“Certainly,” said Melville, pleased at his first mate’s interest. “It’s an old Colt. It’s been in my family for centuries,” he said as he handed it over, “and the Keel charge seems to be extra smart, like a wise old hound dog, except this dog never really grows old, he just gets better. The two of us have bonded pretty nicely.”
Fielder squeezed off both barrels, <
“Sweet. Truly a sweet little pistol. Pretty intense little fellow too. I think I’ll pick out one of the ship’s pistols and make it my own, maybe pass it down through the generations.”
“That’s an excellent idea. Some of the ship’s pistols are over a hundred years old, but they have never really bonded with anyone for long. It would be good to have a weapon that you’re really comfortable with to use in two-space, just like you’re comfortable with a .45 auto in three-space.”
“Aye,” Fielder replied with a grin, sitting down at the table and taking a cup of coffee from the steward as he bustled in. “There’s another way that a handgun is better than a woman. You can have one handgun at home and another for the road,” he said, grinning. “Mind if I try it again?”
“Certainly, be my guest,” Melville replied as he passed a small pouch of bullets to the first officer.
“And there’s one more advantage to a handgun,” said Fielder as he loaded the pistol. “If you admire a friend’s handgun and tell him so, he’ll be pleased and let you try a few rounds with it.”
Melville added, “And, a handgun doesn’t take up a lot of closet space.”
“That’s the spirit, sir. I just wish I could convince old Hans of that,” he said with what appeared to be a very sincere shudder.
“Oh. You heard about Hans’ . . . girlfriend?”
“Aye. Oh, aye, sir. As Grandma BenGurata told me,
“Don’t sweat the petty things,
and don’t pet the sweaty things.”
“Well,” said Melville, searching for something appropriate to say, “what would we be without love?”
“Rare? Perhaps extinct?”
There was an awkward moment of silence as they considered each other. They were two very different men who had been tempered in battle and made old beyond their years. Yet in some ways they were strangely immature for men of their experience and position in life. If they weren’t, they wouldn’t be here. The truly mature man, the prudent man wouldn’t be found sailing the galaxy in a fragile wooden vessel. Some men will remain forever young in their dreams and ambitions.
Melville decided to cut to the chase, and put it clearly and bluntly to Fielder as the first officer loaded the pistol. “Daniel, you have a choice. You can leave right now and possibly have a normal career, with hope of a command. Although just being associated with this ship may be an undying blot on your record. Or, you can continue to serve as first mate with me. They have officially blessed me as captain of this Ship, and I have the authority to offer you a permanent position as first mate, locked into this Ship, damned and cursed by the Admiralty for all eternity. Or until they change their minds.”
Fielder scowled, sighted the pistol, and fired two shots, <
Then he replied, setting the pistol on the table as the target spun, “Frankly . . . if I may speak frankly, sir?” Melville nodded and Fielder continued, “Frankly, sir, I think you’re one wave short of a shipwreck. The contact you’ve had with these alien minds—the Ship and the 24-pounders—it’s changed you. I’m not at all sure how it’s going to turn out. And,” he added cautiously, “—again, no offense intended—you were never wrapped too tight in the first place. The end result appears to be a weird mix of brilliance, paranoia, and murderous ferocity all in the same person. But your brilliance and paranoia has kept us alive, and your ferocity is focused solely on the enemy.”
His scowl disappeared, and he continued, thoughtfully, “So I think I’ll follow you. Perhaps out of self interest. Perhaps out of idle curiosity,” he added with a microscopic, sardonic grin that took some of the bitterness out. “For whatever reason, I’ll stay if you’ll have me. My question is, though, why would you want me? Why not be rid of me while you have the chance?”
“I guess you’re my anchor, Daniel. I feel myself slipping . . . away, sometimes, a little. You, Broadax, Hans, Elphinstone, and all the rest are my anchors, my link to humanity. We may not always like each other, but we do balance each other out. We have become bonded in battle, and only that forge is hot enough to do such work.”
“I look at it like this,” Fielder said, looking off into the distance reflectively as he loaded the pistol. “Every man is the ‘hero’ in his own ‘novel.’ In war there are a thousand ‘novels,’ no, ten thousand, a hundred thousand, that all turn into sad little unpublished short stories. Many end with the early, obscure, pointless death of the ‘hero.’ That’s the reality of life. I was lucky enough to play a part in a story where the hero overcame long odds. If I were the senior officer we’d all have died. But you were in command, and we lived. And so I choose to finish the book. I choose to follow you. You’re good with poetry, sir. But two can play that game, and I think I found one that applies here.” Then he continued, with his usual sardonic smile,
“I have been given my charge to keep—
Well have I kept the same!
Playing with strife for the most of my life,
But this is a different game.
I’ll not fight against swords unseen,
Or spears that I cannot view—
Hand him the keys of the place on your knees—
‘Tis the Dreamer whose dreams come true!
“Ask him his terms and accept them at once.
Quick, ere we anger him, go!
Never before have I flinched from the guns,
But this is a different show.
I’ll not fight with the Herald of God.
(I know what his Master can do!)
Open the gate, he must enter in state,
‘Tis the Dreamer whose dreams come true!
“I’d not give way for an Emperor,
I’d hold my road for a King—
To the Triple Crown I would not bow down—
But this is a different thing.
I’ll not fight with the Powers of Air,
Sentry pass him through!
Drawbridge let fall, ’tis the Lord of us all,
The Dreamer whose dreams come true!”
* * *
Melville laughed in sheer delight to hear Fielder wield poetry on him. The first officer was, as usual, half mocking and half flattering, and always clever.
“We are destined to the back of beyond,” Fielder continued, “where there is no possible duty but mail delivery and a lifetime of carrying borderline cargos. But I will follow. We may have a long dull life in front of us, but at least we have a life, and the story will continue. I’ve always hated short stories, and I’ve always had a soft spot for a good series.”
And it will get you away from that crazy Sylvan ex-girlfriend of yours, thought Melville with a knowing smile. “Daniel, we are headed out to the frontier,” he said, leaning forward intently. “The frontier. The wildest, most unknown, exotic part of the galaxy. We will find adventure and glory there!”
“Damn. I was afraid of that.”
There, there was that grin again.
After Fielder left, Melville sat in his cabin, looking out the stern windows at the wonder of Flatland spreading out before him and the brilliant, vivid stars strewn above him. He had one hand on his dog, scratching behind its ear, and one hand on the white, Moss-coated bulkhead, faintly in commo with his ship. His monkey and his dog’s monkey were in the corner chittering to each other and assiduously hunting down some poor, tormented vermin.
He shook his head in wonder, still thinking about Hans and Broadax. To each his own, he thought. The contented panting of his dog blended into his mind, echoing in perfect harmony with the contentment he felt coming from his ship. To each his own. As for me . . .
I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a gray mist on the sea’s face and a gray dawn breaking.
I must down to the sea again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that must not be denied;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,