The Guns of Two-Space (66 page)

"We humans do live in blissful ignorance. Some are in militant ignorance. The effect is the same. And as to our betters, well, perhaps we shall learn when the time comes that we finally meet them," Melville returned blithely.

"So it's trrue that the vast majorrity of the people in yourr wrretched, pastorral empirre can't even find Guldurr on a map of the galaxy?"

"Yes, but the small majority who can find it are all in the Navy. Don't worry," said Melville with a feral grin,"the ones who need to find you won't have any difficulty."

To a certain type of officer, Melville's youth, his failure to work his way up the ranks and touch every base, his unquestionable ability, and his remarkable successes all combined to become a personal insult. Fortunately, Admiral Middlemuss was not one of those. He just seemed amused and bemused by his new captain.

On the other hand, he also didn't see a need to let Melville enrage the Guldur admiral to the point of provoking a duel. While it wouldn't bother him a bit to see the Guldur taken down a peg or two (permanently!) it also would have all the hallmarks of a true diplomatic disaster.

Worse yet, what if Melville lost? While it might make certain factions at the Admiralty very happy, it would greatly complicate matters in the Hero Cluster.

And so, somewhat reluctantly, Admiral Middlemuss broke in. "Captain Melville, I'm sorry to take you away when you're having such a wonderfully productive discussion with the admiral, but I had promised to introduce you to some of our guests. Admiral, gentlebeings, if you will excuse us?" he said as they swept away.

Sometime later, after Melville had been introduced to most of the room's inhabitants (and to some of the excellent local wines), Mrs. Middlemuss entered the ballroom and rang a small crystal bell to attract everyone's attention.

"It is time for the polonaise before supper," she announced to the room. "I must beg you all to leave your conversations and come join us."

"Mrs. Middlemuss' wish is our command," said Melville to the general agreement of the room.

"Captain Melville, I understand that you don't dance?" said Mrs. Middlemuss.

"It is painful to be reminded of what I am missing in the presence of so much beauty," said Melville with sincere regret. He loved music, and could carry a tune fairly well upon occasion (although there were times when others would disagree), but there was no denying that he was an abject failure at dancing. "In dancing I must choose my battles. Anything other than a slow box step is an invitation to social and podiatric disaster."

That was the sad truth, but it also established the opportunity for him to make some invitations when the beat and music were right. There would be a few lovelies whose company he could enjoy without inviting complete embarrassment and humiliation. And the pleasure of holding a woman close, even within the standards of propriety, was something that reminded him of what he and his men were protecting.

At least as long as he kept off her feet!

The time strolled pleasantly past, filled with beautiful women, good wine, and pleasant conversation.

"Getting about time for the supper march," announced the admiral. "Captain Melville, would you be so kind as to escort Mrs. Middlemuss?"

"Delighted, of course," he replied with a smile.

The only thing wrong with the dinner was that, as the guest of honor, Melville was seated near the head of the table. Normally this wouldn't have been too much of a trial, as the admiral and his wife were both cheerful and interesting dinner companions.

Unfortunately, protocol also dictated that the Guldur representative be seated near the admiral as well. And while Melville knew quite a few Guldur who he would cheerfully share a meal with (at least anything not cooked by Kaleb Jones!), the Guldur admiral was definitely not among them!

"Melville," lamented Admiral Middlemuss, shaking his head sadly as he ate, "one of these days I'm going to have to teach you how to play golf.

"Dear Lord! Why, sir?" said Melville with mock dismay and a disarming smile as he sipped his wine.

The admiral was struck by the sheer charisma of the slender young captain's grin. But behind that unflagging good humor, Melville's gray eyes flashed like cold steel in moonlight. Middlemuss realized that he was getting a glimpse of the personality that had forged the
Fang
and her crew into such a fearsome weapon.

"Because you seem too happy."

"Have mercy, sir! Anything but that, please. I promise to be good. I swear I won't sink a single Guldur Ship while under your command."

"Hmm, with the exception of Admiral Gwarlur's Ship—which is protected by diplomatic immunity—there
are
no other Guldur Ships in this part of the galaxy."

"Damn, did somebody beat me to all the rest of 'em?" He replied, with irrepressible deviltry dancing like quicksilver in his eyes.

"Humph," said the Guldur, who had been sitting at the table, listening, scowling, and growling. "R'all rright then, if you arre so puissant, why have you and yourr supposedly amazing Ship been wrritten off, and condemned to the deepest, darrkest depths of the frrontierr? Hmph. You arre beneath ourr notice."

Melville shrugged and smiled. "We've seen all the action anyone ever needs, and all we really want now is a quiet life as free traders. But I've got one hell of a Ship and a damned fine crew, and if I was you, I'd continue to take 'notice' of me. And my Ship."

"It is trrue that we underrestimated you and yourr Ship. That won't happen again."

"I get underestimated a lot. And by better people than you."

Just then the Guldur admiral's aide came to his side and whispered in his ear. The Guldur smiled an evil, wolfish grin. "I am needed at my Ship," he said to Admiral Middlemuss. "I'm sure you will understand."

Middlemuss made agreeable noises as the Guldur stood up from the table with a brief bow that was barely more than a nod, and left.

"Well," said Dr. Myriad-Forsythewald, "I hate to cast aspersions on another guest, but I do believe that the temperature in this room has risen at least ten degrees since the Guldur gentleman's departure!"

Admiral Middlemuss made a brief grimace. "I hate to agree, but the Lord knows I am not the best diplomat when it comes to dealing with arrogant, overbearing aliens! Not, of course, that I would even dream of expressing such an opinion of our esteemed departed guest! Oh, perish the thought!" There was a general chuckle of agreement around the table.

"I can understand why he might be perturbed at my presence," said Melville, "but why is he so obviously disturbed by the Kingdom of Westerness? As he so graciously, continuously and acerbically pointed out, we are newcomers and beneath their notice!

Dr. Myriad-Forsythewald replied thoughtfully. "I believe it is that, to him, Westerness represents
thumos
," he said. "
Thumos
, an ancient Greek psychological concept, cannot be translated directlyinto English because it combines the qualities and emotions of passion, spirit,energy, and courage.
Thumos
has a negative side, such as the anger of Achilles. But it is also acreative force of great and positive life powers. On Old Earth, England—and then her great colonies: Canada, Australia, and especially America—represented
thumos
for most of their history, and they were much feared and despised for it. Today the situation is largely the same with Westerness."

"And," said Melville, "the one thing that the Guldur and the Goblan are not, is
thumos
! They are an oppressive, controlled, centrally managed empire, which refuses to delegate authority or permit any kind of freedom or independent action."

"That, I believe, is why they feel threatened by such newcomers to two-space as we," agreed Myriad-Forsythewald. "That they, long resident throughout this sphere are not, and have not ever been
thumos
, and are content to merely exist! While we, bumbling and rash in our youth and energy, are running hither and yon with enthusiasm, courage, joy and creativity."

"Aye!" growled the admiral.

Melville picked up his glass, stood, and smiled at the table. "Then, ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Queen, our allies, and our
thumos
! Long may we revel in it!"

"Hear, hear!" his companions cried as they drank deeply.

After dinner, the party moved back to the ballroom for yet more dancing. Melville and the admiral tried to slip out with Dr. Myriad-Forsythewald and a few other officers for poker, cigars and brandy. But before they could make good their escape, they were cornered by the beautiful, gracious, and quite formidable Mrs. Middlemuss.

"Captain Melville, where are you going?" she asked in full Mrs. Rear Admiral mode, just as Melville had almost made it through the door to the study where the card table awaited them. Her tone made the entire procession—august officers and academic alike—pause like guilty children.

"Uhh, ma'am, I was simply stepping aside for a few moments of gentlemanly conversation..." he began cautiously.

"Oh, piffle. You were sneaking off to join my husband and his cronies for another of his endless card games. But
someone
needs to think about the overall success of the party. These old fogies will not be missed," she said, gesturing dismissively at Melville's fellow escapees, "but I have quite a few young ladies who lack a dance partner, and you, sir, are most highly in demand!"

"But, ma'am, I remind you that I am a terrible dancer..." he began desperately, and was cut off by her voice and smile.

"Now, Captain, I've been watching, and you will do fine. I even had the band modify the song list for you. You will do quite nicely!" she said firmly.

The admiral looked back at his wife's face, then over at Melville and said, "Well, every once in a while someone has to make a sacrifice for the greater good. I guess tonight's your night. Have fun!" With a nod, he quickly closed the door. You could almost hear the relief as they managed to make their retreat from this most formidable opponent—the hostess determined to make a social success!

For most of the rest of the evening, Melville was forced, (not
entirely
against his will, mind you) to escort lovely young women to the dance floor. As always, the process reminded him of his Princess Glaive. How shallow every women seemed by comparison. Always there was the same question, "What are the fashionable ladies wearing in Westerness this season?" Always Melville assured them that they just happened to be wearing the height of fashion. And always they were delighted by his blatant, flattering lie.

Dancing with young ladies
did
have its occasional pleasant aspects, and it was immensely preferable to having them all cluster around him and compete for his attention between sets. At least dancing prevented them from ganging up on him!

From his vantage point on the dance floor he observed the social ecology of the Hero Cluster. The men gathered in the corners like cobwebs, spinning tall tales, business partnerships, and networks of friendship and information. The matrons moved along the edges, like a rainbow of colored mice, nibbling at reputations, assessing prospects, and plotting the future genealogical architecture of the Hero Cluster.

Melville caught occasional glimpses of his officers through the crowd and around the perimeter of the room. Brother Theo in an intense discussion with a varied group of academics and officers, with his bright-eyed monkey hovering over his head and watching with interest. The middies huddled in a corner, seeking escape. Lady Elphinstone, slim and elegant in a small cloud of naval officers vying for her attention. Hans and Broadax in a corner with a group of older officers and warrant officers as well as a few marines, producing a toxic cloud of cigar smoke that was, thankfully, pulled out through the open windows by a breeze. Fielder, assuring his dance partner that the latest fashion on Westerness was, "Very low cut and daring," and how wonderful it would look on her. And of course, Ulrich and Grenoble, always keeping a watchful eye on their captain from the sidelines—no ditching
them
after what happened on Show Low!

"Captain, I dare say you haven't heard a word I've said!" declared the redheaded damsel in his arms.

She had the worst case of halitosis he had encountered in any female of his experience, although he had upon occasion encountered worse in some men and especially among Guldur with whom he had crossed swords. But then he wasn't required to hold any of
them
close. At least not for long. Melville grinned winningly and said, "My lady, I must admit that as a dancer I am sadly lacking in grace. If I fail to concentrate on the steps, we should have to call in the surgeons for the care of your poor feet!"

She pouted momentarily and then melted in even more closely and whispered up to him, her dragon breath just inches from his face, "Well, we couldn't have that now, could we?"

Feeling her body warmth against him awoke quite a few feelings, foremost among them panic, which was made worse by the smile Mrs. Middlemuss was gifting him with from the sidelines. His monkey caught on quickly to his unease and came to his rescue by extending its neck so that its up-side-down face was, so to speak, eye to eye with her closed eyes, and said softly, "Eek?"

Her eyes popped open and she repeated the verbal sally, albeit in a much more emphatic voice. "
Eeek!
Ohmigod! What is that animal?" she shrieked.

Melville almost trembled with relief. "Why, uh..." what was her blasted name again? Oh, yes, June. "...pardon, June, I thought you had met my monkey."

"It's Jane!" she said frostily as she stormed off the dance floor.

"Whew!" he said as his monkey
eep
ed quietly in agreement.

Seeing Mrs. Middlemuss coming toward the dance floor yet again, in full Mrs. Rear Admiral mode with still another young lovely in tow, Melville did what most stalwart young officers would do at that point: he beat a hasty strategic retreat to a quiet corner near the bar.

The bar happened to be adjacent to an exit, so he was in a position to see Lt. Fielder taking his leave of a lovely young lady. It was close to midnight, and the
Fang
's first officer was headed off to begin his shift as duty officer. They both seemed distinctly disheveled, and the lady had a faint set of grass stains on the back of her white gown. Although it was probably only noticeable to anyone who was sober—a condition Melville had reluctantly embraced due to the need to save the feet of various lovely ladies throughout the night.