The Guns of Two-Space

by Dave Grossman

  Hans shook his head and continued. "I can git good odds fer it, but yer gonna lose, unless somethin' happens ta distract Grenoble. An' if it does, all bets are off, Ulrich. I know how ya feels about that Sylvan, I do. You can't deny that you'd give yer right arm to stick it too 'im."

  "Atsk right. Skumbudy's right arm, anyway. They's always lotsk a right arms around, no sense in wastingk mine."

  "That's what I thought. But, by the Lady, nobody gits ta play fast 'n loose with the rules jist ta embarrass someone else." Hans said, giving the sawed-off psycho a glare which slid right past him.

  "Nawrsk, ya gotsk me wrong, Hansie, ya does. All straightsk, not a thing I'm gonna do exceptin' watch that prancink prig git taken down a notch—or maybe ten! See how 'e feels after an earthworm beatsk 'im like a drum!" He chortled evilly.

  Hans eyed him curiously. Then he crossed his arms and stared over the side for a moment. "Wellll," he said slowly, "so long as it's on the up-'n'-up, I think I can git some good odds." He smiled at the little coxswain. "After all, it ain't like it's gonna happen. So, hell, I'll even be taken some o' yer money myself!"

  Ulrich grinned back. "You jesk be doink dat, an' I'll be collectink from ya after the match."

  "Heeere kittykittykitty!" concluded his parrotlet.

  Cuddles and Brutus crouched on on the deck on opposite sides of the water barrel, watching for the appearance of their nemesis.

  A calico cat was stretched out on its side, shivering feverishly and whining quietly. Cuddles got up and paced over to her, sniffing her mouth and body.

  Besides the smell of meat and sickness Cuddles caught a whiff of the mold on her breath. Musty, dark, and nasty, the mold had a smell reminiscent of food gone bad.

  While not very intelligent compared to a man or a monkey, the cats had generations of breeding and the environment of two-space to thank for their extra capabilities compared to the cats throughout history. And one thing Cuddles had, along with the native cunning that was his birthright, was an abundance of experience with all sorts of pests.

  Right now, all that experience and cunning was screaming out to him that this enemy was death to the cats! Cuddles turned back and sat on the deck again, looking at his enemies: an alien mold, and a cat that wanted to replace him as alpha male.

  Cuddles' tiny cat brain wondered how he could use the situation to his advantage. After all, the mold had to go.

  And so did Brutus.

  Grenoble neatly folded the red-braided, hunter-green jacket of his crimson-and-clovers, handed it to a Ship's boy for safekeeping, and moved to the firing line clad in white shirt and red-trimmed, grass-green trousers. He looked relaxed and ready as his monkey hopped up into the rigging above his head to watch. The proud Sylvan knight and hereditary bodyguard looked over at Asquith and grinned confidently as he waited for the match to start.

  Asquith pulled off his plum-colored jacket, handed it to another Ship's boy, and moved to the firing line. His monkey stayed on his shoulder, holding a belaying pin and looking around suspiciously. Its eyes found Ulrich, and it shrieked a fierce "Eek!" and waved its belaying pin at him while looking around even more suspiciously.

  Westminster looked over at Ulrich, who looked back at him with an innocent shrug that fell about a mile short of true innocence.

  The ranger shook his head, and walked over to Asquith.

  "Mr. Asquith, normally the monkeys are spectators and not participants in these events," he drawled with a friendly smile.

  "Says who?" Asquith replied back, looking like a dyspeptic bunny rabbit on a rampage. "I'm not about to get out here without him. Those damned Dwarrowdelf dumplings hurt!"

  Westminster looked at the earthling in confusion. "Ah'm not sure Ah understand what you mean. What dumplings? What in the blazes are you talking about? You're just here to shoot."

  Asquith nodded over at Ulrich. "His damned dumplings! The things hurt when they hit from that sling of his!"

  Westminster looked over at Ulrich, who looked back with a shrug.

  "Eep?" added his bird innocently.

  The ranger shuddered and decided that he really didn't want to know how Ulrich taught pistolcraft. At least not right now. But he noticed that Asquith looked more peeved than nervous as he waited on the firing line. And his monkey looked downright irritated, swinging its belaying pin back and forth, looking all over but seeming to concentrate in Ulrich's direction more than anything else.

  The bell in Valandil's hand rang and Asquith and Grenoble both chose to shoot with a gun in each hand rather than the more stable two-handed hold. While the two-handed grip provided greater accuracy, its downside was that it required reholstering and drawing to shoot the second pistol.

  With a .45 (Saint John Browning's masterpiece of warrior engineering) a two-handed grip was the standard marksmanship method. A .45 also had a round up the spout and another seven in the magazine, and reloading was quickly accomplished with a mag change.

  But with a two-shot pistol, more pistols meant more firepower. Like the ancient pictures of pirates and naval heroes festooned with bandoleers of pistols, the modern sailor found it better to have more pistols, and then shift to the sword rather than try to reload in combat.

  So in two-space, the real master of the pistol was one who could maximize his firepower by shooting with either hand. These two men understood this. One by dint of long training and brutal practice in battle, and the other by means of lots of training and brutal practice with a psychopath who felt that you didn't learn anything unless it was associated with pain when you got it wrong.

  Grenoble concentrated on his pistol, focusing on the front sight as it covered his target, and then gently thumbing the nipples of the Keel charges on his pistol: <> "Crack!" <> "Crack!" He got two good hits on the target, then shifted to his other hand and repeated the drill: <> "Crack!" <> "Crack!" Then he holstered one gun as he quickly started the reloading of the other pistol. After shooting both dry, it was best now to concentrate on loading and firing just one pistol for sustained fire.

  As he thumbed in the two bullets and started to ram them home he heard Asquith's next two shots, something he hadn't heard before due to his intense concentration. Alas, the earthling hath need of much more practice if he hath just now fired his second pistol, Grenoble thought smugly. While he respected the work that Asquith had done to learn to shoot, he felt that the man was a dilettante rather than a dedicated warrior who had truly devoted himself to the art of war.

  For Asquith, the match was actually a source of considerable pleasure. He liked shooting and enjoyed doing it well. The only problem with Ulrich as a teacher was that the damned psycho didn't know how to relax. Shooting was relaxing for the diminutive earthling, but Ulrich always managed to make the practice sessions stressful.

  Ulrich could probably find a way to take the fun out of sex, he thought. Every time Asquith practiced, he had to focus on the targets while his monkey had to... how did these sailors say it? Oh, yes, "Watch his six." Curious term, he thought, as his sights steadied down on the head of the target and he gently thumbed the nipples of the Keel charges on his pistol <> "Crack!" <> "Crack!" and then brought it back to lay against his shoulder while his monkey reloaded it. I wonder where it came from? These Navy types have done such odd things to the English language.

  The second pistol rose into view and steadied on the target as he focused on the front sight, locking in on the holes in the target that his first two rounds had made. Ulrich called this game "chasink da bullets," where he aimed at his previous bullet hole and tried to put the next bullet where the first one had gone. What else did he say? Oh, yes, aim small, miss small. <> "Crack!" <> "Crack!" and he angled this second pistol across his chest so the monkey could reload it.

  Asquith felt the monkey push the first muzzle away signaling it was ready for use. He let out his breath and held it to steady his aim.

  This was really pleasant! In practice, every single time he began to
have fun, Ulrich started slinging those damned dumplings at him. He couldn't simply settle in and enjoy the shooting: he had to keep aware of what was happening around him because the psycho was always testing him! Painfully! All those distractions made him really appreciate his monkey. His pistol's front sight came into view and steadied on the target as he gently thumbed the Keel charges again. <> "Crack!" <> "Crack!" Then he laid it against his shoulder just as his furry friend pushed the other barrel forward to signal that it was ready.

  I wonder where these little guys came from? he asked himself for the ten thousandth time. They may not talk, but they're definitely intelligent. Heh, heh, like Daniel's monkey being so offended when he left him behind at that tavern. The front sight settled on the previous bullet holes, or was that a hole? I can't tell if I missed or not, it just looks like one hole. I can't believe I missed, what an embarrassment! The pistol spoke again <> "Crack!" <> "Crack!" and he returned it to his shoulder for reloading. Oh, my god! There's not enough holes there! Where did the other round go?

  He holstered the first pistol as he brought the second gun up for reloading, then holstered it when his monkey pushed it away to tell him it was ready.

  I cannot believe I missed that shot!

  Grenoble focused on finishing reloading his last pistol as his ears rang from Asquith's shots. He brought it up carefully but quickly and touched off the final two rounds, then holstered it and turned to look at his opponent who was standing with his hands on the rail, staring at the targets with a definitely peeved face. He looked like a rodent with some kind of stomach trouble. I hope he didn't just give up in the middle of the match, Grenoble thought.

  Melville was astonished, to put it mildly. Asquith's shooting had been a surprise, but his monkey reloading for him? The captain turned his head to look at his own monkey thoughtfully, only to see the little creature staring back at him.

  "Now why in all the purple Dwarrowdelf hells didn't we think of that?" he asked his monkey quietly.

  The monkey shot its head up to peer at the target then stretched it back over and down to look at him upside down—or right side up depending on your viewpoint, at least its eyes were "up" this way. Then it squeaked out a baffled "Eep!" and an emphatic six armed shrug, as if to say, "Darned if I know!"

  "I think we have some practicing to do, my friend," continued the captain, thoughtfully. "Lots of practice. I get the feeling that it isn't quite as easy as Asquith and his little friend made it look!"

  "Eep!" added his monkey in agreement.

  Ulrich came up to Hans gleefully. "I tole ya I'se been workink wit' 'im. Gotsk ta git 'im used ta a real furball, so's I bin usink them rocks we gets in da soup. They's great in a sling, an' they don't hurt 'im much. 'Sides, it kept 'im frum gittink too eggsited when 'e shot in compertition, nawr didn't it!"

  Ulrich's monkey brandished a fist and screeched emphatically from his shoulder, "Eek! Eek!"

  "Eep! Eep!" added the bird, bouncing excitedly on his other shoulder.

  "Don't hurt much, you maniac!?" Asquith called back. "Damned things leave a knot the size of an apple! A big, juicy apple! Besides, I can't believe I missed that target!" he moaned.

  "Whatja mean, missked? Ever' skingle shot hit it!" Ulrich yelled back.

  "I mean I missed, you sawed-off psychopath!" replied the little earthling, going nose-to-nose with the equally diminutive coxswain. It looked like a deranged bunny facing down a rabid ferret. "There's not enough holes in the head! What, are you blind as well as insane?"

  Everyone took a step back. Nobody talked to Ulrich like that! Melville and Fielder weren't sure whether to grab Ulrich, or Asquith, or dive to the deck. They were totally flabbergasted when Ulrich laughed and called back, "An' yer a right idjit if'n ya thinks ya missked it! Ya jisk hit da bullet hole! See? Dis hole'sk a leetle lopsided. An' smackink yew wit' dem dumplinsk wus great fun! Yew looked goofy as hell jumpink 'round tryink ta shoot when ya gotsk stung!" Ulrich hooted as his monkey and parrotlet eeped emphatically in agreement.

  Asquith laughed and moved back from the firing line as the captain and his first officer looked at each other, trying to regroup and figure out what had just happened. Asquith, shooting like a machine, focused on the target, and firing rapidly and precisely? His monkey reloading? Asquith and Ulrich laughing at each other? Maybe they had better make an appointment with Lady Elphinstone to find out if they had misplaced their sanity.

  Shaking his head, Melville stepped over to see what the judges had to say. Wait, Ulrich was one of the judges! And Valandil never had much to say, he only spoke up when there was a safety violation. So it all depended on what Westminster decided.

  Melville wanted Westminster to back Asquith—primarily because he did not want Fielder to win! He also immediately understood that Ulrich and Asquith had introduced a tremendous combat multiplier, and all future matches would permit the use of monkeys. As captain, his decision would be law, and he could interrupt here, but he resolved to leave it to the judges. It would be so much more gratifying and satisfying if Fielder was defeated without Melville having to interfere.

  Grenoble and Westminster were arguing about the match as Melville and his first officer got to the table. As usual, Ranger Valandil remained silent (living up to his nickname, "Quietfoot") while the Westerness ranger and the Sylvan knight tried to make sense of the situation.

  "I have a thought on the matter, that I would communicate to thee," said Grenoble.

  "You do, eh?" said Westminster.

  "Wouldst hear it?"

  "Ah'm not sure Ah want to know. But Ah think you're gonna tell me anyway."

  "In truth, my friend, I was most astonished at the method in which Master Asquith hath chosen to shoot so expeditiously and capably. 'Twas obvious that they spent much time in their preparation, and 'tis to their honor 'twas most well done. But 'tis true as well, that the rules of this bout doth say that the shooter must shoot with no outside assistance, doth it not?"

  "Eep?" said Grenoble's monkey, crossing its top set of arms and craning its neck to look the Sylvan in the eye balefully.

  "Yeah, yeah," Westminster retorted. "And since when is a monkey considered to be 'outside help' now? Ah don't know of a single member of the crew who thinks that the monks are outside help! Ah mean, the monks have become part of us. Like mah little feller is 'Westminster's monkey'—although Ah have to admit, sometimes Ah feel like Ah'm more his human than he's mah monkey! And the matches are supposed to be a practical shooting match, to simulate fighting. And ain't no-ways, no-how Ah'm going to fight without my little guy."

  Grenoble glanced over at the monkey scowling on his shoulder and said, "'Tis truth, my friend, but... 'Odsblood! 'Tis a true dilemma here. Wouldst know what 'tis the nub of the matter?"

  "What?"

  "Shall I tell thee?"

  "I said so!"

  "'Tis this. We must be true to the rules of thy bout, but how doth we do so and still appease our little friends? Truly 'tis a dilemma!"

  Grenoble's monkey gave an "Eek!" and looked at him in outrage.

  Everyone present watched with amusement. Not only had Grenoble been defeated by the underdog, but now his own monkey was going to make him concede!

  "Ah don't think your monkey agrees with you, mah friend," said the ranger.

  "Forsooth, little brother," said the Sylvan to his monkey, beseechingly. "Thy contributions are many and undeniable, and 'tis true that thy skills are perhaps underutilized as our friend Asquith and his companion hath demonstrated. But I am loath to be defeated by this earthling's tricks and my honor requires that I bring forth this point!"

  His monkey performed a complicated shrug involving multiple shoulders and gave a dismissive "Eek!"

  Westminster laughed at the monkey's response. "Well, Ah'm with your monkey on this one. Ah can't think of a single reason why it shouldn't be permitted! We're trying to teach our folks to shoot better and faster than the bad guys. The way Ah see it, as the senior judge Ah've got two
choices. Ah can stick to the rules, ignore reality, and prevent our folks from practicing for a real gunfight. Or Ah can set up a match that encourages them to practice the way they'd be shooting in the real and nasty. And all the gods know—human, Sylvan or Dwarrowdelf—that how you practice is gonna be how you do it when it matters!"

  There was a murmur of agreement from the onlookers in response to this. The ranger was tapping into fundamental principles here.

  "Way back in the twentieth century," said Westminster, "when they first started figuring out warrior science, they had police officers armed with revolvers. They found out that in real gunfights the cops were acting just like they did on the range, collecting their empty brass, all neat and pretty, instead of dumping them on the ground and reloading. There were a couple of times when they found dead cops with empty brass in their hands or their pockets! The lesson learned is 'train like you fight' 'cause there ain't no Tooth Fairy, and there ain't no Easter Bunny, and there ain't no Combat Fairy who's gonna come bonk you with the Combat Wand and make you capable of doing all the things you never practiced. You do not 'rise to the occasion,' you sink to the level of your training!"

  Grenoble sighed. "'Tis true, my brother. It hath been proven time and again that how thou dost do it in drills is how thou shalt do it when the fur flies! I will agree with thee that this is an allowable practice—but only if thou can'st prove that it doth not distract thy monkey from its ability to protect thee from the slings and arrows of thine enemies!"

  Ulrich spoke up for the first time. "I can tell ya that the monkeysk need practicink wit' dat! Ya gotsk ta make sure they ain't too focused on one thing. I wuz worried 'bout dat muself, so's I bin usink Asquith fer an 'spermental dummy. I bin usink my sling an' those liddle dumplinks Jones makes fer ammo. Hurtsk if'n it hits, but I figgered it wouldn't kill 'im. An' I figgered even if it did kill 'im, 'e's the most hexpendable member of the crew. Heh heh. It took 'is monk a bit ta git it tagedder, but they done it."