The Guns of Two-Space (10 page)

Hans and the quartermaster went aft with the little half-minute glass and the small piece of Keel which served as the log. The log was cast, and the quartermaster's arms vibrated as he held the reel above his head.

"Nigh on to eight knots, sir," reported the quartermaster to Hans.

"Just shy o' eight knots, sir," said Hans to Melville, who was standing right beside him and had heard the first report full well. "We'll pick up a li'l speed as repairs an' jury masts go up, but we know the Guldur can do close to ten knots, even with their sorry riggin' an' sails."

Melville nodded as his brain raced. The situation was worse than he'd thought. Their old
Kestrel
had been one of the fastest frigates afloat, able to do fifteen knots any time she chose. Hans had re-rigged the
Fang
after they had captured her, spreading a glorious array of royals, studding sails, and a spritsailtopsail that brought her up to almost thirteen knots. But now their glorious array of sails and rigging had been shot to hell.

The
Fang
and her crew had punched a hole in the net that the enemy had cast around them, and they were escaping through that hole as fast as they could. The Ship that had been dead ahead of them was now dead, indeed. The two that had been to the
Fang
's left and right were currently closing in behind her. The fourth Guldur Ship was also closing in, since the
Fang
's speed had been reduced so badly, but it was still far behind.

If Melville kept on the current course the two enemy Ships immediately behind them would catch up with the
Fang
at about the same time, so he gave the order to cut to the left, or greenside. This would give them a chance to engage the enemy to their left before the one on the right could open fire. Melville estimated that in about an hour the first enemy would be close enough to start firing.

Once again he intended to gather his witnesses and wait until the enemy opened fire first. Westerness obstinately refused to join in this war, no matter how bad the provocation, but they could not deny him the right of self-defense.

Even when the enemy did open fire it would be a long, drawn-out battle. A stern chase was a long chase, and there would be time to feed the crew.

The Westerness Navy had consciously modeled itself on the legendary British Navy. Not much was known about those distant, semi-mythical times. When mankind had first entered into two-space they brought back the Edler King's Gift: a two-dimensional virus, a living creature that had created the Crash, a devastating collapse of virtually every database and electronic system that existed on Old Earth. Much of mankind's knowledge was lost forever, but they
did
have the multi-volume biographies of legendary naval heroes, such as Horatio Hornblower and Jack Aubrey, to build on. Just as the Iliad and the Odyssey provided the only available knowledge about that period in ancient Greece, so did Hornblower and Aubrey provide most of their insight into the era of naval combat in wooden ships on Old Earth—an era so very much like their own. Fortunately, there were many more volumes of valuable material in these British Naval biographies than in Homer's two works.

The British Navy had always tried to feed their men before a battle, and Captain Melville believed in doing the same. Just minutes after he gave the order their cook, Roxy, and her mates had their "burners" set up under a big pot of chili and another pot of macaroni. These burners were yet another special adaptation of a Keel, designed to release energy as heat, since normal combustion generally didn't work in two-space.

Meals in the Westerness Navy were a carefully managed social occasion. Roxy would set up her kitchen on the upper gundeck on one day, and the next day she set up on the lower gundeck. This made the upper and lower crews socialize during meals, which contributed to the cohesion of the whole Ship. Today it was the lowerside's turn to host dinner, and the whole crew rotated in to share a hot meal.

As Midshipman Hayl sat down to a steaming hot plate of chili-mac he couldn't help but think of the remaining three Ships that were coming to kill them. He couldn't avoid thinking of the hideous demise they had just inflicted upon the first enemy Ship, and he understood deep in his gut that the same thing could happen to them. Death was dominant in his mind as he sat down to eat. While he thought on these grim matters, his body absentmindedly took a bite of his food, and since he was a healthy lad with a day of hard work and excitement under his belt, his stomach discovered that it was
good
to eat. His youthful body reminded him that however his heart might feel, his body needed fuel. So he began to eat, and he found that the act of eating made him feel better. This was a new discovery for young Hayl, but it was an old, tried and true friend to the rest of the crew as they ate their meals.

As he was eating, Hayl suddenly had the disorienting experience of scooping a full spoonful from his plate, only to place an empty spoon in his mouth. The first time it occurred he was completely baffled. A few bites later it happened again. He was beginning to doubt his sanity and he started to keep a careful eye on each spoonful of food. He realized what was happening when he saw his monkey snag a mouthful of chili-mac in its tiny, three-fingered paw.

Hayl looked at the baby monkey on his shoulder and he couldn't help but laugh and shake his head. It
eek
ed happily back at him, bobbing up and down on all eight legs, and the young midshipman couldn't find it in him to begrudge the wee creature its small tariff on the goods that went from his plate to his mouth. Then the two of them both got down to some serious eating.

Melville stood on the upper quarterdeck and watched the squealing, shrieking movement of a 24-pounder into the upper stern gunport as he gulped down his own plate of chili-mac. Melville's monkey also took periodic "tariffs" on his food, but by now the experience had become so common that the captain barely noticed when an empty spoon came up to his mouth. He was watching the mass of men as they heaved the groaning gun down the well-greased tracks, but his mind was elsewhere. Finally he shook his head and turned to the boy who was serving as his runner.

"My compliments to the Ship's carpenter, and will he please report to the captain at his earliest convenience."

"Aye, sir," replied the boy with a gulp. "Ship's carp'ter ta the cap'n at 'is soonest conven... soonest conven'ance."

"Aye," Melville replied with a nod and an encouraging smile.

The boy sketched a salute and scampered off.

In just a few minutes the carpenter, Mr. Tibbits, was standing in front of Melville.

"A hatch through the decks?" asked Tibbits, rubbing his bald spot. "Aye, sir, I guess we could do it fairly quick like. An' the goal is for you to have a ladder straight down to the lowerside?"

"Aye, Chips. Except I'd just dive straight down, pop through to the lowerside, and then climb up the ladder on the far side. Then I'd reverse the process going the other way. The objective is to get quickly from one side to the other so I can fire both of the stern guns as fast as the crew can load them."

The old carpenter had been a traumatized, exhausted man after their old Ship, the
Kestrel
, had died. The only thing that had kept him going was his sense of duty to this new Ship, but by now he was completely bonded with the
Fang
,
and
her captain. Today he was a new man, and he seemed to have absorbed some of the youthful energy of his Ship and his captain.

"I've seen it done before, sir," Tibbits replied with a nod. "I was a Ship's boy on the old
Heinlein
. She had her hatches set up in line like that. When we have to pass a lot of cargo, say, from the upper maindeck to the lower hold, sometimes we dropped it straight through the hatches like that, and then the boys on the lowerside could just snatch it, clean as a whistle, as it popped in. As a boy I used to jump straight through like that, just like you're sayin'. But, by the Lady, not many folks want to try it! If you miss by just a smidgen, you'll hit the edge of the hatch at high speed in 1.5 gees, and it'll cripple or kill you deader'n hell. An' there's things that seem to pull you to the side sometimes, like maybe there's variations in the way the gravity pulls at you."

Melville nodded and considered. "How about if we ran a line through, nice and taut, like a fireman's pole?"

"Aye," the old carpenter replied thoughtfully, "you could do that. This hatch'll tie up more deck space where you'd want to put cargo, and I'll tell you, sir, the one bad thing about our
Fang
here—much as I'm loath to admit any flaw in her—is that she ties up a lot of cargo space. These damned tracks to run the big guns on prevent you from putting in much deck cargo if you're gonna keep the tracks clear, and keeping these hatches clear will tie up more space on the gundecks
and
in the hold."

"Aye, good point, Chips. But we can keep them covered, stack cargo on top when we have to, and only clear them when we need a particular gun. We'll try it first with a hatch by the stern guns. Make it happen, Chips."

"Aye, sir. We'll get right on it," he replied rubbing his hands and nodding his head with an air of sincere satisfaction. "Would you mind walkin' over with me and chalking out the exact spot where you want it?"

Melville felt a surge of pleasure as he considered the old carpenter's enthusiasm. Tibbets had become like a doting, protective father to Melville, willing to give staunch support to his captain's initiatives. The young captain was still uncertain and insecure in his position, and the unconditional, professional support of a man like Mr. Tibbits meant the world to him.

In just minutes the carpenter's mates were cutting a hole in the upper gundeck, beside and well to the rear of Malicious Intent, the 24-pounder that was now sitting at the stern gunport. By the time the first of the three pursuing Guldur Ships began to fire at them, a vertical corridor had been cut all the way through to the lower gundeck, where Rabid was in position at the lower stern gunport. Melville had positioned the hatches so that a taut line running from the upper mizzentopmast yard could run through the center of the hatches to the lower mizzentopmast yard.

Once more, Melville was laying on the platform above the gun, with his group of witnesses waiting beside him in the lower stern. With the exception of a few dedicated lookouts, virtually every eye in the Ship was looking back at their foe, with hearts pounding in their chests. Then the Guldur fired on them. As the enemy's 24-pound balls screamed overhead, punching through their sails, Melville once again had his witnesses confirm that the Guldur had fired first, and then he returned fire.

<>
"Cha-DOOM!!"
<>, and Rabid slammed back beneath him. He watched the shot crash into the enemy's bow and heard the cheers of his crew as he rolled off the platform and raced back to the new hatch. He dove headfirst down the hatch, with his hands grabbing the rope and his feet gripping the rope above him. As a young middie, skylarking in the low gravity of the upper rigging, he had often slid down a line headfirst like this, and that experience now stood him in good stead. He dropped through and into the upperside, where he was now head-up and climbing the rope. He used his momentum to clamber up the line to the upper deck, ran to Malicious Intent, hopped up on the platform, took careful aim, and fired another shot. <>
"Cha-DOOM!!"
<>

Boye, unable to follow Melville down the line, sat on the lowerside deck and whined pitifully, gazing longingly into the hole where his master had vanished.

Melville fired each of the stern guns in turn, bouncing back and forth between the lower and upper sides, using the new hatches to speed his movement. Each time, Boye barked with delight when Melville clambered up the rope to fire the lowerside stern gun, and then whined with frustration when his master disappeared down the hatch again.

As the enemy's bow guns hammered away at his rigging, Melville punched a steady series of deadly accurate shots straight into their bow. The distance between the two Ships did not close nearly as fast during this stern chase, and it took longer than it did the last time for Melville to shatter the enemy's Keel and make his kill, but the outcome was the same as before.

After a brief but brutal slugfest Melville's superior accuracy took its toll. The enemy Ship was sinking and the
Fang
s were cheering as their pursuers died.

Melville watched and wondered—not for the first time—how long it took to die in a hard vacuum. Explosive decompression was not a quick or painless death. But how long did it take? Ten seconds? A minute? As long as you could hold your breath? However long it was, every second would be filled with pain. Blood vessels bursting in the brain. Eyes hemorrhaging and lungs rupturing. Explosive expansion of nitrogen bubbles in the joints...

Perhaps it was too much pain to really register. Maybe at some point the chorus of agony would overwhelm the mind. So many extraordinary, simultaneous violations of the body might be just massive overkill to the pain receptors in the brain.

Perhaps. Maybe.

The inhabitants of two-space lived in constant dread of answering these questions, of meeting the enemy that waited patiently all around them, lurking constantly and malignantly.

And always there was this:
Better you than us
. The angel of death had passed over them. Their tension eased, and most of the veteran crew thought to themselves,
You bastards came looking for trouble, and you found it.
 

This latest battle had done still more harm to their rigging. The topmen had worked like heroes to repair most of the damage suffered in the first engagement, but now their ragged sails had absorbed additional holes and their yards and rigging ended this battle in worse shape than before. This time even more topmen lay dead or wounded in crimson pools upon the deck, and the next enemy Ship had already closed into range.