Mutineer

by Sutherland, J. A.

  The shadowy figure raised an arm, hand extended to point at her in accusation. Behind Horsfall, more figures formed. Only a few at first, but then dozens, hundreds more. One by one they raised a hand to point at her. Some she knew, though their faces too were lost in shadow. Hadd, a topman lost in the Dark when she’d failed to save him as she should. Corsey and Bays, two marines the pirates had killed when she’d failed to divine their intent to retake the ship. Robert Alan, who’d saved them all aboard that ship — and died for his trouble when she’d failed to see his intent. Even the pirate, young Brighty, whose last days had been filled with terror — terror of her and her threat that she’d put him over the ship’s side to die alone in darkspace while she watched. Terror she’d put in him by telling him she’d do that very thing unless he obeyed her. Then, when he’d done what she demanded and piloted the ship for her, she’d let them hang him as a pirate without even trying to stop it. If she had thought to speak on his behalf, perhaps he could have been saved.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  The figures she didn’t know, though, were the worst. There were so very many of them, forming and crowding forward to accuse her. Who were they? Had she wronged so many? Failed so many? She didn’t see how that could be … there were hundreds of them now, and she was but sixteen-years old. Or did she not recognize them because she had yet to fail them?

  That thought drew a moan from her as it always did.

  The figures drew closer, merging into a single, rolling mass.

  “I tried!” Alexis cried out.

  The mass rolled over her, consuming her like the darkspace winds.

  “I’m sorry!”

  “Oh, for all that’s holy, Carew, will quit your moaning!”

  Alexis’ eyes flew open in the darkness of her berth as a pillow swung over the edge of her bunk and slapped her across the face.

  “Could I get a fortnight without you carrying on at all hours some night?” Timpson asked from the lower bunk. “Is that so bloody much to ask?”

  Alexis took a deep, shuddering breath. Her heart was racing and she was drenched in sweat — as she always was when that particular dream came. She slid her tablet from its pocket next to her bunk and checked the time. A bit past six bells of the First Watch, so she had the better part of an hour before midnight when she’d have to be on the quarterdeck to take the Middle Watch — but no sense in even trying for a few more minutes sleep, she knew. Not after the dream came.

  “Or if you must go on with your noise,” Timpson continued, “slide yourself in here with me and I’ll give you something to moan about.”

  Alexis sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bunk. “Touch me again, Timpson, and your breakfast’ll be nutmegs and sausage.” She shuddered at the memory, from her first week aboard Hermione, when she’d woken to find Timpson standing beside her bunk, one hand slid under her blanket and what he must have felt was an inviting leer on his face. “One touch and I’ll have them off you and into a pan to fry with bloody onions and garlic, you just see if I don’t.”

  Timpson grunted, but she knew he was a bit afraid of her in that regard. The threat of punishment from Captain Neals made her take their bullying comments and even beatings, on those rare occasions that she fought back and it turned physical, but she’d made it clear from that first incident that touching her in that way would mean someone would die and damn the consequences. They’d seen her at work with the marines, and knew she could take any one of them individually.

  Acting solely by touch in the pitch black compartment, she slid off the bunk and opened the drawer below it to grab a clean jumpsuit, sliding it on quickly and taking up her boots and beret. She paused with her hand on the hatch.

  “Turn aside, Timpson, I’m changing my underthings,” she said, knowing that he wouldn’t. In fact, he made a point of staring at her even when she was just changing her jumpsuit. She knew it was ingrained in the lecherous prat that he’d turn and look, even in the darkened berth. When she heard the rustle of his bedclothes, she flung the compartment’s hatch open wide, letting in the bright light from the gunroom.

  “Argh! You ruddy bitch!” Timpson cried, rolling to face the wall and cover his head with a pillow.

  Alexis smiled to herself and made her way through the gunroom to the heads, leaving the compartment hatch open so Timpson would have to crawl out of bed and close it himself. It was a petty thing, but she was feeling petty this morning. Night, really, as it lacked but an hour until midnight and the start of her watch. The watch-and-watch schedule Neals had ordered ended when they’d reached Penduli, but he’d still scheduled her to take the Middle Watch, midnight to four, nearly every night.

  She locked herself in the head and studied her image in the mirror. Despite the lack of a normal night’s sleep taking the Middle Watch entailed, she rather enjoyed it usually. The ship was quiet, with most of the hands and officers asleep. If the darkspace winds were calm and steady, then there’d be no need to change the sails — meaning no need to wake Captain Neals and ask his permission, for his standing orders demanded that he approve any change to the sail plan. No, the Middle Watch was, perhaps, the only time of peace she’d found aboard Hermione.

  When I’ve not been woken by that horrid dream and feel like I’ve not slept at all, that is.

  She splashed some of her precious water allotment on her face, hoping it would both help her to wake up and reduce some of the swollenness under her eyes, then brushed her hair so that it could be pulled back into a tight ponytail instead of shooting off in all directions.

  * * * * *

  “I have the deck, sir,” Alexis said as the eighth tone of the ship’s bell sounded over the quarterdeck speakers.

  “You have the deck, Mister Carew,” Lieutenant Williard said, nodding. He started for the companionway, but paused and looked back at her. “Are you entirely well, Mister Carew? You appear a bit off.”

  “I didn’t sleep well, sir,” she said. “It’s no real matter.”

  Williard came back to the navigation plot to stand beside her. His brow was furrowed and he was frowning. “Have you recovered from your … distress aboard Penduli Station?” he asked quietly.

  Alexis frowned. No matter how quietly they spoke, the closeness of the quarterdeck made it certain the men there would overhear. Williard’s position as second lieutenant made him most responsible for the midshipman, so it wasn’t unusual for him to ask after their welfare, but this seemed a public place to do so.

  “I believe I have, sir, thank you for your concern.” She grinned. “And for the introduction to Scotch. Too dear a ‘dark path’ for me just now, I fear, but I’ve made a fine foray into bourbons.”

  Williard chuckled. “That’s better,” he said. “All’s not so dark.”

  Alexis nodded, though she didn’t really agree with him. Williard must have seen the doubt on her face, for he frowned again.

  “Have you noticed,” he asked, “that you and Mister Bushby are the only midshipmen to stand a watch alone?”

  Alexis nodded. “I have, sir.”

  “Does that suggest nothing to you, Mister Carew?” Williard asked, voice even quieter.

  Putting her on watch-and-watch? Disrupting the established watch schedule to place her on the Middle Watch night after night? It suggested a great deal to her, none of which she could voice — certainly not on the quarterdeck to another officer. Criticism of the captain could be considered mutiny if Neals found out, and she’d not give him that opportunity.

  “Much as a captain may dislike one of his officers,” Williard went on, clearly choosing his own words with care, “he will always love his ship more. No captain would trust his ship to an officer he felt would endanger her.” Alexis’ eyes widened and Williard nodded. “Think on that a bit,” he said, leaving the quarterdeck.

  Alexis did. The darkspace winds outside the hull were light and steady, leaving her with little to do but call for the log to be thrown every half-hour and run her navigati
on plot, so she had plenty of time to do so.

  Williard’s observation was quite true, now it had been pointed out to her. Of the midshipman aboard, only she and Bushby stood a watch alone. The others always had a lieutenant or the sailing master on the quarterdeck with them. What did that say of Neals’ true opinion of her skills?

  Even with my navigational difficulties, she thought, adjusting her plot to match the computers after the last throw of the log. This one had not been too far off.

  What did it mean that Neals constantly derided her abilities and wanted to drive her out of the Navy, yet still trusted her with Hermione? Could the man be so spiteful and derisive of women that he’d want her out of the Navy even knowing that she was more competent than some of the male midshipman?

  “Sail!” the spacer on the tactical console called out, pulling Alexis from her thoughts.

  “Where away, Askren?” she asked.

  “Two points abaft the port beam … up a bit, though not much at all.”

  Alexis examined the navigation plot as he transferred the information to it. The strange sail was some distance away, barely visible even at the highest magnification, and just a bit behind Hermione on the port side. She studied the blurry image for a moment. There seemed to be three lobes to the blob of light, so it was likely a decently sized ship with three masts, but one of the lobes appeared less bright than the others. That could be the result of angle or even a strong bit of darkspace wind distorting the view, but it could also be from a worn or malfunctioning particle projector causing one of the sails to not fully charge.

  That would make the ship a merchantman and not a warship, for a warship would have more stringent maintenance. It would also slow the other ship, making her easier prey for Hermione.

  Alexis hesitated. She had a sudden urge to ignore the other ship and sail on. The standing orders said to alert Captain Neals to any strange sail, but she was reluctant to do so. Neals would see the ship as easy prey as well, and add her to the list of merchantman prizes awaiting adjudication with the Prize Court on Penduli. Hermione had taken so many merchantman, all much smaller and weaker than the frigate herself, that there was a great deal of prize money owing — or would be, once the Prize Court got around to it. The Court tended to hear the cases of captured warships first, leaving Hermione’s prizes always at the bottom of the list, but they’d get around to them eventually.

  Still she hesitated. Attacking the enemy’s merchant trade was vital, she knew. It would cost the Hanoverese time and money, disrupt their trade, and force them to allocate warships to guard convoys in the areas hardest hit. Still, though, it irked her that this was all Hermione had done since she’d come aboard. The frigate had yet to meet a single Hanoverese warship in an action. Neals, instead, choosing to prey on smaller, weaker ships.

  I started by fighting pirates aboard Merlin, yet Hermione’s no better than one herself.

  “Wake Captain Neals, Norville,” she said at last, nodding to the spacer on the signals console. “And sound All Hands, as I’m sure he’ll want to tack and close her.”

  Alexis sighed. The orders were clear, and even if she’d been willing to disobey them, the ship’s log would already have recorded the sighting.

  * * * * *

  “Gentlemen,” Ledyard said, raising his glass. “The Queen!”

  “The Queen!” Alexis called along with the others. She raised her own glass and took a small sip. The wine at Captain Neals’ table was quite good, much better than any shared in the gunroom, but she wanted to keep her wits well about her. It wasn’t unusual for Neals to invite the lieutenants and one or two midshipmen to dine with him, but it was the first time that he’d invited Alexis to join them. And the first time that all of them, all of Hermione’s lieutenants and midshipmen — all save Bushby, who was away as prize master of the captured merchantman — had been invited at once.

  At least Ledyard’s here, so I don’t have to draw attention to myself by giving the Loyal Toast. As the most junior at the table, the toast to the Queen fell to Ledyard, and Alexis was quite glad for it. Something was afoot and she’d prefer not to be noticed by Neals.

  After the toast, the officers remained silent. Neals was hunched forward, as though impatient to begin speaking, but he waited until his steward had removed the last of the dishes and refilled the glasses needing it. Alexis simply tried to enjoy the relative quiet. The meal, though the food was good, had been an interminable series of conversations she was pointedly excluded from. Why Neals had bothered to invite her, she didn’t know, unless he had simply ordered that all of his officers were to attend and simply forgotten that she was one of them.

  “Gentlemen,” Neals said at last. “In some few hours I expect we shall arrive at Badra and have some hopes for a very rich find there.” He smiled. “The master of that last merchant ship we took gave me some very interesting information, confirmed by his ship’s logs, as he’d just come from Badra and there were no fewer than six fat merchantmen in port and not a single warship left behind to protect them. Apparently the Hanoverese fleet is busy elsewhere and needed all of their bottoms for it.” He took a long drink of his wine. “I intend to drop in-system, dispatch all four of our boats, and have the lot of them in convoy as prizes before lunch tomorrow!”

  The officers all cheered. Alexis along with them, for she didn’t want to be singled out, but she wondered at the easy acceptance of the captive merchant’s word. Like all the others, he’d struck his colors without firing a shot when it was clear Hermione would catch him up.

  “The division shall be as follows,” Neals continued. “Lieutenant Dorsett, you shall take the launch, along with Misters Timpson and Ledyard. Lieutenant Williard will take my barge, in company with Misters Canion and Brattle. Lieutenant Roope shall take one of the ship’s cutters and a competent master’s mate. Each of you select such men and marines as you feel prudent. I will designate your targets for you at such time as we have more information about the ships in-system, but, assuming our information is correct and there are six, I trust you shall each take one, leaving behind a prize crew in command, and then move on to a second.

  “I will remain aboard Hermione and position her in such a way as to ensure none of our prizes shall escape.” He grinned widely. “Now, we will transition at L2, just beyond their primary moon, and use the conventional drive and the moon’s gravity to gain speed. Once we’ve swung around the moon and have a view of the planet, we’ll see what ships are in orbit and choose our targets. We’ll drop the boats and Hermione will swing into a high, fast orbit so that she may cut off any escape.” He narrowed his eyes and looked toward Alexis.

  “Carew, you and your division will take the other cutter as a sort of reserve. You’re to maintain a high orbit as well and be prepared to drop down and assist any of the other boats that call for you, do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir. Stay in a high orbit and drop down to assist if called.”

  “And mind that you do!” Neals narrowed his eyes and glared at her. “No holding back from the fight. I’ll not stand for that!”

  “No, sir, I understand.”

  “See that you do.” His face cleared and he raised his glass. “To a profitable tomorrow, gentlemen!”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Alexis scanned the mostly dark consoles in front of her and glanced over at the boat’s pilot, Hearst, to her right. Only those for the boat’s internal systems were active, but as soon as Hermione transitioned to normal space, they’d begin receiving signals from the boat’s sensors and could retract the gallenium laced panels that covered the forward viewports. The ship’s cutter was cramped with all twenty-four men of her division aboard, but it would be a short time, no more than hours, before the action was completed and they were all back aboard Hermione.

  She looked behind her through the open hatch into the boat’s interior. Nabb was at the hatch, the rest of the division standing and crowded behind him.

  “See that everyone’s suited and has the
ir helmet to hand, Nabb,” she said. “And have those with flechettes well spread out amongst the others, I don’t want them clumped together.”

  Since the action would be in normal-space, the men of the four boats were armed with laser and flechette weapons, as well as the projectile weapons they’d have been limited to in darkspace. On the other three boats, all of the men were so armed, but there weren’t enough to arm all of Hermione’s crew, so only one in three of Alexis’ men had received a flechette gun and none were armed with lasers. Neals had explained that her division, being a reserve of sorts that would only come in after an engagement began, would likely encounter a more chaotic melee that would be better suited to stun rods and the edged weapons the men carried for use in darkspace where nothing electrical would function.

  All things considered, she was just as glad to not have any lasers, as the size of the capacitor needed for each shot made them bulky and they had to be reloaded with a new capacitor after each shot, though chemical pistols would be welcome. She could only hope that the merchant crews would not be better armed.

  “Aye, sir.” Nabb slid the hatch shut.

  Alexis caught her lower lip between her teeth. She’d never been part of a boarding action before, only fought from the gundeck. But the merchant ships they planned to take would not be heavily armed or manned. Likely they’d have fewer crew than the cutter carried, much less the larger boats with more men heavily reinforced with marines.

  The consoles in front of her suddenly sprang to life and Hearst retracted the gallenium shutters that covered the viewports. Hermione had transitioned and directly in front of them was the planet’s primary moon, already seeming to draw closer as the ship’s conventional drive fired at full force.