The Guns of Two-Space (50 page)

He looked over at the monkey. "Okay, my friend, you were right and I was wrong. Turn around and look at me, if you please. Baronet Daniello Sans Fielder doesn't apologize very often so you really ought to turn around and get the best view of it."

His monkey said, "Eep?" inquisitively and extended its head up and back so that its mouth was on the bottom with its two button eyes staring at him.

Fielder sighed. "Alas, I should have taken you with me. I really, really wished you were with me, especially when she pointed that derringer at me. You win, I apologize, okay?"

The monkey blinked at him slowly, then looked at its monkey compatriots. It looked back at Fielder consideringly, then scampered back over toward its customary position on his shoulder. Fielder sighed with relief and reached up to scratch the little creature gently, and then yanked his hand back suddenly. "Ow! I said I was sorry, you little monster! That hurt! No biting! Ow! No hitting either! You made your point! I surrender!"

Melville and Hayl were both trying unsuccessfully to stifle their laughter as Fielder's monkey bit the thumb on his left hand followed by a sound left-right boxing of his ears, then leaned in close to his head and hugged him.

"Damn," muttered Fielder as he drank another sip from his glass, "my luck seems to be shot in dealing with anybody and everybody today. You win, no leaving you behind next time, no matter
what
some pretty strumpet says!"

Melville chuckled. "Well, Daniel, now that you have made friends again, what was that about a derringer? I thought she was more interested in other sports when you two left."

"So did I, Captain. So did I. Turned out that she was a lot more mercenary than I remembered. Come to think of it, she always was a bit monetarily focused, it's just with that scenery..." He drifted off, and was recalled suddenly to his story by a tiny fist tapping his ear meaningfully. "Okay, okay, don't do that! Jeez! Anyway, Captain, do you recall a certain former girlfriend of mine, Princess Madelia, from whom we made a hasty departure on Osgil?"

Melville and Hayl suddenly grew serious. Hayl's eyes flashed around the room searching for the lovely Sylvan princess. Lovely, but distinctly homicidal where Captian Melville and Lt. Fielder were concerned. Hayl had been there when the captain, Fielder, and Broadax had shot their way out of Maddie's ambush, and it was
not
a pleasant memory.

"Aye, I remember her," Melville replied soberly. Madelia—or "Maddy"—was also the overprotective aunt of his own beloved Princess Glaive. "Why?"

"Well," continued Fielder, "it seems Ursula was hired by Maddy to acquire certain mementos, or 'souvenirs' from me. I, on the other hand, wanted to keep them attached to my body." He smiled sardonically. "They may not be much, but I really like
all
the parts that I was born with! So I was forced to make a hasty and somewhat undignified departure."

"Huh?" Hayl interjected. "What do you mean, she wanted a souvenir?"

"Later, lad, later," replied Fielder. "For now, just let it ride that Maddy was not happy with me, so she hired Ursula. And her getting those souvenirs would have been a terminal transaction for me. In more ways than one!" He shuddered and sipped his brandy.

"Daniel, enough about the souvenirs!" Melville said as he crossed his legs uncomfortably. He thought for a second and then continued. "No telling how far Madelia is willing to go for revenge on us
or
our crew. I'll take Hayl and fetch Elphinstone, Petreckski, and Asquith. They were doing some shopping nearby.

"You, Daniel, I am going to treat like your namesake, and send into the lion's den. Mr. Hans and Lt. Broadax departed some time ago to take a room here. You fetch them and head back toward the Pier, rounding up any
Fang
s you see on the way. I think our liberty here has come to an end."

Fielder paled. "Broadax and Hans? Captain, I honestly don't think that's a good idea. Broadax and I really don't get along all that well, and I, uh..." He paused for a second, swallowed and plowed on. "Sir, just the thought is enough to put me off... I mean, uh, midshipmen are customarily used as messengers..." He trailed off, looking beseechingly at his captain.

"Daniel, you two really do need to get along better," Melville chided. "Besides, given the threat, I don't want Hayl off alone, and you have a much more highly developed sense of paranoia as well as a better chance of survival if Lt. Broadax doesn't want to be interrupted. After all, you've got longer legs! You should be able to outrun a Dwarrowdelf. And it isn't like she could shoot you, now is it?" Melville grinned unrepentantly at him. "Shoot
at
you, maybe, but not shoot you!"

Fielder moaned, then swiped the bottle of brandy. "Ohhh, I never realized quite how evil you could be. This may ruin all future thoughts of dalliances with nubile young ladies forever..." His voice trailed off as he wandered toward the front desk of the lobby.

Melville looked over at Hayl, who had his face buried in his arms on the table, his shoulders shaking. "It's safe, Mr. Hayl, you can look up now. Mr. Fielder won't notice your laughter. Speaking of which, you do realize it isn't necessarily very nice to laugh at your superior officer?" Melville was fighting to keep control of his own face as he said this.

"I know, Captain, I know, but his face when you told him to go collect them was just so, just so..." and he collapsed in another fit of giggles, accompanied by the two monkeys.

"Aye, lad!" said Melville with mock solemnity. "Brother Theo will never forgive the fact that he wasn't here to see it!"

After checking at the front desk, Fielder went up the hallway to the door of room thirty-two. He faced the door and shuddered as he heard a gravelly giggle, followed by a deep voice mumbling something. He stood to the side of the door and knocked. After a moment, he swallowed hard and knocked again.

A minute later, there was no response. Fielder took a deep breath and gave a solid kick to the door and then jumped to the side.

The door shuddered and one of the oak planks in the top of the door fell part way into the hallway, propelled by a thrown boot.

"What ever 'tis, we done wan' any. Get gone, ye pockin' moron!" came the dulcet tones of Broadax's voice.

"Urgent message," shouted Fielder as he crouched on the hallway floor looking up at the protruding boot.
How in the hell do you throw a boot that hard?
he thought.

"It's Lt. Fielder," he called out. "I was sent by the cap...urrk!" He trailed off as the door slammed open, a hard foot kicked his feet back, and an equally hard hand grabbed him by the throat. The curve of the very sharp ax blade resting next to his eye completely monopolized his attention. Of course, it might have been a bit less fascinating if it hadn't been right next to Mama Fielder's favorite boy's face!

"Captain sent me. Recall. Enemies," he gasped out, squeezing his eyes shut after a quick glance at a nightmare figure: fuming, red-faced, and naked except for a helmet, one boot, and a wide expanse of kinky black body hair.
How can any one female have so much hair?
he gibbered to himself as he tried to shove a red hot iron through his mind's eye.

Please lord, don't let this be my last vision before I die,
he prayed fervently—something he last recalled doing when a certain young lady actually proved to be a young wife with a very unamused husband.

The steel band left his neck, and Fielder fell to his knees. He wasn't about to open his eyes or to stand up yet. He really wanted to keep what sanity he had left, thankyouverymuch.

"Wot's happenin', then?" he heard Broadax ask. There was the sound of a slap followed by Broadax saying, "Quit it sweetie. Sounds like threr may be a good fight brewin'. An' I
really
needs ta kill someone. It's been too damned long. Jist about anyone'll do." The she added with a wink and a leer in her voice, "An' ye
know
what dat does fer me!"

Please, lord, just a little deafness? Just a little?
Fielder prayed.

Various jingling and jangling sounds intermixed with the occasional thumps sounded through the room as the two officers dressed while Fielder told his tale.

"Wouldja git muh boot, hon? T'anks. Okay, Lootenant, oncet I gits a ceegar goin' fer me an' my monkey, I'll be ready ta ride!"

Then, curiously she added, "Ye okay? I din't hurt ye, did I? Ye kin git up, if ye want's ta."

Fielder looked up at the two, mostly dressed officers, both looking at him curiously. "Ah, I was just trying to give you some privacy, that's all," he said as he mustered his dignity and stood.

"Privacy, hell," Hans said. "We's Shipmates, skin's jist skin."

Fielder gaped for a second, thinking,
What are you saying, you idiot, I value my sanity!
Then he closed his mouth and said diplomatically, "Well, that may be true for you and I, but Lt. Broadax is a well brought up young lady." Then he waited to be struck down by lightning from heaven.

"Huh," Broadax stared. "Mebbee yew ain't such a dirtbag as I thought. Come on, boys. The local marines gave me a li'l toy t' try out."

Fielder looked down at what appeared to be a small cannon in her hand, with the barrels (four, five?) all fanning out to cover a sixty-degree horizontal arc, as she held it out straight.

"What is that thing?" he said in fascination.

Hans answered as Broadax gazed at her miniature monstrosity with fondness. "Well, contrary ta popular opinion, a Dwarrowdelf
can
shoot accurately, they jist gots ta spend some time thinkin' 'bout it. An' thinkin' an' fightin' don't always seem ta go together real good. So the local boys made these li'l 10-gauge shotgun barrels, clumped five of 'em togedder, sorta fanned out so's the pattern spreads out flat. It's got a single trigger an' a pistol grip. She's loaded with a double-ought gift package an' kicks like a holy terror, but my li'l angel loves it." Hans looked down at the Dwarrowdelf affectionately.

Fielder swore to himself that he was going to be standing behind her if, no, when, she fired that monstrosity. Might be the only damned safe place in the vicinity when hell broke loose.

"So, ya ready, Honey?" asked Hans.

"Sweety, I wus
born
ready!"

* * *

Oh, she takes care of herself,
she can wait if she wants,
She's ahead of her time!
Oh, and she never gives out,
and she never gives in,
She just changes her mind.
...Yeah she's always a woman to me!
 

...They tell me you are wicked and I believe them, for I have seen your painted women under the gas lamps luring the farm boys.
And they tell me you are crooked and I answer: Yes, it is true I have seen the gunman kill and go free to kill again...
Come and show me another city with lifted head singing so proud to be alive and coarse and strong and cunning.
... here is a tall bold slugger set vivid against the little soft cities;
Fierce as a dog with tongue lapping for action, cunning as a savage pitted against the wilderness...
Under the terrible burden of destiny laughing as a young man laughs,
Laughing even as an ignorant fighter laughs who has never lost a battle...
Laughing!
Laughing the stormy, husky, brawling laughter of Youth, half-naked, sweating, proud...

"Chicago"
Carl Sandburg

The late afternoon sun had just broken through the clouds as Melville and Hayl left the Laughing Dog

Tavern. As soon as they stepped out into the street, two bravos with swords at the ready came toward them.

Melville drew his sword and held it with the relaxed confidence of a man who knows it well. The crowd around them melted back at the sight of the drawn steel. He wished for a moment that he had his faithful dog with him, but Show Low was
just
civilized enough that you couldn't take a dog into a good restaurant or a theater. Even more than his dog, he needed his two faithful bodyguards, but he had foolishly ditched them. At least he had his monkey, and Hayl to cover his six!

Melville made a hasty assessment of the situation. There were bystanders (including plenty of women and kids) everywhere, and although they were staying well out of sword's reach, most of them didn't seem inclined to miss the show. "Blades only," snapped Melville to Hayl. "Too many people if a bullet misses. Cover my back. If I go down, get to the
Fang.
Have the duty officer send a party to recall our crew."

"Aye, sir," Hayl replied. His hand slid to the small of his back as he pulled his dirk out, regretfully leaving the .45 in its holster. Not that a middie's dirk was a poor weapon. It seemed small next to a sword, but the traditional "midshipman's dirk" was a foot-long blade with a two-space edge, making it quite formidable threat. Combined with the highly trained, battle-hardened veteran of several very nasty melees that Hayl had become, the blade and the boy constituted respectable protection for his captain's back. Very respectable.

Melville heard Hayl breathe deep and slow, bringing his body under control. At the same time he sensed his monkey pull its belaying pin from beneath its belly. Melville felt anger and rage at these mercenaries who would attack him in the streets full of innocent citizens! Scanning the cast of characters in the street he thought,
Well... citizens anyway.
 

Melville's field of vision narrows as he feels his body prepare itself for battle. He pulls the air deep into his lungs, his native ferocity combining with the alien bloodlust he inherited from his Ship. This alien gift, combined with his own training, makes him even more impatient for the dance to begin; so as the posturing bully stands in front of him and begins to talk, he strikes!

The bravo stops at almost two arm's lengths from Melville, planting the tip of his sword in the ground, and saying with a sneer, "Well, Captain Melville, Lady Madelia asked me to find out what kind of funeral... walp!"

Always catch 'em when they're talking,
Melville thinks to himself.
Nobody can talk and fight at the same time.