The Guns of Two-Space (77 page)

"Ha! We never even thought of it as a possibility. It is beyond our wildest dreams! Truly, sending samples of the sail material to the Guild headquarters, along with some Crabs to tend it, is of vast importance. We all understand that the amount of Moss living as part of the entity affects its ability. The bigger the gun, boat, or Ship, the 'smarter' the entity. I am only conjecturing now, but I think the value of the sails that allow growth of the Moss on them might be more important than the just the weight savings! The potential value includes the mental, or calculation ability of the Ship. And I think it might explain the impressive speed of the Crab boats!"

"Sez you," interjected Hans. "Damned mains'ls weigh a couple o' tons each, all by their ownselves! The weight alone explains the diff'r'nce!"

"Be that as it may," said DeWalt, "I think the added area of Moss growth may prove to be more important in the long run. And what if this sailcloth is better at catching the 'winds' of two-space? We don't really know what it
is
that our sails catch. Many experts believe that it is a two-space manifestation of gravitational forces. We just call it the 'wind' to explain how it can push our sails. Whatever it is, it's entirely possible that this sailcloth, consisting of a two-space organism, would be better at catching the two-space wind, thus giving us greater speed!

"You know, Captain," the carpenter continued with a dreamy, distant look in his eyes, "it is a weird and wonderful galaxy out there. The Ships and guns are sentient, because they are capable of being coated with Moss. Why
not
the sails, which are an extension of the Ship! Or maybe even the rigging, or a sword, or who knows what?"

"Enough, Mr. DeWalt!" said Melville with a laugh and a kind hand on the man's broad shoulder, as he reeled his carpenter back into reality. "I believe that I can understand the potential importance of the sails. But right now, we need to get repairs started more than we need to debate the utility of captured Crab accouterments, correct?"

"Aye. Anyhow, Captain," DeWalt continued, "I take it that you noticed the Crabs were trying
not
to kill our Ship? The people, yes, but they wanted the
Fang
, and wanted her bad enough to keep trying to chip away at us rather than simply blasting our Keel at point-blank range. I find that rather disturbing myself, since I don't think our crabby friends have the physiological capability to climb through the rigging to sail her. And if they can't sail her, then why did they want her? That's a puzzle, and I simply don't like the answers I keep getting."

Fielder smiled sardonically. "You mean answers like the idea that the crab cakes were working with that scumbag of a Guldur Admiral?"

Melville grinned briefly and then winced as he tried to shrug. "I think we can take it as a working assumption that the Guldur were clearly involved in the planning for this somehow. Hope the cur chokes on this mess in any case. All right people, back to the main issue. And that issue being: time to repair the Ship. How long?" Melville fixed his officers with a gimlet eye.

DeWalt looked at Hans, who raised an eyebrow. The carpenter nodded and then said, "Captain, Mr. Hans and I have been discussing the very same thing. We're agreed that with just the Ship's resources we can be ready to get underway in two or three days. But—and it's a big one—we won't be in shape for combat. And, it looks like we're headed for more combat." He sighed and rolled his big shoulders to loosen them up. "For us to be combat ready, using Ship's resources, we're talking about five to six weeks minimum. We can do that without bankrupting the Ship—but just barely."

Melville scowled. "Damn, I really don't like those odds. How about using the Shipyard resources here on Hector?"

DeWalt nodded. "With the Shipyard's full resources, I can have the
Fang
out of here in under two weeks. Replace instead of repair, do it the fast way. And to be honest, I know the master of the local Celebri chapterhouse in Hector, and if I lead the work it'll get done better and faster."

He grinned. "Reason I know the masters here, is that one's my cousin, and the other married my little sister. And I was on the board that sat for their mastership."

He sobered quickly as he continued. "However, the odds on using the Shipyard are very low right now. They have five Westerness frigates they are trying to salvage and repair, which has the yard fully preoccupied."

Melville nodded thoughtfully. "All right, gentlemen. Complete the things that must be done immediately. Get your folks taken care of and make sure they're doing okay. Mr. Fielder and I have to finish the after-action report and have my clerk get it copied and over to Rear Admiral Middlemuss' office. Keep the folks going in two-in-three watches so they can get some rest, but make sure we have lookouts set in case the Crabs come back for another visit. And make sure that
you
get some rest."

"That goes fer you too, Cap'n!" said Hans with a grin. "Looks ta me like yer body's debtors is all lined up to collect on their IOUs!"

"Aye, Hans. You've got
that
right," replied Melville with yet another grin that turned into a wince. "I'm going to lead by example on this one."

Melville slept through most of the morning and felt pretty decent when he got up. He might not be the most patient man in the world, or the most cautious, and certainly not the most diplomatic, but he was right up there at the top of the line when it came to resiliency.

He smiled at the image in the mirror as he called for McAndrews. Time for a shave and to get cleaned up, and then...

Then he sobered as he thought,
And then it's time to visit the naval hospital and see how Lady Elphinstone and the doctors had gotten along with my sailors.
And then the letters to the families of the men that died, and having Brother Theo set up the funerals...
 

More funerals. Always there were the funerals...

Boye came over, sat on the floor next to him, and put his head on his person's knee. Melville absently rubbed the dog's ears. Their two monkeys were chittering happily to each other as they rooted out some small insect or alien vermin in the corner.

He leaned over and scratched Boye's chest with both hands. The dog immediately stuck his long tongue out to lick his person's face.

"Ahh,
phhbtt
," Melville hacked and spit as he pushed the dog away. "I should know never to have my mouth open near you unless I want to have my tonsils licked!"

Boye bounced up, ready to play, but was disappointed when his master turned back to the mirror to continue getting ready. Melville might have a lot of limitations and failures, but one thing he did well was living in the moment, with all its joys and pains. And for now, getting ready to face a most difficult day was sufficient.

Several days later, Melville was feeling relatively at peace with the world. The funerals were over, and the
Fang
s had grieved intensely but briefly. The repairs had begun, even though they weren't progressing very quickly. Hector's Shipyard was overwhelmed by the sudden influx of major repairs, and top priority was being given to Ships that were barely staying afloat. By virtue of her relatively intact condition, the
Fang
wasn't slated to receive dockyard support for another week, or three... or more.

Dockyard resources and supplies might be tight for a frigate, but Melville was able to scrape up sufficient materials to repair the one-masted Crab Ship they had captured. She would be a useful little tender and he was determined to keep her. There were many times when a small, fast Ship with a healthy bite could come in handy.

In a remarkable turn of events, Midshipman Hayl had been adopted by the Crabs and their Ship. Lt. Fielder had taken the young middie over to tell the Crabs that Hayl was in charge of a routine repair detail aboard their Ship. The first officer had wisely kept a phalanx of bayonet-armed marines around himself to prevent the royalty-besotted Crabs from mobbing him with their sycophantic scuttling.

The Crabs' initial response to the small, one-armed midshipman was intense curiosity. Then the bizarre crustaceans decided that Hayl must be Fielder's larva or pupae.

"threelimbs? isgrub! islarva! ispupae! royallarva! wewillprotecthim! wewillnurturehim!"

The Crabs seemed to watch over Hayl with a proprietary air, as someone to be cherished and protected. Unlike their adoration of Lt. Fielder, which was a completely different story.
Talk about your one-sided love affair!
Melville chuckled to himself as he reflected on the matter. The Crabs had an inbred adoration of royalty and hereditary nobility of any type. Fielder, on the other hand, absolutely loathed the Crabs. (He didn't even like seafood!) Since this was roughly the relationship the Crabs had with their own royalty, the little alien creatures felt right at home.

Fielder, though, was considerably less content with the situation. It looked like maybe the answer was to put Hayl in charge of the Crab Ship.

The captain's thoughts broke off suddenly as Midshipman Aquinar knocked on the door and then stuck his head and shoulders in. "Sir, Lt. McKurkle is here from the admiral's office," he said solemnly.

"Ah. Send him in straightway, would you?" Melville replied as he stood up and tucked in his shirt.

"Welcome, Kit." Melville smiled as his guest entered. "I thought I still had a few hours before we met for cards tonight," Melville added in a jesting manner.

The two of them had spent a good bit of time together over the last few days, most of it at the admiral's quarters. Large quantities of cigars and spirits had been reduced to smoke and fumes in working meetings at the admiral's office. In the present crisis, poker games were now somewhat fewer and farther between. But the admiral still managed to fit in some of his beloved poker sessions. He had an interesting method of deciding how to allocate scarce resources. He got the principal officers involved in the issue to attend a game, and hashed out the problems with the men involved over cards, sorting out problems and priorities.

Essentially it was the same business that would have been conducted in the flag conference room, but in much more congenial surroundings. And these occasions were helping the Admiral forge his fleet and officers together into a unit. But it took time, and time was something that Melville wasn't sure they had to spare.

"I have a feeling that all bets are off tonight, Thomas," Lt. McKurkle returned soberly. "Admiral Middlemuss sent me to bring you to his office as soon as possible. And no, I can't talk about it, but..." He looked up and met Melville's eyes. "I am also to tell you that the
Fang
will be transported to the Shipyard area at the beginning of the second shift, and you are to ensure that the Ship is prepared."

Melville looked at him closely. McKurkle looked serious, but then he often did. Melville wondered idly if a sober demeanor was something that was issued to all admiral's aides when they took the job.

"Aye, I'll pass the word immediately. And then we'll head over to the admiral's. I must confess, my curiosity is piqued."

"Dammit, Melville, sit down," said Rear Admiral Middlemuss. The admiral was reclining thoughtfully back in a chairdog and he gestured curtly to a matching dog. The coffee table between them was made of an exotic wood that seemed to trap the eye when you tried to follow the dark whorls of its grain. The room was filled with dark wood and thick rugs, smelling of the admiral's rich pipe tobacco, with faint undertones of beeswax polish and chairdog.

Melville eased himself down and the big creature
woofed
softly while Melville scratched behind its ears. The chairdog enticed him with its softness, as it was intended to, contouring and drawing him down into its furry warmth. Melville remained tense for a moment, and then he relaxed and allowed the creature to have its way as the admiral's steward passed him a steaming hot cup of deliciously sweet tea. As usual whenever he was in a chairdog, Melville's monkey began to quietly explore the big, soft creature.

"Well, Thomas, you've already been informed that your Ship is going into the Shipyard tonight. Before I explain, I want to know about your plans for this little Crab gunship that you've refitted."

Melville shrugged. "I see it as having great potential to be an extremely fast scout, tender, and consort for the
Fang
. Unless I'm forced to, I have no intention of selling it for prize money. The hive-mind crew of the Crab Ship bonds to royalty, and they have bonded to Baronet Fielder, my first officer, much to his dismay and embarrassment. He treats them, well, disdainfully, while everyone else tries to be nice. The result is that the enemy crew grovels and admires Fielder even more, since he's treating them exactly the way their own royalty does."

"Huh. I'll be damned," replied the admiral. "'Different strokes for different folks,' eh? From everything I've heard, your Fielder would best understand that."

"Aye, sir."

"Do you intend to put Fielder in command?"

"No, sir," Melville answered, sipping at his tea thoughtfully. "I don't think he'd stand for it. The Crabs seem to have accepted little Midshipman Hayl as Fielder's larva or grub. Their relationship to immature royalty or nobility is one of mutual love and affection that's easier for us to understand. So I'm thinking about putting Hayl in command of the Crab Ship, with a small crew of humans to support him."

"Be careful, damnit," the admiral growled. "It might be a trap."

"Aye, sir," Melville replied with a cocky grin. "It
could
be rigged with biological contaminants, alien saboteurs, or bad poetry. But I don't think so. My Ship tells me we should trust it, my
gut
says we can trust it, and I'd like to have it along."

"Okay, I can see where a Crab tender and scout would come in handy. And Lord knows, you'll need all the help I can give you. Anything you need from the dockyard will go to the Crab Ship as well as the
Fang.
"