenmast, it wus only quick work on riggin' an' stays kept 'em up, they's so beat ta hell. A helluva lot of riggin' ta be replaced. An' some o' the yards is sprung bad. Got's ta replace most o' the canvas too." Hans stopped talking, chewed slowly on his wad of tobacco, shifted the cud to his other cheek and looked over at Melville.

  "Cap'n, I gots ta talk 'bout the sails. Them glowy ones the Crabs had." Hans looked over at Melville who simply nodded for him to continue.

  "I bin lookin' the stuff over. It's light. 'Bout half the weight o' our canvas. An' the glowy stuff is Elbereth's Moss!" he finished reverently. "Lady Elbereth's Gift, on sails! Who'd a thunk it! Midshipman Hayl dun brought it ta me. Said Fang liked it main well, so's he'd been talkin' to the Crabs. He's sayin' that they's sorter fascinated with his hook, so he got's 'em talkin' 'bout it, an' they tol' him they grow this stuff! He says one o' dem Crabs can start growin' it on the sails, an' it'll grow an' take over from the canvas."

  <> came blasting into Melville's mind so strongly he winced, as did DeWalt, followed by scandalized and annoyed eeks from their monkeys.

  Melville shook his head carefully, then said, "And I imagine you want permission to start trying to farm our sails with this Moss growing material?"

  "Well, sir, I know it's a new ideer, an' even though I ain't much on newfangled things..." He trailed off for a moment. "Even so, yessir, I do recommend we tries it. I mean, it's the Lady's Gift! It's meant to be used! I don't mean to git all religious an' mystical, but it's like the Lady herself's given it to us, to help keep us outta the hands o' the Elder King. So, mebbe we'll try it on one sail first, ya knows?"

  Melville nodded. "Good, good. If we can use this new 'Mossy' sail instead of canvas, then that will shave quite a few tons of weight off of our vessel, which should correlate to some speed improvement. Not to mention, Fang seems curiously intent on obtaining sails made of this material. And, in all honesty, I think it might be best to keep our gallant lady happy with whatever finery she so desires."

  DeWalt smiled and said, "I think that the sailcloth may have more effect than simply weight reduction. In any case, though, Fang does seem intent on them. I thought our Fang was going to take my head off in her eagerness to get these sails! And with due cause, I do believe."

  "Please explain," said Melville, who was eager to learn any Celebri secrets that his carpenter might let slip."Captain," said DeWalt carefully, "I've been examining the Crab Ship. The 18-pound cannon are nice, very nice indeed. Still, in comparison to the 24-pounders, they are not truly that important. But there are two other... treasures aboard that Ship. Treasures of unimaginable worth. First are the swivel guns!"

  "I like the sound of 'treasures of unimaginable worth,'" said Fielder as he leaned against a bulkhead and crossed his arms. "Although my capacity for imagining treasure may be better than you think. But how could these little popgun swivels be of value, Joby? They can't be much more than a three-pounder."

  "I have to be careful about giving away secrets here," replied the carpenter, licking his lips, "but it is as if you had horses and cats, but no dogs! Nothing to fill that gap! The ships of Hornblower's days were littered with swivel guns, and they were a key ingredient in the ship-to-ship battle. Kind of the machine gun of their day. But we don't have that, and we can't... er, can't 'design' one. We don't have the ability to make it. If you had any idea of the resources and effort that have gone into making them across the years! Well, believe me, it has remained one of the top three items in the Celebri wish list."

  "Hmmm, and what are the other two?" asked Melville, trying to be casual.

  "I can't say, Captain. I've already given away more than I should. But war is upon us now, and believe me, these swivels will be of incredible value. And the Celebri will reward the Fang enormously for two of them."

  "Once again, it has to be two, eh?" Melville probed. "As though you had to breed them?"

  "Captain, I implore you to keep that kind of conjecture to yourself."

  "Very well," said his captain with a nod. "Please continue. You said there were two treasures?"

  "Aye," continued DeWalt excitedly. "The other is the sailcloth!"

  "Was that on the Celebri wish list?" asked Fielder.

  "Ha! We never even thought of it as a possibility. It is beyond our wildest dreams! Truly, sending samples of the sail material to the Guild headquarters, along with some Crabs to tend it, is of vast importance. We all understand that the amount of Moss living as part of the entity affects its ability. The bigger the gun, boat, or Ship, the 'smarter' the entity. I am only conjecturing now, but I think the value of the sails that allow growth of the Moss on them might be more important than the just the weight savings! The potential value includes the mental, or calculation ability of the Ship. And I think it
might explain the impressive speed of the Crab boats!"

  "Sez you," interjected Hans. "Damned mains'ls weigh a couple o' tons each, all by their ownselves! The weight alone explains the diff'r'nce!"

  "Be that as it may," said DeWalt, "I think the added area of Moss growth may prove to be more important in the long run. And what if this sailcloth is better at catching the 'winds' of two-space? We don't really know what it is that our sails catch. Many experts believe that it is a two-space manifestation of gravitational forces. We just call it the 'wind' to explain how it can push our sails. Whatever it is, it's entirely possible that this sailcloth, consisting of a two-space organism, would be better at catching the two-space wind, thus giving us greater speed!

  "You know, Captain," the carpenter continued with a dreamy, distant look in his eyes, "it is a weird and wonderful galaxy out there. The Ships and guns are sentient, because they are capable of being coated with Moss. Why not the sails, which are an extension of the Ship! Or maybe even the rigging, or a sword, or who knows what?"

  "Enough, Mr. DeWalt!" said Melville with a laugh and a kind hand on the man's broad shoulder, as he reeled his carpenter back into reality. "I believe that I can understand the potential importance of the sails. But right now, we need to get repairs started more than we need to debate the utility of captured Crab accouterments, correct?"

  "Aye. Anyhow, Captain," DeWalt continued, "I take it that you noticed the Crabs were trying not to kill our Ship? The people, yes, but they wanted the Fang, and wanted her bad enough to keep trying to chip away at us rather than simply blasting our Keel at point-blank range. I find that rather disturbing myself, since I don't think our crabby friends have the physiological capability to climb through the rigging to sail her. And if they can't sail her, then why did they want her? That's a puzzle, and I simply don't like the answers I keep getting."

  Fielder smiled sardonically. "You mean answers like the idea that the crab cakes were working with that scumbag of a Guldur Admiral?"