Spacer, Smuggler, Pirate, Spy Box Set

by J. A. Sutherland

  All those classes, but never a one on this.

  He took a deep breath.

  “It’ll do us no good to take the ship —” He noted that more than one in the group winced as he spoke the words, knowing, as he did himself, that they, this group, were now fully liable to be hanged if they were ever found out. Even if they did nothing, he’d just spoken mutiny and they’d heard the words without dragging him to the captain immediately. Even Presgraves’ talk of the fusion plant had been so couched in hyperbole that it could be argued as just malcontented talk. “No good at all to take the ship if we’re then retaken by that sloop. We need to be patient and plan.”

  He met each of their eyes in turn. No one looked away from his gaze, but none seemed happy by where they were either.

  Perhaps this wasn’t the way, he wondered. Perhaps they should all just go back to their bunks and suffer through this voyage. He could jump ship at whatever system Kaycie was put off on and make his way with her —

  A noise, barely audible, caught his attention and he was moving before he even thought.

  He caught sight of the others’ widened eyes as he spun and rushed between the crates that formed the entry way.

  It was only as he caught sight of the figure in the hold’s main aisle, crouched and peering around the crate’s corner, that he realized he’d heard the shuffle of a boot against the deck. Only as he recognized Hobler, straightening now, face angry and mouth contorting to shout, that he realized they were found out.

  Hobler stood, turning to shout for the guards near the slave compartments, and Avrel lunged.

  He thought only to silence the man and gain a bit of time to think and talk to the others, but Hobler leaned away. The lean threw him off balance, his feet tangled, and Avrel’s lunge to grapple and place a hand over his mouth turned into a shove.

  Hobler was flung backward. His neck, just below his skull, hit the edge of the crate, as though Fate itself had stepped in to ensure the worst possible outcome.

  There was a thud and a sickening crack.

  Hobler collapsed to the deck, Avrel atop him.

  Avrel knew in an instant that the man was dead. The feel of the body under him had lost all sense of humanity even before they’d come fully to rest.

  He rolled off and scampered to the nearest crate, putting his back to it. His eyes were wide and he couldn’t seem to get enough air. He hadn’t meant to kill the man, only to stop him — silence him from yelling for a moment so that the guards wouldn’t be alerted and they’d have a bit of time to think —

  Detheridge and the others crowded into the hold’s aisle. She looked from Avrel to Hobler’s body, then back again.

  “You were saying, lad?”

  One doesn’t easily come back from death, no matter which side of the cause one’s on.

  Avrel was aware of his surroundings — the feel of a crate, solids for the carpenter’s printer, he thought, at his back, Detheridge and the others crowding around, as well as their mutterings — but his focus was on Hobler. On the still, eerily still, body which used to be Hobler, at least.

  “Oh, we’re buggered now,” Rosson muttered.

  “They’ll be on us,” Presgraves agreed.

  Avrel heard it, but couldn’t quite process what they were saying.

  It had all turned sideways in such an instant that he couldn’t take it in. Until now, they’d just been talking. Oh, there’d been the intent to take the ship, but there was still that knowledge that they could walk away — go back to their berths and speak no more of it. There was an out.

  No out now.

  Hobler’d be discovered and someone would hang for it. Moreover, Avrel’d done it. He’d killed a man — all unintentional, perhaps, but still it was on him and no one else. He supposed there’d been that knowledge too, that no taking of Minorca could be entirely without violence, but that had been in the future. There’d been an out.

  Someone else was speaking now, though in a calm, reasoned tone unlike the others.

  “No, Presgraves, we’ve no need of you blowing the reactor. We’re not nearly in straits so dire yet. Yes, should we need to, you’ll have the job. For now, go with Detheridge, right? Detheridge, you take Presgraves to meet with her messmates — just the ones you’re sure of, hear me, Presgraves? Get them down here. Sween, you go with Rosson and do the same. If there are others who’ll join us — ones you’re sure of, mind you— then bring them here. Or, better, if they’re bright enough then just give them the eye and the nod with a whisper to be ready. Sure of, though, and I mean bet-your-mum’s-life sure.”

  “Me mum’s not so —”

  “Not the time, Grubbs, you understand my meaning, I’m certain. Good. Now, Sween, you drag Hobler’s body back into this hidey-hole and we’ll set the crate in front. He’ll be missed end of watch and that’s but two bells from now. The ship’s arms are under lock, so we’ll need to free those in the slave compartments first and take the stunners from the guards, then we’ll move on the quarterdeck and the fusion plant next, to ensure control of the ship — no, Presgraves, I’m afraid you’ll be with me for the quarterdeck. If there’s anything to be blown up, it’ll go to you — my word on it.

  “Detheridge, you take the fusion plant with two others while I take Sween and Presgraves for the quarterdeck. We’ll each take however many of the captives might be trusted to follow instructions — I’ll want no violence against the crew who’re not immediately with us. They’ve not had a chance to change sides and I’ll not hold inaction against them.”

  The speaker stopped and Avrel took his gaze from Hobler’s body to scan the others, wondering what task he’d be assigned. The others stared back at him and he realized it had been him speaking all along, the years watching his father and other captains aboard family ships and the further years of training at Lesser Sibward coming to the fore when he most needed it.

  “Well,” Avrel said, “be about it.”

  The others moved off with more than one, “Aye, sir.”

  Detheridge held back a moment, staring at Avrel. “Knew you weren’t just no bloody topman.”

  The four guards outside the compartments holding the captives — even in the act of freeing them, Avrel had trouble thinking the vile word slavery — went down with nary a sound.

  Avrel and Detheridge walked up to them, arguing loudly about which owed the other gulpers over some imagined bet, and grappled two, while Presgraves and Sween crept up from aft and drove the other two to the deck from behind. Once the scuffle started, the others, Grubbs, Rosson, and six more who’d responded to the call, swarmed out of the hold’s shadows and took the lads down.

  One of the guards, Lish, an able spacer from a world near the Barbary, offered to join in the mutiny, but Avrel wouldn’t trust him to assist right off. He was put in a now empty compartment with the other guards and given the task of watching them.

  “His world’s been raided more than once,” Detheridge said, “he’d likely help.”

  “I’ll trust no one who wasn’t with us to start this,” Avrel said, “it takes but one shout to alert the quarterdeck we’re coming and it’d be all over.”

  The quarterdeck and the fusion plant were the critical areas to take. If the latter wasn’t taken, then power to the ship could be shut off and they’d have no choice to surrender — the former could lock down the ship, closing and fastening all of the hatches remotely, so that they’d not be able to make their way anywhere. They had to take both, take them cleanly, and at very nearly the same time.

  “We’ll take some of the captives, not too many and only those who know their way about a ship. Only those who look as though they’ll follow orders and keep their heads about them. There’s no one on Minorca responsible for their taking, and I’ll have no bloodbaths of vengeance against our crew.”

  “Aye,” Detheridge agreed.

  They sorted things in quite a short time.

  Avrel entered each compartment, told the captives what they were about, asked w
ho was a spacer, then picked the one or two who appeared not to be overcome with rage at their captivity. In the end, they’d added twelve men and women to their force. A large enough group to take the quarterdeck and fusion plant, with four stunners between them, but not so many as to draw too very much attention as they moved through the ship.

  Up on the main deck, where the quarterdeck was located, Avrel paused. He checked his tablet to see the time. The other team would need a few more minutes to reach and take the fusion plant and engineering spaces — time Avrel decided to put to other uses.

  “We’ll free Kaycie first.”

  Sween gave him a puzzled look.

  “Miss Overfield,” Avrel explained, flushing at the further looks he got from both Sween and Presgraves. “She’ll be of use taking the quarterdeck, as the hatch might open for her.”

  “Right,” Sween said, though he looked dubious.

  Avrel himself felt it was a slim chance, but Morell was not so punctilious about some things. It was possible, throwing an officer off the ship not being a thing he did all that often, that Morell’d simply had her locked up and not removed any of Kaycie’s access to Minorca. If the quarterdeck hatch did open for her, it would save them the trouble of making some excuse to get through it. They could also, if Minorca’s controls were similar to what Avrel’d learned at Lesser Sibward, throw open the hatches to the fusion plant, making things easier for Detheridge and her team.

  “Kehoe’s on her hatch, last I heard,” Sween said. “Naught to do but keep her from talking to any of the crew, as I hear it.”

  Avrel nodded. Kaycie hadn’t been aboard so long as to have any of the crew loyal to her — naught but himself, in any case — nor could she hope to escape to anywhere, so Morell must have thought there was little need for a tighter guard.

  “Right,” Avrel said. They were just down the companionway from the officers’ cabins, tucked around the corner where the deck opened up to the main spaces. Kehoe and Kaycie’s compartment were only a few meters away and there were only a few others of Minorca’s crew about on the main deck. The ship would be on her current tack for hours yet, and the crew was resting and idle before being called to the sails once more. “We’ll just walk up, casual-like, and distract him, then free Kaycie. Do you suppose there’s a mess tray anywhere about? We could say we were delivering a meal or some —”

  “Bugger that,” Presgraves muttered. She stepped around Avrel and Sween into the companionway and strode toward the guard.

  “Hell,” Sween muttered.

  “What’s she —”

  Avrel heard the sound of Presgraves’ jumpsuit fastener coming undone and she shrugged as she walked so that it slid down her arms exposing her shoulders.

  “Oy! Kehoe!” she called. “Fancy a poke before we’re back at it?”

  “You did say to distract him,” Sween muttered, craning his neck to see around Avrel.

  “Hst! He’ll hear you and —”

  “Mean to say, I’m distracted and I don’t even get sight of the front bits —”

  Presgraves was only a meter from the guard now, with her jumpsuit slid so far down her back that quite a bit of skin was exposed. Kehoe’s view from the front would, indeed, have a few more bits in it.

  Kehoe stared, open mouthed.

  “Well?” Presgraves asked. “Quick, before we’re called to change sail again, eh?”

  “I —” Kehoe stared, swallowed, cleared his throat, and stared more. “Captain said I’m to guard this hatch, see? Next watch, maybe?”

  There was silence for a moment, with both Presgraves and Kehoe standing still, Kehoe staring, then Presgraves leapt for him.

  “Next bloody watch?”

  Presgraves drove Kehoe to the deck with a flurry of blows. By the time Avrel and Sween rounded the corner, she had Kehoe on the deck, sitting atop him, with her arms wind milling furiously as she struck the man.

  “I show you the goods, offer you a poke, an’ you say, ‘Next bloody watch?’”

  Avrel could hear Kehoe yelping, but the sound was overridden by Presgraves and the sound of fists hitting flesh. He and Sween each grasped one of Presgraves’ arms, both struggling as she jerked against them to strike Kehoe again, and pulled her off. Avrel caught a glimpse of the “goods” as Sween then swung her around and backed her against the bulkhead.

  “Here, now,” Sween said, “no call to go and kill the bugger over it.”

  Presgraves stopped struggling and turned her attention to Sween, whose own attention was clearly on the goods.

  “‘No call?’ No bloody call, you say?” Presgraves shrugged off Sween’s grip, then grasped the goods and fairly shoved them in Sween’s face, not to any obvious displeasure on Sween’s part. “You’d tell these, ‘Next bloody watch,’ would you?”

  “Not in life,” Sween assured her, nodding in time to Presgraves’ movements.

  Avrel knelt next to Kehoe, who was bloodied about his nose and mouth and whose left eye was starting to swell.

  “Are you all right, mate?”

  “What … what happened?” Kehoe shook his head. “’m supposed to guard the hatch.”

  “Ain’t right, what he done,” Presgraves said. “Ain’t right, at all.”

  “What’d I do?”

  “Get a girl all worked up thinkin’ she’ll get a poke, then tell her, ‘Next bloody watch.’” Presgraves glared at Kehoe. “Not right, it ain’t.”

  “What? I never —”

  Sween kicked Kehoe’s leg. “Shush, you bugger,” he said, never taking his eyes from Presgraves. “No, not right at all, but, look here, you’ve your own work to be about, don’t you?”

  Presgraves turned her gaze to Sween, blinking. “What?”

  “Well, now, what if we’ve need of the fusion plant blowing, eh? Where’ll we be if you’re off shagging and that needs done? Might have t’have someone else do it and you’d miss out.”

  Presgraves blinked again. “Right.” She pulled her jumpsuit together and fastened it, to Sween’s obvious disappointment, then frowned. “How about you, then? Blowing a thing up always does make me fancy a poke.”

  Sween cocked his head for a moment, then nodded slowly. “All right, lass — if we’ve need of your blowing the plant, I’m your man right after, right?”

  Presgraves grinned. “There you go.” She spat on Kehoe. “Not like this bugger, you.”

  “Whyn’t you wait a bit down there, eh?”

  Presgraves nodded and moved down the companionway closer to the quarterdeck, and farther from the fusion plant, much to Avrel’s increased comfort. He and Sween shared a look.

  Kehoe made to stand, but Avrel pushed him back down.

  “Is she entirely right in the head?” he asked.

  Sween glanced toward Presgraves as though to ensure she couldn’t hear, then said, “No.” He grinned. “But she’s a fancy set of bits, if a man can keep the lass on track.”

  Avrel stood. “You stay there,” he said as Kehoe started to rise too.

  “But I’m to watch the hatch —”

  “Stay put or I’ll call Presgraves back and remind her of what you did.”

  “I’ll stay right here then, shall I?” Kehoe lay back and closed his eyes. “Whatever you lot’re about, I went down and out.” His eyes scrunched tight. “Never heard nor seen nothing after, me.”

  “Good man.”

  Avrel rubbed his face. It was lucky so much of the crew was resting on the berthing deck, or this scuffle would have drawn attention. Even with it not, there was little time before Detheridge would be at the fusion plant, and the quarterdeck crew would need distracting when that happened. Still, he wanted Kaycie freed and with them, and if the hatch wasn’t locked they still had time.

  He keyed the hatch, which opened to reveal a darkened compartment. She must be sleeping, with little else to do while held captive.

  Avrel stepped into the compartment, whispering so as not to startle her from sleep, “Kaycie, I’ve —”

  Thump.<
br />
  Avrel looked up from the deck, wondering for a moment just how he’d got there.

  Kaycie looked down at him, as did Sween and even Presgraves, who seemed to have come back from her place down the hall — Kehoe, he assumed, was still doing his best to appear incapacitated, especially with Presgraves back.

  “Are y’with us, lad?” Sween asked.

  “Jon, I’m so sorry.” Kaycie tossed what she was holding — her compartment’s small desk surface, Avrel saw, which had once folded down from bulkhead in one corner — onto her cot, but not before Avrel noted a smear of red on it. The compartment was lit now, which hadn’t been the case when he entered, so he must have lost a bit of time.

  Kaycie, with her desk ripped off the wall, waiting in a dark compartment, and now Avrel on the deck with, he noted, most of his face feeling a bit like Kehoe’s must.

  And bits of myself smeared on that desk panel. Right — that explains it, then.

  Kaycie knelt and helped him sit up. He shook his head a bit to clear it, which was rather an error.

  When his vision cleared, he grasped Kaycie’s hand.

  “I’m here to rescue you,” Avrel said. “You hit me.”

  Kaycie flushed. “Right. Sorry about that. I thought you were the guard and I wanted loose.”

  “I’m here to rescue you,” Avrel said. “You hit me.”

  Kaycie frowned. “Right, again. Are you —”

  Avrel’s senses were coming back a bit more and he struggled to his feet. “You hit me.”

  “I didn’t know it was you!”

  Avrel raised his hand to his face, probing at the tender spots. “You hit me hard!”

  Kaycie stood, dropping Avrel back to the deck with another thump. “Well, it’s no more than you deserved after … after what you did on Kuriyya!”

  Avrel blinked. What’d he done to Kaycie on Kuriyya? “What’d I bloody do to you?”

  “Why you …” She trailed off and clenched her jaw. “You’re dense as any stone, Jon Bartlett!”