Two Space War Part 16

"Sir, they're simply magnificent," replied the gunnery officer, with joy s.h.i.+ning from his dark face. "Did you know that they were actually bra.s.s under this black coating the curs put on their guns? Bra.s.s cannons, by the Lady!"

He scowled and continued, "But the sighting system stinks! It's like building the biggest, finest s.h.i.+p ever imagined, out of the finest possible material, and then not putting a rudder on her. It's just like the curs, but I can't really blame it all on their stupid, slam-bam-thankee-ma'am tactics. The problem is that this gun is too big to lean over and sight down when you fire it, and anyone who stands behind it when you touch her off will be crushed. So you have to sight her from behind the barrel, step back, tap the Keel charge, then jump back fast. Bottom line is that whenever you shoot, you're always firing from old data."

Then he grinned with the joy of a true craftsman, the feral grin of a master gunner facing a problem that he was born to solve. "I think I have a solution. It'll be tricky but I think we'll be able to use these guns in a way the Guldur never dreamed possible."

"Good!" Melville responded. "That's our top priority. Let me know what you need to get the mission accomplished. I'm also eager to do some test firing, so let me know when you're ready. Our second priority is to get the 12-pounders we brought from Kestrel into position. Do you have a suggestion as to their placement?"

"Yes sir, I do. I think we can put a pair of 12-pounders forward of each pair of 24-pounders, two above, two below, on both the green and red sides. If we do it right, then on the upper green-side and the lower red-side we can swing the for'ard-most gun around and use her for a bow chaser at need."

"That will account for eight of them, what of the remaining four?"

"Well, sir, I'd like to put two each in the cabin right below the quarterdeck, above and below, as stern chasers." His brows furrowed and he looked askance at his captain, warily, judgingly. "The only problem is that you'd have to give up a lot of s.p.a.ce in your cabin."

Melville laughed out loud. It was plain to see that in Barlet's eyes this was a test of the new captain's character, but for Melville it was no test at all. "Aye, Guns, great minds do think alike. That's exactly the solution I came up with. I don't give a hoot in h.e.l.l about s.p.a.ce in my cabin! But what I do want is to give a load of grief to anyone who chases us. I figure with a s.h.i.+p this slow we're more apt to be the chasee than the chaser. So having some firepower back there may be useful. Tell Chips where you want the gun ports put, and make it happen! We have the wounded in the lower quarterdeck cabin, so do that last, and give the surgeon plenty of warning before you do it."

"Aye, sir!" Barlet nodded happily as Melville turned and strode toward the surgery. If only all of his tests were that simple. If only all of his men were that easy to please. His good mood evaporated instantly and anxiety gripped his stomach as he thought about the fact that there would be times when he'd have to make hard decisions, decisions that they wouldn't like. All their support and amiable nods might dry up in an instant in the face of their young, inexperienced captain.

The glow of the Elbereth Moss provided steady light. Within the s.h.i.+p, if nothing was placed in the way, the combined light from the ceiling, bulkheads and floor could be almost as bright as daylight. But it was rare to have a room with nothing in the way of the Moss. Usually there was furniture, great quant.i.ties of equipment hanging on the bulkheads, and hatches in various bulkheads and decks.

The surgery was a walk-in closet, just off the lower quarterdeck cabin, where the glow of Lady Elbereth's Gift flowed freely. Nothing was hung on the bulkheads. There was no furniture except a table and no hatches except for one small door. Outside this small door was the hospital, where many of the wounded were stacked up in stretchers.

Many of them were sitting up in their pallets to peer into the surgery. A large b.l.o.o.d.y bundle sat outside the door and Doc Etzen, the day watch corpsman, stood outside the door. A strong stench of decaying flesh was in the air.

The captain ducked into the surgery. As he bent over to go in it became clear that the putrid smell was from the bundle sitting outside the door, and from inside as well. The strange, constant, downward "wind" of two-s.p.a.ce drove their sails. It also pulled a draft down through vents in every room, then exited the s.h.i.+p from vents just above the sea. Even with this constant flow of air, the smell was almost overwhelming. Gagging slightly at the stench, he found Petreckski, Lady Elphinstone, and her a.s.sistant, Mrs. Vodi, gathered around the operating table, the latter two with their usual small cloud of cats at their feet.

The Sylvan was wearing her traditional b.u.t.tercup yellow dress with gra.s.s green sash. Her long blond hair was braided behind her. Her hands were covered with blood and ichor, but her garments were spotless.

Vodi was in a dowdy black s.h.i.+ft, her gray hair up in a bun. She was gummy as a baby, with a face like a large, self-satisfied, golden raisin. She kept a large chaw of tobacco in her cheek and a spit cup in her b.l.o.o.d.y hand. As he watched, she spat a stream of juice into the cup. "Psssuttt."

"Sir!" said Petreckski. His pale blue eyes were s.h.i.+ning with excitement in his heavyset face. His thin, straw colored hair was in disarray, and he had a smear of blood on his cheek. Smears of blood and ichor could be detected on his brown robe. "Look at this."

On the table before them, spread out on a piece of sailcloth, was the dissected body of one of the little spider monkeys, spread-eagled on the table. If eight legs, a tail and a head splayed out and sliced open in every direction could qualify for that term. On Petreckski's shoulder sat his monkey, alive and well, peering down at the body without any apparent distress or concern over the process. Indeed, the little monkey seemed as intent and interested as its master. Melville looked over at his monkey, which was craning its neck to look at the operating table, apparently sharing the interest, as Petreckski continued. "I saved the corpse of an ape and several spider monkeys from Broadax's World, and we just finished dissecting them."

It occurred to Melville to be concerned that precious s.p.a.ce on their cutters must have been tied up with such items during the boarding process. But collecting cargo and knowledge was the purser's job. That was his contribution to Westerness and Melville trusted him to know what const.i.tuted valuable cargo. In the old days of sailing s.h.i.+ps the purser wasn't often a popular officer, since he was notorious for stealing from the s.h.i.+p. In those days "purser's tricks" was a term for any kind of swindle with food or supplies. But today, in the Westerness Navy, the purser was a highly respected professional who helped make sure that the s.h.i.+ps turned a profit as they traveled. A profit that was shared by all the warrior-traders...o...b..ard the s.h.i.+p.

"This little fellow is one of the ones that fell from the trees while they were fighting the apes," Petreckski went on, pointing to the b.l.o.o.d.y remains. "He really didn't have too much damage, just some internal trauma and broken bones. Of course, he and his bigger playmate out there have gotten a little ripe."

Melville found himself fighting a wave of nausea at the sight and smell in the confined area. The purser went on, oblivious to his captain's discomfort. "We could have put them on a line and hung them down into s.p.a.ce. But the freezing and vacuum would have done even more damage, and then we'd be working with a frozen body, so this is really best."

"I a.s.sume," Melville asked, "that the reeking bundle outside the door is this little fellow's larger cousin?"

"Well, yes and no," Petreckski replied. "That is the bundle containing the ape, but he isn't even remotely a relative of this little monkey," gesturing at the b.l.o.o.d.y ma.s.s on the table. "Perhaps Lady Elphinstone can explain it best, since this is really her area of expertise."

Nodding at the purser, the Sylvan healer took up the account. Beside her, her lob-lolly girl, Mrs. Vodi, spat some tobacco juice into her spit cup, "psssuttt," causing Melville's stomach to heave again.

Elphinstone was "still waters" that ran very deep, but even she was reflecting a little of Petreckski's excitement. "Captain, I need to begin by telling thee that the large apes are very crude, simple creatures. To put it plainly, they are very unevolved. The one we dissected was clearly male, but cursory inspections of their bodies after the battle also identified many females."

She went on, her fingers flas.h.i.+ng a probe and a scalpel to demonstrate her points. "The spider monkeys, inside, are as different as night is from day. They have the same three-fingered paws as the apes, but one of their fingers is capable of wrapping around and acting as an opposable thumb. Thou canst also see that these little ones have a very highly refined neural system. And look, thou canst tell that their brain is quite well developed." Melville could tell no such thing, but was content to take her word on it. "Everything about them is evolved, or developed to the very highest degree. But here is the most remarkable thing. They have absolutely no s.e.xual or reproductive capability."

"So," said Melville, since something seemed to be expected of him at this point, "the spider monkeys are the dominant species of the world, while the apes are some distant, unevolved branch."

"Captain," Petreckski interjected, shaking his head thoughtfully, "these two creatures are as different from each other as a squid is from you and me. Different number of limbs, different reproductive process, different nervous system, and totally different levels of development. They look similar, but they couldn't possibly be any more different. That's why it's so very strange that they look so much alike!"

Melville looked at him blankly. Elphinstone went on, trying to make it clear. "Think of it as though two civilizations set out to build an automobile. One is crude, industrial age technology, making a Model-T Ford. The other is the highest technology thou canst think of, making a state-of-the-art land vehicle. Inside, nothing is the same, so why bother to make it look like a Model-T?"

The excitement and enthusiasm in these two was mildly infectious. Melville found himself beginning to share their interest. Then they gave him the one bit of information that was truly electrifying. "But," Elphinstone continued, her blue eyes sparkling with relish, "if they have no reproductive capability, and they don't, then how dost thou explain the two baby monkeys that arrived last night?"

"Babies?" Melville asked.

"Two that we know of," said Petreckski. "Both are with the wounded. Hakeem and Ivanov both report waking up with a little bundle of fur nestled beside them. They say they thought it was a puppy, or kitten at first, but when they found out it was a monkey, just like yours, they were delighted."

"Well, let us take a look at these 'babies,' " said Melville, delighted to have an excuse to leave the malodorous surgery. He didn't think he could last another few minutes without embarra.s.sing himself. To add to his discomfort, Mrs. Vodi spat a squirt of tobacco juice into her cup again. "Psssuttt."

The young captain looked at her and must have appeared particularly green.

"Yes, Captain," said the ancient lob-lolly girl. "I know it's a nasty habit. I tried to kick it. 'Get Thee behind me, Satan!' I said, and a scant minute later I heard a deep voice say, 'Nice a.s.s.' Oh, well, Take 'em where you can get 'em. That's my motto."

" . . ." Blink. Gulp. Blink. Melville looked at her ample bottom and gulped again. Mrs. Vodi didn't just derail his train of thought. She ripped up the rails and tied them in knots over roaring fires made of the railroad ties, burning the station and the bridge for good measure on the way out. " . . . Um. Yes. Well, let us see these 'babies,' shall we?"

"Wait, Captain," said Petreckski his voice growing low and conspiratorial. "Before you go, I have one last thing to show you." He reached behind him and pulled up a cloth sack. Inside the bag was an a.s.sortment of shattered belaying pins and chunks of wood. "These are the pieces of wood that our little friends were waving around in battle. Please look carefully at them and see what you notice."

Melville looked, picking each one up and examining it in the bright light of the surgery. The hair began to stand up on the back of his neck. "Yes . . . Each of them does seem to have an inordinate number of musket b.a.l.l.s in it." That was an understatement. Several of them were riddled with imbedded musket b.a.l.l.s, and deep grooves indicated where many more bullets had been deflected.

Petreckski continued as Melville stood transfixed by what he was holding in his hand. "Captain, you and Lieutenant Broadax, in particular, were real bullet magnets. Right out in front. Every enemy musket was firing at you. The Guldur are rather bad shots, and the Goblan are even worse, but not that bad." He pointed to two particularly tattered chunks of wood. "This is the one your monkey carried, and this belonged to Broadax's monkey. Truth is, you should both be dead, several times over. But somehow, it would appear, our monkeys may have been . . . blocking bullets. I don't know any other way to put it. Perhaps it's just a coincidence, or perhaps our little friends have a lot to answer for."

Now his whole skin was a ma.s.s of goose b.u.mps. The stench of the surgery was forgotten. Melville stared at his monkey, and he could swear that the little creature looked him in the eyes and shrugged. "Perhaps," replied Melville, still looking at his monkey. "For now, let us keep this quiet." He reached up and scratched behind his monkey's soft, furry ears in a way that the little creature seemed to enjoy. It arched its back, closed its eyes and pushed gently against his ministering hand.

Melville continued, "Broadax and Fielder need to know about the results of your . . . research." He gestured at the bullet encrusted belaying pin in the purser's hand, "And about the . . . bullet stopping. Otherwise, this stays within this room. Understood?"

Elphinstone, Vodi, and Petreckski all nodded solemnly. So did Petreckski's monkey.

" . . ." Blink. "Right, then," he continued as he ducked out the door, "let's see these 'babies.'"

Standing out in the main hospital area, Melville took deep breaths as the others came out to join him. He wanted to say something about getting rid of these stinking corpses, but then realized that a few s.h.i.+p's boys were already taking charge of that task, dragging the bundles away in a manner that was oddly furtive.

The two tiny monkeys did look like little dappled kittens or puppies, all curled up, but with way too many legs stirred into the equation. Their "masters" were inordinately proud of them. Melville shuddered to think how possessive they might be if they suspected the monkeys' bullet-stopping skill.

No one had a clue where they came from. "Why, from momma monkeys, of course!" said one sailor and they all laughed. Melville and Petreckski looked at each other knowingly.

Melville knew he was running out of gas. He was already "smoked," as they would say of an exhausted warrior. By the end of his twelve-hour s.h.i.+ft he was going to be useless, or "smoked like a cheap cigar," as the saying goes. There was something he needed to do first. Something he'd been putting off.

A young s.h.i.+p's boy, third cla.s.s, was a.s.signed to the quarterdeck, and when Melville returned to his duty station he called him over.

"Sir!" said the boy, wide eyed and tugging his forelock in salute.

"Find the carpenter and ask him to come meet me here, when he has a chance."

"Aye, sir! When the carpenter gets a chance, 'e's to come meet you here."

Tibbits arrived shortly. "Aye, sir?"

"Mr. Tibbits, I've been putting off talking to our s.h.i.+p. Do you think that now is a good time?"

"Aye, sir. She'll talk with her carpenter, but in the end everythin' depends on her relations.h.i.+p with the Cap'n. Now is as good a time as ever. If you wait too long she may feel insulted, or it may look weak."

"Aye, Chips. My thoughts exactly."

"Aye, and there's one other thing," said the old carpenter, pulling a white Moss-coated piece of wood from his pocket. "I saved a shard of Kestrel's Keel. A bit of her's still alive here," he said. "I reckon you can decide what to do with it, but maybe it'd be a good idea to put it next to the new s.h.i.+p's Keel. Maybe they can . . . talk . . ."

"Aye," said Melville, taking the sliver of wood and immediately feeling the comforting, distant sense of an old friend. "Between this and Kestrel's cutters sitting on her decks, Fang will have something to think about. Let's go."

Down in the hold Melville and Tibbits stood over the Keel of Her Majesty, the Queen of Westerness' 24-Pounder Frigate, Fang. This was a vital moment. If the s.h.i.+p didn't accept them, they might well be dead. There were several ways that Fang could kill her occupants, and none of them were pleasant ways to die. The captain's relations.h.i.+p with his s.h.i.+p was the key. "Chips," Melville asked, "do you have any advice before I speak with her for the first time?"

"Well, Cap'n, I'd be real gentle. She's a young s.h.i.+p, and she seems kind of stunned by the whole business. She swapped Moss with old Kestrel during the boarding, and our four cutters is in direct contact with her. That seems to be havin' an effect. The curs don't treat their s.h.i.+ps real nice. Seems like there's not much love there. Our relations.h.i.+p with dear old Kestrel seems to be something new to young Fang here, and she's tryin' to adjust. Just be gentle, Cap'n and in the back of my mind I'd be thinkin' a little about old Kestrel, as background noise, so ta speak."

"Thanks, Chips." Melville sat down carefully in the 1.25 gees of the hold. He took several deep belly breaths. Now wasn't a time to show fear. Then he placed a hand on the Keel.

Speaking aloud and through his telepathic link to his s.h.i.+p, Melville introduced himself. <"fang. i'm="" your="" captain.="" on="" behalf="" of="" our="" old="" s.h.i.+p,="" the="" kestrel,="" and="" our="" entire="" crew,="" i="" thank="" you="" for="" your="" hospitality."="">> >.

> Melville had a sudden vision of a wolf lunging. In his vision there was particular emphasis on the wolf's canine tooth, its fang. Bright fang. Strong fang. Ripping fang. Good fang. > Melville heaved a sigh of relief. She liked the name.

>.

> It suddenly occurred to Melville that, in Fang's mind, that might be key to his mastery of this s.h.i.+p. Especially by Guldur tradition, that made him the rightful master. He suddenly felt a shudder of fear when he thought about the quirk of fate that permitted him to meet and defeat the captain of this s.h.i.+p in honorable combat.

With almost puppylike excitement Fang went on. > Yes. His blood had flowed freely on the deck, where the Elbereth Moss soaked it up. As it did most blood, but not any other fluid. What did that do? What did it mean to the weird amalgam of Moss and Guldur-based memories that formed Fang's sentience? Whatever it meant, it seemed to be good.

And then, with a strange sadness and yearning, something was added . . .

>.

Melville felt a thrill as he understood that his s.h.i.+p was talking about Kestrel. Their old s.h.i.+p had left them with one last gift. The respect and awe of this young s.h.i.+p. Keeping his hand on the Keel, Melville reached into his pocket and pulled out the Keel shard from Kestrel. He placed it lovingly next to Fang's Keel charge, wedging it in a little. One hand on the shard and one hand on the Keel, he felt a surge of interest and empathy. Something deep and profound was happening, something he could barely understand.

Fang repeated herself, saying again, with new depth of feeling, > >.

Again, Melville understood through their telepathic bond that Fang was speaking of the cutters, and the real dogs treading the decks of this s.h.i.+p. And, strangely enough, the young mids.h.i.+pmen and s.h.i.+p's boys whose bare feet trod the decks. Yes, thought Melville, with his eyes misting up just a little. They were good pups.

Then he realized with a shock that Fang included him as a "pup." Great, he thought with a smile, it's the cla.s.sic tale of a s.h.i.+p and her boy!

Then Fang got down to coordinating daily business with her captain.

>.

The young captain smiled and looked up at Tibbits. "We're home, Chips. We're home." Brave Kestrel, their brave dogs, and the courage of their brave lads had bought them a home.

Chapter the 8th.

Establis.h.i.+ng Routine:

To Guard from Hurt

. . . then dreams o'ertake

His tired-out brain, and lofty fancies blend

To one grand theme, and through all barriers break

To guard from hurt his faithful sleeping friend.

"The Battlefield"

Sydney Oswald