Two Space War Part 20

"The Anvil"

Laurence Binyon

Her Majesty, the Queen of Westerness' 24-Pounder Frigate, Fang, sailed westward into a "pleasant illusion of eternity." The days flowed by with quiet sailing under a perfect, unchanging sky. They sailed constantly toward a golden horizon that blended into a band of purple twilight. A horizon that remained perpetually ahead, never nearer. Above them the starry galaxies hung.

Below them the plane of Flatland flowed past. Flatland was a deep, dark blue, except when they pa.s.sed a star or planet. Then, beside them or beneath them would flow the vast brilliant yellow, white, red or blue glow of a star, the huge expanse of an orange gas giant, or the reds, browns, whites, blues and blacks of uninhabited planets. Rarest of all was the swirling blue, green and white that indicated a world which might support human life. In this region of the galaxy there were many stars and many planets, but none of them were known to be inhabited. The first inhabited planet would be Pearl, a Stolsh colony that was their destination.

The great twenty-volume biography of Captain Jack Aubrey, one of the most famous mariners of Old Earth, was preserved on one of the military data nets that survived the Crash. Like the volumes of the magnificent Hornblower biography, only the raw text was loaded in, and even the names of those great writers were lost. They were lost to the ages even more surely than Homer or Shakespeare, ever to be a source of controversy and academic discussion. But that great, nameless writer of the Aubrey biography had gained immortality like few men among the sailors of Westerness, and he wrote well and true when he spoke of this illusion of eternity.

"The immemorial sequence of cleaning the upper decks in earliest morning . . . piping up hammocks, piping hands to breakfast, cleaning the maindeck, piping to various morning exercises, the solemn observation at noon, hands piped to dinner, grog piped up [or, in this case, Guldur beer], the officers drummed to the gunroom dinner, the afternoon occupations, hands piped to supper, more grog [or beer!], then quarters, with the thunderous roar of the great guns flas.h.i.+ng and roaring in the twilight." This timeless ritual, "punctuated by bells," was indeed "so quickly and firmly restored that it might never have been broken."

The pa.s.sing of the weeks was marked by religious services on Sunday mornings for those so inclined, led by Brother Theo and consisting mostly of a few favorite hymns. On Sunday afternoon the crew would a.s.semble for the captain's inspection formation, followed by his formal inspection of the s.h.i.+p. These endless days could almost have been an idyllic time if not for the fact that they'd recently lost so many comrades. And every one of the s.h.i.+p's company knew that the hosts of h.e.l.l were following at their heels.

Their Guldur prisoners were being used as parolees, or trustees, for various duties throughout the s.h.i.+p. A careful eye was kept on them, but it soon became clear that there was no evil in them. As a final a.s.surance of their trustworthiness, the s.h.i.+p herself vouched for their good intentions. Their bare paws padding about on her decks couldn't lie to her, and the warriors of Westerness trusted their s.h.i.+p's judgment. At first the crew held some resentment toward their former enemy, but the Guldur's willing spirits and eagerness to please soon won over their s.h.i.+pmates.

The Guldur were of no use in the rigging, but elsewhere they were dispersed among the crew. Melville would have liked even more hands to bring them up to strength, but with the Guldur fully integrated into their crew he felt like they had a fighting chance if they met another enemy scout s.h.i.+p of this cla.s.s.

The baby monkeys continued to appear mysteriously, turning up on the shoulders of more and more crewmen, and they were warmly welcomed. Many of the sailors' tasks were solitary. On lookout high up in the rigging or on watch in the wee hours, it could get lonely, and the monkeys were welcome companions. The senior officers viewed the situation with concern but no real alarm since they were accustomed to dealing with alien pets and bizarre life-forms as pa.s.sengers and cargo. Just as their earlier, earthly counterparts had dealt with parrots, apes in the rigging, and a host of other pets. Both Swish-tail and Fang had vouched for the little creatures' goodwill, but Melville was certain that there must be more to the monkeys than met the eye. His primary concern was to rope them in and bring them under navy discipline as soon as possible. Everyone enjoyed the monkeys' antics, but on one occasion they stepped across the line. Melville took the opportunity to a.s.sert his authority and make them full, trustworthy, obedient members of the crew.

The monkeys loved to ride on the dogs' backs, and after some initial adjustment to the idea the dogs seemed to enjoy the experience. The dogs chased each other around the decks, their monkey jockeys screeching with joy and egging them on as canine ears flapped and tongues lolled out in joyful doggy grins.

The cats, on the other hand, had absolutely no patience for the monkeys. And the little eight-legged creatures seemed to delight in tormenting their feline fellow travelers. On several occasions the monkeys dropped from above onto an unsuspecting cat's back, where they'd ride the tormented creature like a bucking bull. The cats were having a hard enough time without this abuse, since the Guldur s.h.i.+p was infested with a wide variety of exotic vermin that made the usual c.o.c.kroaches, mice and rats seem mundane. It was the cats' job to hunt down all vermin. They'd been bred and selected across the centuries for this ability, and they took their job, and themselves, quite seriously.

No skylarking was ever permitted on the holy quarterdeck. The s.h.i.+p's cats, dogs, and boys all learned this lesson at an early age. The monkeys seemed to immediately understand the limits of what they could get away with. But off the quarterdeck their antics could be a source of pleasant entertainment for all.

So it was that Melville was standing his watch on the upper quarterdeck. A big tomcat was taking a well deserved nap on the green-side railing down by the waist. Hans' topmen were crawling about the rigging like huge spiders, most of them with a smaller spider upon them. Melville's twisted sense of humor brought to mind an old ditty that he shared with Hans: "Big bugs have little bugs

On their backs to bite 'em,

And these bugs have smaller bugs,

And so on, ad infinitum."

Hans grinned, "Aye, sir. If you think of Fang as bein' alive, which she is, then that 'as par-tic-u-lar appleecation."

Hans and his lads were putting the finis.h.i.+ng touches on a set of studding sails, small sails that extended out on booms from the sides of their regular sails. Hans' royals were answering well. And the spritsail-topsail, which was another, smaller, square sail further out the bowsprit, was adding its extra thrust. Now with these studding sails aloft and alow, they were moving at almost thirteen knots. All of these were quite rare in the s.h.i.+ps of two-s.p.a.ce, and their combination together on one s.h.i.+p was unheard of. As the speed of the s.h.i.+p increased, the tones of the rigging (the stays, shrouds, backstays and cordage) rose and rose to a triumphant pitch that seemed to harmonize joyfully with the strange, constant background music of two-s.p.a.ce.

The crew was universally pleased and excited about these additions and Hans was talking to Melville about how "those ma.s.sy yards and d.a.m.n'd stout sticks'l bear it, by the Lady," when suddenly a monkey dropped from above onto the back of the sleeping cat. The sailors had a rough sense of humor, and everyone grinned as the startled cat howled and leaped up. But the situation stopped being funny when the tormented cat launched itself off the end of the rail and into the blue plane of Flatland. The monkey on its back ejected up into the rigging, but the poor cat sank and then bobbed up once, its head popping out with a desperate "Wrrarr?!" Then it disappeared into the depths of interstellar s.p.a.ce. From the bottom side of the s.h.i.+p a few startled observers watched an upside-down cat pop feet-first out of Flatland, and disappear.

"Bugrit!" swore Hans.

On the top side the crew all watched in silent dismay and Melville knew that he needed to take immediate action. He pointed up at the monkey and called out, "Whose monkey is that?" The monkey fled up into the rigging to crouch on the back of a topman. "Izra Smith! Is that your monkey?"

"Aye, Cap'n," the sailor called back timidly.

"You, your monkey, and your division officer report to my cabin immediately." Melville moved down the quarterdeck steps and turned into his cabin. Various options flashed through his mind as he waited. This was an accident. It was horseplay gone awry, with no evil intent. Indeed, he felt that it was partly his fault since he hadn't taken action earlier when the monkeys first began to tease the cats. He was sitting at his writing table when Smith, accompanied by Mids.h.i.+pman Aquinar, was shown in by the marine guard at his door. Smith stood wringing his hands while his monkey peered cautiously over his shoulder. Aquinar stood beside him with a worried look on his face as his monkey peered over his shoulder.

"Smith," began Melville, looking at the unfortunate owner of the miscreant monkey, "what do you think this s.h.i.+p would be like if all the monkeys got out of control and drove their fellow crew members over the edge?"

"Aye, Cap'n, it'd be bad. Parful bad," said Smith, looking at the floor.

"Aye, indeed. So you agree that we must ensure that our new crew members exhibit proper navy discipline?"

"Aye, Cap'n."

"Good. Well the best way I can see to administer discipline is to stop the creature's food and grog. Your monkey is on bread and water for a week, starting today. You will not permit him to partake of any beer, or anything except bread and water, during that period. If he so much as snags a handful of your food, or anyone else's, it will be you on bread and water. Do I make myself clear?"

"Aye, Cap'n."

"Good, now, put your monkey on the table in front of me. Mr. Aquinar, you do the same." Then he reached up and grabbed his own monkey.

"Huurkk? Heek?" said the surprised monkey as Melville set it down in front of him. The other two monkeys were placed beside it, and Melville stood up and looked down at them sternly, leaning forward with his hands on the table. All three of the monkeys crouched on the table with their eight legs pulled in close and their heads drawn up in their thorax. Only a trace of their eyeb.a.l.l.s could be seen peeking out at him, and above the eyeb.a.l.l.s their mouths were chittering silently.

"Now you lot listen up," Melville began. Smith and Aquinar looked at him incredulously. What the h.e.l.l am I doing, thought Melville. I'm lecturing a bunch of d.a.m.ned monkeys! I swear it's See-no-evil, Hear-no-evil and Speak-no-evil. "Those cats are members of our crew, just like you. They serve a function here, and I will not tolerate any further hara.s.sment of the cats. Do I make myself clear?"

"Krw?" said his monkey.

" . . . Aye," replied Melville. Now," he continued, pointing his finger at his monkey as it crouched back away from his remonstrating digit. "From this point on you, sir, will be in charge of discipline among the monkeys. You are the captain's monkey, and you'll be in charge of monkey discipline. When I want something done among the monkeys, I will tell you, and you will by G.o.d ensure that it is done. Is that understood?"

"Aiee kptnn," responded his monkey faintly, its head nodding inside its thorax. The other two could be seen nodding their heads as well. A strange effect since it caused their eyes to blink in and out of sight.

d.a.m.n, thought Melville, I knew it! They really do understand.

"Good. If there are any other occurrences like this, you and all the other monkeys will be put on bread and water. If you cannot submit to authority you will be put off at the next port. Do you understand?"

"Aiee, kptnn." Now their heads crept back out of the thorax and this statement by Melville's monkey was accompanied by a chorus of nods from the three monkeys.

"Good. Very good. Now, what the cats do for us is to hunt down vermin. From this point on I want all of you to start earning your keep on this s.h.i.+p by helping to hunt down vermin. Not only do we have some rats, mice, c.o.c.kroaches, and weevils, but we have all kinds of weird Guldur infestations. The cats are driven to distraction by having to take care of these critters, and you'll help them. Can you do that?"

Now their heads were extended well out on their accordion necks. There was an eager nodding and a chorus from all three that a good imagination might take as "Aye Captain."

"Good. Now move out!"

Smith and Aquinar saluted while the monkeys spun their necks 360 degrees to watch them. The monkeys mimicked the salutes almost perfectly and scampered to the appropriate shoulders. On their way out the monkeys looked at each other and exchanged relieved glances and a brief chittering. Melville could have sworn that they thought things could have gone much worse and perhaps they had gotten off lightly.

"d.a.m.n," said Melville quietly as they left, reaching up to scratch his monkey behind the ears. "I wonder if I should feel sorry for the vermin?"

There were two additional groups that still needed to be integrated into their crew. One was the huge, semi-sentient 24-pounder cannons. The other was Cinder's litter of puppies.

Sired by Josiah's dog, born of Valandil's Cinder, this litter of pups represented some of the finest canine bloodlines known to Sylvan or human kind. For centuries mankind had bred their dogs for intelligence and physical ability, as had the Sylvans. To the best of anyone's knowledge this litter was the first cross between these two mighty breeds. At some time in the primordial past, many of the worlds in the galaxy appeared to have been seeded, perhaps repeatedly, by some elder race, or races. Indeed a strong case could be made for a continuous exchange of genetic material between many planets, so that life coevolved at the same time on all of them. It was generally believed that Sylvan and humans could interbreed. Here was further proof that interbreeding was possible between similar species from far distant worlds.

Melville looked with wonder at the little furry blobs mewling at the proud mother's flank as they nursed with dogged perseverance. Above him the monkeys in the rigging were batting around some poor crayfishlike vermin they'd caught, until finally one of them batted it off into the blue plane of Flatland with a belaying pin and a cheer. Melville picked up a pup, with an audible pop as he pulled it from its mother's teat, and stroked its little blind head. Here was another new thing. An ancient Spanish blessing went, "May no new thing arise," but for him many new things had arisen. The monkeys, the s.h.i.+p, the pups. And he found them all to be a source of great joy in his life.

Melville probably should have realized that Cinder was gravid when they came off of Broadax's World. In retrospect it was pretty obvious, but somehow there were always other things to worry about. He was sincerely surprised when the pups were born, and deeply moved when the rangers presented one to him. He immediately began to bond with the puppy, but the rangers, and Cinder, took responsibility for training the pups. Having seen how splendidly the rangers' dogs performed in combat, Melville asked them if they would a.s.sist in training all the s.h.i.+p's dogs. They readily agreed.

The puppies were easily incorporated into the crew. Mankind had vast centuries of experience to draw upon when it came to dogs. It was in the genes of both species to adapt to each other, and this process even seemed to apply to the Guldur. But when it came to integrating the huge cannon, the task wasn't nearly so simple and straightforward.

When you put your hand on the 24-pounder's Keel charge you felt a feral yearning to lash out and destroy. This was true to a lesser extent of their 12-pounders, but in this case there was an intensity and a viciousness that was mildly disturbing. Like the difference between a hunting dog and a feral wolf. All the gun crews for the 24-pounders fired a round early on. When they touched off the cannon the response was something like > or >, as the carriage screeched back on its greased ramp and the breaching ropes tw.a.n.ged deeply. It was hard to tell if what they yearned to destroy was some target in front of the gun, or the human behind it as they recoiled with stunning violence against the restraining ropes.

Accurate firing of a Keel-charged cannon in Flatland was accomplished through a bonding with the cannon. The gunner willed the cannonball to hit what he was sighting on, and the Keel charge was capable of adjusting itself to hit the target. The cannons were capable of astounding accuracy if the gunner was experienced, and if the cannon was trained, and if they had practiced together as a team.

The problem with these cannons was that they were so large that the gunner couldn't sight down the barrel and concentrate on his target as he touched off the Keel. Thus the gunner had no choice but to stand to the side as he touched off the cannon, or he'd be crushed by the recoil. But their master gunner, Mister Barlet, had a solution to that problem. His plan was to build a platform over one side of the gun, and the gunner would lie on that, looking down the barrel, making hand motions to the a.s.sistant gunners on each side of the carriage. They would pry the gun to left and right according to these signals. Once they got this all in place the result was amazing.

Since nothing but a Keel would "float" in two-s.p.a.ce, and Keels were precious and expensive, the process of setting up a target for gunnery practice required significant ingenuity. Their standard procedure was to send out one of the cutters with a target suspended from a boom held out astern. The boom was long, as long as they could manage to lash together, with support lines up to the cutter's masthead, but still there was danger of a missent cannonball hitting the cutter. At first the cutter was kept in close as they learned the guns' ability, range and accuracy. The results astounded them. With a few weeks of daily gunnery practice they were able to run the cutter out farther than one of their 12-pound b.a.l.l.s could even reach at maximum elevation. Their 24-pounders were still hitting the targets, usually a few suspended barrels, with deadly accuracy.

There was a full stock of round shot, canister and grape for exercising the 24-pounders, but there was only a limited amount for the 12-pounders. All of the ammunition for the 12-pounders had come across from Kestrel in the cutters, so the supply was necessarily limited. This was acceptable, since the 12-pounders' crews were well trained and competent.

Within a few weeks Cinder's pups were small b.a.l.l.s of pure energy, gamboling merrily about with out-of-control limbs and a sheer love of life that was simple, pure and complete. They had thick, fluffy, tan and black fur, huge feet, floppy ears, and long, thick tails that wagged their whole bodies. They had the sailors in st.i.tches as they romped back and forth across the decks in a great, hairy horde. The crew dearly loved and appreciated the pups for making them laugh. After the horror of their recent battles the puppies' zest for life and boundless affection was healing, renewing and reenergizing, and most of all contagious.

Burned from the ore's rejected dross,

The iron whitens in the heat.

With plangent strokes of pain and loss

The hammers on the iron beat.

Searched by the fire, through death and dole

We feel the iron in our soul.

They'd been forged in fire and death, but now the fire was quenched in laughter, just as the white-hot sword is quenched in water. They were stronger for the quenching and there was, indeed, iron in their souls.

Soon the puppies each carried a baby monkey, a true kindred spirit riding gleefully upon their backs. The inspired naughtiness and boundless energy of the puppies seemed to be reflected perfectly in the monkeys. Together they persistently went about the serious business of play, attacking the toes of the barefooted sailors, chewing at the railing, and mounting combined-arms offensives on the mops that flogged the decks each morning. Like the cats, the puppies needed to be taught to use the heads, dropping their urine and feces into interstellar s.p.a.ce. This batch of puppies seemed to be learning particularly quickly, apparently helped along by their monkeys.

Every day the great guns fired and, like the monkeys and puppies, they too were learning how to integrate themselves as full-fledged members of the team. And each day the crew members were drilled extensively in combat craft. For the sailors, that meant rifle practice and bayonet drill. For the mids.h.i.+pmen, it meant extensive pistol training.

Petreckski was in charge of most aspects of the mids.h.i.+pmen's training. He was their schoolmaster, teaching them in the cla.s.sics and many other areas, but he took particular delight at training them in pistolcraft. With a battle pending he saw this as a priority task.

"Gentlemen," said the monk to his students as they began pistol practice on targets hanging from the yardarms, "I cannot emphasize enough how important it is to focus your eyes on the front sight of your pistol. You want to look at the target, but even though you look with all your might, it will accomplish nothing. You cannot influence the target one little bit by looking at it, but you can influence your pistol by focusing on the front sight." He looked at Hezikiah Jubal and shook his head sadly. Jubal was an excellent sailor but he was adjusting poorly to using a pistol.

The middies stood facing the targets suspended over the dark blue plain of Flatland. The targets were chunks of wood and canvas carefully shaped and painted to look like human beings. In front of them was a rack of pistols. Petreckski stood to the left of the line, facing them. "Each of you pick up a pistol from the rack and face the target in the low ready position. The pistols have been loaded.

"Now, think of yourselves as artists. Your pistol is your brush. The artist uses the brush to paint with. He moves the brush, not the painting. He focuses on the tip of the brush to get the stroke right. What you are painting, my friends, is literally a masterpiece of life and death. Life for you and your friends, death for the enemy who is trying to kill you. All painted on a canvas of flesh with your little front sight. Do you understand?"

"Aye, sir," they answered in chorus. The new middies had all acquired monkeys. Now each middy had a monkey on his back, nodding in unison with its master. Petreckski also had a new monkey. It had quickly acquired a comical air of dignity and grave wisdom. It looked like a little Buddha sitting on his shoulder, folding its hands on its thorax, and comically mimicking the monk's gravity.

"Gentlemen, today I have a special drill to be sure you focus on your front sight. A number has been painted on each of your front sights. No, don't look! It's very small, and the only way you can read it is to focus very carefully on the front sight. So now, one by one, you will raise your pistols and place the front sight on the target. Then focus on the number, calling it off as you fire. Do you understand?"

"Aye, sir . . ." they said, with some uncertainly.

"Starting from the right. Mr. Jubal, ready, fire."

Jubal raised the weapon up to point at the chunk of sc.r.a.p wood that was his target. Beneath them were the floorboards, before them the railing, behind them stood the mainmast, above them hung the mainyard. All were coated with Moss and glowing like vast florescent bulbs. By this ample light he brought his pistol up onto the target and read the number painted on the sight as he slipped his thumb over the Keel charge. "Three."

> "Crack!" It was a dead hit that flipped the target back on its ropes.

"Good! Did you see how that worked?"

"Yes sir! That was amazing! Now I understand what you meant about focusing on the front sight."

"Good," replied the monk with a pleased smile, folding his hands on his ample belly. "We will all do that, reload, switch pistols, and do it again and again."