The Guns of Two-Space

by Dave Grossman

  Melville grinned back at him. "Trust me, I'm proud of him too. Not to mention he kept me alive by covering my back. Here, now, what's this?"

  They both looked down the Pier at a trio of figures approaching the Ship. Soon there was a sizable number of the crew at the railing, shaking their heads in wonder at what they saw.

  Fielder was "pitching woo" to a brace of local ladies hanging on his arms as they saw their brave sailor to his Ship. It would have been a classic, timeless scene, identical to those played out by human sailors for untold millennia, if not for the bizarre sight of an alien monkey's head bobbing happily above Fielder's head.

  "Yep," said Fielder, "there I was, facing the entire Guldur horde. And let me tell you, ladies, they were open for business..."

  "Some of the people on that boat seem unhappy to see you," whispered one of his ladies, looking up at the faces on the railing. "Especially that short guy with the beard and the ax."

  "Pay no attention to them. The downside of being better than everyone else is that people tend to assume you're pretentious."

  "But why would they be like that?"

  "Sometimes, the solution to a morale problem is just to kill all the unhappy people. It seems harsh, and the useless, expendable ones who are next on the chopping block tend to resent the fact that the only purpose of their life is to serve as a warning to others, but that is the law of the sea."

  "It must be awful having to make those kind of decisions!"

  "Yes, it's lonely at the top. But it's comforting to look down upon everyone at the bottom. I have to admit, I am often 'whelmed' by the responsibility. Not overwhelmed, mind you, just... whelmed."

  Looking at the young midshipmen watching from the rail, one of his girls asked, "Aren't the young ones damaged by all that killing and stuff?"

  "Aye, it's true," said Fielder as they stepped up the gangplank. "The hearts and minds of lesser beings are a lot more fragile than mine."

  "He ain't got a mind ta damage, above 'is belt!" snarled Broadax disgustedly.

  "The leapord never changes hisk shorts," muttered Ulrich.

  "Heeeere kittykittykitty!" added his bird.

  "We had reports that said you were dead," said Melville with a grin as Fielder came onboard. He was pleased in spite of everything to see his first officer return. Boye, tail wagging furiously, ran up to greet the latecomer.

  "Bet you fifty dollars I'm not!" said Fielder with a smile, a salute, and a happy pat for the dog and the dog's monkey.

  "Well, if you are, it looks like you weathered the experience well," said Melville, returning the salute.

  "So ye convinced 'em ta let ye go, eh?" said Broadax disgustedly.

  "The trick is to never tell the truth," said Fielder cheerfully. "Police never believe what anyone tells them anyway, so why give them extra work?"

  "Ye've got the luck of the devil," scowled Broadax. "Personally I think yer related."

  "Hey, 'He needed killing' is still a valid defense here," replied Fielder with a shrug. "Besides, the judge thinks I'm corrupt. We met previously in a brothel, so he trusts me. It's always nice when your vices pay off.

  "Now, my ladies," said Fielder to his escorts, "I must leave you."

  "But Danny, I thought you loved us?"

  "I do, my sweet, I do. But not exclusively."

  After Fielder saw his inamoratas off, he briefed Melville about his experiences.

  "And the ladies?" Melville asked wryly.

  "Simply a side effect, Captain, an aspect of my departure. The judge and I had a long discussion about our insignificant little altercation, and we merely moved it to a location more conducive to civilized conversation."

  He grinned and added, "It didn't hurt that I was picking up the tab, either!"

  "Well, what about Lady Elphinstone? She was arrested with you, wasn't she?"

  "Well, Captain, the judge was a wee bit ticked off at our brave healer. He didn't mind her cleaning up the local gene pool a bit, but her knocking out a police officer with a sedative was deeply offensive to him. He was mumbling something about unlicensed drug dispensation, assault, and a few other minor things."

  "I think I had better get the governor involved in this one, then. It sounds like it could be serious," Melville said grimly.

  "Well, that really isn't necessary. For two reasons," replied Fielder, smiling and buffing his nails on his jacket.

  "Firstly, it seems the local judicial system was overwhelmed with another case that had literally scores of dead and many more maimed. Apparently a large group of bravos and sellswords, hired by a visitor to this planet who has since departed hastily, attacked the private party of a group of local rustics with aberrant tastes in companionship and entertainment. The result was a bloodbath: murder on a mass scale, rapine of an unusually unsavory sort, and general mayhem of a magnitude that is uncommon even for this planet."

  "Hmm," said Melville, shaking his head with a chuckle. "That appears to be Hans and Vodi's plan coming to fruition. I'll fill you in later. So the local population has experienced some intense natural selection, and the judicial system has bigger fish to fry. Tell me the other reason I shouldn't worry about Elphinstone."

  "Well," began Fielder, "the judge and I had a long conversation and I told him that, as a naval captain on independent duty, you had the rights of high and low justice. That you had strong feelings about her behavior, and would be more than happy to take care of it."

  Melville's eyebrows rose toward his hairline. "High and low justice? Daniel, did you happen to mention that I only have authority over offenses to Navy discipline? And I really don't think sedating a policeman affects Navy discipline. Nor do I think acting in self-defense is a crime!"

  "Now, Captain. I never said what her punishment would be. After all, I am merely the poor overworked first officer!" He looked piously innocent for a moment before his face collapsed into a grin. "It's all far above my pay grade! I merely let the judge draw his own, umm, conclusions."

  Melville studied him, then grinned back. "If this deal with the judge works, Daniel, remind me not to play poker with you. Such peasant cunning!"

  Fielder placed his hand to his chest in mock indignity. "Please, Captain, not peasant cunning! Baronet Daniello Sans Fielder may be accused of many things, but never anything so base!"

  Lady Elphinstone was brought to the gangplank of the Fang late in the afternoon watch. She was accompanied by a clerk of the court. Only a very careful observer could have discerned that her buttercup yellow dress and grass green sash were slightly begrimed.

  "Are you in charge here?" asked the portly clerk.

  Clearly not, Melville thought. "Yes," he said.

  "I need to know what are your plans for this offender?"

  Melville pontificated. "Aboard this Ship the captain is high, low, and every other altitude of justice to be had in two-space. Once I have her under my authority I assure you that I shall pass judgment hastily enough to make even you happy, lest the sentence have the unseemly taint of cool deliberation."

  The clerk was clearly impressed by the captain's oratory. "Well, since you are ready for rapid judgment, then I am pleased. The judge will be as well. Tell me, what shall be the punishment for her crimes?"

  Melville smiled benevolently and replied, "I believe that I shall sentence her to banishment to the deepest depths of the far frontier while she cares for our sick and wounded, in exchange for room and board and some pocket money, on her solemn promise not to ever kill or drug anyone not equally deserving."

  And with this the portly clerk, and the Show Low criminal justice system, had to be content.

  Elphinstone stood with her usual serene composure as the clerk left.

  "Welcome back, my lady," said Melville.

  "I thank thee. And I bring thee a message from the governor."

  "What is it?"

  "Wouldst like to know?"

  "I'd like nothing better."

  "Then I shall tell thee."

  "Well then?"
/>
  "The governor says that he appreciates thy efforts as the 'Uber-Darwin lifeguard in the local gene pool' and thou art always welcome on his world. But, under current circumstances, 'twere best thou shouldst depart as soon as possible."

  "I'll drink to that!" muttered Fielder.

  * * *

  We got too many gangsters,

  doin' dirty deeds,

  Too much corruption,

  and crime in the streets.

  It's time the long arm of the law,

  put a few more in the ground,

  Send them all to their Maker,

  and He'll send them on down.

  You can bet, He'll send 'em on down.

  'Cause justice is the one thing,

  you should always find.

  You gotta saddle up your boys,

  you gotta draw a hard line.

  When the gunsmoke settles,

  we'll sing a victory tune,

  And we'll all meet back,

  at the local saloon!

  And we'll raise up our glasses,

  against evil forces,

  Singing, "Whiskey for my men,

  beer for my horses!"

  * * *

  They were about to make the long run to the Hero Cluster. If they forgot anything, it couldn't be replaced at a convenient port stop—since there weren't any! So long hours were used to conduct pre-underway checks, finish the final loading of stores and water, and complete a thousand other vital tasks to ensure their survival and safe travel in two-space.

  The crew of the Fang pitched in and worked like demons—hungover demons for the most part, but hardworking nonetheless! The general attitude was that if you were going to hoot with the owls, you had to scratch with the chickens. And if that meant you had to make a discreet stop to relieve your stomach over the side to do your job, well, that was part and parcel of a great liberty!

  One of the worst chores was loading the barrels of food and water for the next stage of their trip. Two-space both helped and hindered in this process. It helped because water and food tended to remain fresh and useable longer in that environment. Conversely, that same environment wreaked havoc on most of the tools they could use to lift heavy objects. Due to the constant degradation of complex, machined surfaces, they were limited to using simple pulleys or "single-blocks." These were made of hardwood riding in a wooden saddle, which could be readily maintained with a chisel and lubrication. The downside was that with two blocks you only had a two-to-one ratio for lifts.

  To hoist a standard fifty-five-gallon barrel it took a five-man team: three men to lift the almost five-hundred-pound barrel, one to stabilize it with a separate line, and a fifth man with a snubbing line running around a belaying point to keep it from falling if someone lost their grip. For some reason, the Navy felt it was exceedingly bad form to drop five-hundred-pound barrels on peoples' heads. Killing someone intentionally was one thing, but doing it by accident was a sign of bad workmanship—like a surgeon amputating the wrong leg!

  This all meant that loading stores for getting underway was a slow, tedious, and hellaciously hard job for all hands. Food, water, and stores for a crew on a lengthy voyage occupied a lot of space, and it took a lot of time to get aboard.

  During the final watering process, a "package" came aboard with the Fang's water barrels.

  A dockyard worker cracked a sealed case and dropped the blob of black "goo" atop one of the last barrels scheduled to come onboard. He had been well paid for this act, and it was the easiest money he had ever earned. Basically, it was like cracking an egg into a pan.

  "Ugg!" was his only comment as he watched the goo seep into the cracks in the barrel.

  <> replied the goo.

  While the Fangs were preparing to get underway, they also had to get the remaining members of the crew back aboard. Normally this wasn't a problem, but ending their liberty early meant that working parties (large, heavily armed parties in this instance, just in case Ursula still had some surprises waiting for them) had to be sent out to the local brothels, bars, gambling dens, shops, bookstores, theaters, and churches to recover the crew.

  And a few Fangs had to be bailed out of jail.

  Lance Corporal Jarvis shook his head in rueful appreciation of his two squad members. "Dwakins, what in the hell happened to you?" he asked.

  Dwakins had apparently started in the standard marine liberty uniform, but it was currently torn, stained and bled upon in such a fashion that it was obvious he had either survived a tornado or one hell of a good fight.

  The other marine that Jarvis had to bail out was a bit of an anomaly. Rawl was an enemy Guldur who had been wounded (by Dwakins no less) when they captured Gnasher and Biter. From the dried blood on Rawl's fur and claws, it was apparent that the two of them had been involved in the same battle.

  Their monkeys didn't look much better.

  "Wuhl, Corp, ya know me 'n Rawl's buddies, right?" Dwakins asked, looking at Jarvis eagerly through the one eye that wasn't swollen shut.

  "Yeah, Dwakins, you two are the Brothers Dumb. Always hangin' out together. Get on with it!"

  "Wuhl, we wus havin' a quiet beer, an' this local cop sez Rawl couldn't be there. 'Lie with a dog an' ya wakes up with fleas,' 'e sez! He wus reel mean about it, too! Even if it wus true. I mean, we got all the fleas outa ol' Rawl a long time ago. So Ah had to defend muh friend and Shipmate!"

  Jarvis moaned as he looked down and rubbed his eyes. "Damn," he muttered. "Why did I have to up and reenlist for this madhouse? Well, it looks like the Brothers Dumb win the booby prize again, Dwakins. Did you ever stop to think it might not be a good idea to start a fight with a cop? In a cop bar?! Next to the station house?!"

  Dwakins and Rawl looked at each other, then at Jarvis. "But, Corp, Lt. Broadax tole me not ta think! She sez I'll only hurt muhself!"

  And, of course, the emergency supplies had to be turned into the marine armory.

  Hans was taking great pride in the fact that his weapon was clean, nay pristine, as he prepared to turn his .45 in. "Ya know," he said, "a well made .45 like this will feed anything. Even empty brass," he continued, as he jacked back the slide repeatedly and ran a magazine full of expended brass cartridges through the pistol.

  "Hmm," Hans added, "I wonder if I should take the grips off and clean under there. Hate to turn in a dirty weapon."

  Broadax was bored to tears by all of this. "It'll feed anything?" she asked, innocently, taking the pistol from Hans. "How 'bout this..." Then she dropped a sugar cookie into the breech of the .45 and hit the slide release. The slide slammed forward, spraying out a cloud of greasy crumbs and sugar.

  Hans went cross-eyed in stunned anger as Broadax returned his pistol. Then Broadax put a dab of gun oil behind her ear, winked at him slyly, and said, "We only gots a few hours left on this dirtball. There's a tavern with an upstairs room right acrost the way. An' I thinks ye otter consider some uther priorities besides cleanin' yer damned gun."

  Hans' anger died and he breathed deeply as he leaned forward and nuzzled her behind the ear.

  "I love the smell o' gun oil in the evenin'," he said with a leer. "It smells like... well-lubricated parts..."

  In addition to the Brothers Dumb, there was one other Fang who had fallen afoul of the law on Show Low. Ranger Aubrey Valandil had been cited early in their stay for spitting on the sidewalk. He had failed to make his court date, and there was a warrant for his arrest. As the senior ranger, Westminster went with Valandil to pay his fine, then he brought the errant Sylvan ranger home.

  When the two rangers returned to the Ship they reported to the first officer in the wardroom. The only other occupant of the wardroom was Brother Theo, who was bending over a ledger in a corner.

  "You are a black eye to this Ship, Ranger!" said Fielder, shaking his head in mock dismay. "Arrested for climbing buildings on Earth, public urination on Lenoria, and now this? You're a pocking one-man intergalactic crime spree!" Fielder, who had broken countless laws on Show Low, up
to and including public nudity and multiple homicides, looked at Valandil sternly and asked, "What are we going to do with you?"

  The quiet, self-possessed Sylvan ranger, who seldom said a word or displayed emotion, was sincerely embarrassed. And Fielder was deriving enormous pleasure from the sheer, pompous hypocrisy of his statements.

  Westminster too was enjoying his partner's discomfort. Valandil probably hadn't spoken a complete sentence since he was thirteen, and his response this time was an abashed silence.

  "Ah'll accept personal responsibility for him, sir," drawled the ranger. "He has assured me that his wild days are behind him, and Ah believe him."

  "It's always the quiet ones, eh, Josiah?" said Fielder, with pursed lips and a nod. "Very well, you are dismissed. But I've got my eye on you, Ranger Valandil."

  "Daniel," said Theo, looking up from his ledger with a shake of his head after the rangers left. "Your soul is so dark, it smudges mine."

  Fielder just smiled.

  Finally, the Ship was ready. Everything from rice to rhubarbs was packed away in its place, and all the crew was aboard.

  As they cast off, the age-old call came forth from the dock workers: "Don't worry, sailor, we'll take care of yer girls for you while yer gone!"

  And the good-natured, traditional response came back, "Good, they need some female company!"

  And Fang left her message at one last Pier before they departed the galactic arm and headed into the Far Rift.

  <>

  CHAPTER THE 13TH

  Across the Far Rift:

  "Tyger! Tyger!"

  Tyger! Tyger! burning bright

  In the forests of the night

  What immortal hand or eye

  Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

  In what distant deeps or skies

  Burnt the fire of thine eyes?

  On what wings dare he aspire?