Two Space War Part 19

To Broadax's right was Petreckski in a clean brown robe, then the gunner, followed by the carpenter. The two rangers in soft, beaded buckskins completed the party. These were all old hands at such dinners and they kept the conversation, the alcohol, and the food flowing freely.

Each of them had a servant standing behind them. The table was set with a gleaming sea of Guldur silver service that they'd found on board, all polished to a brilliant l.u.s.ter by Melville's steward, McAndrews, who now stood contentedly behind his captain. The service was only silver plate, of very little real value, but it added significantly to the pleasure of the evening.

It was a large party for so small a cabin, but with the table set athwarts.h.i.+ps and the two 12-pounders trundled into the captain's office and sleeping cabin, it could be done. To Melville's left were the windows looking out on the vast blue expanse of Flatland with the s.h.i.+mmering galaxies hanging above. On the other three sides were white, Moss-coated bulkheads. Immediately behind Melville the bulkhead was adorned with a star-shaped array of quite utilitarian pistols and swords. At the opposite end was a bookshelf. To his right was the doorway, flanked by a coat rack and a chart locker.

The meal was that odd mixture so common in military life. Elegance mixed with mundane necessity. In this case it was Vodi's gourmet thrice cooked javelina brains, "or-a-reasonable-facsimile-thereof," combined with ancient s.h.i.+p's provisions. The whole affair was enlivened by Vodi's amiable commentary as she brought each dish to table.

"Now, gentlefolk," she said as she brought the soup in, for once without her chaw of tobacco, "I'm not all that much of a reader, but I do read everything I can about food and cooking. Captain Aubrey's biographer once referred to a similar meal. 'This liquid is technically known as soup,' as he put it. May I ladle you out one full medical dose? 'It is pleasant enough to see the remnants of peas so aged and worn that even the weevils scorned them and died at their side, so that now we have both predator and prey to nourish us.' " This was especially humorous since it was a fairly accurate description of the daily fare provided for them by the s.h.i.+p's cook. However, in this case the weevils did appear to have been a.s.siduously separated out and replaced with a most pleasant mlange of spices. "What is pleasanter still, is to see the infamous brew spooned from this gleaming great silver tureen, the gift of the previous residents of our humble abode. We are informed that 'however poor you area"and n.o.body could be much poorer in reality than sailors in a s.h.i.+p without any storesa"what crusts you may sc.r.a.pe together eat with more relish in handsome silver.' " And indeed it was true.

"Next, gentlefolk, we have a truly villainous piece of mystery meat, that has traveled the galaxy in its time, growing steadily more h.o.r.n.y and wooden as the years went by. But we shall eat it without concern, for we have all grown and thrived on worse."

Finally came the pice de rsistance, accompanied by Vodi's own family history. "An ancient family recipe tells us the background of this dish. Family tradition has it that one of my ancestors actually included this in a book called The Contented Poacher's Epicurean Odyssey. Great-great, many-times-great-gramma Vodi, maysherestinpeace, tells the true tale about the hunting of one particular wild pig. A very large and dangerous creature indeed, nicknamed 'Major' who was in the habit of ordering people the h.e.l.l out of his domain. Apparently, the sacred honor of the Great Apes was in eternal jeopardy if they could be bested by a pig. One fine hot and misty morning five guys and seven dogs set out to bring Major down. But there's many a slip twixt dress and drawers, as Gramma used to say. Some time after the fight started in earnest, the survivors straggled out to tell their story. One man lost his leg, another his life!" Here you could see her mouth twitch as she yearned for a chaw of tobacco to spit for emphasis at this point.

"They had shot him once for each of the dogs he gutted and flung into the bushes and once again for the fella whose leg he ripped to the bone. The guy with the ripped leg and the three other survivors waited in the trees until Major bled to death on the ground. The moral of the story seems to be something along the lines of 'I am not now, nor was I ever that hungry, and if chicken's for dinner I'll take chicken and be glad of it!' Me, I'm glad to have so many excellent javelina brains provided at someone else's expense."

At the end of an excellent meal combined with quality commentary and conversation, the cloth was drawn and the wine bottle made its rounds, along with a plate of s.h.i.+p's biscuits. Melville automatically tapped the biscuit on the table causing a few weevils to race out and hide, peering out from under his plate. For centuries sailors have stoically put up with creatures in their biscuits, and the s.h.i.+ps of Flatland were no different.

Usually the weevils elicited no comment, they were just a part of s.h.i.+pboard life. But in this case Melville brought it to the attention of his purser and surgeon, both of whom were fairly new to navy life. "Doctor, Brother Theo," he began, catching their attention, "have either of you ever been instructed in the naval protocol for the selection of weevils?"

Both of his guests looked somewhat confused, and the other sailors sat back with antic.i.p.ation and pleased smiles on their faces. "No, Captain," said the monk. "There are so many nautical concepts and rules that I have yet to learn, and I fear that this one hasn't been brought to my attention. Doctor, do you know of which our good Captain speaks?"

"Nay, sir," replied Elphinstone with an enchanting smile. "Pray, tell us."

"Well," said Melville, "of these two here, trying to hide under my plate, which would you be inclined to choose?"

"I would guess the larger," replied Brother Theo, "or perhaps the faster, or perhaps the only good one is a dead one?"

"All excellent guesses, but the truth is my friends, that in the navy you must always select the lesser of two weevils."

The guests laughed appreciatively, but the sailors laughed with even more delight. It was an old, old joke, come alive and afresh each time it was inflicted on the uninitiated, establis.h.i.+ng the kind of heritage and tradition that they deeply valued.

Eventually their talk turned to one of the oldest of all subjects in the navy: the mystery and wonder of Flatland. Several discussions were flowing freely back and forth when a conversation between Petreckski and Valandil caught the attention of the group. Petreckski was speaking of the nature of the Keel. "A mechanism that provides entry into two-s.p.a.ce, with a side effect of heat, that would almost be what you expect."

"Yes, and what of the gravity?" asked the Sylvan ranger as he leaned back in his chair.

"That probably comes from Flatland, representing the gravitational pull of the galaxy. Which is also what you might expect. All of this is acceptable to the rational mind. But a life-form that just happens to provide light and air? Light and air tailored precisely to our needs? It defies imagination, sir. It is just too much. So bizarre that we had to 'invent,' or anthropomorphize some G.o.dlike creature to create it. They say that Lady Elbereth gave it to us as a 'gift,' just as the ignorant Greek peasants could only understand the sun as a chariot in the sky brought to us every day by a G.o.d. No, the Elbereth Moss is too much to ask a reasonable person to accept."

"And so?" asked Elphinstone with keen interest.

"So, my lady, we've proven that it doesn't and cannot exist."

This was greeted with wry grins, groans and expressions of polite disgust.

"Or!" continued the monk with a grin on his cherubic face, "it is intentional. A symbiotic life-form. It's alive, and intentionally adapting to us, just as we adapt to it. The reason why it's exactly what we need is because that is what we need. A sentient life-form is trying to provide, to the best of its ability, just what we could have wished for."

"Now that really does defy imagination!" interjected Mr. Barlet with a raised eyebrow and a friendly grin on his ebon face.

"Does it, my worthy Master Gunner?" replied the monk, returning the smile. "Does it indeed? We live, we've found it. It lives, and it has found us. That's what life does. It finds what it requires for existence. Furthermore this theory explains one other mystery. Why is the s.h.i.+p sentient? Perhaps it's a colony, a vast colony of life- forms, working together to give us what we need. When the captain or the carpenter 'talks' to the s.h.i.+p, he isn't talking to a creature, he's talking to a whole vast nation. Or, perhaps, to the elected representatives of that vast nation."

"Aye," said their carpenter. This was his area of expertise, and he warmed to it. "It has been proposed before. That would explain why the larger the amount of moss the more intelligent it is . . . and the slower it is. The little bit on a rifle or pistol's Keel barely musters a purr, like a tribble. While the cannon is like a dog. The cutters are like children and the s.h.i.+p, why the s.h.i.+p is every bit as intelligent as us, yet slow and ponderous in her thinking."

"Could that 'life-form' be what caused the Crash?" asked Crater.

"That's the dominant theory," the monk replied. "The reason why the Elder King's Gift was able to destroy Earth's Info-Net was because the 'virus' was two dimensional. Inside the computer world it could exist, even thrive, in three-s.p.a.cea"as a living body makes it possible for a virus to survive and thrive. It got into the computer brought into two-s.p.a.ce by the first explorers. They brought it home and it reproduced exponentially, destroying everything in its reach. Brought into three-s.p.a.ce, this two-s.p.a.ce life-form became a parasite or a virus when it found a suitable environment. Like any deadly virus, as it destroyed its host, it also destroyed its habitat. In the end, both the virus and the host no longer exist."

"But," said Melville, intrigued by the direction the conversation was taking, "in nature a virus continues to exist because it can move on to other hosts. It's communicable."

"Yes, sir, but who says this virus isn't communicable? Most other civilizations that have entered two-s.p.a.ce report having similar experiences. 'Spores' of the virus appear to be out in two-s.p.a.ce. If you're foolish enough to bring a computer into two-s.p.a.ce, and then bring it back home and connect it to a network, it will do what any virus does. Reproduce, live, thrive in one great blaze of glory, and then die, pulling its host down with it."

"Okay," said Melville, "back to the Elbereth Moss. What could be the purpose of the 'symbiosis' with us? What do we give to it?"

"Perhaps travel?" interjected Elphinstone. "As a c.o.c.klebur would attach itself to a dog, to be transported and planted miles away?"

With a grin Melville added, "Or a flea, or . . . maybe a bedbug. An anonymous ditty comes to mind: "The June bug hath a gaudy wing,

The lightning bug a flame,

The bed bug hath no wings at all

But he gets there just the same."

There were appreciative grins and chuckles all around, then Elphinstone continued. "So, it could get transportation. Or, like a flea, or bedbug, it might get sustenance from us. Perhaps it gets companions.h.i.+p, as thou wouldst get from a dog or a cat. Maybe it gets shared information and knowledge, like a fellow sentient species might give to us. There are four viable options. Mindless transport, sustenance, friendly companions.h.i.+p, and equal partners.h.i.+p. Or possibly some combination thereof. Or something completely different."

"Indeed," said Petreckski. "On Old Earth there is something called a slime mold. It exists as individual cells when it's in a favorable environment. Yet when things start to go bad, some of them put out a chemical signal, which is picked up by the others. They group together and form a multicellular animal, a worm of sorts, which crawls out of the drying slime, up to the highest point around. It grows a stalk on top, which forms a bulb of spores that launch themselves into the wind, in search of a better home. Our 'moss' might have a similar lifestyle, traveling from planet to planet in two-s.p.a.ce. Given enough time, it seems to have developed into an intelligent creature."

"Aye," said Melville as he handed a tidbit up to his monkey. "An intelligent creature that has become our friend and companion. If some superior alien species should ever judge us, perhaps we have this to our credit, that we could become friends with something so very strange. The bottle stands by you, Mr. Crater."

As the wine bottle came round to Melville, he made a formal cough and said, "Mr. Fielder, the Queen."

"Ladies and Gentlemen," said Fielder, "the Queen of Westerness," and they all drank deeply.

Valandil added, "Sisters, brothers, the King of Osgil," and they drank again.

"Aye," added Melville, "G.o.d bless them both. And may I propose a toast to our fallen comrades, and to the good s.h.i.+p Kestrel, which although gone, still lives on.

"Bind her, grind her, burn her with fire,

Cast her ashes into the sea, a"

She shall escape, she shall aspire,

She shall arise to make men free;

She shall arise in a sacred scorn,

Lighting lives that are yet unborn."

"Well said, sir," replied Lady Elphinstone, turning to Melville when she'd done her loyal duty to both rulers and Kestrel. "That was a delightful dinner, but before we go, wouldst thou permit me to give a toast? To the dear Fang, and may she long continue to bite the queen's enemies."

"Hear her, hear her," said one and all, as they drank. Then, led by Melville's spontaneous act, they all splashed a dollop of wine onto the deck of their s.h.i.+p. To their amazement it quickly disappeared, like blood soaked up by the Elbereth Moss.

Chapter the 9th.

Forging a Weapon:

Beat Out the Iron, Edge It Keen

O dreadful Forge! if torn and bruised

The heart, more urgent comes our cry

Not to be spared but to be used,

Brain, sinew, and spirit, before we die,

Beat out the iron, edge it keen,

And shape us to the end we mean!