“We’ve little time for all this,” Sween put in, “beggin’ yer pardon for interrupting, miss.” He frowned. “And why’re you callin’ him that?”
Kaycie flushed and cut her eyes from Sween to Avrel. “It’s … it’s a name we use where I’m from.” She narrowed her eyes at Avrel. “For a man who’s a dolt and dullard.”
Sween nodded. “Well, if yer through hitting him, we may be about the same sort of thing. As you seem to’ve been bent on gettin’ yerself loose, and all.”
“And what were you thinking to do once you were loose?” Avrel asked.
Kaycie shrugged. “I had no plan, but anything aboard Minorca would be better than being put in-atmosphere wherever we’re bound. If the system is importing slaves, then I’d not hold out much for my chances there. I thought I might hide some message in the ship’s mail core that could alert my family, or at the very least cause a bit of havoc and disrupt Morell’s plans.”
Presgraves nodded, grinning. “There’s a plan, a bit of havoc.” Her eyes widened. “Shall her and I off to the fusion plant, then?”
“No,” Sween and Avrel said as one.
Avrel checked his tablet. “We’ve barely time to get to the quarterdeck,” Avrel said. “Come on.”
Presgraves pouted, but otherwise followed along.
There was no guard on the quarterdeck hatch. Minorca was no warship, after all. Morell must have felt he needed only to guard the captives and his one recalcitrant officer, while the rest of the crew was behind him.
Avrel knew differently. Many, perhaps most, of the crew were either ambivalent or opposed to Minorca’s nasty business. They might not assist his little group in taking the ship, but once that was done they’d not fight to free Morell, either — not once Avrel’s lot were clearly in charge. As well, once in control of the quarterdeck, the fusion plant, and, he’d got the codes from Morell for the arms locker, the common crew would have no means to fight back.
He had only to gain that control, then announce his intentions to sail back to Penduli and the New London authorities, and most of the crew would at least play along, if not covertly support him.
“How do you plan to get through the hatch if he’s keeping it locked?” Kaycie asked, as they made their way up the companionway. It was near the watch change and they could hear the bustling movement of bodies below on the berthing deck as those about to go on watch made ready.
“I’d thought to rush it when the watch changed,” Avrel said. “There’ll be new men for the consoles and he’ll have to open for them.”
Kaycie grunted. “Dicey.”
“A bit.” Avrel nodded. “But now you’re with us, and there’s a possibility he did no more than lock your cabin. Your tablet might still open the quarterdeck hatch.”
“So, do we wait for the watch change or rush it now?” Sween asked.
“Wait, I think —” Avrel broke off as the hatch a deck below them sounded and footsteps came up the companionway.
All four of them turned to look as a spacer came into view.
“Blakesley,” Sween said, nodding to the man.
“Sween,” the man said, nodding to each of Avrel’s group in turn. “Dansby, Presgraves …” He frowned. “Miss Overfield? I thought you were —”
Kaycie smiled. “A misunderstanding — all cleared up. Are you going on watch?”
“Signals,” Blakesley said. “Not much for it, with just the one ship along with us, but the station’s got to be manned, don’t it?”
“It does,” Kaycie agreed. “Well, I have the next watch, as well, shall I walk with you?”
“Not but a few meters, but —”
“Fine, then.” Kaycie slid the hatch open and gestured for Blakesley to precede her. As he passed, she plucked the stunner Avrel’d taken from the guards in the hold from where he held it behind his back out of Blakesley’s sight. “You’re from Thatchlow, are you not, Blakesley?”
“Aye, miss.”
“My family’s firm did some trading there, at times. It’s known for its fishing, yes?”
Blakesley nodded, not noticing that Avrel and Sween were following along behind him, as well.
“Sport fishing, aye, miss. There’s a beastie as shouldn’t be missed, if such is your passion — horrible eating, but fights like a bugger … begging your pardon, miss.”
Whether to the presence of Blakesley’s tablet or Kaycie’s, Avrel couldn’t tell, but the quarterdeck hatch slid open.
No sooner had the hatch slid open enough to fit her, did Kaycie shove Blakesley to the side and leap through.
Avrel followed immediately behind her, not entirely sure when or how she’d taken up the lead — not that she’d done it wrong, mind you, only that he’d been saying who was to do what since their meeting in the hold and now Kaycie was all but waggling her fingers for him to follow along.
Plucking that stunner from me, like she did and —
Through the hatch and onto the quarterdeck left him no more time to think.
Both Morell and Turkington were there, along with four spacers at the consoles — Turkington closest to the hatch and Morell on the far side of the circular navigation plot that filled the center of the compartment. All of them looked startled at Kaycie’s appearance, then again as Avrel followed, and more so as Sween and Presgraves rushed in.
Kaycie raised the stunner and fired at Morell without a word, but the captain reacted before she could pull the trigger. Her shot went over his head, brushing the spacer at a console behind him and sending that poor sot to the deck in a crumpled heap.
“Boarders!” Turkington yelled.
It wasn’t, strictly speaking, correct, as they’d been aboard the whole time, but it was what spacers were trained to react to. The quarterdeck crew was no different and, if they took a brief moment to determine it was Avrel’s group Turkington was yelling about, they did figure it out.
Turkington grabbed Kaycie’s arm and Jessup, the man Blakesley had been about to replace on the signals console, tackled Avrel at the knees.
“Get Morell!” Avrel yelled as he went down, slamming his fists into Jessup’s back and kicking to try and break his grip.
Sween went around the navigation plot, but he was taken down by one of the quarterdeck crew and the two rolled about on the deck.
Presgraves took the clearer route to Captain Morell. She leapt onto the navigation plot, slid across the smooth surface, and off the far edge to land on the captain, who let out a grunt of pain audible even over the shouts and scuffles that filled the quarterdeck’s space.
Avrel struggled to his feet, kicking at Jessup, who still clung to one of his legs. He grasped the edge of the navigation plot and pulled himself up, then ran his fingers over the surface. The menus were all much the same from ship to ship, and the Marchants could be trusted to keep their equipment updated, so there were no worries about it being antiquated. Neither Morell nor Turkington had the time to lock it for their entry, so there were no barriers to what Avrel planned.
Any ship traveling the Dark needed some means of controlling an unruly crew and Minorca was no different. Avrel flicked through the menus — Morell or Turkington would have known exactly where the setting was, but Avrel had to check all the possibilities, as well as kick and strike at Jessup to keep his footing.
He glanced up. On the other side of the navigation plot, both Morell and Presgraves had gained their feet, Presgraves between Morell and the plot.
“Step back from the plot, Dansby,” Morell said, ignoring Presgraves. “Don’t make this worse than —”
“Now, captain,” Presgraves said, hands out to her sides as though to placate him. “Ain’t none of us wants to —”
Morell’s palm connected with Presgraves cheek in a loud crack that split the air of the quarterdeck. It stilled the ongoing struggles for a moment, as though it had been a gunshot. Even Jessup stopped struggling to pull Avrel down.
Presgraves straightened from where she’d been knocked aside by the blow, eye
s narrow.
She stared at Morell for a moment, still and silent, then leapt for him, lips pulled back and fingers extended like claws.
“You buggering bollocks washer!”
Avrel’s fingers found the setting he wanted and activated it. Throughout Minorca, hatches closed and locked themselves — he could only hope that Detheridge’s group had made their way into the engineering spaces in time.
With the ship sealed and none of the crew able to move from whatever compartment they were in, Avrel turned his attention to Jessup and the rest of the fights on the quarterdeck.
Most of which had ceased as the participants stared in awe or horror at Presgraves, who was on top of Morell and swinging blood covered fists at the captain’s still form. She punctuated each blow with a shouted word and a grimace.
“Don’t! No! Man! Never!”
Kaycie took the opportunity of Turkington’s distraction to jab her stunner into his gut and pull the trigger. Turkington went down in a heap, and that — along with no little fear of Presgraves, Avrel was certain — took the fight out of the rest of the quarterdeck crew as well.
“Here, now,” Sween called, easing toward Presgraves and Morell. He dodged a spatter of blood from one of her backswings and moved closer. “I think yer done there, girl.”
Presgraves paused in her pummeling. She stared at Morell for a moment, as though evaluating her work, then nodded.
“Aye, he’s killed.”
Avrel couldn’t see for certain, but took her word for it. He sighed. That would make things more complicated, and he wished it’d been avoided, but there was nothing for it now. They still had Turkington alive and he’d know of the slavery plans just as much as Morell, he was sure.
Sween offered Presgraves a hand up and she stood.
“Not certain you needed to kill him so bloody much,” Sween muttered.
“Not needed? Did you see what he done?”
“Well, he shouldn’t’ve hit you, sure, but —”
“Hit me?” Presgraves swung to face Sween, face twisted in fury. “That weren’t no hit! The bugger slapped me, like I was some kind o’ prissy tart!” She backed Sween up against the navigation plot, face close and one finger raised between them. “You mark me, Culloden Sween, and well. If ever you hit me, well, we’ll have a proper go and then a pint and maybe a poke after, if you’re still up to it — but, by the Dark, if ever you slaps me like I ain’t worth your fist then …” She stepped back and spat on Morell’s body. “You hear me, Culloden Sween?”
“Aye. Aye, I do.”
Detheridge had taken the fusion plant with nary a man lost on either side.
Of course, she didn’t have Presgraves with her, so that was easier, Avrel thought.
With that, the quarterdeck, and the ship locked down, Minorca was theirs — now they simply needed to figure what they’d do with her.
Turkington, they locked in his cabin, after Avrel and Kaycie figured how to properly strip him of access to Minorca’s systems. They’d not make the same mistake Morell had of thinking a locked hatch was enough and taking the rest for granted.
Kaycie stayed on the quarterdeck with Sween and Presgraves while Avrel went aft with the stunners. He, along with Detheridge and a few others, then went through the ship, releasing those of the crew they could rely on and herding any they couldn’t below.
In the end, they’d replaced the captives in the hold with some half of Minorca’s crew, and replaced the crew with a combination of captive spacers and those who’d never sailed before.
“Did you consider the sailing of the ship before you started this?” Kaycie asked Avrel when he returned to the quarterdeck.
“Not as such, no.” He paused. “Did you consider anything past getting out of your cabin when you ripped the desk from the wall and beat me with it?”
Kaycie flushed. “Not as such.”
“There you are, then.”
Avrel thought they weren’t really so bad off, nearly half of Minorca’s crew was still free. He was a bit concerned about some of them, but they were not so many as could retake the ship — not now that the whole of the crew was aware and on the lookout for such a thing. Many of the released captives were quite experienced spacers, if they were to be believed, and he had no reason not to.
“We should be all right,” he said. “Not all of the spacers in the hold were New Londoners, though, so there’s a bit of a language problem below.”
Merchantmen, and even some navies, had eclectic crews to begin with, picking up hands in whatever port and from whatever system they were available. What they had now, though, was quite a bit different than a few hands who’d signed on in some past port. They had Hanoverese, French, Hso-hsi, and hands from even farther away than that. There was even one lad who claimed he was from some system off on the far side of Earth itself, and how he’d got clear around the massive globe of explored space only to be captured by some pirate in the Barbary, Avrel couldn’t fathom.
“Detheridge feels we’ll get by well enough, though,” Avrel said.
“So, what do we do now?”
Avrel paused — he’d truly not thought too very much beyond taking Minorca than Kaycie had getting out of her compartment. He’d thought only to put a stop to the ship getting any closer to offloading their human cargo.
“Well, we’re a fine pair of mutineers, aren’t we?”
Avrel winced. Kaycie’s words struck home and he’d not cared to think of himself as that, even since they’d taken Minorca.
He took a deep breath. They’d not be branded as that, not when the whole story was told, at least.
“Next is we need a way to lose our friend there,” he said, nodding to the navigation plot. Their escort was still in place, sailing placidly along aft and a few points off Minorca’s stern. “Do you have any thoughts?”
Kaycie shook her head. “My family’s policy was always to flee, then surrender in the face of a fight. The best chance of survival with pirates is always not to anger them — being left off in a ship’s boat or on some remote world’s always preferable to what they’ll do if one of them’s killed.”
Avrel nodded. It was his own family’s policy as well, and what was taught at Lesser Sibward. One might flee and have a chance of escape, but if it came to shooting a pirate’s ship would usually outgun and certainly outman a merchant. If one couldn’t get away clean it was better to give in — the pirates wanted the cargoes, after all, and not the crews. Sometimes not the ships themselves, even.
“I doubt that will work here.”
“No,” Kaycie agreed. “But it doesn’t change that we’re outgunned and outmanned. We’ll need something cleverer.” She grinned at him. “So, what’s the plan, Jon?”
“Douse the sails and hull,” Avrel ordered.
“Aye,” Grubbs said.
Grubbs was at the quarterdeck’s signals console. He and Privitt, a man from Rosson’s mess, at the tactical console, were the only ones manning the quarterdeck other than Avrel. Everyone else, those who could be trusted, at least, were either on the few guns Minorca carried or ready at the boarding tubes. They all had their vacsuits on, as did the rest of the crew, and those of the captives not huddled away in the hold for protection.
At Avrel’s order, Minorca’s sails went dark, no longer charged by the powerful particle projectors that let them harness the darkspace winds. Her hull, as well, went dark, and the ship began to slow, no longer propelled against the resistance of the dark matter that permeated the space around her. To an external observer, she’d appear dead and lifeless.
“Detheridge’s ready,” Grubbs said.
Avrel nodded, eyes on the navigation plot.
How long should it take? Time enough to run through diagnostics, he supposed. He ran fingers over the plot, plying the menus.
“A call to the engineer to find out what’s the trouble,” he muttered. “No, a runner — and we’d have no diagnostics on the quarterdeck. These consoles would be dark, wouldn’t they?�
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“Never been aboard a ship with the plant shutdown before,” Grubbs said.
Most spacers hadn’t, Avrel knew. It was a possibility, but rare. If the plant detected a problem, it would shut down, for the alternative would be far worse. The ship would be without power for any but emergency systems — until the plant was ensured safe and could be restarted.
“Yes, a runner to the plant,” Avrel said aloud, “then time for him to return with a message. A few minutes at least, and Captain Morell would be far more concerned with the workings of his ship than our escort there.”
He drummed his fingers on the plot, waiting. The other ship had noted Minorca’s plight now, and there was a flurry of activity on her hull. Sails trimmed and their charge lessened to slow her, and she was coming up into the wind herself to slow further. She’d already sailed past Minorca as the darkened, apparently powerless, ship slowed to a stop.
“All sorts of signals,” Grubbs said.
Avrel could see that on the plot, the image of the other ship brought inboard by passive optics and displayed there. Her masts and hull were flashing brightly, demanding a response from Minorca.
“Detheridge —”
“Keep her inboard,” Avrel said. “We’re scurrying about with our own troubles right now. We’re a Marchant ship, as well — we’ll get around to answering in our own bloody time, won’t we?” He stared at the other ship’s image, wondering what that captain was thinking. “Time enough for an answer from the engineer, and a bit of a whinge about why is this happening to me, I suppose.” He took a deep breath. “Time to realize we’re in a fix and more time to accept that a bit of help won’t go amiss.”
A fusion plant restart could be done alone, but it would tax the ship’s batteries to their limits — wear that had a cost, and they’d need replacing sooner. An expense like that, coming off a voyage’s profits — well, what captain wouldn’t want to avoid that?
Better to string a cable from another ship if one was lucky enough to have another nearby.
Spacer, Smuggler, Pirate, Spy Box Set Page 12
