Free The Guns of Two-Space by Dave Grossman, Bob Hudson Page A

beneath a pyramid of sails. The barebacked sailors crouching beside the gun with handspikes, their gun captain concentrating grim-faced beside them. The white glow of the Ship's exposed wood illuminating everything with sparkling beauty. And above all the beautiful purity of the stars and galaxies that hung above them, contrasted by the deep royal blue of two-space beneath them.
    Then they saw the approaching Guldur Ship fire a shot from the lower bow gunport. Above them the ball made a series of popping sounds as it cut a perfect round hole through their spritsailtopsail, foresail, mainsail, and mizzensail, severing some of the rigging on the way.
    "No one hit!" cried the bosun from the rigging. "We're already making repairs!"
    From the upper quarterdeck a report was called down to Fielder through the voice tubes, and he relayed it to the captain in the bow. "They fired and missed completely on the upperside!"
    Melville nodded and looked at his assembled witnesses. "My friends, do we have a consensus that they have fired, and that our response from this point on will be in self defense?"
    There was a chorus of ayes, a "Damned right!" from Broadax, a solemn nod from Lady Elphinstone, and a gulp and a nod from Asquith. Then Melville looked down the barrel of his gun and said quietly, "Then you'd all best be off to your duty stations. Oh, and Brother Theo, please ask the first officer to note it in the log: the enemy has fired upon us, and we are returning fire in self defense. Mind the recoil as you leave." His monkey clung to his shoulder and stretched its neck out so that it could also look down the barrel.
    Asquith started to wander into the recoil of the gun but the gun captain quickly herded him to the side with a few tut-tuts. "Ol' Cuddles'd smash ya like a bug if ya was to go over there, sir."
    The young captain felt his heart pounding against his breastbone like a hammer. Sweat trickled down his back, but his mouth was bone dry. His hands were cold and clammy, as his body shut down the blood flow to the outer layer of muscles in anticipation of taking damage. This was known as vasoconstriction, and it was the body's method of preventing blood loss. But it also caused loss of fine motor control since the muscles weren't getting blood, and Melville began taking deep, controlled breaths to get it under control. He knew from experience that once the battle started he'd be fine, but the anticipation was hell and his combat breathing was the tool to get it under control.
    Melville gazed along the barrel. The elevation was right: it had been carefully calculated ahead of time. But to point it true he made tiny jerks of his head to the men with the crow on one side and the handspike on the other. With these tiny, last-minute corrections complete, Melville kept his left hand in contact with the Moss on the platform, let out his breath in a sigh, and reached down lovingly, caressingly with his right hand to stroke the Keel charge of the long brass 24-pounder.
    <> Cuddles cried out in his mind and then, "Cha-DOOM!!" the gun roared as Cuddles screamed <> in his head and the instantly recoiling gun shot inboard beneath him. A flashing stab came from the gun combined with a concussion, the shriek of the deadly recoil, and a harsh smell of ozone in the air as though they were discharging lightning bolts, all accompanied by a copper taste in the mouth.
    Melville and the gun's crew were scarcely aware of the enormous ringing crack, the flash of light, and the stink of ozone. Auditory exclusion shut out the sound of the shot, just as a hunter shuts out the sound of his shot when he drops a deer, and all the other violent manifestations were taken for granted. They rammed home a new ball and wad, and then ran the piece out again with a squeal like some huge hog going to its death and ending with a satisfying thump as the gun came into battery. The crew's motions, though extremely rapid, precise, and powerful, were so