The Guns of Two-Space (25 page)

Melville grinned to himself, realizing that he was giving a reiteration of one of his academy classes. Captain Ben James, one of his favorite instructors, was the first person to ever talk about these things, and it had stuck in his mind.

"Even the Sylvan and Dwarrowdelf themselves have embraced Tolkien as a kind of semi-prophecy. Tolkein always insisted that the power of his work was in its applicability, not its allegory. Now the application of his writing has achieved widespread cultural influence almost like the Bible. Just as the Greek culture and language was embraced by the conquering Romans, our culture and language have become the lingua franca for the elder races, and our literature, especially Tolkein, was key to that."

"And now we get to see Nordheim," interjected tiny Aquinar, his normally calm voice squeaking with excitement.

"Aye," boomed Lt. Broadax. She stood off to one side, leaning on her ax. Most of the group hadn't realized that she was listening. "Nordheim, where the Way of the Wind is a strange, wild way, carving her wonders out of snow-jeweled hills an' ice, amidst twisted emerald evergreens, an' granite spires flecked with sparkling quartz and mica. An' in the still o' the dawn ye will know the Splendor o' Silence. An' her mountains! Ah, her lush mountains filled with sweet veins o' gold, silver an' gems!"

"Aye, indeed!" replied Melville, looking at her with a fond smile. "But the real gems to be found on Nordheim are her people, the mighty Dwarrowdelf. And now we are about to make landfall on that legendary world. Most Dwarrowdelf worlds are concentrated up here in the galactic north, where the planets tend to have a greater density of heavy metals. Just as the Sylvans tend to cluster out toward the edges of the galaxy and the ends of the spiral arms, where there seem to be more of the light-gravity, low-density worlds that they love.

"And," said Melville, his face growing hard as he continued, "after Nordheim we are under orders to report to Earth. The people of Earth often seem rude when they talk about our culture. They call us 'primitives.' Sometimes they even call us 'Hokas.' Out in two-space, or on one of our worlds it's appropriate to challenge them to a duel in response to such an insult. Because, you see gentlemen, we are not Hokas! We are the Kingdom of Westerness! Our culture and values now rule one of the greatest empires in the galaxy. While their values and decaying culture sit festering and rotting on one lonely, sick old world."

There were growls of agreement, and then the captain made eye contact with each individual as he continued sternly. "But, on Earth, provided you get shore leave, you will be
their
guests and you must play by their rules. That means no duels and no acts of violence. If you cannot live by the rules of a world, then don't go there."

"Unless yer there ta kill the bastards!" added Broadax. "Then ya don't give a damn about their rules."

Several days later they were met by a half dozen Dwarrowdelf longships, well before they had come in sight of Nordheim's Pier.

"The Dwarrowdelf dislike low gravity," explained Brother Theo to his class of middies as they crowded the upperside rail to watch the approaching Ships, "which means that their 'longships' are, indeed, low and long, with only one sail on each of their three masts. With, of course, the obligatory row of heraldic shields lashed to the rail.

"The Dwarrowdelf are also appalling shots," he continued, "so they only have a few 12-pound cannons in the bow. Their preferred strategy is to blast you at close range, then ram and board you."

"Aye," drawled Josiah Westminster, who was leaning up against the railing beside them. "They ain't worth a damn in a gunfight, but with their big crews of ax-wielding maniacs, if they get a chance to board you, yer finished."

All eyes were on the approaching Dwarrowdelf Ships. On the upper quarterdeck, Melville commented to Fielder, "They probably can't figure what or who we are. We must look like three forlorn and misshapen Guldur cripples, limping in with our crude jury rigs and sparse display of sails."

"Aye, sir," replied his first officer dryly. "They're probably trying to decide whether to sink us or condemn us."

Melville looked back on the two Ships traveling behind them, and he felt a great surge of satisfaction in what they had accomplished. In a loud, clear voice he said,

"Beauty in desolation was her pride,
Her crowned array a glory that had been;
She faltered tow'rds us like a swan that died
But although ruined she was still a queen."
 

His crew growled in agreement. Pride. Beauty. Glory. Still a queen. Those were just the right words to communicate how they felt.

On the lowerside railing Cuthbert Asquith XVI stood beside Mrs. Vodi, Lady Elphinstone, and the other ambulatory patients, all looking at the Dwarrowdelf Ships coming in from their flank, and their sister Ships trailing behind them.

"I still don't get it," said Asquith as he looked out at the magnificent sight with his one good eye, while absentmindedly reaching up to pet his baby monkey.

"What don't you get?" asked Mrs. Vodi with a sigh.

"Well, as I understand it," replied Asquith, "Flatland, or two-space, allows you to traverse the universe from one place to another in a straight line. That is, if we consider the galaxy in three-space to be a solid lens, like a vast frisbee, then if we want to go from point A to point B we have to traverse along the arc of the galaxy. Flatland reduces the huge frisbee of the galaxy to a small, flat disc. Thus allowing us to travel from A to B in a short, straight line... Am I right?"

"Yes," replied Mrs. Vodi. "The key point is that Flatland seems to have everything much closer together, or maybe we can just move around in it faster. Either way the effect is the same. As if you took a big frisbee and compacted it into a dime, or something even smaller and flatter, and then hopped from one densely packed molecule to another."

"Okay," continued Asquith, "so this means that the Keel of your dimensionally ambivalent Ship interfaces with Flatland, allowing a three-dimensional object to move within the realm of two-dimensional space. Still right? And, apparently for a sense of balance, the Ship must actually be Siamese ships, joined together at the keel, transecting Flatland by having 3-D objects above and below. Okay?"

"Okay."

"But how does it work?!" said Asquith with sincere distress in his voice. "I really am trying to understand it all. Mind you, this is coming from someone who once readily accepted that a John Carter could be telepathically summoned to Mars."

"Don't ask
me
how the universe works!" replied Mrs. Vodi. "I'm just a lob-lolly girl. And, truth be told, I don't think anyone understands it. But for that matter, whoever really understood 'warp space' or 'hyperspace' in all those old science fiction books? The bottom line is, here we are. And right now the key question is, 'How will the Dwarrowdelf receive us?'"

"Eep!" agreed their monkeys in chorus, gazing fearfully at the oncoming longships.

"Who be ye?" asked an imposing Dwarrowdelf standing in the upper bow of the lead longship. He had a horned helmet on his head, was coated in glistening mail, and held a huge, double-bladed ax over his shoulder. He was a bit more than half the height of a tall human, and almost half again as broad as Broadax, with a nose like a turnip and a dense black apron of a beard that made their marine lieutenant's whiskers seem like a lady's peach fuzz.

The longship's forward-mounted guns were fully manned, and the crew seemed to have their huge axes close to hand. Melville's three Ships had all cleared for action. Their guns were not run out, but otherwise they were ready for battle.

It was a bit of a nuisance to take this precaution. It meant that everyone's bedding and personal equipment had to be swept up in a great bundle and taken below. It would take hours of hard work to straighten up and sort out his cabin afterward, and McAndrews would let him know about it. But, dammit, that was his steward's job. And if those longships were determined to fight, Melville and his Ships could be in a world of hurt if they were not ready. It would be pure chaos trying to clear away the guns and go into action while actually under fire. The battle, if there was going to be one, would be lost even before it was begun.

Bad enough to be shot at by allies,
thought Melville.
Even worse to not be able to respond if it happens.
 

Clearing for action was also a wake-up call to one and all. The anticipation and thrill of the preparation for battle, the piping of whistles, the harried commands of petty officers, the orderly rush of sailors, the tramp of marines marching to their stations, and the sharp orders of the officers all said that everyone aboard had to be at the ready. Ready for anything and everything the galaxy might throw at them.

Or as ready as three badly battered, undermanned Ships could be.

Nordheim had diplomatic relations with Westerness, complete with a human ambassador in residence, so Melville didn't anticipate too much difficulty. Still, he couldn't help but be anxious. But there was not a hint of nervousness in his voice as he responded.

"I am Captain Thomas T. Melville, of Her Majesty, the Queen of Westerness' 24-Pounder Frigate, the
Fang
." Melville was wearing his best uniform—lovingly brushed, primped and prepared by McAndrews and his monkey—complete with the gold medallion and emerald ribbon of the Order of Knights Companion of the King of Osgil hanging around his neck beside the platinum medallion with scarlet ribbon that denoted him as a member of the King of Stolsh's Royal Host of Glory.

The two Ships had come to a dead stop with their redside bows facing each other. They had to be fairly close for their two atmospheric fields to overlap enough for a conversation, but still each officer had to speak in a loud, clear voice to be heard, and every ear on the upperside of both Ships was listening.

"Aye!" replied the Dwarrowdelf. "By the Lady, we know of Melville, Friend of the Dwarrowdelf League. And we know of the mighty
Fang
. An' we honor ye, saviors of Osgil. Though ye do look a wee bit worse for the wear! But who be yon two raggedy Guldur Ships a bearin' the Westerness ensign?"

"They are two recent additions to the Westerness Navy. Four Guldur Ships attacked us. We sunk two and boarded the others. Now they are ours."

The Dwarrowdelf's eyes grew wide and he grinned, as a rumble came up from the longship's crew.

"Aye, laddie! Just like that, was it? Ye make it sound simple. Well I be Captain Strongfar, and I'd bet my beard ye've got one hell of a tale to tell. An' damn me if I wouldn't buy the ale to hear it!"

"Captain, I'd gladly swap that tale for a brew, but I'm here for a bit more than your famous ale. I'd like to barter for a complete refitting of our three Ships, and I have something of great value to offer in trade."

"Aye, do ye now laddie? Truly ye know the way to a Dwarrowdelf's heart! Tales of fierce battles against overwhelming odds
and
an offer to barter something of 'great value.' Then follow me.
If
yer raggedy pack o' wee battered boaties can make it the rest of the way without a tow!" Then he roared a great thundering laugh as his crew quickly and expertly pulled taut the spanker and jib sails at stern and bow. The longship spun sharply about under the pressure of these sails, then the mainsails were pulled taut and the Dwarrowdelf led the way to the Pier.

The Nordheim Pier spanned the dark blue plane of two-space like a great, glowing white wall. The Dwarrowdelf dislike of light gravity kept all of their buildings low, but they were spread wide and long and topped with endless crenelations, and all of it was coated with lambent, life-giving Moss.

As soon as they came into the atmospheric field of the Pier Melville had the
Fang
's 24-pounders bang out the proper salute. It seemed like every Dwarrowdelf on Nordheim gathered on the Pier to hear the fierce thunder of the
Fang
's 24-pounders. The answering salute by Nordheim's 12-pounders seemed weak in comparison.

Captain Strongfar directed Melville's Ships into the nearest dockyard. The three Ships came to rest at their designated docks, then Melville and Brother Theo stepped onto the glowing white surface of Nordheim's Pier. As the Ship's purser and a master negotiator, Brother Theo would play a key role in their transactions with the Dwarrowdelf.

Captain Strongfar met Melville and Theo, clasping wrists in the Dwarrowdelf fashion. Both humans had the powerful forearms of master swordsmen, but it was clear that Strongfar could have crippled them, snapping their wrists like twigs if he had wanted to. The Dwarrowdelf claimed that this was their traditional greeting, but Melville was convinced they did it as the most effective way to demonstrate their strength and intimidate any other species. Which was a good tradition by the best measure of such things, in that it seemed to have worked so far.

There was a brief exchange of pleasantries and an assistant came up with a huge pile of fur in his arms. Strongfar donned a cloak and a pair of boots made of thick black pelts, making him look even wider and fiercer. Melville and Theo followed his lead, then the Dwarrowdelf captain led the way down a stairway.

As soon as they stepped down the stairs and left the realm of two-space, Melville was met by a blast of icy cold and the strong pull of Nordheim's gravity. He could see his breath, and the air felt heavy. Cold and heavy. He was immediately grateful for the cloak of thick pelts that hung awkwardly over his uniform, and the soft fur boots that covered his otherwise bare feet.

He was on Nordheim! In the twinkling of an eye he has stepped down into a realm of bitter cold air, low wooden buildings, and sparkling snow and ice. From the stairs it was only a dozen steps through the biting cold before they came to a tavern. The sign overhead said "Glod's Rest" in English (and he assumed that the runic writing beside it said the same thing in the local tongue) above a swinging board with a disgruntled Dwarrowdelf painted on it. Melville and Theo ducked through the doorway behind Captain Strongfar, entering into a warm, cozy taproom amidst a swirl of snowflakes. The heat enfolded them like a blanket while Strongfar called out, "Ale, ye lazy laggardly wench! Hot ale for a Friend of the Dwarrowdelf League!" As they sat down to leather tankards of steaming hot mulled ale, they were joined by the Dwarrowdelf admiral and the Westerness ambassador.