The Guns of Two-Space (2 page)

 

 

 

For I dipt into the future,
far as human eye could see,
Saw the vision of the world,
and all the wonder that could be,
Saw the heavens fill with commerce,
argosies of magic sails,
Pilots of the purple twilight,
dropping down with costly bales.
Heard the heavens fill with shouting,
and there rain'd a ghastly dew
From the nations' airy navies
grappling in the central blue.

"Locksley Hall"
Alfred Lord Tennyson, 1842

A fragile wooden Ship, complete with canvas sails, was sailing between the stars. This was patently, embarrassingly impossible, of course, but fortunately the Ship didn't know that, and neither did her crew.

Actually, it was more like
two
old-fashioned three-masted sailing ships, cut off at the waterline and joined together like some bizarre "Siamese twin" of a Ship. And if you happened to be out in interstellar space as the Ship whizzed by, you couldn't actually see it, because it was in another dimension and it was going far, far faster than the speed of light. But it was there, take our word for it.

To understand how this Ship came to be there will take some explanation, and a good dose of imagination.

First, you have to imagine a two-dimensional realm. This part is not too hard. Humans have imagined such a realm since 1884 when Edwin A. Abbot first introduced the concept in his book,
Flatland: A Romance in Many Dimensions
. In this Flatland, or two-space, there is left and right, forward and back, north, east, south, and west, but
no
up or down. Just two dimensions, see?

Now, imagine the entire galaxy in two-space. The whole, immense galaxy, with its billions of stars, solar systems, and planets all compacted into a vast, flat, two-dimensional disk. For humans to travel in this realm, a Ship would have to create a pocket of three-dimensional space, which could intrude into two-space like a soap bubble, existing above
and below
the flat surface of a vast, calm ocean. This really is no harder (indeed it is actually quite a bit easier) than imagining hyperspace or other, complex, multidimensional models. And, when you think about it, it is logical that humans should travel between the stars via the simple, basic realm of two-space rather than some complex realm of multiple dimensions that nobody ever really understood anyway.

But
, this simple realm has rules of its own. The laws of physics, and chemistry, and... well, hell, just about
everything
changes here. One of the most important of these changes is that time and space are different, so that it only takes weeks or months to sail between the stars.

Another major difference in two-space is that complex technology cannot exist here. The easiest way to think of it is simply to understand that two-space has a "grudge" against high-tech. Under the right circumstances living organisms and simple tools can exist here, but anything complex will immediately start breaking down.

People who claim to have excellent imaginations often seem to balk at this aspect of two-space. "Why
can't
complex technology exist in two-space?" they cry out in frustration. And the answer is, "Why can't people breathe water, or energy be created, or pi equal three, or entropy be reversed, or pigs fly in
our
universe?" Different universes are going to have quaint, unique, inexplicable, incomprehensible, unpredictable, and fundamentally
different
laws! And, as every traveler knows, if you travel to an exotic land, you'd better be prepared to accept and obey the law of the land.

So, if computers, complex spaceships, and other technological devices cannot exist in this realm, how then—you may ask—do you travel between the stars?

Well, our Ship, although it is a fragile, complex thing of wood, rope, and canvas, is really very simple technology. Two-space
tolerates
it. The "Keel" of the Ship creates a pocket of three-space that can exist in the midst of two-space. The Keel also generates gravity and warmth. (Or maybe it is two-space that provides the gravity. Nobody is really sure.) And the wood of this Ship is coated with a glowing white, two-dimensional "Moss" that gives light and air for the passengers crowded upon its decks. (A sense of superstitious homage causes the crew to always treat the Moss and the Keel as proper nouns, as befits such wondrous, mysterious, supernatural, life-giving objects. Ancient mythology, passed on from the Elder Races, says that the Moss was Lady Elbereth's Gift, intended to keep sailors out of the freezing vacuum hell of the Elder King.)

And, by the way, that Moss becomes a sentient, two-dimensional creature, or perhaps a colony of creatures, which makes the Ship... alive. Apparently
much
to its surprise. Thus, out of respect for this living creature that allows humans to travel upon its back between the stars, it is always referred to with a capital "S". It is... a Ship. One
hell
of a Ship. One hundred and fifty feet of living grace and star-spanning power.

Oh, one last thing. The "winds" of two-space are always exerting a constant, downward pressure. Two-space, you see, responds to our little pocket of three-space in much the same way that an oyster might react to a grain of sand. The Ship is an irritant and two-space is trying to squish it flat. Which seems only fair. So our Ship has forward-leaning masts, and the downward pressure catches the canvas sails and pushes the Ship forward.

See, it is all very simple and elegant. And stunningly beautiful as we zoom in on three officers standing on the upper quarterdeck of our improbable Ship. Watch closely now, the special effects are subtle but expensive and really quite impressive.

Two of them were tall with elegant, classic, navy blue jackets. The other was short and very wide, with a red coat. They were the captain, his first officer, and their marine lieutenant.

Beneath them was the glowing white wood of their Ship. Above them a forest of luminous white masts and spars, dirty off-white canvas sails, and brown hemp rigging hummed and sang as their Ship raced between the stars. Above the central blue that they sped through, above the perpetual purple twilight of the horizon, far above the rigging of their Ship, hung stunning, achingly beautiful, crystal clear stars, constellations, and galaxies, spread thickly and densely across the black sky.

All around them a constant, faint, ethereal music rang in their ears. Their noses breathed in the crisp air of two-space, which always smelled like new-fallen snow on a calm, clear winter morning. (Although belowdecks it sometimes smelled more like a locker room.)

It was a realm of beauty and wonder surpassing anything that mankind had ever known before.

And, as always, whenever sentient creatures are involved, they immediately muck it up and spoil the calm, exquisite grandeur of it all by trying to kill each other.

In this case their personal pocket paradise was marred by four
other
Ships coming to destroy them. Their enemy's goal was to "sink" their Ship so that it would pop into three-space, where they would all die hideous deaths in the cold vacuum of interstellar space.

Needless to say, the three officers on the upper quarterdeck (
and
the small cloud of sailors and marines around them) all objected vigorously to this possibility. And therein lies our tale.

"My god, four of them!" said the first officer with a touch of despair in his voice.

"This isn't the first time people have tried to kill us," the captain replied calmly, looking at his first officer with eyes that were both less and
more
than human. "Lots of them, indeed
most
of them, are dead."

Lt. Thomas Melville was Master and Commander of Her Majesty, the Queen of Westerness' Ship, the
Fang
. He was the rightful captain of a sentient wooden Ship. They were traveling serenely across the shoreless seas of two-space, headed due west, two days out of Osgil with all sail set, on the long haul across the Grey Rift, between the spiral arms of the galaxy on their way to Old Earth.

Melville should have been a happy man as he and his two officers stood on the upper quarterdeck of his Ship. (
His
Ship, by God!) They should
all
have been very cheerful and lighthearted as they looked out upon the deep, dark blue of two-space, their eyes focused on the distant, purple horizon.

They existed in a world of wonder and excitement. They were young. They were victorious in past battles. The Osgil courts had declared the
Fang
to be a war prize and had awarded enough prize money to make them quite wealthy. And they were partaking in the greatest adventure that mankind had ever imagined: they were literally
sailing
among the stars.

But two of them, the captain and his first officer, were
not
happy. Each was responding differently to their current situation. Melville's response was fierce anger and determination. The first officer, Lt. Daniel Fielder, was worried, with a familiar, sick knot of fear welling up in his gut.

The third officer standing there was Lt. Broadax, the commander of their marine detachment. Broadax was a Dwarrowdelf in sworn service to the Crown of Westerness. She was short, squat, and wide, dressed in marine red, with wild, wiry black hair jutting out from under a round iron helmet and a scraggly beard punctuating her gnarly red face and bloodshot eyes. The prospect of pending battle made
her
as gleeful as a piranha in a goldfish bowl.

"Hot damn! I wus afraid we wus gonna have a dull trip, an' now here comes more fun!" said Broadax, rolling her cigar across the broad, toothy smile that split the mass of gristle and hair that passed for her face.

"You didn't really think they'd let you get away with it, did you?" said Lt. Fielder, pointedly ignoring Broadax's bloodthirsty comments. "You should have known it was coming," continued the first officer. "You captured one of the Guldur frigates and they're coming to get it back."

"Hmm," replied their young captain. His response was echoed by a faint "Hmmm," from the pint-sized eight-legged alien spidermonkey on his shoulder.

Broadax and Fielder also had one of the strange little monkeys perched on their backs. The monkeys had adopted them on an alien world and the small, furry, fawn colored creatures had rapidly taken on the characteristics of their individual hosts. Melville's monkey managed to communicate an aura of calm confidence intermixed with flashes of youthful mischief and excitement. Fielder's monkey was looking over its shoulder apprehensively, craning its accordion neck in a comically anxious fashion. Broadax's monkey was bouncing up and down on her shoulder, with an excited "Eek!" escaping from it periodically.

The three of them stood shoulder-to-shoulder (or shoulder-to-hip in Broadax's case) looking out at the distant enemy sails. Melville was in the middle, providing a buffer space between his first officer and his marine lieutenant.