Though giant rains put out the sun,
Here stand I for a sign,
Though Earth be filled with waters dark,
My cup is filled with wine.
Tell to the trembling priests that here
Under the deluge rod,
One nameless, tattered, broken man
Stood up and drank to God."The Deluge"
G.K. Chesterton
The next morning the wet, rainy world slowly, sullenly dawned, and the men of Westerness began to stir. Every man in their little company was exhausted to the bone. The rain was still warm, but it was beginning to outlast its welcome.
The wounded lay in the few dry spaces that could still be found within the hold of their little cutter. Beneath the branches of the mighty trees were more dry patches where the rest of the company slept.
As they began to move around, some of them found that they had company. Somewhere in the night, soft little spider monkeys had joined them. Melville had his. Petreckski had one. Chief Hans and even Sergeant Broadax literally had monkeys on their backs.
For Melville it was an eerie feeling. He'd turn his head, and there'd be an upside-down face staring solemnly back at him. Broadax seemed slightly embarrassed by hers, but she opted to ignore it, acting as though it wasn't there.
Little Aquinar still slept in his hammock, a full five yards off the ground, warm and dry next to the bole of a great tree. His little fawn-colored monkey still clung tightly to his neck. Dozens of other monkeys also shared his hammock, sleeping contentedly.
Melville didn't have the heart to awaken the little midshipman, but he did climb up to be sure the boy was still alive, that the monkeys hadn't killed him in his sleep. Melville was horrified at the boy's peril, but he was their best ambassador to the little monkeys. Aquinar was a boy, but he was also a warrior and the right man for this job. Like a loving father checking on his young child in the middle of the night, Melville watched to see that the boy still breathed. Reassured, and observed by sleepy monkeys who seemed completely unbothered by his presence, he slid back down.
At this point the huge Corporal Kobbsven strode up to Melville. He was clearly a man with a mission. "Sir! I am happy to report that there is now vater in the vell that vee bin diggin'!"
Blink. " . . . Yes. Good. Thank you, Corporal."
Their first duty that day was to bury their dead. Everyone took turns digging the graves of their comrades. Melville took his turn and made sure that each of his young midshipmen did as well. Little Aquinar awoke and descended from above in time to help dig one of the dogs' graves.
Six large holes and four smaller ones were dug. The bodies of their comrades were lovingly wrapped in sailcloth shrouds and lowered one-by-one into the graves. They'd traveled far across the shoreless seas of Flatland to reach this world, and now they'd be planted here. They would gain immortality in this land that they had discovered and died to defend. Immortality such as every sailor dreamed of. Future settlers would remember their names. Cities and mountains would be named after them. It would be a fit and proper ending for one who traveled the hidden land forlorn. Provided their mother ship returned and their sacrifice was not in vain.
Now it was Melville's time to say Words. He'd never felt so inadequate. All he could do was reach back into their heritage and set forth the Words, those ancient Words. Ten thousand applications to the griefs of a thousand years had carved these Words into their cultural consciousness. Thereby giving them the power to heal and strengthen lives in times of sorrow and loss.
Melville's personal hero, the warrior poet Lord Wavell, once wrote that, "Long funeral pieces . . . become tedious . . . by their length. Heavy mourning, deep black edges, long widowhood, unrestrained grief are out of fashion, as they must be to a generation which has indulged in . . . war." The key was "economy of words."
And so Melville chose simply to say this, as his company looked on. Above them countless thousands of monkeys, like a heavenly chorus of fawn-colored, eight-legged angels, also gazed solemnly from the trees.
"Here dead lie we because we did not chose
To live and shame the land from which we sprung.
Life to be sure is nothing much to lose;
But young men think it is, and we were young."
He turned to Petreckski. "Brother Theo," he asked, "could you say a few words?" The crew wasn't a particularly religious bunch. Yet, like the sailors of Old Earth, most of the men who sail in two-space have some spiritual aspect to them They came from many and diverse faiths, but when the mystery of life and death was upon them, the Words of a cleric, even an unordained monk like Petreckski, could be comforting.
Like Melville, Petreckski reached back to the old, strong Words that resonated in the heritage and souls of these lonely men on this distant, alien shore. In his clear, pure tenor voice he began to sing a song that was a particular favorite to sailors, and the company joined in.
"There's a land that is fairer than day,
And by faith we can see it afar;
For the Father waits over the way
To prepare us a dwelling place there.
In the sweet by and by,
We shall meet on that beautiful shore.
In the sweet by and by,
We shall sing on that beautiful shore,
And our spirits shall sorrow no more,
" . . . on that beautiful shore. Amen."
Then the dead were left to their own affairs, and the living got on with theirs. Or, as Old Hans put it, "Those who git ta live, should."
Only a few more days passed before their Ship returned, not with joy, but with more sorrow and tribulations. With yet more challenges for young lieutenant Melville.
"Sir! Sir!" called Midshipman Archer. "Kestrel has returned! Lieutenant Fielder has come down!"
Lieutenant Daniel Fielder and two sailors had descended from two-space, and were striding down the hill. The rain had finally stopped but clouds still hung low in the sky. The wounded were laid out to take the air.
Fielder was dark haired, thick set, with a florid face and bushy sideburns. He was junior in rank to Melville, but he'd spent many more years as a midshipman and was the older man. Melville always considered him to be a bit of a bully, and now Fielder tried to assert the authority of his years. "My God, Melville, everything has gone straight to hell, and now you've made a hash of it here!" he said, looking at the wounded. "Your company has been torn to hell!"
Perhaps Fielder would have succeeded in turning the men from Melville, but every heart was turned against him the moment this mean-spirited insult left his lips. He severed all chance of winning them over with one further thoughtless comment, as he looked at the little eight-legged monkey peering over Melville's shoulder with its comical upside-down face. "And what is that clinging to your necks? We've been in a running battle, the Ship is shot to hell and here you are playing with the local critters? Have you all gone native?" The monkey and Melville turned their heads to look at each other, and it seemed as though they were sharing the same thoughts as they nodded to each other reflectively.
Lieutenant Fielder continued his rant, "We were attacked without warning by an overwhelming force of Guldur. We gave them the slip, but they will be upon us in a few hours. The Kestrel is dying. Everyone senior to us is dead. A third of the crew is dead or wounded. I'm in charge. We have to abandon ship. We'll flee down to this world and scuttle the Ship. Then we'll uproot the Pier. That's the only way we can be safe. We have to hurry!"
Melville was stunned but he quickly rallied. In the end it was protocol, procedures and principle that empowered him. He replied softly, "Aye, we can evacuate the seriously wounded. But if Captain Crosby and the first officer are dead then I am senior to you, Mr. Fielder, and I will make the decisions here. I will inspect the Ship and the crew while you begin movement of the wounded."
Fielder screamed, "You're insane! We can't fight! I told you, the enemy force is overwhelming, our Ship is dying!"
Melville became even more calm. "I'll judge that for myself. If we are capable of inflicting damage upon our foe, then we are duty bound to do so."
"Now I know you're mad! You're filled with your poetry and it has twisted your brain!"
Melville took a deep breath and tried to reply calmly. He raised his voice so that he could be heard clearly by the sailors and marines around them, "If anything has influenced me, I hope it's duty and honor. Aye, as befits a warrior of Westerness. Duty and honor haven't 'twisted' me, they have shaped me so that I cannot and will not turn from a fight while we have the means to hurt our foe. I am the senior man here Mr. Fielder, and you will by God obey my orders!" Then Melville turned his back and walked away. Like all bullies, Fielder backed down when the odds were against him.
"Lady Elphinstone?" Melville asked their surgeon as he walked into the aid station.
"Yes?" she responded, stepping forward.
"Decide who among your charges can be released immediately for light duty, and have them sent up to Kestrel. Then join us on the Kestrel and evacuate anyone who is too injured to assist in battle." She calmly nodded her assent.
"Mr. Crater?"
"Sir!"
"Work with Sergeant Broadax and the marine detail. You'll be responsible for the movement of all wounded from the Kestrel. Draft the marines on the Ship if you need assistance. Evacuate only the individuals the surgeon designates." He looked briefly at Midshipman Crater, but mostly he watched for the marine sergeant to nod her understanding.
"Yes, sir!"
"Mr. Archer?"
"Yes, sir?"
"You work with our sailors to set up the rigging to lower the wounded down onto the Pier. Work with Chief Petty Officer Hans, but release him to me as soon as you're sure that you can complete the task on your own. I will be inspecting the Ship. Don't draft any assistance from the Ship for this duty. Complete this duty as quickly as you can and then return all sailors to their sections aboard the Ship." Again, Melville was addressing and looking at Archer, but he was also watching for Hans' nod.
"Mr. Aquinar, you stay with me."
"Aye, sir!"
"Does everyone understand?" There was a chorus of assent. He thought briefly about what to do with Fielder. The man seemed out of his mind with panic and dread. Best to keep him here while Melville assumed command of the Kestrel.
"Lieutenant Fielder?" Melville asked. Fielder had been following Melville around, keeping a slight distance. Now his only response was to glare at Melville. "I'd value your appraisal of our situation here. Please speak with Brother Petreckski and the rangers, they will give you their account of all edible plants and creatures. Their input will be vital as to whether we can stay here indefinitely. I hope to make a fresh assessment of the situation on our Ship, and certainly your outside assessment of the situation here will be of value."
This indication that Melville was keeping an open mind to the possibility of evacuating to this world seemed to mollify Fielder. "Very well," he replied, "but you'll see, the situation on the Ship is hopeless." Melville looked at the purser and the rangers, and felt confident that they'd keep the lieutenant occupied. He strode up the hill accompanied by Broadax, Hans, and the middies. Elphinstone joined them, having already designated three of her patients for light duty.
They approached the Keel of the old Swish-tail, now standing like a flagpole, or a mast, surrounded by a platform of white Nimbrell timbers. Melville scrambled up the ladder to the top of the platform, dropped to one knee, placed a hand upon the Keel and concentrated.
<<Swish-tail?>> he asked.
<<Captain!>> Melville "felt" pleasure at his presence and concern at the turn of events. <<Kestrel is above. She is hurt. Evil comes.>>
<<Can she fight?>> Melville asked.
<<She wants to!>>
<<Good,>> he thought. Then he tried to send his emotions to the little Ship, his first independent command. He tried to speak of his love and appreciation, and his sorrow upon departing. Soon she would transition into a world's Keel, and she would no longer speak directly to humans. Before that happened he wanted her to know of human love for her and her kind. He thought he felt it back in return.
<<Captain, what is my name?>> Suddenly Melville realized that he'd left a duty undone. It was his right and his duty to name this world, and his Swish-tail would take on that name. He could name the world after himself. But that was unacceptable when so many of his men had done so much more, paid so much more to make this possible. He could name it after his dead captain, but Captain Crosby already had a world named after him from past voyages. No, he knew who to name it after. Speaking aloud and to the Ship, he named this world after the person he believed had done the most to win their survival.
"<<I name thee: Broadax's World!>>" He turned and saw Sergeant Broadax beam with pride and joy, inhaling deeply on her cigar. He saw the others nod their heads in agreement.
Even Swish-tail, now Broadax's World, agreed completely. <<Good!>> she replied, <<I like her.>> Thus it was done.
The Keel was made of a mysterious material carefully guarded by the secretive Celebrimbor shipwrights. This class of shipwrights existed in every race that sailed the seas of Flatland, and the men of Old Earth had joined that club. Ah, but at such a price, thought Melville. The "Crash" was the admission fee the Elder King claimed for Earth to join that club.
One end of the Keel was planted in the living earth. The other end disappeared up into two-space. Nothing of the Kestrel or Flatland could be seen from here, except for a rope ladder that hung down from the Ship above, seeming to be suspended in thin air.
It occurred to Melville that before he climbed up the ladder he should send his monkey on its way. He'd be sad to see the soft, gentle creature go, but it would be cruel to snatch it from its green home into impending battle. Broadax, Hans, and the three middie's also moved to set down the baby monkeys that had adopted them. Prior to this the monkeys always permitted themselves to be set aside whenever their presence was unwelcome. Now the result was a comical, ludicrous dance as each of the sailors tried to grab a monkey that didn't want to be grabbed.
The monkeys scampered round and about, up the Pier and back onto a shoulder. They were now in front, now down between legs, then they scrambled under jackets to hang just out of reach between shoulder blades. Melville braced himself against the Keel to grab his monkey and he felt Swish-tail say, <<Trust them. Good Monkeys.>>
That was good enough for him. While climbing up the Pier the monkeys were in direct contact with the Ship, and they couldn't hide their true nature from this telepathic contact. "Enough!" said Melville. "We don't have time for this. Let them come if they insist, and let us share our fates."
"Aye," said Hans, " 'Of'n the unbidden guest proves the best company.' "
Melville grabbed the rope ladder and scrambled up, followed by old Hans. His head popped into two-space and lo!, "the gray rain-curtain turned all to silver glass and was rolled back." And he beheld once again the stunning beauty of the "hidden land forlorn." His ears were caressed again by that strange music, the celestial sounds of Flatland, and his eyes were bathed anew in the endless, vivid blue expanse of the "shoreless seas."
Maxfield Parrish had known these blues. To the east was light, sunrise blue where this solar system's star was influencing the vast plain of Flatland. Immediately around him was a small patch of blue-green that indicated a living world. To the south, west, and north Flatland began to darken into deep blue. In the distance he could see the midnight blue between solar systems. In the far distance he could see the sunrise blue of distant suns, blending together into a brightness that stretched all the way round the far horizon.
He looked once more upon all this beauty, and he knew again where "Kilmeny" had been.
. . . Kilmeny had been where the cock never crew,
Where the rain never fell, and the wind never blew.
But it seem'd as the harp of the sky had rung,
And the airs of heaven played round her tongue,
When she spake of the lovely forms she had seen,
And a land where sin had never been;
A land of love and a land of light,
Withouten sun, or moon, or night;
Where the river swa'd a living stream,
And the land a pure celestial beam;
The land of vision it would seem,
A still, and everlasting dream.
Flatland, or two-space (or the Calacirian, to call it by its Sylvan name), was what the sailors called the universe, the environment, the realm that they sailed in. Flatland was also what they called that blue, two dimensional barrier: the plane, the "sea" that the sailors sailed upon, which contains the whole galaxy.
In two-space the whole galaxy was squashed flat as a disc. Flatter than the flattest disc you can think of. Impossibly flat, since there was no third dimension. Except where they carried it around with them. This was Flatland. On a Ship you could view it from above or below, but the only way to get into real space is to go into Flatland, into the "real" galaxy.
The Keel, and the Elbereth Moss that grew in it and around it, created a field in which a piece of three-space could exist in two-space, in Flatland. Flatland wanted to squeeze you flat. It constantly compressed your little piece of three-space from top and bottom, and that downward, compacting pressure created a "wind" that pushed against their sails. The field of three-space concentrated the gravitational forces of flatland the way a sharp point will concentrate the electrical forces on a charged piece of metal, the way a lightning rod attracts the electrical forces above it. These stronger gravitational forces "above" the ship, on both sides of the plain, caused a downward flow of pressure on the ship that could be "caught" by the sails. The pressure was constant, a steady downward "wind." By using forward-leaning masts and sails they could partially capture the force of this wind, making it possible to truly sail the shoreless seas.
Their galaxy was squashed flat, but other galaxies could be seen above and below them, as stars might hang above a flat earth. Above him hung old friends, spread thickly and densely across the black "sky" of two-space. Hanging directly above was Remmirath, a stunningly beautiful group of galaxies known also as the Netted Stars. All he had to do was look up at the Netted Stars to know that he was on the "upper" side of the galaxy, as convention and tradition agreed to call it. With one glance at this constellation, or any other patch of the Flatland sky, he could immediately orient himself to the cardinal directions.
To the "north" was red Borgil, and directly to the south was the constellation known as the Swordsman. One galaxy, its disc seen from the side so that it made a linear formation, formed the Swordsman's shining belt. Two similar galaxies joined end-to-end to form his gleaming sword, thrusting to the west. The Swordsman was also known as Menelvagor to the Sylvan. Westerness had embraced it as a symbol of their kingdom, their vigorous young empire expanding to the galactic west from their beginning on Old Earth.
Direction of travel across the galaxy was designated as north toward the galactic center, and south toward the galactic rim, also sometimes called Hubward and Rimwards. Viewed from an arbitrarily agreed upon "above," west was to the left, or Turnwise, when facing north. And east was designated to the right or Widdershins.
They had only been able to loosely relate what they found in two-space to what astronomers saw in three-space. The galaxies that hung above and below them in two-space, and the destinations they arrived at, often could not be made to match any "known" location in three-space. It drove astronomers mad trying to relate the sights and destinations of Flatland to what they "knew" existed in the "real" world.
A sailor popped into two-space. He sailed across the endless seas of Flatland. He navigated by the "stars" to a new world. He popped back into three-space, and the stars were different. Who cared about some astronomer's reckoning? He knew where he was, and he knew how to navigate home again. What more could any sailor ask?
Many high-tech worlds flourished in the galaxy, but none of them had ever developed interstellar travel through three-space. Why should they, when the mystery, the beauty and the vast expanse of two-space and its "hither shores" awaited them? Why would any planet expend the vast resources needed to develop and conduct interstellar travel? Any civilization could sail to a virtually infinite number of worlds with no more difficulty than the sailors of eighteenth-century Earth traveled to distant continents. If they learned the secrets of the Celebrimbor shipwrights, and if they were willing to play by the rules of the Elder King.
This, this! was the gift of the Elder King, thought Melville, as he rejoiced in the far flung galaxies that hung so close above him. Flatland compressed distances, so that travel between worlds was practical. It also compacted distances so that the galaxies hanging above him looked as near as the Moon from Old Earth. Like most sailors he never got tired of looking at them. On the world below him he'd almost given up hope of ever seeing them again and now, for a brief moment, he rejoiced in it.
After a sailor's brief, orienting glance at the sea and the sky he turned his head and looked at the Kestrel, dreading what he'd see. The rope ladder hung from the Ship's bowsprit, and from here he could see no damage. All he could see was the bow of the Ship, and only the portion of the bow that was "above" the plain of Flatland, that vast, two-dimensional plain in which the three-dimensional form of the Ship floated. There might well be great damage to her flanks, stern, or below the plain of Flatland, where he couldn't see.
The Kestrel was of the Falcon class, constructed over 100 years prior with her sister Ships, Falcon, Sparrow Hawk, Pigeon Hawk, Peregrine, Meriadoc, and Gyrfalcon. She was what the Westerness Navy was pleased to call a frigate, with three masts extending above and below Flatland.
She was constructed of white Nimbrell timbers, which were coated with the Elbereth Moss, making her a beautiful, pure white. Except where she was painted with red trim on the "red" side, and green trim on her "green" side. She was like a great swan resting in pure blue water.
The old concepts of port and starboard, left and right didn't work when there were essentially two ships, slapped together keel to keel. So convention established that all of one side was the "green-side," while the other side was the "red-side."
Flying from her mainmast, both above and below, she flew the Westerness flag, a four-armed, pinwheel galaxy on a royal blue background.
She carried forty 12-pounder cannon, twenty above and twenty below the plain of Flatland. She was intended as much for cargo, transport and exploration as for war, with a large hold, a large complement, and six cutters. Swish-tail, Sharp-ears, and Wise-nose were on the deck "above" Flatland. Bumpkin, White-socks, and the captain's barge, Fatty Lumpkin, were lashed to the reverse deck, arbitrarily and universally referred to as "below" the vast plain formed by Flatland.
She was down to four cutters now. Swish-tail had been intentionally beached on the world below, her Keel used to form the Pier.
Bumpkin was lost, along with their second mate and a small crew, in an earlier exploration of a nearby world. She'd been beached on a shore and her Keel didn't raise back up into two-space. After several weeks of waiting they had no choice but to bid their comrades a sad farewell. If they hadn't raised a Pier yet, they never would. They marked this spot on their charts as a "reef," warning others away from what treacherously and deceptively looked to be a habitable world.
Melville leaned to look as far as he could down the red-side of the Ship, which was her starboard or right side from above the plain of Flatland. He saw their carpenter, Mister Tibbits in Wise-nose, lashed alongside the Kestrel, where a repair crew was working on a portion of her flank.
"Ahoy Chips!" he shouted.
The carpenter looked up from his work. "Mr. Melville! I'm so very glad to see you, sir!"
The carpenter held a warrant officer's position. He seemed to be the senior officer present, so Melville called out to him, "Permission to come aboard!"
"Aye, sir! Come and join us here, if you will, sir!"
Melville was already scrambling the rest of the way up the ladder to where he could flip up onto the deck. Hans, Broadax, the middies, and finally Lady Elphinstone followed to begin their assigned tasks.
From here he could see that the upper deck had been savaged by the most severe blast of grapeshot imaginable. The white Nimbrell timber of the mainmast was chewed almost all the way through. Great chunks of railing and decking had been blown out of existence. Much of the rigging was recently repaired, with pieces of shrouds and ratline still hanging in shambles.
The Ship's crew all wore work clothing made of old, off-white sailcloth. Sailors hung in the rigging like a flock of dirty white birds, chattering and toiling efficiently. Throughout the Ship, seamen were working under the carpenter's guidance. Several were in the cutter working beside him.
Melville went to his left, toward the red-side, moving around the cutter lashed to the deck on the Ship's bow. He hurried over to the waist and looked down at Chips in the cutter below. He grabbed a bit of railing and hopped carefully down to land beside the carpenter.
Elphinstone went straight to the dispensary to tend to the wounded. Hans, Broadax and the middies went about their tasks, but the two NCOs made a point of staying where they could hear the conversation in the cutter below. Little Aquinar stood immediately above in the Ship, awaiting Melville's orders. Throughout this part of the Ship the sailors continued to work, but they shifted subtly so that they also could see and hear the conversation on the cutter.
"Dear Lord, Chips, what happened?" Melville asked. "What could have done this kind of damage?"
"Aye, sir. But this is nothin' compared to what the bastards did with their damned huge round shot below. May the Elder King curse them to vacuum!"
"Tell me about it," said Melville, putting a hand on the old warrant officer's shoulder.
"Well sir, after we dropped you and your company off in the world below we left and went on a short explorin' trip eastward of here. It was all slow easy sailin'. All Asimov days you might say. Lots of plot and character development but precious little action. The kind of adventure I'd write for myself if I was doin' the writin', if you take my meanin'." The old carpenter leaned up against the cutter's mast and continued with his story, while Melville sat on the railing.
"We was about ready to turn around to come back to link up with you, when we runned into a Guldur ship comin' from the east. It was a mite smaller than ours, and she only had four guns to a side, two above and below. They was big guns, but we reckoned they could only be low velocity carronades. So we wasn't too worried. They signaled to pull up for a talk, and what with Westerness tryin' so hard to stay neutral and keepin' out of the Elder Races' squabbles and all, it never occurred to us that they'd sucker-punch us!" At this point Tibbits began gesturing in accompaniment to his tale.
"But old Captain Crosby was always a savvy one, he was. Our gun ports all had their hatch covers closed, nice and peaceful like, but behind the hatch covers we was loaded with double shot in every gun, manned and ready. But so did the enemy! Lootenant, those guns was no carronades! It shouldn't be possible to build cannon that big. Everyone knows that the Keel charges can't be designed to give that much energy. For hundreds of years it's been so. But they fired at us, right through their closed hatch covers, and did us more damage with one volley than we could with a dozen. I tell you, sir, it ain't natural to have guns that big and powerful.
"They let rip with grapeshot in the two upper guns, and ball in the lower. The captain, Lord bless him, the first mate, and the marine lootenant all met down on the red-side in the upper waist to come over to that Guldur bastard. The grapeshot ripped our red-side like nothin' you ever seen before! The whole boardin' party, an honor guard of six marines, and the bosun pipin' them, all disappeared! We've only got bloody bits and pieces left to bury! Four guns were destroyed, and the crew killed or wounded on two others, leavin' only four guns on the upper red-side. You see what it looks like here, but that's after weeks of fixin' and patchin' while we was on the run, with that bastard right on our tail all the way.
"The real damage was done with the cannonballs that hit us below. They punched through the hull, shattered the mainmast housin' for the lower and upper sides. Then they punched right on through and out the green-side! On the red-side they destroyed three guns, leavin' only seven below." Now the old carpenter began to pace the deck of the little cutter.
"But sir," said the old sailor as tears began to flow down his cheeks. "Sir, the vacuum-cursed dogs cut our Keel! The Keel's only holdin' together with splinters. Lady Elbereth's Gift, the Moss on the Keel, is all that seems to be holdin' the charge. And sir, the Ship is dyin'! Only the Ship, old Kestrel herself is holdin' us in two-space. If not for her, we would'a popped into vacuum days ago, and she can't keep it up much longer. She's dyin' sir!" The old carpenter sat and began to sob.
"Sir," he said, looking up through his tears, "you know that besides the captain, the other person the Ship talks to, just a little, sometimes, is her carpenter? With the captain dead she's talkin' to me. She's mad for vengeance. She wants at that bastard of a Guldur, but she can't, sir. She can't. I've done all I can, but she can't keep hangin' on. Any second now she's gonna pop into vacuum and we'll all die. We gotta get outa here!"
"Chips! Mister Tibbits!"
"Yessir?" he asked, looking up through tear blurred eyes at the young lieutenant.
Quietly Melville continued. "It's time to act like an officer of the Westerness Navy. Kestrel needs us now, more than ever, to do our duty. Our full duty. Whatever that may be. Whatever cup is set before us, we must take it. Now, tell me the rest of what happened."
"Aye, sir. Sorry, sir."
On the Ship above them all pretense of work stopped and everyone watched. This was the cue for Broadax and Hans to go into action.
"Ye damned blueboys!" shouted Broadax, turning her cigar stub and withering, concentrated, bloodshot Dwarrowdelf glare on them. "Git yer tails to yer business while yer betters tends to theirs!" She randomly selected a poor soul to torment. " 'At means you, Andrest! If ye was any denser, I swear light'd bend 'round ye!"
Not to be outdone, Broadax's fellow NCO added his two bits. "An jist wat do ya think yer doin' Jonesy!" said Hans, spitting a stream of tobacco juice overboard as he selected another random victim. "You pay attention ta yer work. Nothin' is foolproof fer a truly talented fool like you!"
Then the two NCOs went about the age-old task of glowering at subordinates, but they stayed close, where they could hear the rest of the carpenter's tale.
Tibbits drew a deep, shuddering breath and continued. "The bastards opened fire, but it must take forever for those big guns to reload. We was stunned, but we had all the red-side guns manned, and we fired right back. Ol' Guns, Mr. Barlet, he let 'er rip, right through our hatch covers, with four above, and seven below. Thirteen 12-pounders, all loaded with double shot at point-blank range can do the Elder King's own damage sir! As we was pullin' off, we hit them again, and then again, all on what we'd call their green-side. We musta hurt the bastards, but all the shots was into their hull, none of their masts or riggin' was damaged much, so it didn't seem to slow them down any."
"Chips, this may be very important," Melville said, gripping the old sailor's shoulder. "As you remember it, do we have an advantage of height in the waist?"
"Aye sir, over a yard's height advantage, all the way across, except where there was a funny little half a quarterdeck. It's really more like a connin' tower on the corner, astern. Above, their quarterdeck is on the red-side, while below it's on the green-side. They have a little jollyboat on davits hangin' off the quarterdeck on each side, so it'd be tricky to board from their rear quarter. That boat'll keep you from gettin' close.
"Their guns are rigged all weird, too. On the green-side they have the guns all for'ard above the plain of Flatland, and all astern below. On the red-side, all the guns below are for'ard, while the ones above are squished back astern."
"Good. As I understand it, the jollyboat would hamper boarding astern, on either side. But on the red-side, above, they don't have a gun for'ard. And we could board her from there, from the for'ard upper red quarter, without worrying about those guns?"
"Aye . . . aye, I guess so, sir. Unless they swing that gun up for'ard, as a bow chaser. But so far they haven't done that above, just the one gun below. It must be damnable hard to swing the gun up front, and they probably want a full broadside on at least one side. I know I would, if I only had four guns to a broadside.
"But, Lootenant," Tibbits continued, "the ones below will rake us like hell's own furies."
"Aye Chips, but we won't be below. They don't know that our Ship is dying. We'll smash our bows together, red-side to red-side. Everyone, including the cook and her cat, will be hidden away, ready to board from that one quarter. Even if we begin to sink from the impact, it won't matter, because we'll all be on their Ship. Meanwhile, down below, they can board our Ship, and they'll die with the Ship! Can you think of a more fitting end for the bastards?"
"Aye, sir," said the old carpenter, looking up through his tears with a faint glint of hope in his eye.
"Now, you say we had double shot in the first volley. Did that volley penetrate their hull?"
"Aye, sir. Punched clean through the hull on this side. I don't know where they went after that."
"And the other volleys? Did they penetrate?"
"Aye, sir. Best I can tell they did."
"Good," said Melville. "And did they have a lot of their Goblan 'allies' up in the rigging?"
"No, sir. No, they made it look all peaceful like. Almost no one was in the riggin'. That was most of why we managed to get away. Everyone, curs and ticks both, musta been packed in below decks. You think we mighta chopped them worse than we can know?"
"Oh, aye, Chips. Aye." Melville knew that he was also speaking to nearly a hundred listening ears as he said,
"Read here the moral roundly writ
For him who into battle goes —
Each soul that hitting hard or hit,
Endureth gross or ghostly foes.
. . . blown by many overthrows,
Half blind with shame, half choked with dirt,
Man cannot tell, but Allah knows
How much the other side was hurt!"
"Dear Lady Elbereth," said Tibbits, "I hope we made the bastards pay for what they did to poor old Rick Crosby and the others."
Melville knew that, in the words of Lord Wavell, "When things are going badly in battle the best tonic is to take one's mind off one's own troubles by considering what a rotten time one's opponent must be having."
"You tell me Chips. Fifty-two 12-pound balls bouncing around inside that Ship. Each one must have created hundreds, thousands of splinters as it busted its way in. You can bet the doggies and their Goblan 'ticks' were sucking shot and splinters that day. Aye, we made the bastards pay, and we'll make them pay even more! Now, wrap up quickly and tell what happened after that."
"Well, then came the weird part, sir. We ran straight east, 'cause that's how we lay when we was snookered by that bastard. We spotted a line of Guldur Ships, stretched out to the north and south, all headed west, toward Stolsh. It was an invasion fleet! The biggest damn fleet you ever saw. Mostly transports, runnin' real slow, but there was a sizable batch of frigates with them, too.
"We figured they must be plannin' to take out the whole Stolsh Empire in one punch. The one we ran into musta been part o' their scout screen. Their job bein' to get rid of anyone who could warn the Stolsh. That's got to be why they did for us like that, the bastards.
"We veered off from them pretty easy 'cause they was goin' so slow. We slipped around that vacuum scummer what sucker-punched us, 'cause you know those Guldur can't sail worth a damn. But with the damage we took we couldn't put stress on the mainmast or the Keel, and so we couldn't pull far ahead of the bastard. We seen him signal to his fleet, so he must've told them not to worry about us, 'cause we was hurt bad. The bastard probably didn't want to share any of the loot and glory.
"Lootenant Fielder said we could escape to this world here. That it was our only chance. So here we are, and that bastard of a Guldur vacuum sucker is right behind us, sir."
"Can Kestrel fight, Chips? Can she handle a boarding action?"
"Aye, maybe she can hold out for a little while. She could take a solid smack in the bows and it might just compress the Keel, but anythin' from the side is apt to crack that Keel the rest of the way. But how can we fight that bastard's guns? They swung one of those monsters up front, for a bow chaser, on the lower side, and what we saw would curl your hair. They was shootin' at us at ranges two times what our 12-pounders can do. How can you fight guns like that?"
"Chips, did they ever hit us?"
"Well, no sir. Except for a few that passed through our sails and our riggin'. One of those took out the sailin' master."
"I'm sorry to hear that. He was a good man. Our captain, first mate, marine lieutenant, sailing master and our bosun. The enemy has much to answer for. But do you see? Those guns are inaccurate as hell at long range, and slow as hell to load at close range." The old carpenter looked at him with hope smoldering in his eyes.
"Chips, an ancestor of mine, Herman Melville, wrote that, 'Mishaps are like knives that either serve us or cut us, as we grasp them by the handle or the blade.' By the Lady, we can do it. We can close with those bastards and board them! We shall grasp this dark deed by the handle and plunge it into the enemy's breast! We have no choice. To fight is our duty. Do you want to kill your Ship and rot below? Or do you want to avenge her?" A ragged cheer broke out among the surrounding sailors.
Melville didn't wait for an answer as the carpenter looked at him openmouthed, bewildered, amazed, and . . . hopeful. "Mr. Aquinar!" he shouted.
"Sir!"
"Get me the gunner, asap!"
"Aye, sir!"
The Kestrel had four warrant officer positions, each responsible for the operation, repair and maintenance of their portion of the Ship. The carpenter, Mr. Tibbits, was responsible for all the wooden parts of the Ship. The sailing master was responsible for all sails and rigging, but he was dead, and so was his senior NCO, the bosun. The gunnery warrant, Mr. Barlet, was responsible for her forty 12-pounders. The purser, Brother Petreckski, was responsible for the cargo and the holds. In order to get the Kestrel ready for combat Melville needed to get these section leaders and their personnel into action.
Melville's next priority was to get a quick exterior look at the damage to the lower half of the Ship. Wise-nose was specifically designed for maintenance tasks such as this. At the bow, stern and flanks of the cutter there were steps that permitted access directly to Flatland. Melville moved carefully as he lowered himself down to this level, since gravity and warmth increased as you got closer to Flatland.
At the upper levels of the rigging, gravity was around a quarter gee and it was uncomfortably chilly. At the crow's nest it went up to a half gee and cool. The constant cold at that height was why they used enclosed crow's nests instead of open fighting tops.
On the maindeck of the Ship it was about one gee, with warm and balmy temperatures. Right at the plain of Flatland, where Melville was, the Ship was hot, with around 1.5 gees, and you had to move with some caution.
Melville knelt on the platform, and dipped his head through the opaque blue plane of Flatland. From this position he could see the half of the Kestrel that was "below." Basically, the Ships of two-space were like two old-time sailing ships with everything below the waterline cut off, and then joined together at the "waterline" formed by Flatland. The end result was that you had two ships arranged so that one of them was "upside-down" to the other.
When he turned his head briefly, he could see that the cutter beside him was exactly the same on a smaller scale. Two equal sides, balanced above and below Flatland, except the cutter only had one small mast to a side.
Masts and sails had to be equally placed, above and below the vast plain of two-space. If the "balance" between the upper and lower part of a Ship got out of adjustment, the Ship could tip over. If an old-time sailing ship tipped over it sank into the deep blue sea. When a Ship in Flatland tipped too far it would also "sink," popping out of two-space and into the cold, hard vacuum of interstellar space.
As soon as Melville's head popped through, "down" became "up" for the portion of his body that was on the other side. All forces pushed him "down" from both sides into Flatland, that impossibly thin layer that represented the thickness of the entire galaxy.
From here it was as though his head was sticking out of water. He could see the two gaping holes where the enemy's cannonballs had punched through the gundeck, and down into the Keel. Hanging immediately above him were the constellations of the "lower" sky. Dominating all was the great pinwheel that sailors called the Andromeda Galaxy. Which Earth astronomers swore had nothing to do with the "real" Andromeda Galaxy.
After taking a quick look, Melville pulled himself back up to the deck of the cutter. There was one other entity that Melville needed to consult before he committed them to combat. Kestrel herself.
Hans and Broadax helped Melville pull himself up to the maindeck. He strode to the hatch, just for'ard of the mainmast, down the ladder (a land lubber would have called it a set of stairs, but aboard a ship, stairs are always called ladders), and through the upper gundeck. The warm yellow light given off by the Elbereth Moss guided him through the wrack and ruin of the shattered decks. He went down a second ladder to the upper hold.
Beside him, running fore and aft down the floor of this deck was the Keel, a round beam covered with pure white Elbereth Moss. Lovingly placed around the Keel were the crew's most delicate instruments. These were mostly the locks and barrels from many muskets and pistols. The cannon, muskets, and rifles that fired in two-space were somewhat protected by their "Keel charges," the small, modified version of the Ship's Keel, that provided the projectile force for the gun. But the gunpowder weapons used in three-space needed the protection provided by close proximity to the Ship's Keel whenever they were transported in two-space.
Beside the Keel they also stored some of the carpenter's equipment (much of which was now in use), some navigational equipment, a few carefully tended block-and-tackle, and some of the surgeon's instruments. Here, closest to the Keel, the corrosive effect of Flatland on technology was at its least. With daily maintenance these few pieces of crude three-space technology could continue to exist.
In slots in the deck, further out from the keel, the swords were stored. They were kept parallel to two-space, their blades essentially "floating" in that impossibly thin plane. The influence of Flatland worked to pull the blades "flat," atom by atom. The effect was that the edges of the blades were "drawn" into supernatural, almost monomolecular sharpness.
Melville could see where the Keel was mortally damaged by the impact of two great cannonballs fired at point-blank range. All around him men were working to shore up this vital area of the Ship.
At the foot of the ladder lay an open hatch surrounded on three sides by a ladder-like railing. This was the opening to the "lower" half of the Ship. Flatland couldn't be seen here, in the same way that the waterline is invisible from inside a ship. But the gravitational effect could be felt. If you eased feet-first through this hatch you'd sink halfway down. Half of your body would be pulled "down," while the other half, the half below Flatland, would be pushed "up." Like floating in water, with gravity pulling you down and buoyancy pulling you up. Except in this case it was gravity pushing from both directions.
Instead of easing in, Melville dove through the hatch, headfirst, like diving into water. His momentum carried him most of the way through, and he pulled himself out using the railing on that side. From here he could see the damage to the keel from the other side. It didn't look any better.
He knelt carefully in the 1.5 gees and grasped the shattered Keel shards in his hands. <<Kestrel?>>
<<C A P T A I N ?>> She replied with deep, slow, strong, ponderous thoughts.
<<Yes, I'm the captain now. Can you hold on long enough for us to fight them?>>
She was in pain, preoccupied and distracted. But she was the product of over a century of fellowship with human beings. Her sentience was her own. Her heritage was human. Communicating with her was sometimes ponderous, but she knew how to transfer complex concepts in a concise manner.
<< . . . F L A N D E R S . . . F I E L D S . . . >>
Melville understood immediately, and was rocked to his core by what she was saying. Aloud to the men around him, and to his Ship (his Ship, by God, for a little while it was his Ship), he replied:
"<<We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow . . .
Take up our quarrel with the foe!
To you from failing hands we throw!
The torch; be yours to hold it high!
If ye break faith with us who die!
We SHALL NOT SLEEP!>>"
Kestrel replied with a pulse of energy so powerful that it was felt by every crewman who was in contact with the Elbereth Moss that coated much of the Ship.
In that moment the young lieutenant became the avatar of his Ship. Kestrel's ancient voice tore his throat raw as the Ship replied. "<<Y E S ! !>>"
<<B U S Y N O W,>> the Ship concluded, and cut the connection. Melville slumped to the deck.
What had just occurred was remarkably rare. A Ship had cried out to her whole crew, sending a message of despair and anger, a request, an order, a demand for vengeance. No captain of a Ship ever had a greater mandate thrust upon him. The men around him looked stunned. The crew of the Kestrel might not want to seek what they thought was certain death, but trapped between the steely will of their Ship and the orders of their captain, they had no choice. They would obey.
With the help of Broadax and Hans, Melville staggered to his feet. He looked down at his hands, which were torn and bleeding from clutching the ragged shards of his Ship's soul. In a daze he began moving toward the ladder.
The gunner and his gunnery sergeant stood beside little Aquinar. "Mister Aquinar, find out where the captain's remains have been placed. Bring them, his hat and his jacket to the upper quarterdeck, immediately. Gentlemen, the rest of you come with me." Sergeant Broadax and Chief Petty Officer Hans were no gentlemen. They were NCOs. They grinned at each other with the superiority and confidence of career NCOs and began to saunter off in another direction. Melville stopped and turned to them. "That means you two as well. Broadax, you are promoted to lieutenant of marines. Hans, you are now the sailing master. You are now gentlemen . . . er . . . gentlefolk."
The two ex-NCOs were dumbstruck. Their confidence, poise, and security in life revolved around being noncommissioned officers. Under ordinary circumstances they would have rejected a commission. In fact, they'd both done so repeatedly, scorning officers, their manners and their airs. Because, as one old ex-sergeant once put it, "When it's all said and done in this old world, after everyone panics, there's got to be an NCO there to pour the piss out of the boot." But now, with their Ship's current plight, they couldn't say no, and the joke was on them.
Damn, Melville thought, it felt good to do that to them! There were times when it was good to be captain. He turned and dove back through the hatch and through the plain of Flatland, to the upper portion of the Ship. He strode up the steps of the ladder, two at a time, past the gundeck and onto the maindeck, followed by the others. They turned astern, through the waist, and up the short flight of stairs to the quarterdeck.
The helmsman was standing by the wheel with the old quartermaster keeping careful watch over him. Lady Elphinstone, Mr. Tibbits, and Midshipmen Crater and Archer joined them on the upper quarterdeck. Crater reported. "Sir, all the wounded have been evacuated onto Broadax's World."
"Very good, thank you, Mr. Crater." Melville now stood on the quarterdeck as captain of his Ship. Lieutenant Fielder, the two rangers, and Brother Petreckski came to join them. Fielder looked angry, but given the Ship's mandate, it was clear that he wouldn't confront Melville's authority at this time.
Aquinar stood at the foot of the ladder with their captain's remains. A bloody bundle wrapped in sailcloth. So little of the body remained that a boy could hold it in his arms. Atop the bundle rested the captain's second best blue jacket and gold braided hat. He'd been wearing his best uniform when he was blown to smithereens. Every eye was on the boy and the bundle.
As Melville looked on his murdered captain's remains, words came to mind.
I've lived a life of sturt and strife;
I die by treachery;
It burns my heart that I must depart
And not avenged be . . .
May coward shame disdain his name,
The wretch that dares not die.
He didn't speak these words to the crew; they applied only to him. It was he who must "dare to die." For them all. It was he who would have "coward shame disdain his name," if he did not.
These words rang in his mind as he stood at the rail of the quarterdeck. His officers behind him, much of his crew before him. They looked at him with a frightening mixture of fear, dread, reproach, and hope. Melville understood that most of them believed he was taking them to their death.
It would be so very easy to bow to the desires of these men. It would be an enormous relief to escape to the world below with these shipmates whom he'd come to know and love. Even if his plan succeeded, many of them would die. If it didn't succeed, then probably all of them would die.
It was hard. So very hard. Truly he was, "One nameless, tattered, broken man." Who was he to send these men to their deaths? Who was he to lead this mighty Ship into battle? To be a good leader you must love your men. To do your duty meant you might have to kill that which you loved. In the end, duty was a harsh mistress.
His men stood waiting for him to say something. He didn't disappoint them. "Mr. Aquinar, place the captain's remains atop the ladder." Every eye moved to the bloody bundle.
Melville looked over his shoulder at Petreckski questioningly. The purser had served nobly once before. Did he have Words for the crew in this dark hour? His look asked the purser, but it was the purser's alter ego, Brother Theo the monk, who nodded calmly back. Being assured of the answer ahead of time, Melville formally asked. "Brother Theo, would you say Words for us, our murdered captain, and our fallen comrades?"
Petreckski nodded and stepped forward to the railing. Then he spoke to the crew, once again leading them in Words. In an ancient hymn that tapped deep into the roots, the common heritage of these men. A hymn that reminded them of dark days in eons past, and the Judeo-Christian ethos and the spiritual collective consciousness that had overcome and transcended such sad, dark times.
Once again Brother Theo began, in his clear, pure tenor, and the men joined in.
"Soft as the voice of an angel,
Breathing a lesson unheard,
Hope with a gentle persuasion
Whispers her comforting word:
'Wait till the darkness is over,
Wait till the tempest is done,
Hope for the sunshine tomorrow,
After the shower is gone.'
"Whispering hope, oh how welcome thy voice,
Making my heart in its sorrow rejoice.
"If, in the dusk of the twilight,
Dim be the region afar,
Will not the deepening darkness
Brighten the glimmering star?
Then when the night is upon us,
Why should the heart sink away?
When the dark midnight is over,
Watch for the breaking of day.
"Whispering hope, oh how welcome thy voice,
Making my heart in its sorrow rejoice."
That was it. The funeral service for their fallen, the prayer for their success. Now it was Melville's turn to speak. To speak for their murdered captain, for their Ship, and for himself. He looked his men in the eye and paced the rail as he said,
"Oh yesterday our little troop was ridden through and through,
Our swaying, tattered pennons fled,
a broken, beaten few,
And all a summer afternoon they hunted us and slew;
But to-morrow,
By the living God, we'll try the game again!"
Then the young captain gave his orders, and hundreds of men swung into action. Kestrel was going forth to die.