The Guns of Two-Space (38 page)

"Oh, yes," Melville replied with a shudder.

"That was a porterhouse steak," Fielder said with finality. "The operative word being
was.
"

"Oh," Melville replied. "Damn."

Shaking off his mood, Melville took his leave of the quarterdeck and went forward to where Brother Theo was holding lessons for the midshipmen in his usual location, on the upperside waist.

The midshipmen all had knife blanks in front of them. These were lengths of tempered steel that had been ground to final shape but the blade had been given only a cursory sharpening, roughly suitable for minor work, but not the working edge a sailor depended upon.

Luckily for the midshipmen (and the ultimate purchaser of the blade), the blanks were stored so that they were "floating" in the plane of two-space, next to the Keel. The influence of Flatland worked to "draw" the edges into mono-molecular sharpness without affecting the temper of the steel. The blanks were differentially tempered with a very hard edge to hold that sharpness, and a much softer temper for the blade body, making for a knife or sword that was sharp, able to withstand shock and hard use, and still remain serviceable. Brother Theo had purchased the blade blanks on Nordheim, and they had been waiting in the hold, changing and becoming more valuable and more deadly with each passing day.

With the Ship's upcoming port call in Lenoria, Brother Theo was taking the opportunity to have the midshipmen (as well as any unoccupied hands available) add hilts, handles, and pommels. Thus turning these deadly and utilitarian knives into works of art. Highly useable art, mind you, but art nonetheless!

Hiltshad been purchased at Nordheim as well. They were rough bronze castings in several designs that had to be cleaned, fitted, and polished. The handles were of either Osgil zebra wood or Nordheim satin wood, and lovingly hand-carved. Pommels of one of five semi-precious stones were added last, from Arakis desert pearls to, most expensive of all, real pre-collapse cat's-eye marbles from Earth. For safe handling of the blades, they were inserted into an ironwood holder and clamped with leather straps so they could be held safely as the middies and crew worked on them. In a separate group, other crew members were cutting, tooling,and sewing sheaths from four different varieties of Ambergris saurianoid hides.

Never being one to waste time, Theo was using this opportunity to expound upon Lenoria and its history and culture.

"Lenoria..." he began as he inspected the hilt of a knife he had just been handed. "Mr. Jubal, what have I told you about ensuring that the wrappings are snug? Think of having the hilt slide in your grip when you need it the most, and have pity on the poor soul who would buy such shoddy work! Even worse, think about how little money the Ship would receive for such slipshod craftsmanship!" Jubal responded with a grin and proceeded to repair the offending item.

Brother Theo started again. "Lenoria is one of Westerness' earliest colonies," he told the middies, "and it is now quite well developed. Some would say that it is even more beautiful than Westerness, the child outshining its parent. Its beautiful architecture, epic landscapes, strange cultures, and unusual animals make it one of the favorite stopovers for two-space Ships traveling west from Old Earth or from Westerness. The magnificent statue of the Goddess of Flight is a much-celebrated favorite among sailors. It makes Earth's Statue of Liberty pale by comparison, yet even
it
is dwarfed by the scale and complexity of Lenoria's Four Liberties. As the poet wrote:

"My soul, there stands a country
Far beyond the stars,
Where stands a winged sentry
All skillful in the wars."
 

The thought of shore leave on this legendary planet made the middies' young eyes glow with excitement as their teacher continued.

"Many of Westerness' thousands of colony planets have names and themes based on the classic science fiction that has informed and inspired our civilization. There must be a dozen desert planets named Dune or Arakis. (None of them, incidentally, has managed to give us a really decent sand worm or any useful 'Spice.' But you have to give them credit for diligently and persistently ingesting every known substance on each of these worlds in their search for a Spice.) Westerness has made Tolkien's work the theme for its architecture and much of its culture, with a lot of Victorian England mixed in for good measure. In the same way, Lenoria took its theme from some work done by Tom Kidd, an illustrator and writer in the classic era of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries."

He could see the young midshipmen begin to squirm as he commenced to wax eloquent on ancient history, and he knew that he should probably get to the point. "Among our retro-culture planets Lenoria is rather unique in its heavy development of airships to travel between its rugged plateaus. The huge, beautiful, lighter-than-air ships that grace the skies of Lenoria are something you will never forget. And, yes," he added with a sigh, "the nightlife of its portside facilities is as wild and diverse as anything you will find across the galaxy.

"Mr. Hayl," he admonished, "you are building a tool and a work of art for someone to cherish, not something that gets thrown into a box and ignored! Have pride in your work there!" Brother Theo's monkey
eek
ed imperatively and glared at the offending middie as well. The midshipmen could never decide if Theo's monkey was mocking the monk or just mirroring him, but either way the little creature's antics were a constant source of amusement to them.

Melville wandered off, randomly looking at the fixtures of his Ship. Today's meals were being served on the upperside, and the young captain was about to move to the lowerside quarterdeck in order to escape the effluvia arising from Kaleb Jones' latest offense upon nature.

As Melville walked away from the mess line he heard one sailor complain, "I been watchin' ya! This stuff's been stewin' in its fat fer days now!" Indeed, Jones' bubbling cauldrons never ceased their labors, filled with unidentified entities constantly struggling to the surface as if to scream, only to be pulled down by other damned souls before they could speak.

"Aye!" replied Jones happily, shoving his pistol barrel in the boiling pot and stirring it. "'Ats wat they calls a slow cooker. Ya know I was never one fer slavin' over the stove. There's just one of me, ya know? So I needs to fix food that just gets on with itself. Right toothsome it is!"

"But... the fat..." protested the hapless sailor.

"Do I try to tell ya 'ow to sail this here boat? Don'
even
try to argue 'bout cookin' with an official grad-yew-ate of the Royal Caterin' Corps! The flavor's in the fat, ya know? Bet you didn't know that! An' a bit o' cookin' sherry... you can never 'ave too much cookin' sherry or bitterash..."

The next day started oddly. Kaleb Jones apparently managed a foul-up of unusual magnitude: the morning meal actually tasted good! A bit salty, perhaps, and a bit chewy, but wonderful in comparison to the normal Dwarrowdelf pottage the crew had almost become accustomed to.

Jones was in an apoplectic fury at the miscreants who had replaced his bitterash root with pepper and his ground rockthorn powder with salt! Not to mention the fact that Lt. Broadax seemed to have taken issue with the tampering with her breakfast! After a discussion with Jones involving much fondling of her ax on her part, and steady blanching of the skin on his part, Jones had gone into a flurry of checking for the adulteration of any of his other supplies.

Lt. Broadax then tried to put it out of her mind in the best way possible: by helping her marines train to be all they could be! Not that they saw it that way, of course.

Broadax slammed a hapless marine to the deck and looked in disgust at his unconscious body. "Corporal!" she growled out to Kobbsven. "Dock that marine a day's pay fer nappin' on the job!"

"My gawd," Dwakins mumbled from the sidelines, "she's tryin' ta kill us!"

Kobbsven nodded mournfully, his droopy, scraggly, handlebar mustache looking even more pathetic than usual. "Ja, yew betcha. I tink maybe
she
tinks she's workin' off her frustrations wit' a liddle hand-ta-hand training. Only ting is, I wants ta keep my hands! An' all my udder parts too!"

Broadax rumbled from within her toxic cloud of smoke which seemed to keep wreathing her short form no matter how hard the constant breeze kept blowing it downward. "Kobbsven! Ye overgrown ox! I heerd dat! Git yer butt out here. Yer the next 'un."

"Damn it, Dwakins, see whut ya made me do!" he moaned.

"Yer all
veal!
" snarled Broadax to her marines. "Ye know wat veal is, boys? It's
food
, kept inna box so's its muscles decompose an' fill with fatty tissues while its brain grows weak. Yer all
veal
, so come to momma an' I will set ye free frum yer leetle boxes!"

Kobbsven moved slowly toward the center of the smoke cloud. Very, very slowly. She might be a third of his height but she was faster than greased lightning and had one hell of a mad on.

He slid forward and then feinted with his left hand as he shifted back. At least that's what he thought he was doing as he felt an iron fist grab his groin and flip him up as her other hand grabbed his chest. He saw her head underneath him (
how in hell did he get up here?
) and as he swung at her with his fist he suddenly felt the deck slam him in the back as her foot planted itself against his throat.

"Blast it, Kobbsven!" he heard her growl above him. "Lookee wat ye did, ye doorknob! Ye broke my ceegar! Dammit, all yer doin' is makin' me mad! Why in hell can't ye sorry excuses fer marines do like yer supposed ta an' hit
me!
Not a pore defenseless li'l ceegar that ain't never hurt nobuddy!"

Kobbsven coughed, and spoke to the center of the three clouds swirling over him. "Uhh, no excuse, ma'am?" he ventured trying to focus on where he thought she was.

"Damned right! No excuse! Now git!" she said. "Dwakins! Yer next! Remember, boys, 'pain is jist weakness leavin' the body!'"

"I didn't know I vas dis weak," mumbled Kobbsven as he crawled away.

Melville looked over at Fielder as they stood together at the upper quarterdeck rail. "I see our Lt. Broadax is returning to her normal, congenial self. I guess our morning repast might have had something to do with her decision to change the training schedule?"

He cocked an inquisitive eye at his first officer, who returned a sheepish grin.

"I admit I heard that she was a tad perturbed after breakfast, Captain, but the reality does seem a bit, ummm, extreme! Brother Theo mentioned that some of the midshipmen were a bit excited this morning before breakfast, but we decided that further inquiry might not be a good idea. And after seeing her training regimen I am quite
certain
it's not necessary to pursue that inquiry any further. I'm not sure the middies would survive a training session that intense!"

Melville chuckled as his monkey
eep
ed in cheerful agreement on his shoulder. "Midshipmen do enjoy their pranks, don't they?" he responded, "but I really think they ought to find something to keep them out of sight for a while, don't you?"

"Brother Theo and I agreed that there were some tasks that needed to be done that should keep them well away from our resident ogre. It is good for my soul to see so many industrious young men volunteer so eagerly. I think they were truly inspired by our marine lieutenant's current vigor! Hopefully she will cool off after some liberty in Lenoria tomorrow." Fielder gave one of his patented sardonic smiles and continued. "I think I had better suggest that the galley be off-limits for their hijinks, as I am not sure Jones would survive his next food
faux pas
. As a matter of fact, even our Guldur crew members are out of sorts."

"The Guldur?"

"Yes, sir. It seems that Hans has had a few of them ask why the food got so bad again. He said they weren't really unhappy, just curious as they had gotten to like having food with some flavor!"

"Damn!" said the captain. "I was looking forward to finding a replacement for Jones. I didn't realize that a sizable portion of the crew actually enjoyed his cooking. How do the Stolsh feel about it?" asked the captain. It was easy to forget about their handful of doleful, semi-aquatic Stolsh crewman.

"Who can tell? They're always so
glooomy
about everything." The first officer winced as he watched another marine bounce out of the cloud of smoke and land on the deck. "Damned good thing those boys have been taught how to fall, or Lady Elphinstone and Mrs. Vodi would be even busier than they're going to be."

"I don't think Lt. Broadax would be so incautious as to deprive the Ship of the services of any of her marines." Another marine bounced out to lie groaning on the deck before crawling to the side. "At least I hope not," Melville murmured as his monkey uttered a worried "Eep!"

The approach to Lenoria's Pier was normal. The
Fang
and the Pier made their respective cannon salutes, and as the Ship came into the dock, the anticipation began to peak.

Melville had been especially glum as he and his crew ate their meal that morning. His two bodyguards, Ulrich and Grenoble, were standing at the rail with him as they picked at their breakfast.

"It really is a good thing that we're coming into port," confided Melville to his two companions. "The Ship's stores are completely out of catsup and mustard. So that's Flavor Hider Mark I and Mark II out of action. All I had left was my personal bottle of hot sauce, and I used the last of that two days ago. With Flavor Hider Mark III out, I think I might starve. But, if you don't mind my asking, I notice that you've both got a bit of hot sauce left, and um, I wouldn't ordinarily ask, but since we're almost at port I wonder if one of you could share?"

The deranged little coxswain and the hereditary Sylvan bodyguard looked at each other and nodded. For once they found something they could agree on.

"Captain," began Grenoble, "We would take a bullet for thee—"

"—But cha ain't gittink none o' our damned hot saucek!" said Ulrich.