HMS Nightingale (Alexis Carew Book 4)

by J. A. Sutherland

Nabb’s eyes grew wide. “I should bloody well hope not —”

  “Watch your tongue with the captain!” Ousley barked.

  Nabb rolled his eyes at the bosun, but addressed Alexis more calmly.

  “All it does, sir, is turn off the safeties. There’s no more to it than that.”

  Villar frowned. “There has to be more to it.”

  Nabb shook his head. “Not a bit, sir. It’s wired up to transition anywhere, but that don’t mean, well, that you’d wind up anywhere, if you take my meaning.”

  “Well what’s the use of that?” Villar asked. “There must be some point to it.”

  Nabb shrugged. “Point would be the ship and crew’d go to wherever such things go, sir. But it don’t seem there’s any coming back.”

  Alexis took another drink and pondered it for a moment. She felt she was missing something important, but there was too much noise, too many possibilities, for her to see the truth clearly.

  Pirates taking gallenium shipments, which were valuable but not the easiest thing to dispose of, ships that were modified to transition in such a way as to effectively destroy themselves, the Coalsons and Jadiqis with more coin than seemed right — none of it made sense. And now the Crown with a crew half made up of women and children, all of whom seemed to hate their captors with a viciousness that drove them to strike even when horribly injured themselves. Some of those things might not be related at all, but what were the pieces she needed?

  “Bloody fanatics,” Ousley muttered, wincing again.

  Alexis frowned. “What did you say?”

  “Well, sir, it’s one thing to go a’pirating, but this lot takes it too far. To strike at those trying to pull you off a wrecked ship? Ain’t right.”

  “We’ve been looking at this all wrong,” Alexis said, rising. “With me to the Orlop, gentlemen, I want our mysterious quarterdeck-man awake instanter.”

  “I do this under protest,” Poulter said, holding an injector to the arm of the man on a cot. “This man was stabbed — he needs rest.”

  The orlop was crowded, with nearly every cot occupied, most by those off the Crown, but three by Nightingales who’d been injured before they’d realized the Crowns intended them harm even as they surrendered.

  “He was stabbed by one of his own, Mister Poulter, and we need answers.” Alexis nodded for him to continue.

  Poulter injected him and the man’s eyes sprang open.

  He blinked, looking around wildly, and jerked his arms which were bound to the cot.

  Alexis leaned close. The drugs would make the man somewhat malleable and willing to answer questions. She was about to speak when the man spat in her face.

  “Devil’s whore!”

  Ousley drove his fist into the man’s side, just above the stab wound. “Watch it, you!”

  “You can’t —” Poulter protested, but Alexis nodded to Corporal Brace who inserted himself between Poulter and the group around the cot, neatly edging the surgeon back.

  “Easy, Mister Ousley.” Alexis wiped the spittle from her face. “It was original, at least.”

  “Bitch!” The man spat again, but Alexis had stood and it missed her.

  And we’re back to that again.

  She sighed and stared at the man for a moment, wondering how to proceed. What might anger him enough to get him talking and give something away? Perhaps knowing that he’d failed in his aim to take the transports and that his cohort had abandoned him?

  “The Owl fled,” she said. “The gallenium transports are all safe and on their way. I saw to that.”

  The man shook his head from side to side, clearly disoriented and savagely angry.

  “Defilers!”

  “What’s he babbling on about?” Ousley asked.

  “Ssh,” Alexis said, then focused her attention on the man, speaking quietly to him. “Why didn’t you transition away? What stopped you?”

  “Would have! Would have taken you with us, too!” The man was speaking in quick, disjointed sentences, the result of the drugs Poulter’d given him. They’d do the man no good, but would loosen his tongue. “But that coward! He betrayed the faith and stopped me — afraid to die.” His eyes focused on Alexis and he sneered. “We’ll be free of you lot soon — my brothers and sisters’ll see to that.”

  Alexis frowned, not sure why he’d want to have taken Nightingale along if he’d managed to transition — and he seemed to be saying that the other man on the Crown’s quarterdeck had stopped him, had been afraid to die. Did that mean the other man had wanted to surrender? That didn’t ring true — nothing about these pirates rang true, in fact. They were so different from those she’d encountered before, especially with this talk of faith and unbelievers. She suspected the Jadiqis of being behind this for profit, what with the amount goods they imported, but none of the Crown’s crew, this man included, looked like the Jadiqis she’d seen.

  “Where are you based? Where is the Owl going now?” Alexis asked.

  “Smash the unbelievers, they brought this on us. Started it. Now they’ll suffer themselves, then the heretics who did nothing to stop it,” the man said. He coughed, winced in pain, and a bit of bloody froth appeared on his lips.

  “Is that where the Owl’s going?” Alexis asked. “To smash the unbelievers?”

  The man nodded. “Once they’re gone, it’ll stop.”

  “What will stop?” Villar asked.

  Alexis held up her hand to keep him quiet. She thought she saw it now.

  “The ships will stop coming once the unbelievers are gone?” she asked.

  “Left us alone ‘til they came,” the man muttered, his eyelids drooping. “Then the ships never stopped.”

  “Lieutenant Carew,” Poulter said forcefully. He pushed Corporal Brace to the side. “This man is a prisoner; he needs to be still — you’re killing him.”

  He wouldn’t be the first.

  Alexis regarded the man for a moment, she wanted to know more, but felt she had enough. Unbelievers. Unbelievers held to blame for the arrival of ships? Merchant ships? That she’d heard before.

  An “internal matter”, my arse.

  She nodded to Poulter, then to the others. Piracy was bad enough, but if the Owl was about what she now suspected, the consequences for two colonies would be dire.

  “Let’s put the Crown to rights, gentlemen, we sail for Al Jadiq instanter.”

  Forty-Eight

  27 May, aboard HMS Nightingale, Al Jadiq System

  It wasn’t instanter — not by any measure.

  The Crown was too damaged to sail and her surviving crew too numerous to keep aboard Nightingale all the way to Al Jadiq. Alexis chafed at the delay, hating that the Owl was getting more and more of a lead with every moment, but also unwilling to abandon the Crown’s crew aboard their derelict vessel. They’d either die there or set their ship to rights and return to their predations — neither was acceptable, and Nightingale had no space to keep so many secure. Instead, the ship was repaired so that it would at least hold air and sail, most of the survivors were locked in the hold, and she put Villar aboard with a prize crew to bring the hulk along.

  It was possible they might be able to run some sort of ruse on the Owl, convincing them that it was the Crown which had taken Nightingale and luring the other ship in.

  An accounting of those survivors came to twenty-eight, less than half those who’d been aboard, with more than half of those left too injured in the action to even stand. A few of them, after the initial shock wore off, were willing to talk, and confirmed that they were from Man’s Fall, had somehow split from the main beliefs there, and, with one or two exceptions, still believed it was their mission to rid darkspace of trespassers.

  They also blamed Al Jadiq for the increase in visits to Man’s Fall, thinking that without that colony, if Man’s Fall were still the farthest out on the Fringe, they’d have had no visitors at all and could have had the idyllic life they wished.

  That would never work, she knew. Humanity was const
antly expanding. What was an unspoiled new world, alone at the very edges of settled space, within a few generations became a thriving colony surrounded by others equally populated. And even their own people wouldn’t remain the same forever — though it might be settled with those who held the same beliefs, each new generation would have some who would rebel against the strictures set by the founders.

  The Jadiqis themselves had discovered that more than once, settling first on Abhatian, then Zariah, then Al Jadiq, having to move ever outward to maintain the isolation they wished.

  Those on Man’s Fall should have seen that, or perhaps the majority did and it was only the smaller group of fanatics who thought they could hold back change.

  One can’t remain isolated when one is surrounded — and our history of expansion shows you eventually will be.

  She still, though, had no idea what they thought one ship could accomplish until Creasy managed to make the discovery of the Owl’s intent. Working with the Crown’s signals console, he was able to unlock the code the pirates used and brought word to Alexis.

  More than gallenium, the pirates had taken mining charges off a transport bound for Dalthus. The low-yield nuclear devices were designed to split stubborn asteroids, exposing the ore within.

  Nightingale’s transition from darkspace to Al Jadiq was quite different than previous visits. No sooner had the stars appeared and the ship’s monitors woken to begin scanning the system than alarms began sounding on the quarterdeck.

  Dorsett jumped at the tactical station, startled into action, and began reporting. Alexis merely closed her eyes for a moment, realizing she was too late once again.

  “Debris tracks in orbit, sir! Two … three … no, two hulls broken up, a third’s intact, somewhat.” He ran fingers over his monitors. “Fusion radiation in orbit.”

  “Repeating signal from orbit, sir,” Creasy interrupted. “Ship in distress. Require assistance. It’s the Dark Gale, sir.”

  Alexis nodded, not sure why she wasn’t surprised to find Captain Lounds and his Marchant Company ship still tied up in this mess somehow.

  “Best speed for orbit,” she ordered. “Creasy, contact the Dark Gale and determine what they need. Dorsett, keep a close lookout — whoever was responsible for this may still be in system.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  As they made their way toward the planet, more and more of the damage became clear.

  “Dark Gale’s badly damaged, sir,” Villar pointed out.

  Alexis nodded. There were at least two, possibly three, other ships which had been destroyed outright in orbit. The Gale had, at least, an intact hull, though that hull was stripped of virtually all fittings. The remains of her masts were twisted into tortured shapes, sails and rigging missing entirely. Moreover, the ship itself was in a tumbling, rapidly decaying orbit.

  “Tell them we’re coming, Creasy.”

  “Aye, sir.” He paused. “Still no direct contact, though, only the repeating signal.”

  “They may be able to receive our message, but unable to respond. Hearing help is on the way could make the difference.”

  She turned her attention back to the navigation plot and images of the planet itself. As time dragged on, even under Nightingale’s full power to the conventional drive, she began to see the full extent of the damage here, if not what might have caused it, and cursed herself for not transitioning at the closer L1 point. It might have even made sense to return to darkspace immediately and sail to that point, but now that Nightingale was in transit it would take too long to reverse course.

  And lives may be lost for me not seeing that.

  The primary port of Al Jadiq was visible now, images brought in by the ship’s optics, through a light cloud cover. She supposed it would be quite a lovely day on the surface, if not for the three massive columns of thick, dark smoke rising from the city. Those columns were each over half a kilometer across and she could make out the devastation of flattened buildings on the upwind side.

  “The mining charges, do you suppose?” Villar asked.

  Alexis nodded. Her first ship, Merlin, had been on the receiving end of one of those, though in space where the blast area was less. She shuddered at the effects of one in atmosphere. They were designed to break up large asteroids into more manageable pieces, or to expose ore seams embedded deep within. Here they’d been put to quite another purpose.

  “Why?” Villar’s voice was rough.

  “For being in league with the devil, I suppose, much as we ourselves are.” Alexis swallowed hard. “A full explanation will have to wait until we catch up with them.” She sighed. “Understanding, perhaps, a bit longer.”

  She stared at the images for a time, silently willing Nightingale to faster speed, then shook herself. There were preparations they could make, rather than remaining idle.

  “When we reach orbit, Mister Villar, you shall take a boat and crew to the surface. See what aid you might render.” She supposed it was her place, as commander, to make that contact, but given the Jadiqi attitudes it was probably best to send Villar. “Mister Khouri … or whoever may be left in charge will likely accept aid from you easier than from me.” Villar nodded. “Now is not the time to push back against their prejudices.”

  “Handsomely, now, Busbey,” Alexis murmured to helmsman who was hunched over his console, shoulders tense and with sweat beading his face despite the cool air of the quarterdeck. “Handsomely.”

  “Aye … aye, sir.”

  She couldn’t blame him for his nervousness. The Dark Gale was in a bizarre tumble at the very edges of Al Jadiq’s atmosphere, and sinking further. So deep, in fact, that there was some, small though it might be yet, effect on the other ship’s course as both gravity and the thinnest bit of atmosphere worked on the slowly tumbling craft.

  Busbey’s task, with the help of Nightingale’s computer, was to match that course and tumble, placing Nightingale alongside.

  There was still no word from the other ship, but with so much damage to the hull and fittings, they might have no way to transmit anything but the automated distress beacon Nightingale had already detected. But ships were tough, Alexis knew. So long as the inertial compensators were active, those inside the Gale would be as unaffected by the tumble as she herself was on Nightingale’s quarterdeck. Once the tumble was matched, they’d be able to extend a boarding tube and cut through the other ship’s hull, hopefully freeing any survivors.

  It was something neither Busbey nor any other helmsman could have done alone, but the ship’s computers were the equal to the task … if only barely.

  “This is the best there may be, sir,” Busbey said finally.

  Beside her, Ousley grunted, watching the operation and examining his own calculations on a tablet.

  “Too much torque for the tubes, sir, it’s not steady enough. Have to be done by lines, I think.”

  Alexis grimaced. An aired boarding tube would be best, for there was no guarantee those aboard the Gale would be in vacsuits. But if the other ship’s tumble couldn’t be matched closely enough, then they’d have to string lines across, leaving enough slack to make up the difference, and bring the Gale’s crew over in vacuum.

  “We’ve bags enough, I think,” Ousley said, causing Alexis to grimace again.

  None of the Gale’s crew, merchantmen though they might be, would relish the idea of being dragged through space in a rescue bag. Or they might, in fact, once they realized the alternative was to go down into Al Jadiq’s atmosphere with their ship.

  “Be about it, Mister Ousley.”

  The next several hours consisted of what Alexis thought was one of the worst parts of command — standing idly by while the men who looked to her went off into danger on her orders.

  “Stand down, Busbey,” she said quietly, squeezing the helmsman’s shoulder. “Let Audley have a turn.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Busbey moved aside and Audley, the port-watch helmsman, took his place. Alexis had the two, from port and starbo
ard watches, changing off every fifteen or twenty minutes to keep them fresh. The constant adjustments necessary to keep Nightingale orbiting around the tumbling Gale wore on the men quickly.

  More wearing was the work of Ousley and the men with him.

  The bosun, three of his mates, and six of Nightingale’s most experienced hands — most experienced with working outside the hull, that is — had the unenviable task of moving between the two ships.

  While the helmsmen attempted to keep the ship as stable as possible in relation to the Gale, Ousley and his mates fired lines across the intervening space, then slid along those first, tenuous connections to the Gale’s hull. They made the lines fast and set up a breaching chamber on the damaged ship’s hull.

  The lines made the helmsman’s job even more difficult, for there was now less leeway in the necessary station keeping. The lines had some slack, and there were two master’s mates on Nightingale’s hull to let out and manage the lines, so that they didn’t snap when Nightingale drifted farther away, but now the helmsmen had to ensure that they didn’t become twisted with each other or tangled up in what was left of the Gale’s rigging.

  Ousley and his crew breached the Gale’s hull and entered.

  From the images sent back from their suits, Alexis found the other ship’s interior a nightmare scene. Lights flickered in smoke-filled compartments as Ousley and his men moved throughout the ship, locating and checking each figure they came across. Few of the Gale’s crew were in vacsuits, telling Alexis that whatever had befallen the ship had come as a surprise.

  Some sections of the ship’s hull had been breached, venting atmosphere and killing those within. Others of the crew were unconscious from whatever damage had been inflicted. Consoles and electronics everywhere had short-circuited, filling the ship with an acrid smoke. The ship’s environmental systems were either unable to keep up with the smoke or had been damaged themselves.

  Soon enough the Gale’s crew began making the trip to Nightingale. Those who could locate a vacsuit and were uninjured came across on their own, safety line clipped to the tether between the two ships and pulling themselves along as quickly as they could. Those without suits or those who were too injured to make the journey on their own were sealed into the heavy rescue bags and pulled across by one of their mates or one of the Nightingales.