Melville grinned briefly and then winced as he tried to shrug. "I think we can take it as a working assumption that the Guldur were clearly involved in the planning for this somehow. Hope the cur chokes on this mess in any case. All right people, back to the main issue. And that issue being: time to repair the Ship. How long?" Melville fixed his officers with a gimlet eye.
DeWalt looked at Hans, who raised an eyebrow. The carpenter nodded and then said, "Captain, Mr. Hans and I have been discussing the very same thing. We're agreed that with just the Ship's resources we can be ready to get underway in two or three days. But—and it's a big one—we won't be in shape for combat. And, it looks like we're headed for more combat." He sighed and rolled his big shoulders to loosen them up. "For us to be combat ready, using Ship's resources, we're talking about five to six weeks minimum. We can do that without bankrupting the Ship—but just barely."
Melville scowled. "Damn, I really don't like those odds. How about using the Shipyard resources here on Hector?"
DeWalt nodded. "With the Shipyard's full resources, I can have the Fang out of here in under two weeks. Replace instead of repair, do it the fast way. And to be honest, I know the master of the local Celebri chapterhouse in Hector, and if I lead the work it'll get done better and faster."
He grinned. "Reason I know the masters here, is that one's my cousin, and the other married my little sister. And I was on the board that sat for their mastership."
He sobered quickly as he continued. "However, the odds on using the Shipyard are very low right now. They have five Westerness frigates they are trying to salvage and repair, which has the yard fully preoccupied."
Melville nodded thoughtfully. "All right, gentlemen. Complete the things that must be done immediately. Get your folks taken care of and make sure they're doing okay. Mr. Fielder and I have to finish the after-action report and have my clerk get it copied and over to Rear Admiral Middlemuss' office. Keep the folks going in two-in-three watches so they can get some rest, but make sure we have lookouts set in case the Crabs come back for another visit. And make sure that you get some rest."
"That goes fer you too, Cap'n!" said Hans with a grin. "Looks ta me like yer body's debtors is all lined up to collect on their IOUs!"
"Aye, Hans. You've got that right," replied Melville with yet another grin that turned into a wince. "I'm going to lead by example on this one."
Melville slept through most of the morning and felt pretty decent when he got up. He might not be the most patient man in the world, or the most cautious, and certainly not the most diplomatic, but he was right up there at the top of the line when it came to resiliency.
He smiled at the image in the mirror as he called for McAndrews. Time for a shave and to get cleaned up, and then...
Then he sobered as he thought, And then it's time to visit the naval hospital and see how Lady Elphinstone and the doctors had gotten along with my sailors. And then the letters to the families of the men that died, and having Brother Theo set up the funerals...
More funerals. Always there were the funerals...
Boye came over, sat on the floor next to him, and put his head on his person's knee. Melville absently rubbed the dog's ears. Their two monkeys were chittering happily to each other as they rooted out some small insect or alien vermin in the corner.
He leaned over and scratched Boye's chest with both hands. The dog immediately stuck his long tongue out to lick his person's face.
"Ahh, phhbtt," Melville hacked and spit as he pushed the dog away. "I should know never to have my mouth open near you unless I want to have my tonsils licked!"
Boye bounced up, ready to play, but was disappointed when his master turned back to the mirror to continue getting ready. Melville might have a lot of limitations and failures, but one thing he did well was living in the moment, with all its joys and pains. And for now, getting ready to face a most difficult day was sufficient.
Several days later, Melville was feeling relatively at peace with the world. The funerals were over, and the Fangs had grieved intensely but briefly. The repairs had begun, even though they weren't progressing very quickly. Hector's Shipyard was overwhelmed by the sudden influx of major repairs, and top priority was being given to Ships that were barely staying afloat. By virtue of her relatively intact condition, the Fang wasn't slated to receive dockyard support for another week, or three... or more.
Dockyard resources and supplies might be tight for a frigate, but Melville was able to scrape up sufficient materials to repair the one-masted Crab Ship they had captured. She would be a useful little tender and he was determined to keep her. There were many times when a small, fast Ship with a healthy bite could come in handy.
In a remarkable turn of events, Midshipman Hayl had been adopted by the Crabs and their Ship. Lt. Fielder had taken the young middie over to tell the Crabs that Hayl was in charge of a routine repair detail aboard their Ship. The first officer had wisely kept a phalanx of bayonet-armed marines around himself to prevent the royalty-besotted Crabs from mobbing him with their sycophantic scuttling.
The Crabs' initial response to the small, one-armed midshipman was intense curiosity. Then the bizarre crustaceans decided that Hayl must be Fielder's larva or pupae.
"threelimbs? isgrub! islarva! ispupae! royallarva! wewillprotecthim! wewillnurturehim!"
The Crabs seemed to watch over Hayl with a proprietary air, as someone to be cherished and protected. Unlike their adoration of Lt. Fielder, which was a completely different story. Talk about your one-sided love affair! Melville chuckled to himself as he reflected on the matter. The Crabs had an inbred adoration of royalty and hereditary nobility of any type. Fielder, on the other hand, absolutely loathed the Crabs. (He didn't even like seafood!) Since this was roughly the relationship the Crabs had with their own royalty, the little alien creatures felt right at home.
Fielder, though, was considerably less content with the situation. It looked like maybe the answer was to put Hayl in charge of the Crab Ship.
The captain's thoughts broke off suddenly as Midshipman Aquinar knocked on the door and then stuck his head and shoulders in. "Sir, Lt. McKurkle is here from the admiral's office," he said solemnly.
"Ah. Send him in straightway, would you?" Melville replied as he stood up and tucked in his shirt.
"Welcome, Kit." Melville smiled as his guest entered. "I thought I still had a few hours before we met for cards tonight," Melville added in a jesting manner.
The two of them had spent a good bit of time together over the last few days, most of it at the admiral's quarters. Large quantities of cigars and spirits had been reduced to smoke and fumes in working meetings at the admiral's office. In the present crisis, poker games were now somewhat fewer and farther between. But the admiral still managed to fit in some of his beloved poker sessions. He had an interesting method of deciding how to allocate scarce resources. He got the principal officers involved in the issue to attend a game, and hashed out the problems with the men involved over cards, sorting out problems and priorities.
Essentially it was the same business that would have been conducted in the flag conference room, but in much more congenial surroundings. And these occasions were helping the Admiral forge his fleet and officers together into a unit. But it took time, and time was something that Melville wasn't sure they had to spare.
"I have a feeling that all bets are off tonight, Thomas," Lt. McKurkle returned soberly. "Admiral Middlemuss sent me to bring you to his office as soon as possible. And no, I can't talk about it, but..." He looked up and met Melville's eyes. "I am also to tell you that the Fang will be transported to the Shipyard area at the beginning of the second shift, and you are to ensure that the Ship is prepared."
Melville looked at him closely. McKurkle looked serious, but then he often did. Melville wondered idly if a sober demeanor was something that was issued to all admiral's aides when they took the job.
"Aye, I'll pass the word immediately. And then we'll head over to the a
dmiral's. I must confess, my curiosity is piqued."
"Dammit, Melville, sit down," said Rear Admiral Middlemuss. The admiral was reclining thoughtfully back in a chairdog and he gestured curtly to a matching dog. The coffee table between them was made of an exotic wood that seemed to trap the eye when you tried to follow the dark whorls of its grain. The room was filled with dark wood and thick rugs, smelling of the admiral's rich pipe tobacco, with faint undertones of beeswax polish and chairdog.
Melville eased himself down and the big creature woofed softly while Melville scratched behind its ears. The chairdog enticed him with its softness, as it was intended to, contouring and drawing him down into its furry warmth. Melville remained tense for a moment, and then he relaxed and allowed the creature to have its way as the admiral's steward passed him a steaming hot cup of deliciously sweet tea. As usual whenever he was in a chairdog, Melville's monkey began to quietly explore the big, soft creature.
"Well, Thomas, you've already been informed that your Ship is going into the Shipyard tonight. Before I explain, I want to know about your plans for this little Crab gunship that you've refitted."
Melville shrugged. "I see it as having great potential to be an extremely fast scout, tender, and consort for the Fang. Unless I'm forced to, I have no intention of selling it for prize money. The hive-mind crew of the Crab Ship bonds to royalty, and they have bonded to Baronet Fielder, my first officer, much to his dismay and embarrassment. He treats them, well, disdainfully, while everyone else tries to be nice. The result is that the enemy crew grovels and admires Fielder even more, since he's treating them exactly the way their own royalty does."
"Huh. I'll be damned," replied the admiral. "'Different strokes for different folks,' eh? From everything I've heard, your Fielder would best understand that."
"Aye, sir."
"Do you intend to put Fielder in command?"
"No, sir," Melville answered, sipping at his tea thoughtfully. "I don't think he'd stand for it. The Crabs seem to have accepted little Midshipman Hayl as Fielder's larva or grub. Their relationship to immature royalty or nobility is one of mutual love and affection that's easier for us to understand. So I'm thinking about putting Hayl in command of the Crab Ship, with a small crew of humans to support him."
"Be careful, damnit," the admiral growled. "It might be a trap."
"Aye, sir," Melville replied with a cocky grin. "It could be rigged with biological contaminants, alien saboteurs, or bad poetry. But I don't think so. My Ship tells me we should trust it, my gut says we can trust it, and I'd like to have it along."
"Okay, I can see where a Crab tender and scout would come in handy. And Lord knows, you'll need all the help I can give you. Anything you need from the dockyard will go to the Crab Ship as well as the Fang."
"Aye, sir...?" Melville responded, questioningly.
"You want to know what the hell's going on, that makes me grab you and pull you into my office, and shove the Fang ahead of half the other Ships for repair, most of whom have more senior captains and more serious damage, right?" Middlemuss lifted one corner of his mouth while his eyes narrowed with an "almost" smile.
The semi-smile disappeared as the admiral continued. "A fast mail packet arrived this morning. It came straight from the Admiralty on Earth, via Show Low." Melville sat up straight at the news.
"Oh, sit back, Thomas. It wasn't the old ladies at the Admiralty trying to stick their fingers in your eye again. Truth to tell, I would have much preferred that. Come to think of it, so would you."
Melville's eyebrows rose in astonishment before he corralled them, forcing himself to lean back in his chairdog and put on the poker face he had been practicing of late.
The admiral continued. "The Crabs' attack appears to have been timed to hit just before we got word of a Guldur attack on Westerness. Our Guldur guest probably received advance warning, as you saw, during last night's party. His Ship left port, heading west, immediately after he left the party. Shortly thereafter, the Crabs hit. But you know all about that."
The old admiral's face was grim as he continued. "The news is... overwhelming. We found out that Westerness has been invaded by the Guldur. Vast enemy fleets have swept through and devastated our empire. Dozens of small planets have fallen to the enemy before they could get warning, with everyone destroyed, hideously and horribly butchered by the Guldur. As word spread by fast Ships, hundreds of small, one-Pier worlds had to pull their Pier down or face invasion and destruction. All those Piers died when they were brought into three-space, but it was the only choice.
"Lord knows how long it will be before we can get back to those worlds with another Pier. Many of them only had a total population of a few thousand souls. The poor bastards may not be able to survive under these conditions."
Melville thought of all the planets they had visited on their lazy journey through the "smallness" of Westerness. Hundreds of those fragile frontier worlds would now have to fend for themselves. Many of them would die slow, lingering, horrible deaths: alone, afraid, and cut off from the rest of humanity.
"It was classic maneuver warfare. The Guldur didn't attack our strength. They cut through us, avoiding our main fleet and destroying our heartland, like Sherman's march to the sea during the American Civil War in the nineteenth century.
"This attack was a devastating economic loss to our star kingdom. And just the threat of another such invasion fleet may make the continued expansion and sustainment of Westerness, as it is currently happening, unviable. The only option is to go on the offensive. But the limitation in Keels and Piers means that it will be very difficult to launch a major offensive."
Melville felt a sick, stunned feeling in the pit of his stomach as the admiral continued grimly. He sat on the edge of his seat, oblivious to the chairdog's quiet protest, and placed his teacup carefully on the coffee table. His monkey also ignored the chairdog and quietly moved up to Melville's shoulder, its big eyes shining intelligently.
"The worst of it was what they did to Earth. Apparently, the Guldur dropped a bunch of tiny containers over the side while they conducted a raid on Earthport. They weren't really attacking the Pier. The raid was just a cover for the Guldur to get close enough that the containers could transition back to three-space in such a way that they were in Earth's atmosphere. High, but in atmosphere. As best we can tell, the containers were imbedded with the Elbereth Moss, or the Elder King's Gift, or whatever the hell caused the Crash."
The admiral stopped and looked at his pipe, playing with it for a moment before relighting it. "Once it got on Earth, the virus got into the Earth's grid..."
"Oh, dear Lord!" breathed Melville. "Another Crash. Except this one was intentionally started by our enemies."
"Aye. This is something we don't have to worry about. As citizens of the Kingdom of Westerness, we intentionally limit technology to levels that two-space will grudgingly accept. The Sylvans learned this lesson thousands of years ago, and we followed in their footsteps. But Earth has been one of our weak points, simply because they've refused to accept any restraints on their technology.
"So, as we read the scenario, on high-tech worlds like Earth, the enemy can send down some kind of bio-electronic virus bomb that creates another Crash. Any Ship can drop these bombs by simply passing over the two-space location of the planet.
"On Earth the result has been the death of billions, and an almost complete destruction of the infrastructure on the planet. Water purification, distribution, and pumping worldwide. The food factories that kept them all fed. The climate control and air circulation for underground warrens where they lived. You name it, it's broken. Virtually the entire population of Earth is wiped out. Most died horribly. Suffocated. Dehydrated. Starved..."
The pipe stem in Middlemuss' trembling hands snapped with a brittle sound, and he carefully laid it on the coffee table.
"The wheels have come off of any kind of World War II or Lord of the Rings analogy for our kingdom," the admiral continued, gazing down at hi
s pipe sadly. "Basically, the Germans have nuked New York, the Orcs are in the Shire, and the Eastern Seaboard of the U.S. has been ravaged by Nazi panzer divisions. Decades, maybe centuries of bitter war are in front of us. And Westerness has paid the price for its obsession with peace and staying out of the Elder Race's affairs. Any government that is adamantly unwilling to pay war's butcher bill up front will inevitably pay it with compound interest in the end. There's an old, old quote by a man named Porteus:
"War its thousands slays,
Peace its ten thousands.
"In this case, though, it was tens of billions. Billions," he whispered. "Damn, I can barely even conceive of it!" the Admiral said while shaking his head slowly.
"And, with exquisite timing, their allies attacked us out here. There have been reports of enemy agents and sabotage everywhere." Then, with a thin smile, he continued, "Some bastard even dumped piranha in my koi pond. They might try to sabotage your Ship, Melville, so keep an eye out."
"Will do, sir, but we haven't seen anything so far."
Admiral Middlemuss nodded distractedly and continued. "The good news is that the billions of citizens on the Moon, Mars, Venus, Jupiter's moons, and all of Earth's other colonies are untouched. For them two-space was always a kind of unreal sideshow. But now war is upon them and they are taking it seriously. There is cause to believe that they will be invested in helping us as best they can."
And so, war was finally upon them, thought Melville. War. The bloody, tragic domain of tyrants. The sport of kings, emperors, and would-be gods. The acid test of men and of civilizations. The red forge of death and democracy, of fear and freedom. And the profession of warriors, who took their wages in the coin of death and glory, honor and pain. War had come to Westerness ... and to Earth.
"The rest of the good news is that the two Ships you captured, the Gnasher and the Biter, commanded by your two wolf cubs, were the only thing we had that could defeat the enemy. They've become quite the heroes back home, ultimately leading the fleet that drove the enemy off, harassing and hammering them halfway back across the Grey Rift."
The Guns of Two-Space Page 58