The Guns of Two-Space

by Dave Grossman

  "'Whereas many complaints have been made to this Court, of the greatest neglect of all sorts of people of using the lawful and necessary means for their safety, especially in this time of so great danger from Indians, it is therefore ordered that no person shall travel above one mile from his dwelling without arms; upon pain of twelvepence for every default.'"

  Theo took another sip and continued thoughtfully, "It is interesting that going unarmed was scornfully referred to as neglectful. Protecting oneself was not just a personal responsibility, it was a duty to the community! A community that needed the contributions of every able-bodied person. In fact, for over a century after the danger from hostile Indians was eliminated, there was no suggestion that this ordinance be repealed. A century-and-a-half later, those people were the leaders of the armed rebellion that created the United States!

  "But, alas, two centuries after the revolution, Americans living in that same place were denied the right to carry firearms in self-defense! They were required to depend completely upon uncaring and inept bureaucrats for personal protection, and nearly every other necessity of life. Those were dark decades when helpless citizens were brutally murdered, and neighbors and bureaucrats alike just yawned and went about their business as if nothing had happened. Citizens were of so little value, they were considered expendable!"

  "Damnfool sheep!" muttered old Natty.

  "Aye," continued Theo. "You know, the Massachusetts state motto was, 'By the sword we seek peace.' Two centuries later they were denied the right to self-defense! Their ancestors would rightly think they had lost their senses!"

  "Any sane citizen would think the same!" said Foy. "But," he sighed, "how quickly we forget."

  "I'm not much up on history," said Natty, "but mah partner, Ranger Foy here, is a gen-u-ine history buff. Tell 'em what ya was tellin' me the other day, John."

  "Well," began Foy after a long hard drink of his cider, "At about the time the original thirteen United States adopted their new constitution in 1787, Alexander Tyler, a Scottish history professor at the University of Edinburg, had this to say about the fall of the Athenian republic some two-thousand years prior:

  "'A democracy is always temporary in nature; it simply cannot exist as a permanent form of government. A democracy will continue to exist up until the time that voters discover that they can vote themselves generous gifts from the public treasury. From that moment on, the majority always votes for the candidates who promise the most benefits from the public treasury, with the result that every democracy will finally collapse over loose fiscal policy, which is always followed by a dictatorship.

  "'The average age of the world's greatest civilizations from the beginning of history, has been about two-hundred years. During those two-hundred years, these nations always progressed through the following sequence:

  -From bondage to spiritual faith;

  -From faith to great courage;

  -From courage to liberty;

  -From liberty to abundance;

  -From abundance to complacency;

  -From complacency to apathy;

  -From apathy to dependence;

  -From dependence back into bondage.'

  "So," continued Foy, "Westerness, as a constitutional monarchy, can avoid apathy and dependence as long as we're faced with a great challenge. The challenge of expansion has kept us fairly stable. Our current growth seems to be in place as a self-perpetuating process. A frontier spirit of independence and self-reliance has been made possible, with expansion being encouraged and perpetuated because it can bring great wealth and prosperity. This kind of process can only happen in a free market, in a society with a high degree of liberty, such as a republic or a constitutional monarchy like ours.

  "Others would disagree, and they may have a point, but the way I see it, we must avoid becoming a pure democracy, or mob rule, and we need to institutionalize our frontier spirit. Our 'Right of Self-Defense' and 'Right of the Individual Citizen to Keep and Bear Arms' are enshrined in our Constitution, and it's damned hard for anyone to twist that around!"

  "Well said!" replied Brother Theo. "May it ever be so! Gentlemen, I give you a toast. A toast to be drunk with home brew on a frontier world. To the fundamental right of all free men. The right that keeps them free. The right that sustains all other rights: the Right of Self-Defense, and the Right of the Individual Citizen to Keep and Bear Arms!"

  "Hooah!" chorused the four rangers. "Aye!" said the middies. And, "Damned straight!" said the farmer and his wife with curt nods.

  Cuthbert Asquith XVI was too busy jotting it all down to say anything.

  Before they left there was always the Dance.

  Small communities could sometimes be quite blatant about their desire to pick up some fresh material for the local gene pool from passing Ships. Larger communities were more subtle about this, sometimes even functioning at the subconscious level, but there were plenty of females of childbearing age to be bedded practically every night, on almost every planet, by most male crew members, if they were willing. The peak of this mating ritual was the Dance.

  It was usually held in a barn, with local musicians, lots of local home brew, and plenty of alien, exotic versions of dark corners, hay lofts, sandy dunes, grassy meadows, mossy glades, and cabins that just happened to be empty that night. The women were seldom beautiful, and "childbearing age" stretched well past the years that some would consider to be the peak of feminine beauty; but they were willing, and so were most of the Fangs. There was always plenty of locally produced alcoholic lubricants available, and, as Fielder put it, "Beauty is in the eye of the beer holder."

  Melville was a terrible dancer, and he was sincerely disgusted by his failure in this social grace. He couldn't understand why his skills with the sword in the "dance of death" didn't apply to the ballroom—or the barn dance, as the case may be. With a sword in his hand he glided like a trout. On the deck of a Ship in a boarding action he was a graceful human whirlwind with a glittering steel limb. On the dance floor the best he could manage was a slow, clumsy box step or an occasional leisurely waltz. Anything else was a recipe for social disaster and public humiliation. Usually after a few dances he would retreat to his Ship.

  While enjoyable in and of itself, the process of holding so many women reminded him of how far short they fell of his standard of womankind—his beloved Glaive, the Sylvan princess he had left behind on Osgil. Most basically asked the same question: "What are the fashionable ladies wearing in Westerness this season?"

  Melville had absolutely no idea. Even if he had been on Westerness, he probably wouldn't have noticed. He could tell them something about what was popular on Earth, and he blushed thinking of "In Heat" drugs, body paint, bustier options, and his dance partner with "all that yummy anatomy hanging down." His answer was always, "Oh they are generally wearing something in gingham, off the shoulders, in bright prints with matching fan. Why, much the same as you are wearing, now that I think upon it." This answer always seemed to serve well, pleasing his dance partners wonderfully.

  His first officer fielded the same question with an entirely different stock response. "Oh, they are showing much more décolletage this year," Lt. Fielder would say with a disarming smile. "Very low cut and daring. I must say, it would look good on you." Somehow, Fielder's brazen lack of conscience gave him an odd sort of charm. His partners certainly seemed to love it.

  Lt. Fielder never came back to the Ship early.

  The trip through the "smallness" of Westerness seemed interminable at times. From DunFoundIt! to GetLost, passing through HomeAtLast, Friday, First and Second Foundation, Dreamland, El Dorado, Enigma, and Knight's Tale, the list of worlds seemed endless at times.

  Brother Theo's ingenuity in the trade arena was often stretched. But his creativity in keeping his midshipmen productively employed and out of mischief was even more frequently strained.

  Theo had never been one to waste talent when it came to making sure his middies knew how to keep their young selves
alive. The lecture this day was being conducted by Gunny Von Rito and Mr. Hans on the subject of knives, swords, and other sharp pointy objects.

  "Young gentlemen," Theo said, and then looked around at the supposedly industrious members of the crew who were "working" in the near vicinity of his lecture on the upper waist. "And you various other idlers, layabouts, gadabouts, roustabouts, wastrels, sots, and other sorts who are eavesdropping on this lecture. Which leads me to digress and wonder why I haven't seen all of you at my Sunday morning services? It's apparent that it isn't the sound of my voice acting as a sedative.

  "In any case," he continued, "today's lecture comes in two parts. In the initial portion, I have the pleasure to introduce the theory, and in the second part, Gunnery Sergeant Von Rito and Mr. Hans, both extremely well-versed in the art of the knife, will help you to begin your lessons in close-and-dirty knife fighting. And Grenoble, the captain's bodyguard, kindly on loan from the King of Osgil, will help with some unique Sylvan aspects of the art.

  "These fine gentlemen have consented to assist me since, while the Lord has gifted me with some few accomplishments," and he folded his hands over his rounded belly and smiled cherubically, "I freely admit that my experiences in close combat are limited to wrestling with temptation!"

  "An' who wins, eh?" came a voice from the mainmast.

  "Ah, young Thompson," called back Brother Theo as his monkey eeped cheerfully, "I admit to struggling with temptation, but then the Lord put us here to struggle, did he not?

  "In any case," he continued good naturedly, "the first illusion and temptation you must conquer is the delusion which would lead you to believe that a gun or a pistol will always triumph over the knife!

  "This illusion is one that has killed countless people across the centuries. They assume (notice that lovely word 'assume' which makes an 'ass' out of 'u' and 'me' whenever you use it!) that their firearm is a magic wand which will cause others to freeze and obey their every command, that the mere threat of use is enough to cause compliance in their opponent.

  "This same mind-set produced the derisive phrase 'bringing a knife to a gunfight' with the implication that you are overmatched in every case. But researchers in the late twentieth century, in the early days of the Warrior Renaissance, found that a knifeman who began within twenty feet of his opponent was frequently successful! Even though the person being attacked had a firearm at the ready!"

  Brother Theo paused in his pacing at the center of the group. "Why was the knifeman successful against the gunman? Does anyone have an inkling? Or are you all practicing your naps for Sunday morning?" he grinned at the midshipmen cheerfully. His monkey propped its head on top of Brother Theo's as it looked around as well.

  Midshipman Hayl spoke up quietly, "The OODA loop, sir?" he ventured.

  "Excellent, Mr. Hayl! Excellent! The OODA loop, which for those of you who don't remember is the short form for the Observation, Orientation, Decision, and Action loop! When something happens, when the fecal matter impacts the rotating oscillator, as it were, first you see it! You Observe it! Then you have to figure out what it is, what is happening, you have to Orient yourself! After that, you have to Decide what to do about it! And finally, you must Act!

  "And while you are processing this OODA loop, you are burning up time! The one resource no one can replace! You are wasting time, and as Napoleon said, "Ask of me anything but time!" And then right in the middle of your loop, something changes! So the loop starts again. You start over again at Observe... And right about then, your finger still on the trigger, you observe a foot of cold steel has now become intimate friends with your belly button.

  "And you die!

  "Which is why we went from laughing at someone who brought a knife to a gunfight and started taking him or her seriously. And that, young sirs, is why we exercise you to the edge of your endurance in learning how to respond to every manner of attacks! So that when you face an opponent in a fast-moving, rough-and-tumble, life-and-death encounter, they die instead of you! Because your mind isn't even in the loop! You will respond and react on reflex, on muscle memory, not thought!

  "It has been pointed out that grapplers, or wrestlers, make an art out of closing distance, clinching and wrestling. It's a smart game plan, because eliminating distance greatly diminishes an opponent's ability to effectively retrieve and employ guns. Punches and kicks are also diminished in potency when bodies are in contact.

  "But Saint Farnam, writing in the early twenty-first century, pointed out that the nemesis for grapplers is a blade. Even when bodies are in contact, an opponent can efficiently retrieve and use a blade on a grappler, even a good one. Conversely, pistols are less likely to be retrieved and used effectively in the clinch.

  "Against such an attack a potential victim may be able to use a blade more effectively than a pistol, at least initially. An attacker is less likely to notice a blade in the victim's hand than he would a gun. Even after the attacker has been made (painfully) aware of the fact that his victim has a blade, disarming him or her is nearly impossible. Levering a pistol out of someone's grip is much easier. A gun is only dangerous in one direction!

  "When opponents separate, a pistol comes into its own, and a blade diminishes in usefulness. Think of a blade as something we can use quickly to get the attacker off of us and out of physical contact. When we have thus separated from him and gained distance, we can then utilize our pistol to prevent him from closing the distance once more.

  "The best use for a blade is when you have one—preferably concealed—and your attacker doesn't know it until it is employed. When it is employed, he will probably be more than happy to separate, after which you can default to your pistol.

  "And now, I leave you in the capable hands of the Gunny and Mr. Hans for lots and lots of lovely, loving practice." Brother Theo bestowed one last, kindly smile upon them and moved to the side.

  Old Hans moved to the center of the circle and grinned nastily. "Well, young gennulmans, the Gunny an' I ain't Acadermy trained, but we is sorta good at our trade, which is stayin' alive an' makin' sure them that fight agin' us don't! So we're gonna help you boys ta figger out how ta stay alive inna clinch." He and his monkey both spat a brown stream of tobacco juice over the rail.

  He chuckled evilly and continued. "I don' think you boys is gonna enjoy it much. An' speaking of things people ain't gonna enjoy..." He looked up at the yardarm over the circle and called out, "Thompson, ya wise-ass! Git yer butt down here. We needs a trainin' dummy, an' you proved yer qualerfy fer the job by mouthin' off ta' Brother Theo!"

  The only reply was a smothered "Oh hell," as Thompson slid down a line to the deck.

  And thus they trained and trained across the endless days. Not just midshipmen, but gun crews, topmen, and every other member of the Fang's crew trained at every conceivable combat task. The middies would sometimes protest, and most often it was Grenoble who would answer.

  "I have been studying thy history, and it tells us why thou must train. A proverb from thy ancient Chinese tells us, 'to chop a tree quickly, spend twice the time sharpening your ax.' In 404 B.C., Thucydides wrote in The History of the Peloponnesean Wars, that 'true safety was to be found in long previous training and not in eloquent exhortations uttered when they went into action.' Almost two and a half millennia later, thy Field Marshall Rommel told us that 'the best form of welfare for the troops is first-class training.' See? 'Tis thy welfare we are seeking! We want only what is best for thee. So sweat and suffer, little brothers! 'Tis good for thee!"

  "But, every day, sur?" asked Midshipman Jubal. "Do we have to do it every day?"

  "Thou sluggard! Thou hast most Saturdays and a good portion of Sunday off. What more couldst thou ask? An ancient samurai master told his student, 'You must concentrate upon and consecrate yourself wholly to each day, as though a fire were raging in your hair.'"

  "Mah whole body feels lahk it's on fire!" Jubal muttered.

  "Cogitate upon it from this perspective," added Brother Theo h
elpfully. "Life is like the parable of the carrot and the donkey. You can see the carrot, but pull as you might you can never reach it. The secret to enjoying life is to learn to love pulling the cart. Now, again, from the top!"

  "Great job," whispered Midshipman Lao Tung to Jubal as they started the knife drill again. "Now my hair is on fire, my carrot's forever out of reach, and my damned brain hurts just thinking about all them proverbs and stuff!"

  But still they trained.

  There were no great centers of civilization to partake of. No streets of bars and brothels, no stores packed with merchandize, no vast array of restaurants and vendors. But on each world there was at least one place to buy wholesome, homemade meals that were cheerfully sold for desperately needed cash. And some worlds had something different and exciting to offer. Occasionally the sun was brighter, or the animals were more colorful, or the vegetation greener, or the beaches whiter. Some worlds had exotic native food and animals, or unique souvenirs to treasure for a lifetime.

  And some worlds—indeed, most worlds—had, as old Hans put it, "Ab-so-lutly nuthin' ta commend 'em."

  But finally, it was done.

  After their last one-Pier world, as they were headed into Show-Low, the captain invited his officers to dinner. At the end of a good meal the consensus was that the crew was content, and it was good to go for a while without anyone trying to kill you. A man could get used to this!

  "It isn't as boring as sailing across the rift," concluded Melville. "No one is trying to sink us, and we do get a warm welcome on each world, such as it is. You have to admit, there is a kind of satisfaction in honest labor, and the crew is settling into it. As the poet said,

  "Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers?

  O sweet content!

  Art thou rich, yet in thy mind perplex'd?

  O punishment!...

  O sweet content! O sweet, O sweet content!

  Work apace, apace, apace, apace;