The Guns of Two-Space (78 page)

"Aye, sir...?" Melville responded, questioningly.

"You want to know what the hell's going on, that makes me grab you and pull you into my office, and shove the
Fang
ahead of half the other Ships for repair, most of whom have more senior captains and more serious damage, right?" Middlemuss lifted one corner of his mouth while his eyes narrowed with an "almost" smile.

The semi-smile disappeared as the admiral continued. "A fast mail packet arrived this morning. It came straight from the Admiralty on Earth, via Show Low." Melville sat up straight at the news.

"Oh, sit back, Thomas. It wasn't the old ladies at the Admiralty trying to stick their fingers in your eye again. Truth to tell, I would have
much
preferred that. Come to think of it, so would you."

Melville's eyebrows rose in astonishment before he corralled them, forcing himself to lean back in his chairdog and put on the poker face he had been practicing of late.

The admiral continued. "The Crabs' attack appears to have been timed to hit just before we got word of a Guldur attack on Westerness. Our Guldur guest probably received advance warning, as you saw, during last night's party. His Ship left port, heading west, immediately after he left the party. Shortly thereafter, the Crabs hit. But you know all about that."

The old admiral's face was grim as he continued. "The news is... overwhelming. We found out that Westerness has been invaded by the Guldur. Vast enemy fleets have swept through and devastated our empire. Dozens of small planets have fallen to the enemy before they could get warning, with everyone destroyed, hideously and horribly butchered by the Guldur. As word spread by fast Ships, hundreds of small, one-Pier worlds had to pull their Pier down or face invasion and destruction. All those Piers died when they were brought into three-space, but it was the only choice.

"Lord knows how long it will be before we can get back to those worlds with another Pier. Many of them only had a total population of a few thousand souls. The poor bastards may not be able to survive under these conditions."

Melville thought of all the planets they had visited on their lazy journey through the "smallness" of Westerness. Hundreds of those fragile frontier worlds would now have to fend for themselves. Many of them would die slow, lingering, horrible deaths: alone, afraid, and cut off from the rest of humanity.

"It was classic maneuver warfare. The Guldur didn't attack our strength. They cut through us, avoiding our main fleet and destroying our heartland, like Sherman's march to the sea during the American Civil War in the nineteenth century.

"This attack was a devastating economic loss to our star kingdom. And just the threat of another such invasion fleet may make the continued expansion and sustainment of Westerness, as it is currently happening, unviable. The only option is to go on the offensive. But the limitation in Keels and Piers means that it will be very difficult to launch a major offensive."

Melville felt a sick, stunned feeling in the pit of his stomach as the admiral continued grimly. He sat on the edge of his seat, oblivious to the chairdog's quiet protest, and placed his teacup carefully on the coffee table. His monkey also ignored the chairdog and quietly moved up to Melville's shoulder, its big eyes shining intelligently.

"The worst of it was what they did to Earth. Apparently, the Guldur dropped a bunch of tiny containers over the side while they conducted a raid on Earthport. They weren't really attacking the Pier. The raid was just a cover for the Guldur to get close enough that the containers could transition back to three-space in such a way that they were in Earth's atmosphere. High, but in atmosphere. As best we can tell, the containers were imbedded with the Elbereth Moss, or the Elder King's Gift, or whatever the hell caused the Crash."

The admiral stopped and looked at his pipe, playing with it for a moment before relighting it. "Once it got on Earth, the virus got into the Earth's grid..."

"Oh, dear Lord!" breathed Melville. "Another Crash. Except this one was intentionally started by our enemies."

"Aye. This is something
we
don't have to worry about. As citizens of the Kingdom of Westerness, we intentionally limit technology to levels that two-space will grudgingly accept. The Sylvans learned this lesson thousands of years ago, and we followed in their footsteps. But Earth has been one of our weak points, simply because they've refused to accept any restraints on their technology.

"So, as we read the scenario, on high-tech worlds like Earth, the enemy can send down some kind of bio-electronic virus bomb that creates another Crash. Any Ship can drop these bombs by simply passing over the two-space location of the planet.

"On Earth the result has been the death of
billions
, and an almost complete destruction of the infrastructure on the planet. Water purification, distribution, and pumping worldwide. The food factories that kept them all fed. The climate control and air circulation for underground warrens where they lived. You name it, it's broken. Virtually the entire population of Earth is wiped out. Most died horribly. Suffocated. Dehydrated. Starved..."

The pipe stem in Middlemuss' trembling hands snapped with a brittle sound, and he carefully laid it on the coffee table.

"The wheels have come off of any kind of World War II or
Lord of the Rings
analogy for our kingdom," the admiral continued, gazing down at his pipe sadly. "Basically, the Germans have nuked New York, the Orcs are in the Shire, and the Eastern Seaboard of the U.S. has been ravaged by Nazi panzer divisions. Decades, maybe centuries of bitter war are in front of us. And Westerness has paid the price for its obsession with peace and staying out of the Elder Race's affairs. Any government that is adamantly unwilling to pay war's butcher bill up front will inevitably pay it with compound interest in the end. There's an old, old quote by a man named Porteus:

"War its thousands slays,
Peace its ten thousands.
 

"In this case, though, it was tens of billions.
Billions
," he whispered. "Damn, I can barely even conceive of it!" the Admiral said while shaking his head slowly.

"And, with exquisite timing, their allies attacked us out here. There have been reports of enemy agents and sabotage everywhere." Then, with a thin smile, he continued, "Some bastard even dumped piranha in my koi pond. They might try to sabotage your Ship, Melville, so keep an eye out."

"Will do, sir, but we haven't seen anything so far."

Admiral Middlemuss nodded distractedly and continued. "The good news is that the billions of citizens on the Moon, Mars, Venus, Jupiter's moons, and all of Earth's other colonies are untouched. For them two-space was always a kind of unreal sideshow. But now war is upon them and they are taking it seriously. There is cause to believe that they will be invested in helping us as best they can."

And so, war was finally upon them, thought Melville. War. The bloody, tragic domain of tyrants. The sport of kings, emperors, and would-be gods. The acid test of men and of civilizations. The red forge of death and democracy, of fear and freedom. And the profession of warriors, who took their wages in the coin of death and glory, honor and pain. War had come to Westerness ... and to Earth.

"The rest of the good news is that the two Ships you captured, the
Gnasher
and the
Biter
, commanded by your two wolf cubs, were the only thing we had that could defeat the enemy. They've become quite the heroes back home, ultimately leading the fleet that drove the enemy off, harassing and hammering them halfway back across the Grey Rift."

Melville glowed with pleasure when he heard about Archer and Crater's triumph with
Gnasher
and
Biter
. He had been terribly tempted to steal their 24-pounders away from them, in order to fill the gaps in his Ship. But he couldn't bring himself to rob them of their precious guns when he knew that a war was coming. Now those guns, those
magnificent
guns had saved Westerness and sent the Guldur running with their tails between their legs. And on
this
side of the galaxy, Melville, his Ship and his guns had defended Westerness' western frontier. Those damned, deadly, rabid, magnificent, vicious, wonderful, savage guns had been the key to the survival of their civilization.

"And," said the admiral, "you're an even
greater
hero across whatever is left of Westerness. Which means the Admiralty—or at least certain senior members of it—hates and fears you more than ever. They've made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that you are not, under any circumstances, to come any further to the east than the Hero Cluster. In fact, I am under orders to send you on further west, and not to let you come back. You really have pissed-off the old, ossified coffin dodgers in the Admiralty, son. If it wasn't for the potential damage that their idiocy is doing to Westerness' survival, I'd congratulate you on the quality of your enemies, but as it is..." The admiral trailed off, shook his head, and continued.

"Of course, when those orders were written the Admiralty didn't know about the Crabs' attack on
us
. I'll follow my orders, but I will also use my authority, as the crown governor-general, to give you letters of marque and reprisal, to capture or destroy all Guldur and Crab Ships you should encounter."

"Damn them, sir! We're in the middle of a nightmare, and they're keeping their best Ship on the other side of the galaxy!" Melville paused for a moment to control his indignation at the infernal idiots at the Admiralty. Then he thought about what the admiral had just told him.

"Huh. Letters of marque to capture Guldur. Thanks a lot sir. With respect, there's not much chance of capturing too many of
them
."

"Not around here, but if you go far enough west you will. Head out to help Captain Everet and our colony on Morning Glory. Assist and inform our Sylvan allies, and keep on going west, for as long and as far as you want. Hurt the bastards, son. Hurt 'em bad! Sooner or later you'll run out of Crabs and you'll catch the Guldur in the rear! Eventually you'll get back to Osgil.

"Capture their Ships and pull up any Pier that they don't take down. Do a Sherman's march combined with a Doolittle raid on them. Pull whatever inspiration you want from history, so long as it has you behind what they think are their front lines,
hurting them!
"

Middlemuss took a breath and continued a little more calmly. "Use your own judgment, just make the bastards bleed! I'm counting on you to be a running sore in the enemy's flank. Drain them of some of their strength. Capture what you can and sink the rest. Assist our friends and kill our enemies! And, by God, I hope you can tell the difference between them better than the Admiralty can!

"This may be the end of Westerness as we know it," the Admiral concluded weakly. "We truly are hanging by a thread. Earth is gone, billions dead, our kingdom in a shambles..."

Rear Admiral Middlemuss looked at Melville with a scowl that only partially belied his inner reflections.
The boy is just... good. Decent and good, dammit!
thought the admiral. That was the only way he could think to put it. He had never known anyone who could be called simply "good."

Without Fielder and his crew of alien thugs Melville would be helpless in the world, yet they are all magnified and somehow made stronger and better by their captain. The Almighty has woven him deeply into the fabric of the universe, he has been raised up to answer the challenge of the age, and the galaxy is a better, richer place for it.

That's what the admiral thought. What he said was, "Melville, a wise man once said that, 'Sometimes the sickeningly self-righteous—like you—are the last bastion of defense.'"

"Well... I wouldn't put it quite that way, sir."

"Humph. All your talk of duty and honor can be a bit cloying, but dammit, the truth is that you're right. You are our kingdom's forlorn hope. Even if no one else sees it, I do. And someone was foolish enough to put me in charge; so,
by God
, that's what's going to happen."

As always, Melville was caught off balance by the promise of peril and responsibility. It took him by surprise and his first reaction was that he didn't like it. Yet while his immediate response was almost despairing, soon the lure of the challenge and the promise of the future began to make itself felt. He had been given a free hand and an opportunity to make great contributions. And a chance to return to his princess on Osgil! What more could any man ask?

Of course, most of a galaxy—as well as several billion enemy—stood in the way.
But that's no obstacle to true love!
Melville grinned and said, "That a worthy task is impossible is no excuse for not attempting it."

The admiral slowly shook his head as he watched Melville's smile. The young captain was given a forlorn hope. A veritable suicide mission. And he was loving it. "Anything that is in my power to assist you, anything within reason and my authority, it's yours," assured the Admiral.

Melville thought quickly. He planned to pick up a flotilla of war prizes, and as this flotilla was assembled, he would have to see that every vessel had an officer who could be relied upon to read and transmit signals correctly. Unless communications were good, all discipline and order would be lost. And he needed someone to command the Crab Ships. Someone the Crabs would accept, like they accepted Hayl. That meant more middies. Lots of middies.

"Well, sir, I need a completely free hand from the Shipyard. Not just repairs, but all the supplies and spares I can fit aboard. And I'll need officers, midshipmen, and petty officers to take charge of prizes."

"Yes, yes,I'll tell the Shipyard's captain superintendent to give you anything you need. Humph. Every young captain's wish is to have his way with my Shipyard, like a lad lusting after my daughter," the admiral muttered with a sour grin.

"As to officers. Hmmm. I don't have authority to order the assignment of officers, only NAVPERS can do that. But I can give you permission to conduct field promotions within your Ship. That's a trick you seem to have already mastered, and you'd probably do it anyway once you leave my immediate authority. At least this way you won't have to worry about them being confirmed down the road. Hmmm, and I can give you some petty officers as well as fill you up with able-bodied seamen and marines. And Dr. Myriad-Forsythewald is begging to go with you. So I'm sending him along. He might just be useful. God knows he's a royal pain in the arse here, always nosing around and pulling those outrageous bluffs at the poker table!"