The Guns of Two-Space (40 page)

"A surprise, eh? In that case we should know soon, because unless my eyes deceive me I see a smoke cloud in a gingham dress coming down the Pier."

Fielder turned and saw what appeared to be a brightly covered fireplug emitting copious amounts of smoke, followed by a porter carrying boxes and bales of stuff behind her. He blinked once or twice and said, "Do you know, Captain, I do believe I have now seen everything. Lt. Broadax in a gingham dress... And what
is
that porter carrying for her?" he wondered aloud. His monkey chirped confusedly as well.

Lt. Broadax reached the bottom of the gangway and snarled at the dapper lieutenant and his guards, who had been posted there by the port authority to enforce the
Fang
's pariah status and ensure that they didn't take anyone into the crew, or leave anyone ashore. The conversation was... intense. Broadax communicated graphically, biographically, and autobiographically what she thought about her fellow lieutenant, in a manner that only a former senior NCO can truly master, with she and her monkey both blowing great clouds of toxic smoke in the process. The unfortunate lieutenant's squad of guards were clearly enjoying the situation, and the captain and crew of the
Fang
listened in intently from the rail. Her victim quickly desired nothing more than to get Broadax out of his hair and onto her Ship. Then she mounted the gangway with her porter following behind.

"Hoo-yah!" she said with a salute. "I'm reportin' aboard, sir!" Somewhere behind her beard it looked like she had a sly smirk on her face as she leaned forward and whispered, "An' I gots a serprise fer ye! But I thinks it better waits 'til we's underway."

As Melville looked down at her in confusion, he felt his monkey grab his ear and pull gently up, until he was looking at her porter. Or what appeared to be her porter at first glance, until he recognized the ugly, old, one-eyed face mangling an unlit cigar, with a little monkey head peeping out of the collar of her longshoreman's smock. It was Roxy, their old cook! How in the
hell
did Broadax find her? How did she get here? In any case, the staged last-minute arrival to get past the guard on the Pier explained a few things, the rest could wait until they cleared port.

Melville said quietly, "Aye, I think you have a point here, Lieutenant." He continued loudly, "Lt. Fielder, let's get the
Fang
underway and where she belongs, a long way from here."

"Aye, sir!"

Melville looked at Broadax again.
So,
he thought,
reaming out that poor lieutenant in public was just a smoke screen (literally and figuratively!) to get Roxy aboard.
She has many roles, our Broadax
.
She is our Achilles, our berserker, our Amazon. She is a marine, a warrior, a hard-boiled leader. But perhaps her most remarkable persona is just being Broadax, on liberty, stuffing that body into a dress and letting her and Hans roam the streets of some poor, innocent, unsuspecting planet!
 

Lenoria was now falling behind them and it was explanation time. And the explanation was interestingly devious. Roxy had been greatly distressed at being pulled off the
Fang
and assigned to shore duty. So she called in a lifetime of favors and connections in order to pull a trade with the cook of the mail packet Ship scheduled for Lenoria. And the wiley old cook was quite happy to jump Ship as soon as the
Fang
hit port. The biggest problem had been figuring out how to get aboard at the last minute so she couldn't be taken off again. Roxy and Lt. Broadax had worked up a scam so that their beloved cook could get aboard as a porter.

"See Cap'n," Broadax crowed proudly as she stood upon the upper quarterdeck with Melville and Fielder, watching Lenoria's Pier sink into the east, "it's actually pretty easy oncet I set my mind to it. I figgered if'n that pansy Ell Tee an' 'is guards wus a watchin' me, they wouldn't notice nobuddy wit' me. An' jist ta make sure, I got meself all dolled up right purty so's he couldn't mistake me."

She grinned up at him and concluded, "So since she follered me home, can I keep 'er?"

Roxy's chest went up and down accompanied by a slight wheezing, which was as close as she ever came to laughing.

Melville smiled from ear to ear and the rest of the quarterdeck crew cheered themselves hoarse. "Well," he replied, "since you put it that way, I guess so." He frowned then and added, "You realize we probably need to change the mess around, don't you. Roxy
is
senior cook..."

"Amen," muttered Fielder. "Now we can dump Jones on a particularly pestilent, flea-bitten world I know of that's on our route. I have a long-standing grudge against the place."

Broadax ignored Fielder and said, "I bin thinkin' on 'at, Cap'n. I know ye humans is all sorter weak in da jaws an' don't appreciate the finer cookin' 'at Jones put out fer us. But ye know though, the Guldur likes Jones' cookin' too. Mebbe we can work out a deal where's we gots two chow lines. 'Specially as a sort of a favor since I broughts Roxy back ta us, ye know?"

Melville smiled in relief. "Best idea I've heard for a while, Lieutenant. I'll do it on one condition."

"Whuts 'at?" Broadax replied suspiciously.

"Have Jones set up downwind!" Melville replied.

That night, as the
Fang
and her crew sailed happily off into the endless twilight horizon of two-space, a happy wardroom invited their captain to eat with them. Everyone dined with gusto and great satisfaction as Roxy served up heaping platters of her best chow, while Broadax devoured a reeking plate of mysterious gristle that had been prepared by Kaleb Jones.

Dinner was followed by Mrs. Vodi's famous "Death-by-Chocolate" cake. Upon finishing his dessert old Hans leaned back contentedly and—with a none-too-subtle leer and a wink at Broadax—said, "Ahhh. I kin only think o' one better way to die!" A sentiment to which all and sundry were willing to drink heartily.

After dessert the loyal toast was called for by the junior officer present. "Gentlefolk, the Queen!" squeaked tiny Midshipman Aquinar.

"The Queen!" chorused the response.

"Gentlefolk, fill your glasses for another toast," cried Lt. Fielder. "Here's to Roxy!" he said, after all the glasses were full, holding his own glass high. "The best damned cook in two-space! She is now officially AWOL and on the lam from the Navy, but she will never leave
our
hearts and we'll protect her to our deaths!"

This brought a chorus of agreement and everyone drank deeply from their glasses.

Then Broadax added, "An' 'ere's ta Kaleb Jones, who cooks a damned good meal fer those wat can handle it, an' who made ya appreciate yer Roxy!"

That brought an even louder cheer of agreement as they all emptied their glasses.

"You know," said Melville with a grin, "it was a close call as to whether Jones would have met a violent end. It's happened before, as in the tragic case of Boomer Johnson, about whom an ode was written long, long ago."

This brought smiles all around. "Can ya give us the poem, Cap'n?" asked old Hans.

"Aye, if you'd like," he replied.

The mess roared their approval, and Melville began:

"Now Mr. Boomer Johnson
was a gettin' old in spots,
And you don't expect a bad man
to go wrastlin' pans and pots;
But he'd done his share of killin'
and his draw was gettin' slow,
So he quits a-punchin' cattle
and he takes to punchin' dough.
"Our foreman up and hires him,
figurin' age had rode him tame,
But a snake don't get no sweeter
just by changin' of its name.
Well, Old Boomer knowed his business—
he could cook to make you smile,
But say, he wrangled fodder
in a most peculiar style."
 

"Hey, I don't think this poem is gonna work, Cap'n," interjected Hans in the pause between stanzas. "This feller's cookin' was good!"

Melville just smiled and continued:

"He never used no matches—
left em layin' on the shelf,
Just some kerosene and cussin'
and the kindlin' lit itself.
And, pardner, I'm allowin'
it would give a man a jolt
To see him stir frijoles
with the barrel of his Colt."
 

"Ha!" laughed Broadax, "tha's my boy allright!"

"Now killin' folks and cookin'
ain't so awful far apart,
That musta been why Boomer
kept a-practicin' his art;
With the front sight of his pistol
he would cut a pie-lid slick,
And he'd crimp her with the muzzle
for to make the edges stick."
 

"Yeah, killing and cooking definitely aren't too far apart!" interjected Westminster. "Jones pert near did both at once!"

"He built his doughnuts solid,
and it sure would curl your hair
To see him plug a doughnut
as he tossed it in the air.
He bored the holes plum center
every time his pistol spoke,
Till the can was full of doughnuts
and the shack was full of smoke.
"We-all was gettin' jumpy,
but he couldn't understand
Why his shootin' made us nervous
when his cookin' was so grand.
He kept right on performin',
and it weren't no big surprise
When he took to markin' tombstones
on the covers of his pies."
 

"Amen!" said Brother Theo, who had lost a fair amount of weight over the past few weeks. "Jones' pies almost
were
my tombstone!"

"They didn't taste no better
and they didn't taste no worse,
But a-settin' at the table
was like ridin' in a hearse;
You didn't do no talkin'
and you took just what you got,
So we et till we was foundered
just to keep from gettin' shot.
"When at breakfast one bright mornin',
I was feelin' kind of low,
Old Boomer passed the doughnuts
and I up and tells him 'No,
All I takes this trip is coffee,
for my stomach is a wreck.'
I could see the itch for killin'
swell the wattle on his neck."
 

"At least he was an honest man who did his killing with a gun!" laughed Fielder.

"Scorn his grub? He strings some doughnuts
on the muzzle of his gun,
And he shoves her in my gizzard
and he says, 'You're takin' one!'
He was set to start a graveyard,
but for once he was mistook;
Me not wantin' any doughnuts,
I just up and salts the cook."
 

"Ha! Tha's the spirit!" cried Hans. "Death to the cook, sez I!"

"Did they fire him? Listen, pardner,
there was nothin' left to fire,
Just a row of smilin' faces
and another cook to hire.
If he joined some other outfit
and is cookin', what I mean,
It's where they ain't no matches
and they don't need kerosene!"
 

The mess exploded in applause and Melville bowed and said, "So you see, gentlemen, Kaleb Jones could have met a worse fate, and as captain of this good Ship, I'm just glad we avoided bloodshed! But now we can say that we've come through Guldur attacks and attacks of Dwarrowdelf chow. And as for me, I think I'd rather face the Guldur any day!"

This brought a roar of agreement as Melville concluded, "We have proven that the
Fang
and her crew can take anything the galaxy has to throw at us! So, gentlefolk, I give you one last toast: God bless the good Ship
Fang
and all those who fare upon her! Long may she sail the seas of two-space!"

The wardroom's roar of agreement shook the walls. "To
Fang
!" they chorused.

Fang
went forth from the Pier at Lenoria, but she left behind a piece of herself, and a piece of
Biter
and
Gnasher
... and a little bit of
Kestrel
. And their tale spread to every Ship that came to Lenoria, and every Ship carried it forth.
 

<> whispered unspoken words that were heard across thousands of Ships and Piers in the months to come. <Kestrel
. Remember a dark tide of fear and hate. Remember war, red war is coming! And remember the love that quenches hate and fear as water quenches fire. Remember.>>
 

And across every Pier and every Ship, and within the souls of every living creature that stepped upon their planks, at a conscious and unconscious level, they knew and remembered...

It's "Gang-plank up and in," dear lass,
It's "Hawsers warp her through!"
And it's "All clear aft" on the old trail,
our own trail, the out trail,
We're backing down the Long Trail—
the trail that is always new.
The Lord knows what we will find, dear lass,
And the deuce knows what we may do—
But we're back once more on the old trail,
our own trail, the out trail,
We're down, hull down, on the Long Trail—
the trail that is always new.

"The Long Trail"
Rudyard Kipling

After dinner in the wardroom that first night, as usual, the doings of their shore leave was a key topic of discussion.

"Did you get anything while you were ashore?" Mrs. Vodi asked Lt. Broadax.

"Aye. Ol' Hans said 'e wus worried about my mood

swings," replied Broadax, "so 'e bought me this mood ring ta help him keep track o' how I'm feeling. See?" she said, holding it out as Mrs. Vodi and her monkey gazed admiringly at the ring. "When I'm in a good mood this stone turns green. An' when I'm in a bad mood it leaves a big freakin' red mark on 'is forehead! By the Lady, mebee next time 'e'll buy me a damned diamond!"

"Well," said Fielder, with a sympathetic nod toward Hans, "as that ancient haiku master, the Venerable Professor Satori wrote:

"Why buy a diamond?
With the pressure she exerts,
All you need is coal."
 

* * *
 

After feeling the warmth (or rather the lack thereof!) of the Admiralty's welcome on Lenoria, the
Fang
s were more than happy to leave as quickly as possible and defrost their tail ends. With Roxy the cook having managed to return to the Ship through various low and sneaky methods, Melville had a start on improving the crew's culinary conditions.

This was advanced significantly when Lady Elphinstone and Lt. Broadax prevailed upon Captain Melville to assign Kaleb Jones to the marine contingent as their nominal cook—which gave Lt. Broadax control and approval of Jones' menus. Luckily for the marines' sensitive digestive tracts, (sensitive in comparison to the Dwarrowdelf and the Guldur anyway) this agreement also made sure the marines got to eat with the sailors.