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CHAPTER THE 11TH
Liberty: "Went Downtown Just to Ease My Pain"

 
I went downtown, it was just to ease my pain
I ended up out walkin' in the rain
 
I took my pistol and a hundred dollar bill
I had everything I needed to get me killed

"South Nashville Blues"
Steve Earle

 

The next stop on their agenda was a planet called Show Low, which had recently been selected as the capital for a new territorial sector. Demonstrating a singular but common dearth of imagination, the sector had subsequently been designated the Show Low Sector.

As they approached Show Low's Pier, old Hans and Midshipman Hayl were once again up in the crosstrees.

"That's the mighty Weber and the redoubtable Ringo!" said young Hayl, correctly identifying the two frigates docked at the Pier.

 

"Aye, lad," replied Hans. "Two o' the greatest Ships ever ta set sail. I can tell ya been studyin'. Theys lots less Ships here than Earthport, as you'd expect. But what's the significance o' these two?"

"Together with the Drake and some other Ships a little more loosely affiliated, they form the core of what's often called the Baen Fleet," said the little middie, eager to show off his knowledge. "They were assigned to the 'near frontier' immediately upon commissioning, and have been working the most profitable of the well developed frontier worlds ever since. As opposed to the Ships we saw at Earthport, which were mostly working the developed worlds, and the Sylvan and Dwarrowdelf runs."

"Well done, lad!"

"Do you want to know their boats?" Hayl asked eagerly, since he had the answers on the tip of his tongue.

"No, lad. That one's too easy fer ya! I'll try never to give ya a question I knows ya know the answer to. Them Ships' are both loaded up and ready to head out, which will make us the cock-o'-the walk here. So tell me what they's loaded with? What's their cargo, lad, where do they come from, an what cargo did they bring from those worlds?

"Cargo?" squeaked the middie in dismay. "How would anyone know that?"

"A veteran ossifer could make a pretty good guess. And a good Ship's ossifer would make it his job to find out! What's sellin'? What's good to get from each port? Tha's yer job now, lad. Knowin' that kind of info is key to the success of yer Ship! And it ain't just the purser's job. By the Lady, it's ever'body's job! So find out, an' brief me on it, asap."

"Aye, sir," replied the middie. He gazed out on the bustling Pier with a look of dismay. Then with a visible effort he took on an aspect of dogged determination that made the old Sailing Master laugh. The boy's a right plucked one all right! thought Hans. He'll do. He'll do jist fine.

 

Show Low. From the name you would expect that it was a planet run by gamblers, a casino world. A whole world named after a game of poker! Instead, the world had started as a farming paradise, with a climate and soil that made attractive and bountiful propositions of both farming and ranching.

So this colony, by virtue of its ability to resupply the Westerness Navy's two-space fleets, as well as its attractive location on the Rim, made it an excellent hub for travel up and down the western edge of the spiral arm, and an ideal launch point for expeditions across the Far Rift. This created more and more trade, bringing increasing quantities of money, business, and lawlessness to the capital city of Lowball.

While there were casinos by the score in Lowball, there were also restaurants, theaters, bars, taverns, and sporting events. And, of course, there were establishments euphemistically referred to as "sporting houses" where ladies of negotiable virtue could be found.

Thus, the Fangs finally had an opportunity to sink into the fleshpots of a major port and seek wine, women, and song. But not necessarily in that order. Wine and song the Fangs had been enjoying in moderation on a daily basis. And women were periodically available during the Dance on many of the worlds they had visited. But Lowball provided an environment that combined great quantities of wine and song with an endless supply of willing, attractive young women. At least it was an "endless supply" until their money ran out.

In other words, Lowball had all the basic ingredients for a port call where a crew with prize money to burn could relax and cut loose. But it was also infamous for its lawlessness and violence. The spirit of the endeavor was communicated by an old ballad sung by one sailor as he staggered back aboard Ship:

 
"Oh, I've traded tomorrow for today.
But goin' up was worth comin' down!
 
Yeah I had lots of money
Which I spent,
Like it was goin' out of style!
Now I'm content!
Wearin' my memories like a smile.
 
"Yeah, I've traded tomorrow for today.
But goin' up was worth comin' down!"
 

After a few days of hard work, the officers also were given the chance to take shore leave.

"Clothes make the man," said Fielder, admiring his perfectly tailored uniform as the Ship's officers met in the wardroom prior to departing the Ship. "Naked people have little or no impact on society."

"Beauty's only skin deep," growled Broadax in reply, "but ugly goes all da way to da bone."

"So, when we get off the Ship would you like for me to call you a cab, or should I just whistle and have the flying monkeys bring you your broom?" Fielder's monkey eeked at the jest, and reached down to straighten his lapel.

Broadax growled briefly and chewed on her stogie, but her heart just wasn't in it. "I've got plans fer this liberty, I do!" She laughed gleefully as her monkey puffed out a toxic cloud to equal hers. "We got da best damned cook in the Navy. Nobudy on any o' these pitiful li'l planets can't match Jones' cookin'. Nope. But beer! Lager, stout an' all their li'l brothers are jist callin' fer a girl 'at knows how ta treat 'em. An' then I gots me a few udder plans, I do!"

She glanced over at Hans, and gave a girlish giggle that sounded like gravel being crunched underfoot, winking in what she obviously believed was a sly manner. The old salt gave her a goofy grin, and then spat through the open port in unison with his monkey. Everyone in the wardroom tried simultaneously to pretend they hadn't noticed the byplay and to erase the thought of Hans and Broadax having "plans" together.

Fielder suppressed a shudder and shook his head. "Well, personally, I plan on finding the finest restaurant in town, and getting around the biggest, freshest, tenderest steak that money can buy, followed by an equally fresh and tender young lady!"

"I didn't know you knew anyone on Show Low, Daniel," Asquith replied confusedly. "Is this one of those Navy things, a girl in every port and all that?"

"More like a port in ever' girl!" cackled old Hans.

Brother Theo shook his head and replied, "Well, Cuthbert, I think it's more in the nature of Lt. Fielder making acquaintance with a young lady of negotiable virtue, if you catch my drift. Not the sort of friends I could hope he makes, you understand, but perhaps this is where he will see the error of his wayward ways!"

As Fielder started to retort, Gunny Von Rito stuck his bald head in the wardroom. "Excuse me, sirs. Ma'am," he added, nodding to Broadax. "Cap'n said to remind you to report to the armory in the Westerness governor's compound first. The Marines are gonna fit us out from the 'emergency supplies.'"

Then the gunny looked at Broadax and added with a grin, "And, Lieutenant, they say they've got somethin' even a Dwarrowdelf can do some good with! So cap'n said you need to go too!"

Broadax growled as she stroked the ax strapped to her chest. Her monkey gave a derisive "Eek!" as it looked over the top of her head to meet her eye to eye, then eeked again and yanked its head down tight to its torso. Apparently even her monkey wasn't immune to the glare from an angry Dwarrowdelf.

Fielder nodded. "Gunny, how about the sailors? Is there sufficient stock of .45s for the men who are pistol qualified?"

Von Rito nodded. "Aye, sir. The petty officers and sergeants have all made sure the men are buddied up with our people who are qualified and carrying .45s, and everybody's got their knife with 'em too. The marines here say they got plenty of emergency supplies an' they're making sure we know what's what here. I guess this can be a pretty rough port call, and the local boys don't want to have to be pulling nobody's chestnuts out of the fire. If you know what I mean, sir?"

 

Show Low's marine armory was a surprise. Melville and his officers had expected the standard armory: a small room or building designed to withstand almost anything man or nature could throw against it, with a selection of firearms and sharp pointy objects to thrill the heart of any warrior.

"It's a damned warehouse," breathed Fielder in awe.

Their expectations were right in one way—it was a blockhouse, solidly built, and well-lit by gaslights and skylights. In every other way, it far exceeded their expectations.

"Aye," Melville agreed, looking around at the neatly arranged crates stacked up to the ceiling. "I would say that the marines here have had time to build up their supply."

"You know, Captain," said Brother Theo as he gazed around and fingered the crates with a professional eye, "the Roman legions of ancient Earth ran workshops which manufactured most of their weapons. One papyrus of the second or third century A.D. from Egypt shows small groups of men working in the workshop of the Second Legion, Traiana, on a whole range of weapons including bows, shields, broadswords and catapults. Somehow I imagine it must have felt a lot like this."

The monk's pontification was interrupted by a big marine officer in working uniform, who walked up and saluted Melville.

A navy captain was considerably higher in rank than a marine captain, but Melville was not a captain. By courtesy he was referred to as "captain" aboard his Ship, but he wore the one epaulet of a lieutenant on his right shoulder, indicating that he was a lieutenant in command of a Ship. Thus there was no real requirement for a marine captain to salute him. But there was something about this salute that said it came from the heart, and Melville returned the salute with a flush of pleasure. It felt good to have the respect of fellow warriors like this.

"Captain Melville, I'm Captain Muhn Koluvitz," said the big marine, "commanding the Westerness governor's marine forces here. Welcome to Show Low. The sector's crown governor, Sir Geoffery Chudloss, asked me to extend his warmest welcome to you and your officers." He paused and waved a hand at the warehouse. "As you can see, my marines have had time and resources to prepare a stockpile of emergency supplies for future use, and some of my boys have proven themselves to be quite skillful. And the governor agreed that it would be useful for you to be properly equipped for your visit here." He chuckled. "Although our idea of proper equipage might be different from that of the Admiralty's!"

Melville cocked an eyebrow at him in inquiry. "How so, Captain? I would think that we were a bit below the Admiralty's notice out here."

"To be honest, sir, I would have thought so too. Governor Chudloss and I had a little heart-to-heart chat a few days ago. A heart-to-heart with the governor isn't something a lowly marine really hankers after, if you know my meaning." He shuddered slightly, with a grin.

Broadax snickered and her monkey eeked along with her. "I think wat yer sayin', Cap'n, is ye ain't real keen on comin' ta the attention of the politicians and boo-ree-crats that done infested da higher regions o' our fine milit'ry org'nization, eh?"

Captain Koluvitz replied thoughtfully, "Well, Lieutenant, coming to their attention doesn't bother me near as much as what their attention on you and your Ship does to my sensibilities. Captain Melville, the governor asked me to pass on an informal message from him, in two parts. Would you like to hear it here with your officers, or in private?"

"Right here will be fine," said Melville.

"I get the feeling," scowled Fielder, "that we're persona non grata again, and the governor isn't going to be seeing us any time soon."

Captain Koluvitz replied with a sigh, "You are right, and wrong, but probably not for the reasons you think. The first part of the message is that the governor has received a letter from the Secretary for Colonization which passed on a request from the Admiralty. Taking out all the flowery parts, it basically says we are to expedite your arrival and departure, with emphasis on the departure, with a subtly worded hint that interaction with you would not be a 'good thing.' However, through private channels, the governor has also received a copy of the formal declaration of support from the King of Osgil, the Stolsh Ambassador to Osgil, and the Dwarrowdelf Ambassador to Osgil."

Then the marine captain added, "Oh, and did I mention the governor also knew the late, unlamented, Sir Percival Incessant, the former Westerness Ambassador to Osgil? I won't bore you with his feelings for Sir Percy, which are apparently shared by many others, but being an enemy of Sir Percy has definitely made some friends for you."

He smiled openly as he continued. "In any case, the governor will certainly comply with the Admiralty's guidance in this matter. However, in light of the repairs and refit necessary for your Ship (which he noted he has not yet received the request for) the governor has found it acceptable to grant your request for shore leave and liberty for your crew. And while the governor shall not receive you, Sir Geoffery Chudloss, in his private capacity, is hoping you will honor him with your presence at dinner tonight. Those of your wardroom who are able to attend are also invited. This includes your monkeys as well, since he's heard of them and is interested in meeting them."

Melville and his officers grinned in response to this, while their monkeys lifted their heads high and eeked happily.

"Is it true that the baby monkeys appear from nowhere? If your monkey is killed, a new one appears that has the same personality and memories as your first monkey? And if their master dies they just disappear?" asked Koluvitz, eyeing the little creatures in wonder.

"Aye," said Melville with a shrug. "And the little buggers can do some amazing things for you in a battle. Just try not to think about it too hard, it'll only give you a headache. And the second part of Sir Geoffery's message, Captain?"

The big marine captain sobered quickly, but the merriment in his eyes didn't stay away for long. "Watch your back, sir. Watch your back. Show Low is a dangerous, lawless place at the best of times. Sir Geoffery was sent to do some housecleaning here, but he's just getting started. Every criminal and gunslinger in the sector has been hanging out on this planet. They're all here. You name it, we've got it. Rustlers, cutthroats, murderers, bounty hunters, desperadoes and mugs, pugs, thugs, nitwits, half-wits, dimwits, vipers, snipers, con men, aliens, alien agents, muggers, buggerers, bushwhackers, hornswagglers, horse thieves, bull doggers, train robbers, bank robbers, ass kickers, cow punchers, and Methodists!"

"Damn," said Melville. "Could you repeat that?"

"Hmph," grunted Fielder scornfully. "With all due respect, I think you've both been watching too many Old Earth westerns."

"So," continued Koluvitz with a wink, "it is best to always watch your 'six' on Show Low. But in your case there are some strong rumors floating around. We haven't been able to track them down, which is another reason that the marines are making sure you are properly fitted out for the current fashion in evening wear." He grinned again. "Wholly on our own authority, as standard SOP, mind you."

Melville nodded. "We are truly in your debt."

"Think nothing of it, sir. The industrial base here is strong enough that our initial sales of .45s to law enforcement types and rangers brought in enough to purchase a steam engine. With the steam engine and a few metal bits which had been enhanced in two-space we were able to improve our capacity, which let us build our own nitrocellulose plant. In other words, we ended up building our own firearms and ammunition plant."

He looked embarrassed. "In all honesty, it was unintentional overkill. The men were under utilized and the project just took on a life of its own, so we expanded out and built the warehouse and firing ranges. Overall, though, not too bad for a short company!" He gazed around proudly as he escorted them to the armory's office.

Brother Theo coughed politely. When that didn't attract the big marine officer's attention, his monkey eeped loudly which quickly caught their host's attention.

"Your pardon, Captain, but what do you do with this abundance of 'emergency supplies'?" Brother Theo asked curiously.

Captain Koluvitz walked back to him, looking at the monkey curiously. He replied absently, "Not much, Padre, mostly clean and maintain them, and shoot them—a lot!" He chuckled, sharing his joy at having an almost unlimited supply of warrior toys to play with. "Our pistol and rifle teams have done well in inter-sector competitions for many years now. We also sell some to law enforcement organizations, maintain a partial loadout for the local militia and their training, and whatever's left over—well, that's why they call them emergency supplies."

Then he turned grim as he continued. "And we saw the complete report on your Ambergris exploits. The one from the King of Osgil, not the one from the Admiralty. And 'exploits' they were! I talked with Corporal Petrico as well when he was function-checking all the weapons for issue. As a result of this information the governor has decided to authorize a new warehouse, and some additional workshops as well, out of the sector trading funds. We want to have enough BARs and .45s to equip a few battalions, at least. Eventually, we hope to do something similar with the other planets in our sector.

"By God," he continued grimly, "if anyone ever hits us like they hit the Stolsh, they'll have one hell of a surprise waiting for them."

"My friend," said Melville quietly, "after what we saw on Ambergris, that strikes me as a very good idea."

"Aye, sir," replied their host. "I heard it was bad..." After an uncomfortable pause he continued, "There is also a group in town who makes and sells firearms. I don't know if you have heard of them? The 'Revolvers'? The 'Church of the Six-Gun'? They are the ones who are trying to have the neo-pope declare Samuel Colt as a saint?"

Fielder snorted. "Right, the ones who swear that the six-gun was given to Samuel Colt as a divine revelation to make all men equal? The true 'God's Gun'?"

"You've heard of them, then!" Koluvitz laughed. "Well, the governor thinks they are full of..." He looked over at Mrs. Vodi and blushed. "Full of, ummm..."

Vodi laughed and said, "Stand easy, Captain. As a medico I've had a lot of experience with the substance you're referring to!"

"I'll bet you have!" replied Koluvitz. "By the way, I heard that you have a Sylvan surgeon. Doesn't she need a pistol?"

"She's more of a knife person," replied Vodi, "and she's real handy with a couple of little single-barreled pistols of hers, but she's not a large-bore person so she didn't need to come. But I'll happily take one of your .45's, and I'll try to watch her six."

"So anyway," interjected Melville, "I take it you think the Revolvers are wrong in their beliefs."

"Well, not really," Koluvitz replied thoughtfully. "The classic peacemaker design is wonderful, ergonomically speaking, even if you can only carry five rounds safely, but it really isn't too effective after the first shot, in my opinion. Training lets you cock as you draw, slap it into a good two-handed grip, aim, and squeeze gently away—but then you have to shift a hand, re-cock, re-aim, slowly squeeze, and repeat as necessary, then fiddle with a damned loading gate, popping out hulls and feeding fresh food..."

Melville waited patiently as the marine captain continued with almost religious fervor. After all, they were in this man's debt.

"Maybe it is just me," their host continued, "but I immensely like the idea of drawing an M-1911 .45, while thumbing down the safety, evaluating, squeezing, timing the slide so it locks down as you bear down on target, squeeze and repeat as needed."

The Fangs looked at each other and smiled indulgently as Koluvitz continued.

"So, I will be fair and say that, although the six-gun is a good gun, the works of Saint John Browning and the 1911 and its variants... Ahhh, now there is a lovely, reliable, acceptably accurate, (did I say reliable?) pistol. We believe that production of his M-1911 pistol, and his Browning Automatic Rifle or 'BAR' gave us the most bang for our production buck, as it were. And since we mostly limit our sales to military and law enforcement types, sales from the 'Church of the Six-Gun' go generally to the public. Which, overall, is a good thing. I think it was Heinlein who said, 'An armed society is a polite society.' By that standard, Show Low is a very courteous society!"

Fielder looked at him thoughtfully. "If I had to guess, I'd say that you've been trained by the monks on Gunsite Planet."

Koluvitz grinned at him. "I forgot to mention that Sir Geoffery and I both spent some time in meditation and training with the monks there." The marine captain shook his head with a wry smile as he continued. "The governor can shoot rings around me, and anyone else on the planet! He's the sector pistol and rifle champion. And don't for a minute think we let him win! If any of us could ever beat him, we'd do it in a heartbeat and never stop rubbing it in!"

As he led them to the issue desk with the waiting marine armorer and their own Corporal Petrico standing by to assist, he added with a laugh, "Oh, and the governor said to tell you: he never did learn to play golf! 'Piss on golf. Real men go to the range!' has become his motto after he heard about you and your rangers' exploits on Ambergris!"

 

Dinner with Sir Geoffery that evening was an informal affair at his residence. The governor was an impressive man, despite his average stature and plain dress. He was clean shaven, with a lantern jaw, and close-cropped sandy hair that was solid gray at the temples. His most distinctive features were his steely eyes and powerful, riveting voice and inflection.

Melville noted the wear on the left hip of the governor's plum colored jacket where a sword would hang, as well as the slight bulge on the right side indicating he was probably equipped with one of the armory's lovely .45 caliber pistols in a hand-tooled and decorated paddle holster to match the ones they had issued to Melville and his crew. The regimental pin in his cravat indicated he had been an army spec-ops commander in his younger days. The governor's calloused handshake was like gripping a hand full of coarse sandpaper, making it clear that he still spent a great deal of time with a pistol and a sword in his hand.

The dinner party included the governor, his aide, several of the governor's secretaries, and Captain Koluvitz. Interestingly enough, all the men and women seemed to be ex-military, almost evenly split between marines and the army.

After introducing himself to Melville, the governor went on to politely greet Melville's monkey.

"Do our mysterious little alien visitors need any special food?" asked Sir Geoffery. "I'd hate to neglect a guest."

"No special diet required, sir," replied Melville, reaching up and rubbing his monkey behind its ear. "As best we can figure, in its native environment the spider monkey is an herbivore, and it primarily eats shoots and leaves off of one specific tree. But since adopting us, they've also adopted our diet and appear to thrive on whatever we eat."

The governor was an excellent host who kept the conversation limited to lighthearted stories of the city of Lowball and its inhabitants. All of which he humorously asserted were absolutely true, So Help Me God!

"Trust me, my friends," said their host with a booming laugh, "I could never even dream up stories as interesting as the ones I see daily. We have a lovely city, set in a lovely land, with a rare mix of cultures and sophistication.

"For example, last week I was dining at the Kansas Street Grill, which is an excellent place for steak. As a side note, avoid the seafood until the winter here, seafood in summer is a bit of a gamble with your stomach.

"Where was I? Oh, yes, the Kansas Street Grill. While I was dining, two gentlemen (and I use the term loosely here) who were apparently hunters or trappers by their gear, were seated nearby. I am guessing, but I must admit you rarely see gentlemen around town, in new suits, carrying packs and rifles! Apparently they were celebrating some success, and they both had a fresh shave, a bath, and a new wardrobe. The smell of Bay Rum and pomade was something fierce.

"So, here these two trappers were seated at a table by a very formally dressed maitre d'. Did I mention the Kansas Street is somewhat ritzy, at least by Show Low's standards? And Billy Bob, I believe was his name, pulls the damask napkin out of the silver napkin ring, places it around his neck and ties a knot in it.

"And the maitre d', Johann, grits his teeth and asks, 'Sir, will you be having a shave or a haircut?'"

Sir Geoffery laughed with the rest of the table and then sadly shook his head. "Although, I must admit they do have the best chef on the planet, damned if they don't!"

He paused for another sip and added loudly. "Not that Anna, my cook, is bad. No, not at all! But I fear she's slipping of late and can't measure up to Kansas Street's Chef Stevey."

A voice came from the serving window going to the kitchen. "I heard that, Sir Geoffery! And if for some reason your dessert soufflé collapses, you can comfort yourself knowing that the best chef on the planet wouldn't a let it happen!"

General laughter followed as Anna stuck her head through the window and waved a wooden spoon at him.

"Gentlemen and ladies," announced the governor, "may I present the architect of this splendid repast: my cook, Anna, who has been with me for over fifteen years. As an aside, and in my defense, I will simply point out that the Chef Stevey at the Kansas Street Grill is also her husband, and that the two of them do persist in making my life interesting!"

"Get along with ya now, Sir Geoffery!" she replied, coming through the dutch door with a serving tray. "We ne'er make your life more interestin' an' it deserves a' be. An' Stevey said those boys' names were John and Sam, not Ernie an' Billy Bob!"

"I surrender, and yield my narrative and my palate to thee, O wondrous and all-knowing cook!" He stood and bowed elaborately toward her. She placed the dessert on the sideboard and solemnly curtsied in return.

As she returned to the kitchen, he looked over at Melville and said quietly over the general conversation, "Anna came to work for me as a cook after her retirement from the Army. Before that she was my regimental cook, and Stevey was my sergeant major. One of the best things about forming a brand-new sector administration was that it left me free to choose military and ex-military, as opposed to the political hacks that seem to fill most of the older sector governors' offices."

"I see," replied Melville. "And if I might venture a guess, I'd bet there was a good reason why the Secretary for Colonization wanted a—if you will pardon my familiarity—highly competent retired general officer, a governor's office staffed with a significant number of military officers, and an armory manned with some amazing overachievers?" He lifted a politely inquiring eyebrow at the governor.

"Hah, you're a cool one, aren't you? Yes, there is a very good reason, strategically. There's the Grey Rift and the whole width of the spiral arm between us and the Guldur. But if they take out our East Coast, Westerness will have to fall back on our frontier worlds, and Show Low is a key hub. Furthermore, if any unknown bug-a-boo attacks this coast from across the Far Rift, they are going to need supply and refit worlds. Strategically, Show Low is well located, has abundant natural resources, food stores, an agreeable climate, one of the biggest Piers on the West Coast, and a population that alien invaders might view as prime slave labor or livestock. In other words, we're a likely target if anyone hits the West Coast, and our defense is key to defending the Rim. But it is also a lawless planet that is much in need of taming before it can be truly useful.

"So," the governor continued, "the Secretary of Colonization and the Prime Minister decided it was well past time to designate some sector governors, and perhaps add some additional marines specializing in manufacturing and training. And Show Low was the first planet to benefit from this new policy." He grinned cheerfully as he added, "And I must say that your reports have added considerable impetus to the overall process!

"Thus we prepare," the governor concluded with a sigh, "and plan and try to anticipate all the things that could happen. But tonight, we drink and enjoy... still, we remember McCrae's 'Flanders Fields,' eh?"

Melville nodded as he thought of the lines:

 
In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row.
 

Then Melville looked up from his wine and quoted:

 
"If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields."
 

Sir Geoffery nodded. "Exactly, my boy. Exactly. So, let the Admiralty rage, but know that your achievements are appreciated, and your reports have been heeded. And you and your Ship will always have a 'port in a storm' here, should you have need." Then he smiled sadly and said, "At least until the poppies grow o'er my dead body."

Melville nodded at the older man. He understood.

 

While liberty went on apace, the Fang still needed to be maintained and resupplied. Someone had to do all the thousands of things a Ship must do on a daily basis to keep it in fighting trim.

Which meant that for the Ship's officers and captain the next opportunity for liberty occurred the following evening, Ship's time. Since they were in port for only a short period, they didn't reset the Ship time, so that an evening of liberty for them actually started in midmorning in the city of Lowball. Taking the governor's recommendations for a vaudeville matinee show had provided an evening's (or late morning's, depending which rubber clock you used) entertainment in a surprisingly well designed theater. After the show they went looking for a tavern for an after-dinner tipple or three.

It was a drizzling, rainy day dirtside. Raincoats were never needed in two-space, and most of the Fangs had purchased cheap waterproof ponchos from vendors who set up stalls at the base of the Pier. Rain dribbled fitfully as they stepped out of the theater, so the group of officers walked down the covered boardwalk, seeking a drink and enjoying the smell of the rain while horse-drawn wagons, carriages, and cabs rattled on the cobblestone street. In two-space there was nothing but the constant crisp air above deck, or the locker room smell of confined humanity below, and it always felt good to enjoy the rain or sunshine of a real planet.

The colors of Show Low were as refreshing as the sounds and smells. The street was alive with rich earth tones: the browns and tans of fresh wood, the soft gray of weathered wood, the steel gray cobblestones glistening in the rain. These earth tones were punctuated by myriad flashes of bright color in signs overhead, in shop windows and the clothing of the crowds.

As they walked along the boardwalk their middies were badgered by a local character who was wearing a black cowboy hat with a six-gun slung on his hip.

"I seed a glimpse o' them cursed M-1911 autermatics under yer jackets!" said the character.

"Yep," replied Hans, patting his hip with a confident smile. "Nuthin' but the best fer our friends!"

The man looked at young Hayl with the wild eyes of a zealot and said, "Repent and mend yer ways, boy! The revolver is the true God's Gun! The Colt single six was the gun that won the West! By the time your M-1911 showed up, it was all over but the shoutin'!"

"You know, historically speaking, he's got a point there," said Hayl thoughtfully.

"Now, don't yew lisken to 'im!" said Ulrich, who was standing behind Melville. He and Grenoble were shadowing the captain in their capacity as his bodyguards. "'E'll turn ya into a blasked 'revolver'! Then we'd 'ave ta run ya outa the Navy for wat they calls 'apostacky.' I think I skee skum o' them 'loosk wimen' over there. Yew go talk with them, boy. Better that than yew turn inta a pockin' revolver."

Ulrich began to shoo the happily compliant midshipmen toward a brothel, but Melville called out, "Leave Mr. Hayl with me, Ulrich, and you and Grenoble keep an eye on the rest of the middies." Tiny Aquinar was still aboard Ship as the watch officer, and with Hayl now out of the batch, Melville felt like he had done his best to keep the youngest middies away from temptation. The others were old enough to tend to themselves, and there was no way that anyone could keep them away from the brothels if that was their goal. With Ulrich and Grenoble watching over them, the middies who were headed eagerly toward the ladies of negotiable virtue would be about as safe as possible under the circumstances. Besides, Melville had been looking for a way to get out from under the eye of his overprotective bodyguards.

Ulrich and Grenoble both gave the captain a set of matching scowls, but an order from their captain was the only thing that could get them both to agree. Besides, they were on liberty on a Westerness planet. What could go wrong here?

 

The remaining officers stepped into the small foyer of the Laughing Dog Tavern. They were immediately stopped at the door by a hulking bouncer with the classic broken nose and traditional attitude.

"Yew scum gotta check yer weapons," said the bouncer, leaning against the wall and looking down his crooked nose with obvious scorn.

"Why?" replied Broadax, rolling her cigar in her mouth. "We know they works jist fine."

"Ha...Ha," said the bouncer with a sneer. "And yer gonna have ta put dat stinkin' cee-gar out."

The fluid flow of motions beneath Broadax's rain poncho indicated that a census of lethal hardware was taking place. Melville knew that he was going to have to intercede quickly before the idiot met an unfortunate end, but then Fielder cut in.

"She doesn't really smoke cigars, she merely mangles them," said Fielder, hoping to confuse the bouncer with a technicality.

"I ain't talkin' to yew, pretty boy. An' I don't like none o' yer attitudes. Yer all dee-nied admittance."

"Attitudes are contagious," said Fielder with a pleasant smile. "Ours might kill you."

"Ye got kids?" asked Broadax, looking up with what a scholar once called a "coprophagic grin" and an intensity that caused the bouncer's few functioning neurons to start pinging around in panic. Just about then her monkey reared up from her shoulder and started flipping its belaying pin from hand to hand.

"Uh, no...?"

"Want 'em?" she snarled, whipping an ax up from under her poncho in a blur that stopped with incredible precision in front of her victim's fly.

The bouncer's eyes widened as he watched the supernaturally sharp blade slicing its way slowly but inexorably through the front of his trousers. His back was pinned to the wall so he leaned forward and grabbed the haft of the ax with both hands. This brought his throat down into Broadax's reach and her other hand shot up to grab him by the windpipe.

"Now, if yer lookin' fer trouble, I can oblige ye. But I think ye prob'ly made a honest mistake," said Broadax. "Right? Jist say argh... Thang-kew! An' ye'd like to apolergize, cause ye didn't understand that we wuz a group o' Westerness naval officers. Our rain gear dun covered our unerforms, otherwise ye'd a showed proper respect fer yer betters. Right? Jist whimper."

"Well done!" said Fielder. "When in doubt, choose to live!"

"Thas a good feller," concluded Broadax as they entered the tavern. "Now go off and tend to yer laundry. An' I'd rekermend some new shoes too."

 

The Laughing Dog Tavern appeared to be a good, solid, well-maintained tavern from the outside, complete with a picture of a howling yellow mutt swinging above the door. The inside, on the other hand, turned out to be much more interesting. The bar in the center was the only well-lit region in the room and clustered there, like insects drawn to a lantern on a warm night, were a remarkable assortment of creatures, talking in low voices or silently nursing their drinks. Booths could be discerned in the surrounding gloom, most of them filled with shadowy figures.

Asquith whispered, "Places like this don't really exist, do they? It's so thick with clichés you could cut it with a knife and serve it on a plate! It looks like every bounty hunter, bushwhacker, cutthroat, cheat, scoundrel, scalawag, scene stealer, and plagiarist in the sector is here."

"Ah, then you'll be right at home on several counts, eh?" replied Fielder with a grin.

"Doesn't anyone in here have a job or something to do besides sit around and drink?" continued Asquith.

"Well," replied Fielder, "Looking at the number of less than reputable types mixed with the more respectible citizens, we seem to have stumbled onto a lovely cross-section of Lowball lowlifes. And some of those 'less reputable' lovelies are just my type! Ahh! This is what I joined up for. The opportunity to travel to erotic places."

"Don't you mean exotic, Daniel?" Asquith replied curiously.

"Look, Bert, you want to travel to exotic places, you feel free. To each his own."

Asquith's brows furrowed as he considered this, and replied, "Dammit, Daniel, this is not funny. Some of these people look pretty dangerous!"

Young Hayl chimed in, "Is there something to be scared of here?"

"Yep. Us," said Melville with a happy smile. He felt like he should be preventing some of his crew's over-the-top behavior, but whatdahell, it had been a long tedious trip and they were all ready to blow off a little steam.

Asquith snorted. "And next you'll be telling us that they're all just a lot of misunderstood children, and we should be patient with them and their provincial mannerisms."

"Well, Bert," replied Fielder, "I wouldn't go quite that far, but if we are here for just a nice drink or two, we probably should practice a bit of understanding. The alternative could prove to be exciting, and unpleasant!"

"Damned writers always gots ta babble 'bout everthin' don't they?" Broadax snorted as she tugged Hans over to a booth in a corner. She looked at the two men occupying a table built for many more, chomping on her cigar as she ran a considering hand up the thick, hardwood haft of the ax she still held in her hand.

"Yew boys always take up more room 'an ye kin use?" she said, gesturing casually with the ax. "Mind movin' over a bit so's a few friends an' us kin join ye?" Broadax smiled—not that it was easy to tell that's what it was through the mass of hair and gristle that made up her face. Meanwhile, once again, her monkey pulled out its belaying pin and started tossing it from hand to hand.

The two men looked at each other, then looked at Broadax and Hans, squinting at the two monkeys. The older one replied as he fastened his hand in his companions cravat and yanked him clear, "Do ye ken, we'uns had jest finished up fer th' aft'noon an' were thinkin' it might oughta be time fer us ta be headin' on back ta' work?"

"What 'n hell ya' talkin' 'bout Jack, what work?" came faintly from the departing backs of the two men.

Broadax replied to their rapidly moving backs, "Boys, I didn't mean fer ye to git all... damn." She looked after them, shrugged, and said to Hans quietly, "Sweetie, do ye think I scared 'em aways or sumpin'? I wus jist thinkin' they might share a bit o' th' table."

Lady Elphinstone had come close enough to overhear and replied, "Nay, gallant lieutenant, methinkst 'twas perhaps thy feminine ways that didst overcome their churlishness at holding such a fine table from our fair officers and gentlemen."

Hans' eyes crossed as he tried to avoid smiling or even worse, chuckling as Broadax cogitated upon this statement.

"Ohh, I gets ye. Guess they jist ain't used to seein' high class wimmen aroun' this joint!" she concluded.

The Fangs all flipped off their rain gear and seated themselves around the table, shifting and jockeying to prevent their backs from being turned toward the room.

Midshipman Hayl leaned over to Brother Theo and asked quietly, "Brother, I thought those guys were just scared? Or were they being polite?"

Brother Theo looked over at him affectionately. "Well, young Cockroach," he whispered, "you have to remember that the capacity for self-deception is almost limitless. And since Lt. Broadax is in her own way a gentle, sweet Dwarrowdelf lass, she can't help it if she believes everyone else sees her the same way!"

Hayl looked over at him. "Okay, I got it. They were scared!"

 

After the first three or six rounds the clientele seemed to accept them in their midst. First impressions might actually have been wrong, since in this case the tavern actually did a fair business for the theater and show crowd, especially in the afternoon while there was still daylight outside. Granted, it also seemed to have a fair component of rogues, pimps, prostitutes, the occasional policeman, mercenaries, bodyguards, and other less definable types, but all in all it had a nice neighborhood type of feel, at least if your neighborhood was located in one of the suburbs of outer hell.

"Daniel? Danny-boy, is that you?" came a call from a lady who had just entered, gliding toward their table. She was a tall, willowy redhead dressed as if she had just come from the theater. She looked like someone had poured her into her gown and then forgot to say "whoa!" If it was any more low cut she'd have been barefoot. The only thing that kept her from being arrested for public indecency was a red, livefox stole draped over her generous and otherwise well displayed décolletage.

Fielder stood up quickly as he pulled her name from his mental files. "Ursula! Ursula Smithstone-Haugh! Whatever are you doing here?" he said warmly as he crossed over and lifted her hand to his mouth for a warm kiss accompanied by a slow inventory from her heels to her hairdo.

"Daniel, what a lovely surprise! I didn't realize you were on Show Low. How wonderful! Ever since Bernie died I have just been gadding about and stopping off wherever the Ships do, and I had just about given up on anything ever happening here! Is your Ship here for a while? Do you have some time? I have so many things I could show you about this town! Lovely parties, and theaters, and other things..."

Fielder laughed deep in his chest as their eyes met. "First, if I might introduce you to my wardroom? This is Captain Melville of the Fang, whose first lieutenant I have the honor to be, and then next to him..."

Ursula broke in quickly, "The Captain Melville of the book? The man everyone is talking about! How exciting! Why, Daniel, how wonderful! How ever did you hire him to work for you?"

Brother Theo quickly brought his hand up to cover his smiling mouth. Broadax wasn't quite so lucky, as she had been drinking deeply from her lager when Ursula made this surprising interpretation of the facts. Her subsequent spray of beer through the nostrils, followed by copious choking and gasping sounds provided a needed distraction while Fielder recovered. Melville, on the other hand, remained calm and distinctly amused as he watched his first lieutenant figure out how to deal with this remarkable woman.

"Ahh, Ursula, what a lovely thought. But, no, the Navy is a bit more formal than that, and I have the honor of actually working for him. You know how tiresome Navy protocol is. And, indeed, I must admit I have found it to be quite amusing and instructive watching Captain Melville deal with the cards fate has dealt us."

"Whatever, Daniel. I was going to go to that boring vaudeville show, but since you are here, I have a much better idea to while away the hours." She leaned close to him, apparently whispering in his ear, although Melville had to wonder how much whispering could be done with a tongue planted so deeply into that selfsame ear!

"Why, Ursula, that sounds like an admirable plan," replied a very flushed Fielder as beads of sweat appeared at his hairline.

"Daniel, your hairy friend is looking at me," she whispered a bit louder, just enough so the table could hear.

"The monkey? He's harmless, my dear. Just ignore him." Fielder pulled away to see his monkey stretching its neck out so its upside-down face was eye-to-eye with Ursula.

"I can't! Daniel, maybe you could let him stay here for a bit? Pretty, pretty please?" and she leaned in and nibbled at his ear, while giving a poisonous glance at the monkey.

The little creature stuck its tongue out and scampered to Fielder's other shoulder.

Fielder looked at her moist lips and sultry eyes, and then over to his monkey, who was determinedly looking away, two sets of arms crossed, the picture of high dudgeon and offended feelings!

"Maybe this time I'd better try it alone, little guy," he whispered. The monkey eeped in offense, glared at her, jumped down to the table and leapt over to join Lady Elphinstone's monkey. Both monkeys now directed offended glares toward the oblivious couple.

"Captain, ladies and gentlemen, if you will excuse me, Mrs. Smithstone-Haugh has a few points of interest she would like to share, I mean, show me, here in Lowball." And with that, he and Ursula left the tavern with unseemly haste.

 

* * *

 
She can kill with a smile,
she can wound with her eyes.
She can ruin your faith
with her casual lies,
 
And she only reveals
what she wants you to see.
She hides like a child,
but she's always a woman to me.
 

* * *

 

"Do you know," mused Melville, "I'm not quite sure if I just witnessed the fastest seduction on record, or a mutual kidnapping?"

Lady Elphinstone cocked her head and considered momentarily. "Well, Captain. I think 'twould be best described as a scientific demonstration. 'Twas a wondrous manifestation of the physiological fact that Lt. Fielder's body hath contained within it only sufficient blood for operation of one major organ at a time. In this case, 'tis apparent that all the blood hath rushed south and abandoned his brain, so that it might operate other parts of his body! And I do believe that his monkey is quite offended!"

The monkey added an emphatic "Eek!" and glared at the door.

Hayl gaped at her. "Huh? What does that mean?" he asked.

Broadax snickered loudly as she lit another cigar. She took a puff and then gaped momentarily as it disappeared, and glared up at her monkey, who was cheerfully puffing the vile root into an atmospheric atrocity. She snarled halfheartedly as she started lighting another one and said, "Le'me make it real simple fer ye, boy. Wot she said is that our first officer only got's enough blood to run 'is gonads or 'is gray matter. So 'e's either gonna be thinkin', or runnin' after wenches. 'E can't dew both!"

"An' I think he's gonna be playin' make-up ta 'is monkey when 'e gits back," added Hans.

The monkeys all seemed to be in general agreement on that one, glaring at the door and muttering quietly amongst themselves.

Broadax snickered. "Hey, Hansie, ya know dis place gots rooms upstairs... Wanna go check 'em out?"

Melville reflected that at times, ignorance (or at least a strained sort of intentional blindness and deafness) could be a blessing. And why is Hans tossing those handcuffs in the air and catching them? I really, really don't want to know. . .

 

* * *

 
She can lead you to live,
she can take you or leave you.
She can ask for the truth,
but she'll never believe you.
 
And she'll take what you give her
as long as it's free!
She steals like a thief,
but she's always a woman to me.
 

* * *

 

While the open hansom cab provided protection from the rain and a wonderful view of the city in the early afternoon, Fielder and Ursula were both somewhat distracted by her continual small inroads on his trouser fastenings, while all of Fielder's approaches were persistently thwarted by subtle sinuous movements of her livefox stole. Somehow, they arrived at her hotel and her room, but Fielder didn't notice the process, only the final result, as they stood locked in an embrace.

"My, oh, my, you still taste good, Daniel," she whispered as she let her livefox drop to the floor, fully exposing her ample and admirable anatomy for the first time, as her stole slithered off to its nest in her steamer trunk.

"Oh, my, my, my," gasped Fielder. "Hello-o-o, girls! Did you miss me?" Ursula began to work on his shirt buttons, slapping his hands playfully away as he started to assist her, and then again whenever he reached toward her.

"Quit that, you naughty boy. I get to unwrap my candy first, and then you can unwrap me—after I teach you that you were such a naughty boy for running out on me last time."

Fielder groaned as she pushed him back onto the bed so she could pull his pants and boots off. The feather mattress engulfed him like a warm snowdrift. "Well, what in heaven's name did you expect me to do, Ursula? Bernie was coming up the steps, and I either had to go out the other door or shoot him, and it's such bad manners to shoot a man when you've borrowed his wife!"

Ursula t'sked, "Well, it would have saved me the trouble of shooting him myself. I mean, he was actually complaining about all the money I was spending! It's not like he was using it or anything! Oh, that's what that was! Do you still insist on carrying weapons with you everywhere, Daniel?"

"Well of course I'm carrying weapons. I'm dressed, aren't I?"

"Well, we can fix that! Why do you men have to carry those big lumpy pistols? It just ruins the lay of your suits! Well, you won't be needing these right now, will you?" she giggled throatily, as she gathered up all his clothes and deposited them neatly on a chair with his sword, pistol, and boots laid on top.

Fielder looked up at her as he lolled naked on the bed. Memories of their past experiences came back to him as he feasted his eyes upon her. Seldom had he met a woman so everlastingly eager beforehand and so inexhaustibly energetic in the event. "Come here, Ursula, it's not fair you get all the fun. My turn to undress you now!"

Ursula giggled again, as she moved closer. "Now, Daniel, not just yet. We have a couple of things to sort out first." She reached into her handbag and pulled out a small derringer, which had a remarkably large bore. "Say hello to my little friend, Daniel," she said sweetly.

Fielder's normally very strong paranoia, which had been defeated by a lack of proper blood supply to the brain, suddenly came roaring back, as the gallant reaction to a beautiful woman decided to go hide in a cave. The combination of lack of clothes, lack of weapons, and a very beautiful woman pointing an undoubtedly lethal pistol at him suddenly conspired to make him feel extremely naked. In multiple senses of the word!

"Now, Ursula, what's a little girl like you doing with all this here pistol?" Fielder hazarded, as he tried to sit up a bit more. "If you fire that at me, you might hurt me! And maybe break your pretty little wrist as well."

"Lay back down, Daniel, that's a good boy. You are such lovely eye candy! You silly boy, no, it won't break my wrist. It didn't hurt too much when I shot Bernie with it! And no, I don't intend to hurt you, my dear!"

Fielder sighed and started to relax, very, very cautiously. Maybe this was just some kinky fun?

"I promised to bring her a memento of you, but I just couldn't stand to hurt you, so I'll have to kill you first! Then I'll take her little souvenirs! You won't be needing them anymore." Ursula smiled at him sweetly.

Fielder felt his "souvenirs" suddenly try and crawl back up through his stomach and hide behind his navel. Come to think of it, he'd sort of like to hide somewhere too. Suddenly this didn't seem like one of his better ideas. Maybe I should listen to Brother Theo a bit more, mused the last tiny corner of his mind that was still somewhat unpanicked.

"Souvenirs, Ursula? I really don't like the sound of that!?" Fielder managed to say past lips and throat that had suddenly gone dry.

"Well, Madelia said you were just a common gigolo, and she wanted you separated from the tools of your trade, dear." She grinned sweetly at him. "But I stood up for you. I told her that you were never common, dear."

"Thanks—I think," Fielder replied faintly. Then he thought about what she had just said for a second.

"Madelia?" Fielder asked, astonished. "You mean Lady Madelia? As in the Sylvan princess Madelia?"

"Oh, yes, she's such a sweet lady. And you did so upset her, Daniel! Whatever did you do to her?"

"Besides not sticking around for her to kill me? Or shooting her in the derriere? I really can't think of a thing other than that!"

"Oh, no!" she gasped, starting to chuckle. "You didn't? In the arse? No wonder she's so upset with you! You naughty, naughty boy! If she hadn't been so generous with me, I might just have to keep you myself, and spend some time punishing you the way I used to! Especially after the way you ran out on me, and made me kill Bernie myself. Do you know how long I had to work to set it up so that you would kill him? Ah, well, it all worked out anyway." She gave that throaty giggle of hers again. Somehow, the erotic effect was ruined by the muzzle of the derringer she kept trained upon his chest.

"Well, I guess it's time to get on with business. I hate to bring in outsiders, but I'll need my bodyguard to come in and back me up for a second, dear. Just in case you decide to get uncooperative and end up needing more killing than my itty-bitty gun here, you know? But don't worry, I'm a pretty good shot, and if you hold still I promise it will be over quickly."

 

* * *

 
She will promise you more,
than the Garden of Eden,
Then she'll carelessly cut you,
and laugh while you're bleedin'!
 
But she'll bring out the best,
And the worst you can be.
Blame it all on yourself,
'cause she's always a woman to me!
 

* * *

 

The memory of Princess Madelia made him even more terrified, if that was possible. He looked desperately around the room and noticed a silver handmirror sitting next to the bed on the nightstand.

As Ursula turned to her left and glanced at the door, Fielder lunged convulsively at the nightstand. His motion was slow, or at least his perception of it was sped up. It seemed as if he had all the time in the world as he lunged for the mirror, grasped it and then aimed his throw at her face. Even if the natural flinch reaction could be overridden, Ursula's vanity would make her protect her most valuable asset!

He seemed to take forever to fall off the bed, roll, pivot and plant his right fist in her solar plexus while his left hand grabbed the derringer, wrenching it out of her grasp. He even had time to admire the scenery and appreciate what happened to all that adorable anatomy as his fist sunk in. Time suddenly returned to normal as he stood feeling the breeze from the open window curling around his exposed buttocks and other parts.

A hand pounded at the door. "Milady! Milady! Are you all right?" Fielder wondered what kind of unmitigated idiot would knock on a door of someone he was supposedly bodyguarding, instead of just bursting in. Then he remembered some of the sessions that he had enjoyed with her in the past and decided that it might just be common sense. It was just as well, since it gave him time to... exit, stage left!

Fielder raced to his clothes and put his hand on his pistol, looking over at Ursula. She deserved it, but in her own sweet poisonous way, she wasn't really mad at him, it was just business. Besides, he thought, cold-blooded murder of a helpless woman might be a trifle hard to explain to a magistrate...

He grabbed his pants, intending to put them on, when the bodyguard started to break down the door, and from the voices outside the door, it appeared that Ursula's goon now had some reinforcements. No time to get dressed! He snatched up the pile of clothes and weapons and headed toward the window, naked. As he passed Ursula, who was still trying valiantly to catch her breath, he quipped, "Don't bother looking in the mirror, Ursula! You won't like what you see!" It was a poor attempt at humor, but it felt good to be dishing it out for a change.

He dove out the window before he could translate her reply. Something tucker? Oh, well, not that important anyway, he snickered as he swarmed down the fire escape cheerfully, still naked as a jaybird, holding onto his bundle of clothing with a death grip.

The first thing he noticed was that the rain had finally stopped. Then his worldview took a sudden shift as he realized he had just dropped into a busy alley filled with clotheslines, housewives, and pedestrians, most of whom were aghast at the sight of a nude man, carrying his clothes, coming down a fire escape!

"Pardon me," he said, nodding graciously to an elderly lady passing by, as he dropped his clothes to the ground and pulled his pants from the pile.

"Get that bastard!" gasped a female voice from above him, followed by a very authoritative BANG! and the SPAAANG! of a ricocheting bullet.

Safety over clothes, Fielder decided as he swept up his possessions and tried to set a record for the nude hundred-yard dash down the alley, bursting through clotheslines in every direction. Behind him he could hear Ursula and her henchmen scrambling down the fire escape.

"Doesn't that woman know when the fun's over?" Fielder gasped to himself as he ran for the first corner he could find.

Fielder, naked (if you didn't count being festooned with bits of brightly colored clothing and dainty undergarments draped about him like holiday bunting), left the alley and ran gasping through an even more crowded street, followed shortly by Ursula and her minions.

"That's right sweetie," cackled an elderly granny as Ursula and her "girls" bounced past. "You go git 'im. There's lots o' good times left in that one, it's plain ta see."

"I'll get him all right!" gasped Ursula.

Fielder poured on a burst of speed, thinking that if he got out of this he should consider spending more time working out with the marines. Running through the streets was obviously not his forte! Especially naked!

After a few blocks, quite a few alleys and one cul-de-sac that nearly gave him heart failure, Fielder managed to avoid the hue and cry and get his clothes (and weapons) on and (mostly) properly arranged. It was amazing how much better, clothes (and a properly prepared .45) could make you feel about your place in the world.

I wonder if Ursula will ever forgive me for messing up her little business arrangement with Madelia? he ruminated as he rounded a corner and hailed a passing cab.

"The Laughing Dog Tavern, sir. Quickly, if you please, I find I have extreme need of a drink or ten!"

The driver shrugged suspiciously and flicked his whip over the horses. You got all kinds of toffs in this city. Even disheveled, wild-eyed Navy officers with lipstick on their faces. I jist hope ta hell the bastard tips well! he thought darkly.

 

* * *

 
She is frequently kind,
and she's suddenly cruel.
She can do as she pleases,
she's nobody's fool!
 
But she can't be convicted,
she's earned her degree.
And the most she will do,
is throw shadows at you,
But she's always a woman to me!
 

* * *

 

Fielder sauntered casually into the Laughing Dog. At least on the surface he was sauntering, but (like a duck moving serenely above the water and paddling like hell underneath) he was actually operating in the red zone of awareness, extremely alert and massively paranoid of anyone and everything in the area. The Fang's first officer was old friends with fear and paranoia, those poor sisters of sweet madness, who knocked loudly upon his door at moments like this.

After a few minutes thinking in the cab, (not something he wanted to waste liberty time on, but highly conducive to survival when a lovely mercenary tries to shorten your life), he knew that if Maddy had hired Ursula, then it was very likely that she had hired others on Show Low to make life interesting (or shorter, or both) for the Fangs on shore leave. Definitely not a good situation, don'tcherknowoldboy. Not to mention, it ruined the first good liberty they had had in ages!

So, in addition to operating in the advanced stages of paranoia and fear, Fielder was also beginning to develop one hell of a mad-on! Or as many a wise man had noted over the years, getting between: a) a sailor just in from sea who wanted wine, women, and song and, b) the aforementioned wine, women and song... was really not a good idea! It tended to have painful consequences for the interruptee.

While Baronet Daniello Sans Fielder, lately known as Lt. Daniel Fielder of her Majesty, Queen of Westerness' Navy, might not be a brave soul, fearless and spoiling for a fight, he was quite capable and competent when he had to fight, and nobody ever said being scared was detrimental in a fight. Panic: bad. Fear: good! Fear kept you from doing stupid things, panic made you stupid.

And right now, for some reason, Fielder was feeling very frightened, very put upon, and very paranoid. And very, very frustrated.

Damned woman could have at least have finished with our business before she got onto the mercenary routine, he thought resentfully as he walked into the tavern.

 

Fielder was relieved to see that Melville and Hayl were still at their table, as well as his monkey. As he came up to them, he was fixed by the stares of five pairs of eyes. Well, four actually. Upon seeing his arrival, Fielder's monkey turned around and presented its back to him.

"Captain Melville, you have no idea how happy I am that you're still here," Fielder said as he flopped into the closest seat that had its back to the wall.

"Daniel!" replied Melville cheerfully. "I must admit I hadn't expected to see you for a while longer. The, uh, lady you departed with seemed to have extensive plans for you."

"Plans? You could say that. But I really didn't want to stick around for them. I need a drink first! I really, really need a drink!"

Hayl looked at him and pushed over a pitcher. "Try this, sir. They make a great micro-brewed root beer!"

Melville grinned. "I think Lt. Fielder might want something a bit stronger, Mr. Hayl." He pushed a bottle toward Fielder. "Brandy? And then perhaps your story?"

Hayl's and Melville's monkeys both appeared to find the situation humorous. Fielder's monkey, on the other hand, was sitting on the middie's shoulder and seemed fascinated by the wall behind the table.

Fielder poured a glass of brandy down his throat and looked up in surprise. "Damn, Captain, why didn't you tell me this was the good stuff! It's a sin to let me go gulping this down like that!" He shook his head and poured another glass from the bottle.

He looked over at the monkey. "Okay, my friend, you were right and I was wrong. Turn around and look at me, if you please. Baronet Daniello Sans Fielder doesn't apologize very often so you really ought to turn around and get the best view of it."

His monkey said, "Eep?" inquisitively and extended its head up and back so that its mouth was on the bottom with its two button eyes staring at him.

Fielder sighed. "Alas, I should have taken you with me. I really, really wished you were with me, especially when she pointed that derringer at me. You win, I apologize, okay?"

The monkey blinked at him slowly, then looked at its monkey compatriots. It looked back at Fielder consideringly, then scampered back over toward its customary position on his shoulder. Fielder sighed with relief and reached up to scratch the little creature gently, and then yanked his hand back suddenly. "Ow! I said I was sorry, you little monster! That hurt! No biting! Ow! No hitting either! You made your point! I surrender!"

Melville and Hayl were both trying unsuccessfully to stifle their laughter as Fielder's monkey bit the thumb on his left hand followed by a sound left-right boxing of his ears, then leaned in close to his head and hugged him.

"Damn," muttered Fielder as he drank another sip from his glass, "my luck seems to be shot in dealing with anybody and everybody today. You win, no leaving you behind next time, no matter what some pretty strumpet says!"

Melville chuckled. "Well, Daniel, now that you have made friends again, what was that about a derringer? I thought she was more interested in other sports when you two left."

"So did I, Captain. So did I. Turned out that she was a lot more mercenary than I remembered. Come to think of it, she always was a bit monetarily focused, it's just with that scenery..." He drifted off, and was recalled suddenly to his story by a tiny fist tapping his ear meaningfully. "Okay, okay, don't do that! Jeez! Anyway, Captain, do you recall a certain former girlfriend of mine, Princess Madelia, from whom we made a hasty departure on Osgil?"

Melville and Hayl suddenly grew serious. Hayl's eyes flashed around the room searching for the lovely Sylvan princess. Lovely, but distinctly homicidal where Captian Melville and Lt. Fielder were concerned. Hayl had been there when the captain, Fielder, and Broadax had shot their way out of Maddie's ambush, and it was not a pleasant memory.

"Aye, I remember her," Melville replied soberly. Madelia—or "Maddy"—was also the overprotective aunt of his own beloved Princess Glaive. "Why?"

"Well," continued Fielder, "it seems Ursula was hired by Maddy to acquire certain mementos, or 'souvenirs' from me. I, on the other hand, wanted to keep them attached to my body." He smiled sardonically. "They may not be much, but I really like all the parts that I was born with! So I was forced to make a hasty and somewhat undignified departure."

"Huh?" Hayl interjected. "What do you mean, she wanted a souvenir?"

"Later, lad, later," replied Fielder. "For now, just let it ride that Maddy was not happy with me, so she hired Ursula. And her getting those souvenirs would have been a terminal transaction for me. In more ways than one!" He shuddered and sipped his brandy.

"Daniel, enough about the souvenirs!" Melville said as he crossed his legs uncomfortably. He thought for a second and then continued. "No telling how far Madelia is willing to go for revenge on us or our crew. I'll take Hayl and fetch Elphinstone, Petreckski, and Asquith. They were doing some shopping nearby.

"You, Daniel, I am going to treat like your namesake, and send into the lion's den. Mr. Hans and Lt. Broadax departed some time ago to take a room here. You fetch them and head back toward the Pier, rounding up any Fangs you see on the way. I think our liberty here has come to an end."

Fielder paled. "Broadax and Hans? Captain, I honestly don't think that's a good idea. Broadax and I really don't get along all that well, and I, uh..." He paused for a second, swallowed and plowed on. "Sir, just the thought is enough to put me off... I mean, uh, midshipmen are customarily used as messengers..." He trailed off, looking beseechingly at his captain.

"Daniel, you two really do need to get along better," Melville chided. "Besides, given the threat, I don't want Hayl off alone, and you have a much more highly developed sense of paranoia as well as a better chance of survival if Lt. Broadax doesn't want to be interrupted. After all, you've got longer legs! You should be able to outrun a Dwarrowdelf. And it isn't like she could shoot you, now is it?" Melville grinned unrepentantly at him. "Shoot at you, maybe, but not shoot you!"

Fielder moaned, then swiped the bottle of brandy. "Ohhh, I never realized quite how evil you could be. This may ruin all future thoughts of dalliances with nubile young ladies forever..." His voice trailed off as he wandered toward the front desk of the lobby.

Melville looked over at Hayl, who had his face buried in his arms on the table, his shoulders shaking. "It's safe, Mr. Hayl, you can look up now. Mr. Fielder won't notice your laughter. Speaking of which, you do realize it isn't necessarily very nice to laugh at your superior officer?" Melville was fighting to keep control of his own face as he said this.

"I know, Captain, I know, but his face when you told him to go collect them was just so, just so..." and he collapsed in another fit of giggles, accompanied by the two monkeys.

"Aye, lad!" said Melville with mock solemnity. "Brother Theo will never forgive the fact that he wasn't here to see it!"

 

After checking at the front desk, Fielder went up the hallway to the door of room thirty-two. He faced the door and shuddered as he heard a gravelly giggle, followed by a deep voice mumbling something. He stood to the side of the door and knocked. After a moment, he swallowed hard and knocked again.

A minute later, there was no response. Fielder took a deep breath and gave a solid kick to the door and then jumped to the side.

The door shuddered and one of the oak planks in the top of the door fell part way into the hallway, propelled by a thrown boot.

"What ever 'tis, we done wan' any. Get gone, ye pockin' moron!" came the dulcet tones of Broadax's voice.

"Urgent message," shouted Fielder as he crouched on the hallway floor looking up at the protruding boot. How in the hell do you throw a boot that hard? he thought.

"It's Lt. Fielder," he called out. "I was sent by the cap...urrk!" He trailed off as the door slammed open, a hard foot kicked his feet back, and an equally hard hand grabbed him by the throat. The curve of the very sharp ax blade resting next to his eye completely monopolized his attention. Of course, it might have been a bit less fascinating if it hadn't been right next to Mama Fielder's favorite boy's face!

"Captain sent me. Recall. Enemies," he gasped out, squeezing his eyes shut after a quick glance at a nightmare figure: fuming, red-faced, and naked except for a helmet, one boot, and a wide expanse of kinky black body hair. How can any one female have so much hair? he gibbered to himself as he tried to shove a red hot iron through his mind's eye.

Please lord, don't let this be my last vision before I die, he prayed fervently—something he last recalled doing when a certain young lady actually proved to be a young wife with a very unamused husband.

The steel band left his neck, and Fielder fell to his knees. He wasn't about to open his eyes or to stand up yet. He really wanted to keep what sanity he had left, thankyouverymuch.

"Wot's happenin', then?" he heard Broadax ask. There was the sound of a slap followed by Broadax saying, "Quit it sweetie. Sounds like threr may be a good fight brewin'. An' I really needs ta kill someone. It's been too damned long. Jist about anyone'll do." The she added with a wink and a leer in her voice, "An' ye know what dat does fer me!"

Please, lord, just a little deafness? Just a little? Fielder prayed.

Various jingling and jangling sounds intermixed with the occasional thumps sounded through the room as the two officers dressed while Fielder told his tale.

"Wouldja git muh boot, hon? T'anks. Okay, Lootenant, oncet I gits a ceegar goin' fer me an' my monkey, I'll be ready ta ride!"

Then, curiously she added, "Ye okay? I din't hurt ye, did I? Ye kin git up, if ye want's ta."

Fielder looked up at the two, mostly dressed officers, both looking at him curiously. "Ah, I was just trying to give you some privacy, that's all," he said as he mustered his dignity and stood.

"Privacy, hell," Hans said. "We's Shipmates, skin's jist skin."

Fielder gaped for a second, thinking, What are you saying, you idiot, I value my sanity! Then he closed his mouth and said diplomatically, "Well, that may be true for you and I, but Lt. Broadax is a well brought up young lady." Then he waited to be struck down by lightning from heaven.

"Huh," Broadax stared. "Mebbee yew ain't such a dirtbag as I thought. Come on, boys. The local marines gave me a li'l toy t' try out."

Fielder looked down at what appeared to be a small cannon in her hand, with the barrels (four, five?) all fanning out to cover a sixty-degree horizontal arc, as she held it out straight.

"What is that thing?" he said in fascination.

Hans answered as Broadax gazed at her miniature monstrosity with fondness. "Well, contrary ta popular opinion, a Dwarrowdelf can shoot accurately, they jist gots ta spend some time thinkin' 'bout it. An' thinkin' an' fightin' don't always seem ta go together real good. So the local boys made these li'l 10-gauge shotgun barrels, clumped five of 'em togedder, sorta fanned out so's the pattern spreads out flat. It's got a single trigger an' a pistol grip. She's loaded with a double-ought gift package an' kicks like a holy terror, but my li'l angel loves it." Hans looked down at the Dwarrowdelf affectionately.

Fielder swore to himself that he was going to be standing behind her if, no, when, she fired that monstrosity. Might be the only damned safe place in the vicinity when hell broke loose.

"So, ya ready, Honey?" asked Hans.

"Sweety, I wus born ready!"

 

* * *

 
Oh, she takes care of herself,
she can wait if she wants,
She's ahead of her time!
 
Oh, and she never gives out,
and she never gives in,
She just changes her mind.
 
...Yeah she's always a woman to me!
 

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