The Guns of Two-Space (5 page)

He could not understand these people. This week it was a pistol competition, next week a boxing match was planned. They seemed to be always looking for a fight—in a deranged, cheerful sort of way. If there was no one to fight, they fought each other. When they were all alone they probably punched themselves in the nose and shot themselves in the foot just to stay in practice.

"You know," Archer continued, "if there's danger, and you don't prepare, if you don't train for it, then your unconscious mind will let you know about it in your dreams. There are lots of different versions of the same basic message. For example, people who are into martial arts sometimes dream that their punches and kicks don't work. But people who have to go into combat with guns have dreams that their gun doesn't work. Bullets droop out of the barrel, bullets have no effect, gun jams, can't pull the trigger, can't find the gun, these are
all
different versions of the same thing. And you know what it means?"

"Um, that your dinner doesn't agree with you?" said Asquith.

"Ha! It could be that," the young lieutenant replied, his seemingly invulnerable sarcasm screens leaving him completely undeterred by Asquith's response, "but usually it means that you need to go train! See? Your unconscious mind
knows
that there is danger and it is worried that you cannot perform. So for most people, the only answer is to prepare! To train, and train hard!"

"Ah, I see. Does that make this annoying repetitive dream go away?"

"Usually. 'Cause, you see, the dream is your unconscious mind
begging
you to go train! Your unconscious mind is telling you that you are unconfident, and training builds confidence! As the Duke of Wellington said, 'No man fears to do that which he knows he does well.' Once I train, then I'm victorious in my dreams! And
this
, this competition, is great training, complete with an element of stress, and it's
fun
!
And
it's good entertainment for the whole crew."

"Well, thank you, Lieutenant. If I ever have those annoying dreams, I'll know just what to do. I don't suppose you know what it means when you dream that you are in public with no clothes on? Do you think your unconscious mind is telling you to do the laundry?"

Archer just shook his head with a good-natured grin and went to take his turn to shoot.

Asquith looked around at the group on the lower quarterdeck. Captain Melville, Lt. Fielder, and Lt. Broadax had gone to the upper quarterdeck after the lookout had spotted a sail on the distant horizon. Other than Mrs. Vodi and Lt. Archer, the remaining competitors were their two buckskin-clad rangers, Josiah Westminster and Aubrey Valandil; Mr. Barlet, their master gunner; the Ship's purser, Brother Theo Petreckski, complete with brown robe and bad haircut; their surgeon, Lady Elphinstone, in a buttercup-yellow dress with a grass-green sash about her waist and her long golden hair braided behind her; a handful of red-jacketed marines, including Gunny Von Rito and Corporal Petrico; and the captain's two bodyguards, Ulrich and Grenoble. With the sole exception of Asquith, everyone had a small, fawn colored, eight-legged monkey on his or her back.

Ulrich, the captain's vicious, deranged coxswain, was shooting now, and the crew watched in amazement as the little sociopath fired his two pistols with blazing speed. Usually Ulrich spent his time nurturing his beloved pigeons, but a pistol match could draw him away from his obsession with his feathered friends. His shots were not always the most accurate, but the scoring was based on a complex combination of speed and accuracy, and Ulrich was lightning fast. Almost unbelievably fast, and fairly accurate in the process. And always there was that disturbing gleam in his stare, like the madness in a weasel's eye.

One of the few new crew members in a key position was Grenoble, a "bodyguard" assigned to Captain Melville by the King of Osgil. The people of Osgil were Sylvan, like Lady Elphinstone, their surgeon. They were an ancient race of creatures who inhabited densely forested, low-gravity planets, and the King of Osgil was as close to a "High King" as the far-flung race of Sylvans would ever have. When the king of all Sylvans assigned you a bodyguard you didn't turn him down, but Grenoble was already causing tension with Ulrich. As the captain's coxswain, Ulrich was normally the captain's assigned bodyguard, and the pint-sized psychopath was becoming jealous of the Sylvan.

The Sylvan was Ulrich's polar opposite and they probably would have clashed even under the best of conditions. Grenoble was a tall, pure, haughty paladin, on loan from the King of Osgil's personal bodyguard. Ulrich, on the other hand, was a malicious killer, redeemed only by the fact that he was pitifully loyal to Melville. Other than that the only positive quality in the vicious little sailor was his apparent love and affection for the pigeons that he nurtured and raised onboard.

Even their clothing was a study in opposites. Ulrich, festooned with pistols, knives, and a vicious little short sword strapped to his hip, slouched against the rail in his dirty blue coat and canvas pants. While Grenoble bore a gleaming knight's sword at his side, ramrod straight and slender in the "crimson-and-clover" of the Sylvan King's Own Regiment of Bodyguards: a short, hunter-green jacket over grass-green trousers, with scarlet braid and piping.

It was fascinating to watch the two compete. Ulrich was lightning fast while Grenoble was deadly accurate, and the antipathy between the two of them was palpable.

The Ship's remaining officers were Lt. Crater, Lt. Broadax, Mr. Hans (their sailing master), and Mr. Tibbits (the Ship's carpenter), all of whom had been eliminated early in the competition. With the exception of Lt. Broadax (who had gone to the upper quarterdeck with the captain and first officer), these officers were now lounging on the opposite side of the lower quarterdeck, watching the match from this privileged position while the rest of the crew had to crowd the yards or the railing at the Ship's waist.

The contest came to a sudden halt as the first officer returned from the upper quarterdeck and called out, "The fun's over, me lads. Four Guldur Ships have come to crash our party.
Clear for action!
"

Asquith stayed on the lower quarterdeck as the crew went into high gear, preparing the
Fang
for combat. The Ship was always as busy and crowded as a beehive. Except without the honey. And a lot more stinger. Now it was a beehive that had been kicked over. To the earthling's untutored eye the activity around him was a blur of crowded, noisy and confusing chaos, as everyone prepared the Ship for combat and moved to their battle stations. The Ship herself seemed to tremble with anticipation when a long earthquake tremor shook the decks as the massive 24-pounders were run out.

For Asquith it was a magical transformation from chaos to order. For the
Fang
it was a daily ritual that had been performed countless times in the past. But this time, once again, it was for real.

The guns were run out with great thunderous, squealing thumps, bulkheads were knocked down, and the decks were cleared for action. On both the upper and lower gundecks the usual clutter of cargo pallets, cages for livestock and poultry, and everything that could be disassembled was struck down into the hold, so that (with the exception of the Ship's boats) there should be a clean sweep fore and aft. Scuttle-butts full of fresh drinking water were centrally located with dippers hanging from them.

All hands were at their action stations. Ordinarily that would mean that the watch below would need to be roused, but they were already up for captain's rounds and then most of them stayed to watch the pistol match on the lower deck.

Actually it was no longer quite appropriate to speak of them all as "hands." They were not all human. Many of them were Guldur and, strictly speaking, they were... "paws." Then there was a small handful of the reptilian, semi-aquatic Stolsh, who might technically be considered "claws."

The Guldur on the Ships attacking them had hateful Goblan "ticks" on their backs, working together with the Guldur pack masters to drive them into dark paths and evil purposes. The Guldur in the
Fang
's crew had been liberated from their ticks and pack masters when the
Fang
was boarded and captured. They were now trusted Shipmates and proud veterans of famous battles at the approach to Ambergris and the siege of Ai.

At some point in the distant past an ancient Ur species had seeded the galaxy with genetically similar stock. The Guldur were canine derived and were useless in the rigging. On Guldur Ships a cloud of Goblan (who appeared to be derived from baboons) did all the work in the upper rigging, but anywhere that a Guldur could put his hindpaws on a stable deck they served the
Fang
with distinction.

Up in the rigging a crew of crack Sylvan topmen stood easy. These expert sailors were a gift of the Osgil High King, in thanks for the
Fang
's service to the Sylvans and the Stolsh during the Guldur invasion of that part of their spiral arm. As you got higher up in the rigging the pull of gravity got less and less. The Sylvans were natives of vast forests on low-gravity worlds, and they were natural topmen, capable of supernatural acrobatic feats in the low-gravity fields high up in the rigging.

Besides the Guldur, the Sylvans, and a few Stolsh, the only other nonhuman member of their crew was Lt. Broadax, the Dwarrowdelf commander of their marine detachment. And then there were the monkeys. The monkeys. Their secret weapon. Their force multiplier. A secret weapon
so
secret, that even
they
didn't know how in the hell the critters reproduced!

The monkeys had adopted them on an alien world, and it was quickly discovered that the eight-legged beasties could block bullets. In combat the monkeys carried a wooden belaying pin, which they constantly waved around with amazing strength and speed in a seemingly bizarre, aimless fashion. After the battle the belaying pins were often found to be riddled and encrusted with blocked and deflected musket balls, and each wide-eyed crewman would sit down with "his" monkey and try to find some special treat to give to the little creature, some favorite place to scratch it, as they cooed, "Goood monkey. Niiice monkey."

Every crew member and all of the dogs had a monkey, and each monkey now held a belaying pin. Since each monkey "bonded" and became almost permanently attached to only one individual, be it man, Guldur, Sylvan, or dog, it didn't need a name. Soon it was thought of as an extension of that personality and it became "the captain's monkey" or "Broadax's monkey." Even the "bearer" of the monkey began to see it as a part of himself, therefore he tended to not even think of it at all, secure in its constant presence.

And so a crew of human, Guldur, Sylvan, Stolsh, Dwarrowdelf, monkeys, sentient alien cannons, and a feral, sentient Ship all stood ready for combat.

On the upper quarterdeck Lt. Broadax stood beside Melville. She had a cigar clinched in her teeth and her monkey, perched atop her helmet, also clutched a lit cigar in one upper hand and a belaying pin in the other. The monkey was taking periodic puffs off the cigar while flailing the belaying pin in intricate figure-eight and cloverleaf patterns with such speed and power that it hummed and whistled as it sliced through the air. Broadax's people had evolved on high-gravity worlds and her heredity combined with her uniform and her nasty habit to make her a short, squat, bearded, red cloud of toxic cigar smoke.

Behind Melville was his coxswain and bodyguard, Ulrich. Ulrich's monkey emitted the same surly viciousness as its host and in addition to a belaying pin it was flipping a short dagger in the air.

Next to Ulrich was Melville's Sylvan bodyguard, Grenoble. Grenoble's new monkey was still young, holding a belaying pin in its two top hands while clinging to the Sylvan's shoulder with the remaining six hands. Grenoble kept looking askance at his monkey, not at all sure what to make of this creature that had appeared mysteriously and now seemed permanently attached to him.

A quartermaster and two mates stood at the wheel. Behind them was Hargis, Melville's clerk, standing by to time and record the battle. The remaining members of the quarterdeck crew were young Midshipman Hayl, a marine guard, and a Ship's boy standing by to serve as a runner.

On the lower quarterdeck Fielder was in charge, complete with his own quartermaster team, a clerk's mate, a marine guard, and a midshipman. If anything happened to Melville, Fielder would assume command.

High up in the rigging the Sylvan topmen stood beside crack human topmen, with pistol and sword at their hips, ready to adjust sails, repel boarders, or attack into the enemy rigging. On the upperside old Hans stood with the topmen. On the lowerside the bosun did the same. Marine sharpshooters manned the crow's nests. Gathered aft and beside the upper quarterdeck, Lt. Broadax's marines served as a ready reserve. In the same location on the lowerside Brother Theo and a handful of purser's mates stood with the two rangers, forming an additional reserve.

Their medical personnel had moved down into the hold. An operating table, consisting of sea chests lashed together and covered with tightly drawn sailcloth, was centrally located beneath an expanse of radiant white ceiling. In one well illuminated corner of the room was a much feared device known as "the Rack," consisting mostly of braces and leather-covered chains, designed to hold writhing, pain-wracked patients in various positions during operations. Dressings and coil after coil of bandages sat beside a grim array of saws, retractors, scalpels, forceps, trephines, catlings, and other mysterious torture devices.

Lady Elphinstone and Mrs. Vodi both wore freshly laundered white linen caps, sleeves, and aprons over their startlingly different buttercup-yellow and drab black dresses. More aprons were neatly folded and stacked close at hand, so they could quickly change aprons to avoid transferring infection from one surgery to the next. Elphinstone had her long blond braids pinned up and Vodi's gray hair was in its usual bun. Buckets and swabs waited in the corner, full of antiseptic and water to swab the decks when they became bloody, sand to spread on the slick wet decks, and ominous empty buckets to hold amputated limbs and body parts.