The Guns of Two-Space

by Dave Grossman

  "Are you coming with us?" Fielder ask the little earthling.

  "Do I have a choice?" replied Asquith. "I've signed a contract in blood with my publisher. I'm going wherever the hell Thomas Melville and his crew of alien thugs goes. Lord help me!" he concluded with a weak grin.

  "Hmm... Maybe. Maybe not. Have you considered the possibility that, amidst the tragic storm clouds of war there might have a small silver lining for you? That your publisher was probably killed and your contract nullified when the Guldur hit Earth?"

  "Yes, I did. It made me feel lousy, thinking that all those people were killed and I got out of a contract that's probably going to get me killed just like them." Asquith sighed and shook his head. "I haven't quite grasped the fact that my whole planet is dead. I just can't... digest it. I think I'm going to have to see it before I really believe it...

  "But I can adjust to the fact that publishers must be immortal! You've got to give him credit: Captain Ben James is a survivor. Turns out my publisher moved to the Moon, where low gravity combined with high-tech promises to keep him alive for another hundred years... probably just to torment me. He still has contacts though, since the letter from him got here on the most recent mail packet. Apparently the demise of Earth has turned my first book into an interstellar mega-bestseller, and there is no way that he's letting me off the hook."

  Fielder commiserated in amused sympathy. "I guess we'll have the pleasure of your company for a while longer then. And it has all the makings of a long, desperate journey. Hmph. Traditionally, a suicide mission at least has the benefit of being brief."

  "Life is sure strange," said Asquith despondently.

  "As compared to what?" Fielder asked innocently.

  "Well, dammit, I guess you've got me there."

  "So, have you got your sequel written yet?"

  Asquith snorted. "Hell, I've got two books for them. I sent the manuscript for everything that has happened so far, and now this forthcoming misadventure will be the third book in the series. That ought to keep my publisher happy. I can see it now: The Further Adventures of Captain Melville and His Merry Band of Hooligans, Aliens, Cutthroats and Other Fun People: Complete With his Cheering Section in the Red Jerseys Led by Our Own Inimitable Mistress of Mayhem Herself!"

  "It's dangerous business, going out the door," said Fielder with an understanding nod. "You never know where the adventure will take you."

  "I just wish I knew where we were going!"

  "I know, but it's classified," replied Fielder, realizing full well that virtually every other soul aboard knew, and Asquith would find out soon enough. "If I told you I'd have to kill you."

  "Do it, and put me out of my misery."

  Fielder couldn't help but laugh. As always, he was pleased to find someone more miserable than himself when danger reared its ugly head. "Nope, it's best that you don't know," he replied. "That way, if we get captured, you can tell them that you're here against your will."

  "I am here against my will!"

  "Good job. Keep practicing."

  The final preparations for departure were happening in a kaleidoscopic blur of activity. In the midst of everything else that needed to be done, a Ship arrived with that greatest of all delights to the sailor: letters from home. The Fangs had hoped that some mail would have caught up with them on Earth, or perhaps at Show Low, but those hopes had been in vain. Now many months worth of mail arrived in one batch, and activity about the Fang slowed to a crawl as everyone read their mail and posted their hasty responses to loved ones...

  "Hmm," said Brother Theo, as he and the rest of the officers sat in the wardroom, quietly reading their mail and companionably exchanging tidbits of gossip, news, and information. "It seems that the monkeys have, indeed, appeared everywhere that Fang, Gnasher, and Biter have traveled, spreading spider monkeys like a virus. They're mostly attaching themselves to warriors. Not much more info. It'll be interesting to see how that develops. Methinks mankind has found a true friend."

  "Look at this!" exclaimed Broadax holding up what looked for all the world like a large, misshapen rock. "Mah mum sent a loaf of Dwarrowdelf bread! Seems ta've survived the trip jist fine!" she added, as she started to beat a chunk off with the back of her ax.

  "Hmm," added Fielder, holding up an amazingly similar lump of calcified matter. "My mother sent some of her fruitcake. After you're done hacking off a piece of your bread, I'd be obliged if you would apply the same technique to this."

  "Damn! That does look good, doesn't it!" said Broadax, eying the fruitcake covetously.

  "Huh!" said Westminster. "Ah got a letter from mah sister. Everyone's safe. The Guldur invasion was too far east to impact them. The big news is that there's trouble back in our church again. Apparently the finance committee refused to provide funds for the purchase of a chandelier, because none of the members know how to play one! She says that the new pastor asked Bubba to help take up the offering, and three guys and a gal stood up. Terrible confusion and bickering resulted from that little 'fox pass!'"

  Up in the captain's cabin Melville was cherishing a letter from his betrothed, Princess Glaive. "My Knight, my Paladin," she wrote, "never doubt my love for thee, nor my faith that thou shalt return..."

  "Aye," he whispered to the wind. "I'm coming." And he posted a reply. He and the letter were going around the galaxy in different directions. He wondered if he would arrive sooner than the letter, but he never doubted that he would arrive.

  Early the next morning, the Fang and her new tender, the Sting, departed the Hero Cluster, headed due west, taking the long way home.

  Before they left, Rear Admiral Middlemuss had given the Fangs a speech, exhorting and praising them, and quoting Churchill to say that he could "...promise nothing but blood, sweat, and tears!" to everyone in the Hero Cluster.

  "Oh goodie," muttered Fielder. "We're going to take on several vast galactic empires with nothing but the admiral's personal bodily fluids."

  The Fang made a proud sight, with her full panoply of sails, complete with Hans' prized royals and stuns'ls and her crew manning the rails in observance of old traditions as she exchanged salutes with the Ships remaining behind. The Fang's royals and stuns'ls would have made her stand out anywhere in the known galaxy. But her mainsail had a particularly singular appearance, with a section in the middle of the standard Navy sailcloth which appeared to be, well, glowing.

  Captain Thomas Melville stood on his quarterdeck. Boye was next to him, front paws on the quarterdeck rail, barking with delirious doggy delight at the Sting sailing close beside them. The strange thing was how good he felt. It was good to be alive, and good to experience life with a double dose of the passion left in it.

  Lord, he loved his job.

  He loved his dear, betrothed Princess Glaive with as great and pure a love as any man could have for a women. But first and foremost he had to play a desperate game for mortal stake, for the future's sake. The game, his Duty, his job, this was his first love, and his first love was for this.

  But yield who will to their separation,

  My object in living is to unite

  My avocation and my vocation

  As my two eyes make one in sight.

  Only where love and need are one,

  and the work is play for mortal stakes,

  Is the deed ever really done

  For Heaven and the future's sakes.

  * * *

  Rear Admiral Middlemuss stood at the Pier watching the Fang as her sails sank into the west. Signal flags were sent from atop the bulwarks with a final message: "GOOD LUCK FANG. GOD SPEED."

  A signal officer ran up to Admiral Middlemuss clutching a scrap of paper with Melville's response jotted down on it. "Sir," he said, "one last message from the Fang's signal halyard.

  The admiral read the note and nodded.

  It said three words: "BUT IF NOT."

  Aboard his Ship (his Ship, by God!), Midshipman Anthony Hayl looked for the remnants of his former sadness, and found in
stead only an enormous joy. Something had broken inside, but the fissure didn't open up the usual well of sadness. Instead he discovered a fierce exultation that was all the more precious because it had been bought and paid in sweat and blood, stratagem and struggle, distress and discomfort, pain and torment, death and dismemberment.

  Mr. Hans had helped him rig a topmast on the Sting, complete with a glowing topsail and Westerness-style rigging. This new sail was bringing the Sting up to completely new realms of speed, and his Crabs and his Ship loved it. She might just be the fastest Ship in the galaxy! And Mr. Hans was talking about adding stuns'ls!

  The fate of the galaxy was hanging in the balance and they were sailing off into appalling danger, yet Hayl felt nothing but thrilled. Thrilled by what he was doing, and how very blessed and honored he was to be able to do it. The little bit of the Fang in his arm, and the Sting beneath his feet echoed and amplified his joy until he thought he would burst.

  The Pier was sinking out of sight on the eastern horizon. It was just the two Ships out here together, and, dammit, he couldn't help himself.

  "Quartermaster, take us on a lap around the Fang!"

  "Aye, sir!" replied the crusty old sailor, feeling the boy's infectious elation.

  There were six humans aboard Sting and all of them hooted with delight. Under his feet Hayl felt the Sting's joy, and through her he felt the reciprocal pleasure of his Crabs.

  "Again! Take her in closer this time!"

  Like a happy dog circling its master the Sting kept making laps and the Fangs hung over the railings and cheered them on.

  Melville, Broadax, and Fielder were standing on the quarterdeck watching the Sting go past.

  What a brave, splendid boy, Melville thought, as the one-armed midshipman and his Ship came whipping past them. During their voyages the captain had watched Hayl metamorphose from a caterpillar boy, into a deadly, butterfly-bright warrior and a leader of warriors.

  "Huh!" he said to Fielder. "These young officers. Give 'em their own Ship and they think they don't have to answer to authority any more. Assign Mr. Hayl a mission, if you please, Mr. Fielder. Send him out scouting in front of us, out there, somewhere," he concluded, waving to the westward.

  "Aye, sir," replied the first officer, who was sinking into a deep funk.

  Casting one last glance at the Pier as is sunk below the horizon Fielder muttered, "Good bye, fool world."

  "Hoo-yah!" shouted Broadax, as she and her monkey waved jubilantly at Hayl, fiercely echoing his pleasure.

  The little middie waved back from the Sting with such joy that Melville couldn't help but grin back.

  * * *

  I remember the black wharves and the slips,

  And the sea-tides tossing free;

  And the Spanish sailors with bearded lips,

  And the beauty and mystery of the ships,

  And the magic of the sea.

  And the voice of that wayward song

  Is singing and saying still:

  "A boy's will is the wind's will,

  And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

  POETRY REFERENCES

  Prologue:

  To every man upon the earth...

  "Horatius," Lord Macaulay

  Where the virgins are soft as the roses they twine...

  "The Bride of Abydos," Lord Byron

  Chapter 2:

  Kipling's "Ballad of the Clampherdown" (parts of which are used at the beginning of this and several other chapters) was originally a satire on the armchair strategists of the early 1900s who felt that future naval actions would involve boarding actions. It was taken seriously and became quite popular, sohe kept his mouth shut. It was not until many years later that Kipling fessed up about it. Taken a bit out of context it works well for the purposes of this book, but the reader is encouraged to look at the complete poem in the proper historical light.

  Was there love once? I have forgotten her...

  (and following four stanzas)

  "Fulfillment," Robert Nichols

  Chapter 3:

  I am no Homer's hero you all know...

  (Taken from the wall of the Frog Inn, British Special Boat Service headquarters, Poole, England. Author unknown.)

  O loved, living, dying, heroic comrade...

  "Fulfillment," Robert Nichols

  No one is so accured by fate...

  "Endymion," Longfellow

  The fewer men, the greater share of honour...

  Henry V, Shakespeare

  We live in deeds, not years...

  Childe Harold, Lord Byron

  Chapter 4:

  See the blood in purple tide,

  "Sterret's Sea Fight," Anon.

  (originally published in broadside format in 1801)

  Chapter 5:

  My only books...

  "The Time I've lost in wooing," Thomas Moore

  (All the other quotes by Fielder and Asquith in this section are from Shakespeare's The Tempest.)

  There was silence deep as death...

  "Battle of the Baltic," Thomas Campbell

  The combat deepens. On, ye brave...

  "Hohenlinden," Thomas Campbell

  The mouse that always trusts to one poor hole...

  "The Wife of Bath," Alexander Pope

  As full-blown poppies, overcharg'd with rain...

  Iliad, Homer

  He sinks into the depths with bubbling groan...

  Childe Harold, Lord Byron

  Ah, to think how thin the veil that lies...

  "Janus," George W. Russell

  Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife!...

  "Old Mortality," Sir Walter Scott

  Chapter 6:

  O ye afflicted ones, who lie...

  "The Goblet of Life," Longfellow

  If I had thought thou couldst have died...

  "To Mary," Charles Wolfe

  He that lacks time to mourn, lacks time to mend...

  "Philip Van Artevelde," Sir Henry Taylor

  Lift ev'ry voice and sing...

  "Lift Every Voice and Sing," James Weldon Johnson

  (The first two verses of this song are included at the beginning of the chapter.)

  Warriors throughout history have understood...

  Drawn from Ben Shephard's excellent book, A War of Nerves: Soldiers and Psychiatrists in the Twentieth Century

  Fill every beaker up, my men, pour forth the cheering wine...

  "The Baron's Last Banquet," Albert Gorton Green

  I could lay down like a tired child...

  "Stanzas written in dejection, near Naples," Shelley

  His food/Was glory...

  "Phillip Van Artevelde," Sir Henry Taylor

  Oft in the tranquil hour of night...

  "Song," George Linley

  And the tear that is shed...

  "Oh breathe not his Name," Thomas Moore

  The day is done, and the darkness...

  "The Day Is Done," Longfellow

  Chapter 7:

  Beauty in desolation was her pride...

  "The Wanderer," John Masefield

  Gashed with honorable scars...

  "The Battle of Alexandria," James Montgomery

  Day is done...

  "Taps," Anon.

  I wanted the gold, and I sought it... (and following stanzas)

  "The Spell of the Yukon," Robert Service

  Chapter 8:

  Sir Phillip Sidney's line from Defence of Poesy is drawn from John Barnes' excellent book One for the Morning Glory.

  I have no doubt at all the devil grins...

  "I Have No Doubt," Robert Service

  I should not tell YOU how to fight...

  "Bit of Doggeral," John Lang

  (copyright 2004, used with the author's gracious permission)

  True poetry to me has meant...

  "Prose Poetry," John Lang

  (copyright 2004, used with the author's kind permission)

  O wad some Power the giftie gie
us...

  "To a Louse," Robert Burns

  Nurture your minds with great thoughts...

  All warrior quotes by Grenoble are cited in text and drawn from Thomas A. Taylor's definitive guide to the bodyguard, Dodging Bullets: A Strategic Guide to World Class Protection.

  "But there's been many places and times when people've thought of war as the given, an' peace the perversion...

  (and)

  "Ye who knowst what war is like shall find it almost impossible to communicate with the children of peace...

  Are both derived from www.leesandlin.com, with the kind permission of the author, Lee Sandlin. The Dwarrowdelf accent and Sylvan affectation have been added, with much due apologies to the original author.

  No coward soul is mine...

  "No Coward Soul Is Mine," Emily Bronte

  Chapter 9:

  Back in Medieval days...

  "Full Circle," John Lang

  (copyright 1998, used with the author's kind permission)

  Brain scan studies...

  See www.killology.com and click the brain scan link for the Indiana University Medical School brain scan research.

  My soul, there stands a country...

  "Silex Scintillans," Henry Vaughn

  Lenoria...

  Any reader interested in learning more about Lenoria, and Tom Kidd's artwork, should look at Tom Kidd, Tundra Sketchbook Series Vol. 11, Tundra Publishing.

  Now Mr. Boomer Johnson...

  "Boomer Johnson," from Classic Rhymes

  by Henry Herbert Knibbs, 1999,