Vodi was in a dowdy black shift, 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 bloody hand. As he watched, she spat a stream of juice into the cup. "Psssuttt."
"Sir!" said Petreckski. His pale blue eyes were shining 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 space 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 constituted valuable cargo. In the old days of sailing ships the purser wasn't often a popular officer, since he was notorious for stealing from the ship. 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 Ships turned a profit as they traveled. A profit that was shared by all the warrior-traders onboard the Ship.
"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 bloody 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 space. 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 assume," 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 bloody mass 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 flashing 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 sexual 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 embarrassing 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 Ass.' 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 assortment 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 balls in it." That was an understatement. Several of them were riddled with imbedded musket balls, 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 mass of goose bumps. 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 ship'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 shift 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 ship's boy, third class, was assigned 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 Ship. 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 relationship 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 Ship'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 Ship 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 relationship with his Ship 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 Ship, 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 Ships real nice. Seems like there's not much love there. Our relationship 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 Ship, Melville introduced himself. <<"Fang. I'm your captain. On behalf of our old Ship, 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.
<
<
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 Ship was talking about Kestrel. Their old Ship had left them with one last gift. The respect and awe of this young Ship. 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 Ship. And, strangely enough, the young midshipmen and ship'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 classic tale of a ship 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
Establishing 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
Melville completed his discussion with Fang, telling her where they were headed and why. She didn't seem in the least concerned that they would be informing the Stolsh about the approaching Guldur fleet. It was obvious that his Ship could be counted upon to be loyal and steadfast to him. And to her "pups."
&
nbsp; Melville flipped down through the hatch, and checked on Mr. Crater as he conned the lower quarterdeck. To go through the area where gravity "flips" wasn't particularly arduous or difficult. Easier even than slipping into water, especially for someone who'd done it from his youngest days. But still he did it cautiously, protecting his injured shoulder.
Young Crater was doing fine. He'd been the 2IC, or second in command, of the quarterdeck on many a watch. He had often been left to con the deck while the duty officer went about his many responsibilities in other parts of the Ship. An experienced quartermaster with over a decade of sea duty under his belt was there to assist. Above them an experienced petty officer directed the seamen in the rigging. They seemed to take delight in breaking in their new "lootenant."
Then Melville flipped back through to the upper quarterdeck, kneeling to say a passing hello to Fang as he passed the Keel.
The rest of the shift went by in a dull blur for Melville. He had barely begun to recover from his wounds and was quickly exhausted. Hans insisted on rigging a deck chair for him to sit on, something that was unheard of in ordinary circumstances.
At six bells he went below, where McAndrews had fixed him a hot lunch. The portly steward appeared to be an unimaginative cook, but Melville wasn't a picky eater.
Hans, in his duties as sailing master, was reworking the rigging and sails to conform to Westerness standards. He bounced back and forth between the upper and lower decks, keeping a good eye out for young Lieutenant Crater on the lower quarterdeck. Hans' monkey perched on the sailing master's shoulder and seemed to delight in everything they did. The little tobacco-chewing creature was now the darling of the topmen.
Finally, his long watch was over and Melville went into his cabin. Again McAndrews prepared a meal, which he shoveled down. It was hot and it felt good, whatever it was.
They had an adequate supply of water, with resupply expected fairly soon, so he was able to grab a quick sponge bath. He stood in a wide, shallow basin designed to catch the precious water, sponging himself off while McAndrews held a pan of hot water for him. The steward had heated the water, and it felt good. The unctuous sailor was definitely beginning to grow on him. Ordinarily he didn't get hot water to bathe in, another advantage to being the captain. There was an up side to the responsibility. There wasn't enough water to wash his entire body, but he could soap and rinse his "pits." The arm pits and the whole region between the thighs and buttocks that academy cadets jokingly referred to as the "leg pit."
Two Space War Page 17