The Guns of Two-Space (32 page)

"You have a valid point, Captain," replied Vodi. "Writers
are
definitely worthy of our esteem, if any celebrity is. But with all due respect I'd bring to your attention Exhibit A for the opposing view."

Melville looked where she was pointing and saw little Asquith pestering his agent to get out of his contract, while his agent diligently plied the publisher for a bigger advance.

"Well, maybe not all writers," agreed Melville with a rueful laugh. "But at least there's the military.
There
is a realm of decisive men of action.
There
is a place where you can find true giants who stride the galaxy and are worthy of admiration."

Groans and thuds came from the dark corner of the alcove where they had left Fielder and his girlfriend, and Vodi cocked her head with a thin smile and said, "Once again you have an excellent point. Our military does have its 'giants' who are worthy of honor and glory. But do you include moral giants like Fielder?" And on cue the redhead began a gasping scream, or at least Melville assumed it was the redhead.

"Or," continued Mrs. Vodi, "were you referring to intellectual giants like Broadax and Ulrich? Or maybe you mean those great mental and moral giants of the Admiralty?"

"Huh," said Melville.

"O wad some Power the giftie gie us,
To see oursels as ithers see us!"
"Indeed, Captain," replied Mrs. Vodi.
"I guess we all have feet of clay," said Melville. "We're all just people trying to get by. Who the hell am I to judge? I'm going to my Ship."
"Eep!" agreed his monkey.
 

The next morning Melville received a letter summoning him to the admiral's office. McAndrews and his monkey fussed over the captain's uniform, and then it was only a short walk down the dock and into the Admiralty headquarters.

Melville had left his monkey behind but at least he was able to carry his sword. He entered the vast puzzle palace and was led through a maze of corridors and offices which were walled, floored, and roofed with glowing white Nimbrell wood. The walls were peppered with tasteful paintings, and prints accumulated over the centuries.

Finally he was led into the inner sanctum, high up in the main building of Earthport.
More like the "inner sphincter"
thought Melville. The gravity was extremely light here, but his heart was heavy as he walked into the admiral's suite.

The ancient hallways, expensive old furnishings and vaguely musty atmosphere made Melville feel like an intruder in a posh gentleman's club. A chummy realm of collegiality and handshake deals. An exclusive club where he was
not
welcome.

"So, you have one of those new Guldur Ships, eh?" said the dapper young flag lieutenant who was the admiral's aide. "How do you find it?"

"Usually where I left it."

"Ha, yes, mmm. Indeed. You know, Melville, nobody here's quite sure what to make of your story. Personally I think that a tale of such bizarre complexity and outrageous daring has
got
be true. Nobody here can believe you're smart enough to make it up. Well, off we go to see the admiral."

As he entered the admiral's office he was disconcerted as his bare feet trod on a plush, maroon carpet. Usually aboard Ship and on Piers the decks were left bare for the Moss to flourish. The walls had an assortment of oil paintings, and a big bay window looked out on the Pier.

"Ha! Melville," said Admiral Beaucoup, a bluff old man with huge white muttonchop sideburns who was behind an enormous desk, leaning back in a black chairdog. The admiral pointedly did not get up, nor did he offer Melville a seat or refreshments. "So
you're
the young man who's been the source of so much trouble, eh? You've got an amazing number of people who want your head on a platter, I'm afraid. So many pigeons have come home to roost, it's like a damned eclipse!"

Good!
said a little voice in Melville's head.
Then we will fight in the shade!
 

"You know," the admiral continued, wagging his finger admonishingly with a jovial chuckle, "in retrospect, capturing three Guldur Ships, sinking a couple dozen others, and helping to kill a few hundred thousand Oraki and Guldur just
might
not have been a very good move. Eh?"

Well sir,
thought Melville,
it
is
true that we helped turn a couple hundred thousand of them into buzzard buffets on Ambergris. And thousands more are freeze-dried pup-sickles floating around in space thanks to us. But if we don't kill enough of them, the others just won't respect us in the morning, don'tcher see? And, anyway, what's the point of having a devastatingly destructive, kick-ass Ship if you can't use it?
 

That's what the little voice in his head was gibbering. What
he
said was, "Well sir, it
was
all in self-defense. They did start the whole thing by ambushing and killing the
Kestrel
, our captain, and a good portion of our crew."

"Eh, well they do admit to that, but they say it was an accident. They claim they were cleaning their cannon when it went off. Damned wogs and aliens, can't trust any of them, eh?" said the admiral with a knowing wink.

"And the Oraki claim you executed one of their royalty. Two good shots to the forehead and one right into the old kisser. Ha! Good shootin' that, eh? Best thing to do with 'em if you ask me. But I'm afraid the whole matter is completely out of my hands. It's all politics, don'tcher see? We can't let them think you're being rewarded for that kind of behavior. Where would we be if
all
of our officers went off whacking wog royalty, eh?"

Thus Melville was informed of the Admiralty's judgment. In the end, it wasn't as bad as he'd feared. He was pretty sure that he could see the influence of the Celebri Shipwrights at work, and it was a bemused and mostly relieved young captain who returned to his Ship.
"Deck there!" called the lookout in the foremast crosstrees. "I can see the cap'n comin'!"

"Very well," replied Fielder. "Midshipman of the watch, call the side party, stand by to pipe the captain aboard."

Soon Melville came up the gangplank and saluted the side party as his monkey leapt happily to his shoulder.

"Well," he said, when he stood on the quarterdeck with his first officer and purser, who were the two key officers involved with the operation and finances of the Ship. "I think we've succeeded in dodging the bullet. They've denied us prize money for the
Gnasher
and the
Biter
, but they sure as hell are
not
going to give 'em back to the Guldur."

"Huh. Tightfisted bastards," said Fielder.

"Wait, you haven't heard anything yet," replied Melville. "Archer and Crater remain in command of their Ships. The Admiralty doesn't have much choice about that, since the Ships have bonded to them. There'll be no promotions for any of us though. They've rated us all as sloops, and therefore a lieutenant can stay in command."

"Ha!" exploded Fielder. "The most powerful Ships afloat, and we're rated as sloops.
There
is the twisted mind of the bureaucrat at work for you."

"Aye," Melville replied with a sad, bemused shake of his head. He felt like he was in the middle of a novel, like one of those compelling, addictive, and terribly frustrating Connie Willis books from the classic era of science fiction, where you just wanted to take every single silly sod of a character and slap the snot out of them. "At least they can't deny us the Osgil prize money," Melville continued. "But here's the real kicker. Look at this," he said, holding out a sheet of paper for them to look at. "They've assessed a 'registration fee' for all three new Ships."

"Hmm," said Brother Theo, carefully calculating the sums. "It's nothing like having to pay for a new Ship from the Keel up. We could probably scrape up the fee for the
Fang
from our Osgil prize money. And the income from our cargos, and from selling the 24-pounders on Nordheim and Earth would go a long way toward paying for the
Gnasher
and the
Biter
. But it's an ingenious way for the Admiralty to 'tax' us and get their teeth into us."

"Aye," said Melville. "Of course, we won't pay our debt off right away, even if it didn't bankrupt us. We'll pay it in increments over the next few years, just like a new Ship. Oh, and the
Fang
is still banished to the far side of the galaxy. I don't know what they plan to do with
Gnasher
and
Biter
, but I'm betting they'll keep us far apart from each other."

"Probably the poorest possible milk runs and scut jobs they can find," said Fielder.

"The important thing is, we've got our Ship," said Melville, "and we've got twenty-four hours to get the hell out of Dodge. Is everyone aboard?"

"Aye, sir," replied Fielder. "There were amazingly few complications with the local authorities. We just got our only problem child out of hock from the local authorities. It seems Ranger Valandil was arrested for climbing some of their skyscrapers, which apparently is something they frown on here. EarthPol has some remarkable vid shots of him free-climbing outside the 212th floor of his hotel. The cops said to ask him—and all the other Sylvans—to, 'Please not climb our buildings.'"

"Huh. It's always the quiet ones, isn't it?" said Melville, shaking his head. "Well, we're off. Our first stop is Lenoria, followed by an endless string of one-Pier ports to the Western Rim, and then across the Far Rift to the Hero Cluster. We'll probably never see Evereven and our homes and families in
this
lifetime, but at least we are alive and fairly well off."

"Amen to that," said Fielder. "After everything we've been through, I'm just happy, and surprised, to be alive!"

"Oh, and call all hands aft," added Melville. His face suddenly split into a grin of sincere pleasure as he continued, "I've actually got orders now, and I have to read myself in as Master and Commander!"

When the crew and officers had assembled, Melville stood at the upper quarterdeck rail, looked out upon his crew, and began reading from the parchment in his hand. The more he read the bigger the smile became on his face. Initially there was some confusion among the crew, but then the
Fang
s began to echo their captain's smile.

"'By the Commissioners executing the office of Lord High Admiral of Westerness and Lenoria et cetera, and of all Her Majesty's planets and territories et cetera. To Lt. Thomas Melville, Esquire, hereby appointed Master and Commander of Her Majesty's Ship the
Fang
.'"

This was greeted with a great roar of approval from the assembled
Fang
s, and Melville's face was alight with joy as he continued. He had heard other commanders read themselves in before, but as he read these beautifully penned, powerful, ancient Words, he felt something greater than himself flooding through his soul.

"'By virtue of the power and authority to us given, we do hereby constitute and appoint you Master and Commander of Her Majesty's Ship the
Fang
willing and requiring you forthwith to go aboard and take upon you the charge and command in her accordingly, strictly charging and commanding the officers and company belonging to the said Ship subordinate to you to behave themselves jointly and severally in their respective employments with all due respect and obedience to you their said commander, and you likewise to observe and execute as well the general printed instructions and what orders and direction you shall from time to time receive from us or any other of your superior officers for Her Majesty's service. Hereof nor you nor any of yours may fail as you will answer the contrary at your peril. And for so doing this shall be your warrant. Given under our hands and the seal of the office of Admiralty on this fifth day of May in the twenty-seventh year of Her Majesty's reign.'"

The
Fang
s roared their approval, and rising up through their bare feet there was a great tide of affirmation, a fierce ratification that came swelling out from
Fang
herself, until it felt like a ringing in the ears and a soaring in the soul.

During the time that Melville had been making his whirlwind media tour, the
Fang
's sailors, marines, and middies had been training and qualifying on high-tech simulators on Earth. And they took the qualification process very seriously.

An American private who fought in the trenches of World War I back on Old Earth had a base pay of $13 a month. But he received an extra $5 a month if he qualified expert with his rifle, which was a significant bonus. In the early twenty-first century, the Los Angeles Police Department still maintained a "bonus range" which provided bonus pay for pistol marksmanship. Officers received $8 per month as a Marksman, $16 per month as a Sharpshooter, $32 per month as an Expert, and $64 per month as a Distinguished Expert.

The sailors, marines, and midshipmen of the Westerness Navy received similar bonuses for qualifying expert with their pistols and rifled muskets. The sailors also received considerably more pay if they passed the series of simulators and tests that qualified them as an "able-bodied sailor."

Needless to say, the
Fang
s were all eager to earn such qualifications, and a stop on Earth was their chance to attain them. But Earth's high-tech total immersion simulators weren't just for qualifying as marksmen or able-bodied sailors. These incredibly realistic combat simulators also gave them a chance to fight and "die" yet still live to learn from the experience.

(Only Broadax failed to benefit from this opportunity. She was kicked out of the simulator facility because she kept going into berserker attacks on the computers and their operators. "This is not combat! This is a simulator! It's just like a video game! There are
rules!
" screamed the enraged senior simulator operator as a squad of marines finally escorted Broadax from his facility.)

Between sessions on the combat simulators, the troops had a chance to immerse themselves in the "classics" that were not available in printed form. The
Star Trek
TV series and movies, the
Star Wars
movies, and of course Peter Jackson's
Lord of the Rings
movies were standard fare for a young sailor's first Earth visit. These movies and TV shows had survived the Crash created by the Elder King's Gift through data disks that were recovered from museums.