The Guns of Two-Space (37 page)

"Hey!" he said, as he holstered his gun and walked around the corner. "Jist wat da hell ya thinks yer dewink?" Remarkably enough, the little sociopath was only curious instead of angry, a situation that most of the crew would have sworn was impossible.

"
Urk!
" grunted Asquith as he tried to simultaneously turn and keep from dropping the bag of bullets, ramrod, and pistol he was juggling in his hands.

Ulrich flicked out a fast fingertip and casually redirected the muzzle of the pistol out over the side as Asquith's monkey made a dive and caught the bag of bullets and the ramrod with a scolding "Eeek!" The earthling's helplessness actually made Ulrich feel somewhat expansive, a condition which might be charitably referred to as peevish in a normal sailor.

Asquith blinked his one good eye rapidly a few times while he opened and closed his mouth. He finally squeaked out, "Practicing!" and started to wave the pistol upward as a demonstration, which move was quickly forestalled by Ulrich pointing it over the side again.

"An' jisk wat are ya practicink? How ta juggle a piskol over da side o' the Ship?" Ulrich shook his head in mild bemusement. Finding an earthworm, practicing with a pistol no less, outside his laundry was not something he ever expected to see! The surprise actually rendered him close to something normal people called agreeable—so long as you could call a highly violent, volatile and unpredictable sociopath agreeable.

"No, ummm, actually reloading rapidly. Brother Theo and Lt. Fielder both agree that I have the basics down and simply need practice. Actually, Lt. Fielder said a few tens of thousands of practice shots was all I would need. I think he was joking a bit, though, I mean, tens of thousands of bullets, I mean..." Realizing he was babbling, Asquith shut up and just stood there.

Ulrich on the other hand was digesting the revelation that both Brother Theo and Lt. Fielder thought this man had the basics down. The coxswain knew both of them well and liked neither of them. (Actually, Ulrich didn't like
anyone
aboard the
Fang
, with the possible exception of his birds and his captain.) But he
did
respect their abilities with guns. Especially Fielder when he had a .45 auto. The man was useless unless he was forced to fight and then he was damned near as fast as Ulrich.

"Damned idjits gotsk it mesked up anyhowsk. Ya gotsk a monkey an' he's willink ta help. Get two piskols, an' give the monk the bulletsk an' ramrod. Like dis." He grabbed the bag of bullets and slung it over his shoulder so the mouth was near the monkey on his shoulder, and took the pistol and ramrod and handed the ramrod to the monkey.

"Now if'ink you're inna furball, in a
real
fight, yer monkey'll be busy usink 'is belayin' pin ta keep yer puny haid t'gether. So's it ain't gonna be this faskt, but he's buttloads faskter 'n you. Hell, he's faskter 'n I am, but don't tell the l'il baskard, he'll jisk git a swelled haid." The monkey on the coxswain's shoulder added an amused "Eep!" Asquith couldn't think of a single monkey aboard that looked so, well,
feral
was the only word that seemed to describe it.

Suddenly Ulrich lowered the pistol and aimed outward, and his thumbs touched the Keel charges rapidly one after the other <>
"Crack!"
<>
"Crack!"
as the pistol fired, and then he laid the muzzle on his shoulder pointing up as he pulled another pistol up in his left hand and fired rapidly again.

Where did that gun come from!?
thought Asquith.

Meanwhile Ulrich's monkey used one hand to snag a bullet, drop it down a barrel, and ram it home with the other hand while repeating the process in the other barrel. Ulrich brought the pistol to the ready and fired, <>
"Crack!"
<>
"Crack!"
as he laid the left-hand pistol in the hollow of his right shoulder so the monkey could reload it using the same rapid series of movements. The pistol in his right hand pivoted up to his monkey's hands as the left hand presented and fired, <>
"Crack!"
<>
"Crack!"
and returned to be reloaded as Ulrich pointed the pistol over the side.

"Eep!" said Ulrich's monkey with smug satisfaction.

"Eep!" echoed his parrotlet, bobbing its head and peering down the bore of the pistol curiously.

Asquith and his monkey stared at Ulrich and his monkey, then looked at each other, then back at Ulrich again. Ulrich flipped the gun in his right hand around and held the butt out as he made the one in his left hand disappear in the same mysterious fashion it had appeared in the first place. "I told ya ya wuz doinink it wrong." he said.

"An' only practicek it here. Itsk our secret. Ya hear me?" Ulrich snarled and looked at Asquith with feral malice. The diminutive earthling gulped and nodded in sincere agreement.

"Dat dam'd gun's loaded. Ain't suppoz ta be empky. Ain't no good ta no 'un empky. Gun's gotta be loaded, got me?" He glared at Asquith.

Asquith took the gun cautiously, feeling like he was playing with unstable explosives. He was careful to keep the pistol pointed well away from this awful little man while he accepted the bag of bullets with his other hand. "Ummm, yes, I believe I do, and rest assured I will keep it properly, uhh, loaded, I mean, uhh..." He trailed off, watching to see what would come out of this scary, sawed-off sociopath next.

"Good", Ulrich grunted. His monkey seconded with an emphatic "Eep!" which was again echoed by his parrotlet. Then he turned and crabbed off around the corner toward his laundry and his pigeons.

"Eek!" said Asquith's monkey.

"Hmm," Asquith replied, looking meditatively after the dangerous little man. "That was a singular experience. I wonder if I can fit him in the next book?" He shook his head as he handed the bag of bullets and the ramrod to his monkey. He wondered if Brother Theo would be averse to giving him another pistol as he turned back to his solitary practice.

He started to scratch his nose, and his monkey gave a startled "Eeek!" and whacked the muzzle of the gun away from his nose.

"Oops," he mumbled. Maybe Daniel was right. It might take a few tens of thousands of rounds just to get the reflexes right!

Captain Thomas Melville, Master and Commander of Her Majesty the Queen of Westerness' Frigate the
Fang
felt pretty good as he stepped on the main deck early in the morning watch. The morning report from the watch officer had placed them on track and more than halfway to Lenoria.
Fang
was content with her lot and he felt her rumble happily beneath the surface of his mind, like a sated lion sprawled out in the warmth of the day.

The canvas overhead belled full with the winds of two-space , and the day watch was industriously cleaning, stowing, and working on the myriad things necessary to keep a Ship operational as a warship. Brother Theo was giving a lecture while the midshipmen were working on some project, and the marines were, ummm, what
were
they doing?

Looking aft, he saw Lt. Broadax leaning against the redside rail, eyes fixed overhead at her marines swinging through the rigging in a single line. She had a manic grin on her face and a cloud of smoke swirling around her as she watched her marines skylarking high overhead. Her monkey was also conspicuous for its absence.

"An' da best o' da mornin' to ye, sir!" she said as Melville came up to her.

"And to you, Lieutenant. Might I ask what your marines are doing this morning, swarming through the rigging like monkeys?" he replied quizzically.

"Jist a li'l mornin' PT, Cap'n!" she replied. "I'd be up with 'em, but I'm sorta dawdlin' over breakfast this mornin'. Ya know, that Jones boy is a genius. This food is tongue swallerin' good! I don' know where he got sweet noodles an' bitterash root fer spicin' but 'at's da best damned porridge I've et since I joined da marines. Seems he wus taught by a visiting Dwarrowdelf cul-er-nary specialist at the Royal caterin' Acadermy! An' the boy done took right to it! Now ain't
that
a stroke o' luck! An' yew know wat that boy tol' me today?"

"No, what did he say?" replied Melville hesitantly.

"E sez, 'Ya gotta add enough that it doesn't taste as if yer being apologetic about yer spices. At's wat they tot us at the Royal Caterin' Academy. 'At means hole hog or none, to you uneducated sorts!'"

Broadax shook her head admiringly and continued, "Makes me feel almost homesick. An' I thot my boys might appreciate a li'l game fer PT this mornin', jist ta keep their sweat glands happy. So's my monk's off leadin' the parade while I finish my breakfast!"

No doubt about it, she was fairly chortling with pleasure as she savored her food and watched her marines swing by overhead. Then Melville thought about what she had said, and blurted, "Bitterash root? You mean the breakfast was supposed to taste that way?" He couldn't help but be aghast at the thought, as his morning breakfast of what he had thought of as river rocks and burnt sticks rolled over in his stomach.

"Yessir! Best I've had in years! Put me in a good mood I gots ta say. Ready fer some liberty in Lenoria wit Hans there." She paused for a second and then almost whispered, "Hey, skipper, is it true that stogie smoke kin mess up 'lectronical stuff?"

Melville's eyebrows rose before he could catch them. He was still somewhat flabbergasted that Jones' food might be tasting the way he had
intended
it to taste. And he was stunned to find a genial and voluble Lt. Broadax he had never imagined existed.

"Ummm, actually, Lieutenant, I understand that cigar smoke can cause some significant degradation of electronics equipment," he replied with a touch of confusion. "It's not something you really have to worry about, except on Earth. Why do you ask?"

"Well, I wus buyin' a bit o' a surprise fer Hansie 'at this 'Secrets' place, an' the li'l bints made me put it out. Then they had me skin outta me mail fer fittin' them frilly things. Anyway, I wuz curious if they wuz tellin' me true," she replied absently as her eyes sharpened to a glare at her marines.

"'Scuze me, sir," she mumbled as she stomped forward toward the hatch that the marines were currently using to dive between the upper and lower gundecks. "I tole ye, one atta time down 'at line, ye misbegotten idjits!" she snarled as she moved forward. "Are ye tryin'ta turn yerselfs inta brainless sailors insteada brainless marines?"

Melville was still standing where she had left him. "Broadax and lingerie?" he muttered. "Hansie?" The thoughts that bounced through his head were combining with his river rocks and burnt stick breakfast to make a previously wonderful morning entirely too interesting.

He looked at his monkey who looked back at him, apparently equally stunned. "You know," he said quietly, "there's an old Chinese curse that wishes you should live in interesting times."

The monkey let out a small, inquisitive "Eep?"

"Makes me wonder which old Chinese guy I got mad at me," he finished as he stepped up the ladder to the upperside quarterdeck. The monkey's emphatic "Eek!" made him wonder—for the umpteenth time—just how intelligent their pint-sized companions actually were.

As he reached the quarterdeck, the watch officer, Lt. Fielder came up to him.

"Good morning, sir," said Fielder, saluting as the captain approached. "By the stunned-ox look on your face I see that you have already had the pleasure of Lt. Broadax's company this morning."

"It's that obvious, is it?"

"She was up here talking with me earlier, sir," Fielder said with a barely suppressed grin.

"She's in a... pleasant mood, it would seem," replied Melville.

"Oh, yes, sir! She was going on about shopping in Earth stores for trinkets and lace and..."

"Stop!" Melville said as he held up a hand and shook his head, laughing. "I think this comes under the heading of TMI—too much information for me to process first thing this morning. Plus, I'm still wrestling with the idea that Kaleb Jones' meals are coming out exactly the way he planned!"

Fielder blinked and looked at Melville. "You mean he's not incompetent? So he
must
be trying to kill us!" Then he added with a shudder, "Well, all of us except Broadax, who is apparently convinced he's a culinary genius."

Melville grinned wryly. "According to our good marine lieutenant, this morning's disaster was actually something like sweet noodles with bitterash root seasonings. And also according to her, it was surprisingly delicious! And, apparently, good cooking—at least her idea of it anyway—is the quickest way to our Broadax's heart."

"Humph," Fielder replied with feeling. "The quickest way to
her
heart is through the chest wall with a knife! Or at least that's what I would have said before I saw how she reacted to Jones' cooking."

"Hmm."

"You know, sir," Fielder continued after a moment's thought. "If we had anyone aboard who could have done the job at all I would have begged you to replace Kaleb. Right now though the crew is sort of stuck at an impasse: Jones' food means Broadax is happy, and for some reason it seems to trickle down and make their lives better. On the other hand, feeling like you're getting poisoned at every meal is not exactly good for morale. I think if it wasn't for the marines, that pistol Jones carries all the time, and his demonstrated skills with said pistol
and
his knives... Well, if not for that, I have little doubt that one of the watches might have tried to recalibrate Jones' cooking skills before this. And even
with
all that going for him, I wouldn't want to be in Jones' shoes right about now."

Melville sighed. "Yes, I know. Unfortunately the only person we have aboard who could conceivably take his place is Mrs. Vodi. But she and Lady Elphinstone were both emphatic that she is only competent preparing food on a small scale and has no experience with using the large Keel burners. Besides, her full attention is required for her regular duties. Maybe we should have him prepare a human recipe instead of a Dwarrowdelf recipe?"

Fielder shook his head mournfully. "Already been tried. Remember the piece of black wood we had for dinner last night? Or was it leather?" he wondered aloud.