The Guns of Two-Space (57 page)

The first two elimination rounds were fairly straightforward. While firing one pistol and then the other was simple, doing it in the allotted time wasn't always so easy. It required either shooting one gun with the weak hand, or shifting pistols. Either method was allowed so long as safe gun handling rules were used and the target was hit.

The final roster of eight people shooting in the head-to-head competition had two wildcards. Grenoble, Lt. Fielder, Captain Melville, Mrs. Vodi, Brother Theo, and Lance Corporal Jarvis were odds-on favorites. No surprises there. But to everyone's amazement, Private Dwakins edged out Corporal Petrico—who had a misfire after failing to ram home one of his bullets properly. ("Somebeach! Da pockin bore was pockin distorted 'cause the mawdikkin Keel charge is pockin bad!" snarled the little armorer.) And the real surprise was Cutherbert Asquith XVI, who astonished the entire crew by firing his two pistols accurately and rapidly without even a discernible pause.

These eight shooters were the best of the best. It was a great honor to make it this far, but the real contest was yet to come.

While the crew was enjoying the competition, the Ship's cats were participating in a contest of a different sort, hunting an entirely different beast, in the starry forests of the night...

An alien empire was preparing a devastating sneak attack on the Hero Cluster. They had an extensive spy network, they knew about the
Fang
, and they had very wisely concluded that Melville and his Ship had to be neutralized to ensure the success of their attack.

The nature of two-space precluded most methods an enemy could use to sabotage a Ship. Explosives other than Keel charges didn't explode, flammable materials didn't flame, and the warping effects of two-space precluded any technologically sophisticated attacks. From time immemorial, the only way to destroy a two-space Ship had been with another Ship.

But Melville and his crew had demonstrated repeatedly that trying to attack the
Fang
with another two-space Ship (or even with
four
such Ships) was simply a good way to lose Ships—either to Melville and his prize crews or to the depths of intergalactic space.

So a sentient alien slime mold had been placed aboard the
Fang
on Show Low. It was sentient, but in all other ways it was anathema to life. Other than loyalty to its masters, its only real joy was in destroying virtually every species that it encountered. Once the mold was in contact with a life form, it tailored its own waste byproducts to produce lethal bio-toxins specifically designed to kill that specific species.

The saboteurs had planned well. The slime mold had been deposited on the surface of one of the water barrels. Once the barrel was aboard, the mold could slip out unnoticed into the Ship's environment to meet up with humans for the first time—and kill them!

The cats' alpha male was a nasty, gnarly, vicious, mottled-yellow creature named Cuddles. He was locked in a struggle against a large black cat named Brutus, who was actively challenging Cuddles' position. In some cultures the old male is allowed to slink back into quiet dotage and peaceful retirement, living out his last years in some protected spot. But that was not for Cuddles.

This was truly a life-and-death struggle. Cuddles would die before he would give up the privileges that came with being top cat. Privileges such as first choice at any food and the opportunity to violently possess any female that was currently in season.

Cuddles and Brutus had been among the first to notice the mold seeping from a water barrel stowed on the lower deck next to the mainmast. The cats were instinctively suspicious and hostile toward anything new in their environment, and this black mold seeping out from the water barrel was definitely something that did not belong. Cuddles and Brutus tossed the first few blobs overboard with hacking slashes of their claws. As other cats arrived to deal with the intruder, the two competing alpha males backed off to opposite neutral corners where they could keep an eye on each other as they cleaned their paws.

Fortunately for Cuddles and Brutus, the disoriented, isolated samples of the mold on their paws had not yet had the chance to analyze the nature of this new enemy. Without the full processing power of the main body, the small colonies on Cuddles' and Brutus' paws could not develop the poisons and toxins which would allow it to tailor biochemical weapons for this new feline foe, and it could not rapidly adapt to the destructive mechanisms of the two cats' digestive tracts.

The ninja slime mold was virtually immortal. It could endure impact, shock, stabbing, strangulation, freezing, fire, and dismemberment, but these isolated samples of the mold could not survive the awesome destructive ability of the powerful digestive tract of a cat. The slime mold that Cuddles and Brutus licked off their paws was doomed to the inglorious fate of being defecated into two-space, causing only minor diarrhea and indigestion in the process.

The final eight pistol competitors were shooting from the greenside railing in the lower waist. The targets were hung from the mainsail yardarm. A few lookouts and a skeleton crew were manning the upperside quarterdeck, with the rest of the crew observing from the lowerside rails, rigging, yards and quarterdeck. The dogs also sat watching attentively, eagerly enjoying the competition and cheering on their masters with boisterous barks.

First up in the competition were Dwakins and Mrs. Vodi. Lance Corporal Jarvis felt more than a bit conflicted here, since he was Dwakins' squad leader. Jarvis wanted the lumbering blockhead to do well, but he also wanted to win.

"Just take it easy, Dwakins, you'll do fine. Shoot just like you been practicing," Jarvis reminded him, "and don't worry about how you're doing."

"He do rreal gud," Rawl insisted.

Since Dwakins had carried the wounded Guldur into sick bay, Rawl had been his constant companion. He was one of the few Guldur who had elected to join the marines instead of the Ship's company of sailors. Rawl wasn't the sharpest tooth in the mouth, but he was steady and reliable—so long as he was with Dwakins. And when Dwakins was with Rawl, the two of them together seemed to have fewer problems dealing with life and its challenges than either of them alone. Or as Broadax had observed more than once, "Either of them two idjits alone 'ud have to double their brains ta make a good moron. I mean, them boys can hide their own Easter eggs, if ye know what I mean? But ye gets the Brothers Dumb workin' tagedder an' they makes one good marine!"

The perfect example of this was Dwakins with a pistol. Before Rawl came into his life, Dwakins was competent, but nothing more. But when the two of them spent time together building their skills, they grew faster and more fluid, as if they combined together, shoring up the other's weak spots and problem areas.

Jarvis finally realized that, as their squad leader, the best way to handle the two of them was to simply give them a job and let them figure out how to handle it. They never seemed to go at it the same way that any normal marine would, but they always got it done. Somehow.

So when the two shooters came to their mark, Mrs. Vodi appeared relaxed and confident, and Dwakins was arguing with Rawl all the way to the mark.

"Ah ain't eatin' dat glop Jones is makin' tonight! It's got dem rocks init ya call dumplin's. They's jis' liddle rocks is what they is!"

"Nawrr, you gots' terr chew 'em up good. Iss gud food—betterr than Rrroxy makes tonight. She makes salt porrrk stew. Gud, yes? Taste rike human! But bitterrrash dumprings betterrr."

"Ah still ain't eatin' it!"

"We bet then. You win rrround. We eat Rrroxy sstew. You lose, we eat Jones sstew. Much betterr forr us both. Good forr you and you little teeth. Make sharrperr!" Rawl growled back.

"Done, ya overgrown puppy. Now lemme shoot so's Ah can eat some decent stew tonight!" Dwakins shook his head and stomped over to the mark.

Jarvis looked over at Rawl, who stood there with a doggie smile on his jaws, his tongue hanging out over his lower fangs.

"What're you two yammering on about?" said Jarvis. "He's supposed ta be getting ready to shoot, not thinking about dinner!"

"If Dwakins thinks, he no sshoot good. So I distrract him," Rawl replied. "My brrother do betterrr when his brrain not involved."

Broadax looked up at Jarvis. "Dwakins has a brain?" she whispered incredulously.

Jarvis simply shook his head in resignation. "I think the Guldur has custody of it most days. And then Dwakins comes outta the blue and surprises me again."

"Them cops on Show Low found out it ain't a good ideer ta peeve our Dwakins," said Broadax. "I found out he managed ta git a half-dozen 'er so of 'em sent ta the hospital fer various contusions, abrasions, and cuts. Rawl sez he an' the monks jist covered Dwakins' back whilest he went through those flatfoots like grease through a goose! But what really musta shook up them cops wus Dwakins' battle cry. He kept shoutin', 'Wreckdum! Wreckdum!' as he clobbered 'em. I betcha
that
confused and scared the hell outa of 'em!" Broadax shook her head in combined amusement, admiration, and bewilderment. "Yep," she concluded, "might jist make one good marine outa them two idjits!"

Valandil tapped the bell to start the match. Mrs. Vodi and Dwakins both drew their first pistol, quickly firing both barrels, drawing the second pistol as they fired and then shifting their stance to fire that gun with the opposite hand. Both Dwakins and Vodi holstered their first pistol and grabbed two bullets as they fired the second gun. They reloaded both barrels in that gun, fired the reloaded pistol, and then reloaded and fired the pistol again.

While Mrs. Vodi was fast reloading, Dwakins was even faster and he completed firing his seventh and eighth rounds as she was just bringing the pistol to bear on the target.

Westminster peered at the targets, and all eight rounds from both contestants had entered the required areas, four in the head target area, four in the center of mass of the torso silhouette.

"Dwakins takes the round," he announced, to Vodi's obvious disgust, and Dwakins joy.

"Hoo-yah! Ah gots salt pork stew fer mah dinner tonight!" he yelled, which confused Vodi and the rest of the crew mightily.

"Awwr rright, awwr rright," Rawl growled at him. "Want to make it besst two ourrt of thrree?"

<> the slime mold called out telepathically to the cats as it retreated in disgrace, oozing back into the cracks in the water barrel to escape the slashing onslaught of the cats' digging claws. And retreat it must. Already several large cell clusters had been flicked overboard into two-space where even its immortal cells could not survive.

Wherever it was in contact with the cats' paws the message was sent. <>

The cats were... confused. Many kinds of vermin had tried to infest their Ship, but their prey had never <> to them before...

"Next two contestants will be Brother Theo Petreckski and Lance Corporal Jarvis," Valandil called out.

Brother Theo took the mark and looked over at the marine. "Corporal Jarvis, I do hope you will not take it amiss when a man of the cloth has to teach one of our poor marines what it means to shoot well!" he called out cheerfully.

Jarvis laughed delightedly. "Not at all, Brother. Just remember to spend some time in prayer confessing the sin of unwonted pride!"

"Now, now, Corporal. It's only unwonted if I lose! And God favors those who practice!"

Jarvis only laughed as he let his mind focus on the targets, relaxing as he readied himself to react with the whip-crack fast reactions he was known for.

The slime mold tried a new tactic, seeping down the side of the barrel through the cracks to the deck, and then oozing slowly toward the nearest crevice in the decking. The mold killed the Moss wherever it came into contact with it. While
Fang
couldn't feel the mold directly, it could sense the areas where the Moss died. For
Fang
it was as though something was scraping a tiny strip of Moss off of the deck. This was the kind of thing that happened all the time when heavy objects were dragged or pushed across the deck, and
Fang
quickly grew back over those spots. It was nothing unusual, no cause for alarm.

For the cats, it was obvious something was happening when the Moss stopped glowing in a spot near the base of the barrel. This gave them an area to home in on, slashing, scraping, and licking at the alien creature with their claws and their abrasive, raspy tongues.

Once again the slime mold was forced to take shelter in the cracks between the water barrel's staves.

For the other cats, taking over the battle from Cuddles and Brutus, their luck had run out. By the time they came into contact with the slime mold the intruder had analyzed the body chemistry of this new foe and had developed toxins which would kill the creatures that consumed it. These cats would defecate the small colonies they ingested overboard into two-space, but not before the intruder had released enough toxins to kill them.

Jarvis and Brother Theo were both fast. Very fast. Firing and reloading, the two men finished in a dead heat. The final score showed Brother Theo to be more accurate, with one of Jarvis' rounds landing slightly outside the target zone. Not far (if it had been an actual foe, he would have suffered an acute and terminal case of lead poisoning) but enough for Brother Theo to move on to the next round.

"Ah, hell!" Broadax cursed. "Ye means ta tell me the honor o' the Westerness marines is restin' on the backs of the Brothers Dumb? Wot kinder nonsense is this, Corp'ral?" She jerked her thumb over at Dwakins and Rawl, who were still arguing passionately over the merits and failures of bitterash dumplings. "If'n them two doorknobs ain't talkin' 'bout food, they's talkin' 'bout women. An' neider o' the two of 'em knows enough of the female o'
any
species t' fill a thimble!"