The Guns of Two-Space (55 page)

"Well, that really isn't necessary. For two reasons," replied Fielder, smiling and buffing his nails on his jacket.

"Firstly, it seems the local judicial system was overwhelmed with another case that had literally scores of dead and many more maimed. Apparently a large group of bravos and sellswords, hired by a visitor to this planet who has since departed hastily, attacked the private party of a group of local rustics with aberrant tastes in companionship and entertainment. The result was a bloodbath: murder on a mass scale, rapine of an unusually unsavory sort, and general mayhem of a magnitude that is uncommon even for
this
planet."

"Hmm," said Melville, shaking his head with a chuckle. "
That
appears to be Hans and Vodi's plan coming to fruition. I'll fill you in later. So the local population has experienced some intense natural selection, and the judicial system has bigger fish to fry. Tell me the other reason I shouldn't worry about Elphinstone."

"Well," began Fielder, "the judge and I had a long conversation and I told him that, as a naval captain on independent duty, you had the rights of high and low justice. That you had strong feelings about her behavior, and would be more than happy to take care of it."

Melville's eyebrows rose toward his hairline. "High and low justice? Daniel, did you happen to mention that I only have authority over offenses to Navy discipline? And I really don't think sedating a policeman affects Navy discipline. Nor do I think acting in self-defense is a crime!"

"Now, Captain. I never said what her punishment would be. After all, I am merely the poor overworked first officer!" He looked piously innocent for a moment before his face collapsed into a grin. "It's all far above my pay grade! I merely let the judge draw his own, umm, conclusions."

Melville studied him, then grinned back. "If this deal with the judge works, Daniel, remind me not to play poker with you. Such peasant cunning!"

Fielder placed his hand to his chest in mock indignity. "Please, Captain, not
peasant
cunning! Baronet Daniello Sans Fielder may be accused of many things, but never anything so base!"

Lady Elphinstone was brought to the gangplank of the
Fang
late in the afternoon watch. She was accompanied by a clerk of the court. Only a very careful observer could have discerned that her buttercup yellow dress and grass green sash were slightly begrimed.

"Are you in charge here?" asked the portly clerk.

Clearly not
, Melville thought. "Yes," he said.

"I need to know what are your plans for this offender?"

Melville pontificated. "Aboard this Ship the captain is high, low, and every other altitude of justice to be had in two-space. Once I have her under my authority I assure you that I shall pass judgment hastily enough to make even you happy, lest the sentence have the unseemly taint of cool deliberation."

The clerk was clearly impressed by the captain's oratory. "Well, since you are ready for rapid judgment, then I am pleased. The judge will be as well. Tell me, what shall be the punishment for her crimes?"

Melville smiled benevolently and replied, "I believe that I shall sentence her to banishment to the deepest depths of the far frontier while she cares for our sick and wounded, in exchange for room and board and some pocket money, on her solemn promise not to ever kill or drug anyone not equally deserving."

And with this the portly clerk, and the Show Low criminal justice system, had to be content.

Elphinstone stood with her usual serene composure as the clerk left.

"Welcome back, my lady," said Melville.

"I thank thee. And I bring thee a message from the governor."

"What is it?"

"Wouldst like to know?"

"I'd like nothing better."

"Then I shall tell thee."

"Well then?"

"The governor says that he appreciates thy efforts as the 'Uber-Darwin lifeguard in the local gene pool' and thou art always welcome on his world. But, under current circumstances, 'twere best thou shouldst depart as soon as possible."

"I'll drink to that!" muttered Fielder.

* * *

We got too many gangsters,
doin' dirty deeds,
Too much corruption,
and crime in the streets.
It's time the long arm of the law,
put a few more in the ground,
Send them all to their Maker,
and He'll send them on down.
You can bet, He'll send 'em on down.
'Cause justice is the one thing,
you should always find.
You gotta saddle up your boys,
you gotta draw a hard line.
When the gunsmoke settles,
we'll sing a victory tune,
And we'll all meet back,
at the local saloon!
And we'll raise up our glasses,
against evil forces,
Singing, "Whiskey for my men,
beer for my horses!"
 

* * *
 

They were about to make the long run to the Hero Cluster. If they forgot anything, it couldn't be replaced at a convenient port stop—since there weren't any! So long hours were used to conduct pre-underway checks, finish the final loading of stores and water, and complete a thousand other vital tasks to ensure their survival and safe travel in two-space.

The crew of the
Fang
pitched in and worked like demons—hungover demons for the most part, but hardworking nonetheless! The general attitude was that if you were going to hoot with the owls, you had to scratch with the chickens. And if that meant you had to make a discreet stop to relieve your stomach over the side to do your job, well, that was part and parcel of a great liberty!

One of the worst chores was loading the barrels of food and water for the next stage of their trip. Two-space both helped and hindered in this process. It helped because water and food tended to remain fresh and useable longer in that environment. Conversely, that same environment wreaked havoc on most of the tools they could use to lift heavy objects. Due to the constant degradation of complex, machined surfaces, they were limited to using simple pulleys or "single-blocks." These were made of hardwood riding in a wooden saddle, which could be readily maintained with a chisel and lubrication. The downside was that with two blocks you only had a two-to-one ratio for lifts.

To hoist a standard fifty-five-gallon barrel it took a five-man team: three men to lift the almost five-hundred-pound barrel, one to stabilize it with a separate line, and a fifth man with a snubbing line running around a belaying point to keep it from falling if someone lost their grip. For some reason, the Navy felt it was exceedingly bad form to drop five-hundred-pound barrels on peoples' heads. Killing someone intentionally was one thing, but doing it by accident was a sign of bad workmanship—like a surgeon amputating the wrong leg!

This all meant that loading stores for getting underway was a slow, tedious, and hellaciously hard job for all hands. Food, water, and stores for a crew on a lengthy voyage occupied a
lot
of space, and it took a lot of time to get aboard.

During the final watering process, a "package" came aboard with the
Fang
's water barrels.

A dockyard worker cracked a sealed case and dropped the blob of black "goo" atop one of the last barrels scheduled to come onboard. He had been well paid for this act, and it was the easiest money he had ever earned. Basically, it was like cracking an egg into a pan.

"Ugg!" was his only comment as he watched the goo seep into the cracks in the barrel.

<> replied the goo.

While the
Fang
s were preparing to get underway, they also had to get the remaining members of the crew back aboard. Normally this wasn't a problem, but ending their liberty early meant that working parties (large, heavily armed parties in this instance, just in case Ursula still had some surprises waiting for them) had to be sent out to the local brothels, bars, gambling dens, shops, bookstores, theaters, and churches to recover the crew.

And a few
Fang
s had to be bailed out of jail.

Lance Corporal Jarvis shook his head in rueful appreciation of his two squad members. "Dwakins, what in the
hell
happened to you?" he asked.

Dwakins had apparently started in the standard marine liberty uniform, but it was currently torn, stained and bled upon in such a fashion that it was obvious he had either survived a tornado or one hell of a good fight.

The other marine that Jarvis had to bail out was a bit of an anomaly. Rawl was an enemy Guldur who had been wounded (by Dwakins no less) when they captured
Gnasher
and
Biter
. From the dried blood on Rawl's fur and claws, it was apparent that the two of them had been involved in the same battle.

Their monkeys didn't look much better.

"Wuhl, Corp, ya know me 'n Rawl's buddies, right?" Dwakins asked, looking at Jarvis eagerly through the one eye that wasn't swollen shut.

"Yeah, Dwakins, you two are the Brothers Dumb. Always hangin' out together. Get on with it!"

"Wuhl, we wus havin' a quiet beer, an' this local cop sez Rawl couldn't be there. 'Lie with a dog an' ya wakes up with fleas,' 'e sez! He wus reel mean about it, too! Even if it wus true. I mean, we got all the fleas outa ol' Rawl a long time ago. So Ah
had
to defend muh friend and Shipmate!"

Jarvis moaned as he looked down and rubbed his eyes. "Damn," he muttered. "
Why
did I have to up and reenlist for this madhouse? Well, it looks like the Brothers Dumb win the booby prize again, Dwakins. Did you ever stop to think it might not be a good idea to start a fight with a cop? In a cop bar?! Next to the station house?!"

Dwakins and Rawl looked at each other, then at Jarvis. "But, Corp, Lt. Broadax tole me not ta think! She sez I'll only hurt muhself!"

And, of course, the emergency supplies had to be turned into the marine armory.

Hans was taking great pride in the fact that his weapon was clean, nay pristine, as he prepared to turn his .45 in. "Ya know," he said, "a well made .45 like this will feed anything. Even empty brass," he continued, as he jacked back the slide repeatedly and ran a magazine full of expended brass cartridges through the pistol.

"Hmm," Hans added, "I wonder if I should take the grips off and clean under there. Hate to turn in a dirty weapon."

Broadax was bored to tears by all of this. "It'll feed
anything
?" she asked, innocently, taking the pistol from Hans. "How 'bout this..." Then she dropped a sugar cookie into the breech of the .45 and hit the slide release. The slide slammed forward, spraying out a cloud of greasy crumbs and sugar.

Hans went cross-eyed in stunned anger as Broadax returned his pistol. Then Broadax put a dab of gun oil behind her ear, winked at him slyly, and said, "We only gots a few hours left on this dirtball. There's a tavern with an upstairs room right acrost the way. An' I thinks ye otter consider some uther priorities besides cleanin' yer damned gun."

Hans' anger died and he breathed deeply as he leaned forward and nuzzled her behind the ear.

"I love the smell o' gun oil in the evenin'," he said with a leer. "It smells like... well-lubricated parts..."

In addition to the Brothers Dumb, there was one other
Fang
who had fallen afoul of the law on Show Low. Ranger Aubrey Valandil had been cited early in their stay for spitting on the sidewalk. He had failed to make his court date, and there was a warrant for his arrest. As the senior ranger, Westminster went with Valandil to pay his fine, then he brought the errant Sylvan ranger home.

When the two rangers returned to the Ship they reported to the first officer in the wardroom. The only other occupant of the wardroom was Brother Theo, who was bending over a ledger in a corner.

"You are a black eye to this Ship, Ranger!" said Fielder, shaking his head in mock dismay. "Arrested for climbing buildings on Earth, public urination on Lenoria, and now this? You're a pocking one-man intergalactic crime spree!" Fielder, who had broken countless laws on Show Low, up to and including public nudity and multiple homicides, looked at Valandil sternly and asked, "
What
are we going to do with you?"

The quiet, self-possessed Sylvan ranger, who seldom said a word or displayed emotion, was sincerely embarrassed. And Fielder was deriving enormous pleasure from the sheer, pompous hypocrisy of his statements.

Westminster too was enjoying his partner's discomfort. Valandil probably hadn't spoken a complete sentence since he was thirteen, and his response this time was an abashed silence.

"Ah'll accept personal responsibility for him, sir," drawled the ranger. "He has assured me that his wild days are behind him, and Ah believe him."

"It's always the quiet ones, eh, Josiah?" said Fielder, with pursed lips and a nod. "Very well, you are dismissed. But I've got my eye on you, Ranger Valandil."

"Daniel," said Theo, looking up from his ledger with a shake of his head after the rangers left. "Your soul is so dark, it smudges mine."

Fielder just smiled.

Finally, the Ship was ready. Everything from rice to rhubarbs was packed away in its place, and all the crew was aboard.

As they cast off, the age-old call came forth from the dock workers: "Don't worry, sailor, we'll take care of yer girls for you while yer gone!"

And the good-natured, traditional response came back, "Good, they need some female company!"

And
Fang
left her message at one last Pier before they departed the galactic arm and headed into the Far Rift.
 

<<
Kestrel
...war...remember, remember...>>
 

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare sieze thy fire?
 

"Tyger! Tyger!"
William Blake.

The
Fang
s were particularly happy to pick up many tins of small fish packed in oil, which were a special delicacy on Show Low.