Mutineer

by Sutherland, J. A.

  Alexis grabbed her vacsuit helmet from its place beside her seat and sealed it over her head. She flipped the faceplate closed and spun to the cockpit’s hatch as she heard Eganhauser shout.

  “Mein Gott, du kleine miststück!” He turned away from the pickup. “Abfeuern! Abfeuern!”

  Alexis got to the hatchway just behind Hearst, who flung it open. They braced themselves against the brief rush of air from the cockpit into the vacuum of the passenger compartment.

  Please let him have sent more men to the boarding tubes than stayed on the guns — and that he wants to take the boat undamaged, so ordered his men not to have firearms at the ready.

  Eganhauser must have, for only a single shot from his guns was fired. It shot through the boat’s hull, easily vaporizing a quarter-meter circle of the hull nearest the Hanoverese ship before doing the same on the boat’s port side. Had the men been inside, the results would have been devastating. As it was, the shot passed through the empty passenger compartment without striking a single man.

  At the far end of the compartment, near the starboard lock, a tangle of men in Hanoverese vacsuits were sorting themselves out from where they’d been sucked out of the boarding tube by the sudden decompression when they’d blown the lock. The four spacers Alexis had had stay inside the boat were tucked behind seats, flechette guns raised and peppering the men with the small darts.

  Alexis triggered her suit radio and rushed past them, drawing her cutlass.

  “At them, lads!” she yelled.

  Hearst and the men drew their own blades and followed her. She reached the far end of the compartment and slashed her blade at the back of a Hanoverese just regaining his feet. She winced as the blade bit deep, blood and air jetting from the rent in his suit. She swallowed hard as her gorge rose and swung again. Beside her, Hearst blocked a blade swinging for her head and she shouldered forward, knocking the man she’d struck to the deck and swinging at the next.

  The Hanoverese still in the boarding tube had turned and were rushing back to their own ship to rejoin the bulk of their crew. The rest of Alexis’ crew would have gone over the top and keel of the boat to leap the gap and board the Hanoverese ship however they could. They’d be swinging themselves in through open gunports, blowing a lock or two, and even firing their flechettes into the boarding tube itself.

  Alexis rushed through the tube onto the ship and into the backs of the Hanoverese, screaming what encouragement she could to her men. The Hanoverese were oblivious to her, concentrating on the bulk of the Hermiones who’d made it aboard through locks and gunports.

  The Hermiones outnumbered them, but the Hanoverese knew their ship and were fighting for it. Her own crew’s ship had abandoned them and Alexis wondered if they’d have the heart to take the fight to the end.

  Virtually ignored at their rear, Alexis hopped up and down, trying to see over their heads to gauge the state of the action. Hearst and the others joined her and she grabbed Hearst’s arm. “Up!” she yelled. He gave her an odd look. “Lift me, damn your eyes, I need to see!”

  Nodding, Hearst grasped her waist and lifted her up so that she could see above the heads of the Hanoverese in front of her. The Hanoverese ship’s deck was crowded with men, but she could see from their helmets’ colors that the bulk of her crew were aboard.

  “Hermione!” she yelled, giving the traditional battle cry of one’s ship’s name. “They’re surrounded, lads!” She waved her cutlass above her head. “Don’t let up!”

  A cutlass waved from within the mass of New London helmets across the deck and she heard Nabb’s voice. “Bugger Hermione! The cry’s ‘Carew’, lads! And at ‘em hard!”

  Alexis’ suit speakers crackled with two dozen voices screaming, “Carew!” and the mass of New London vacsuits surged into the Hanoverese. She pounded on Hearst’s helmet to be let down and leapt forward as well. Her arm numbed as the rear of the Hanoverese turned and one blocked her first blow. She felt the impact and the vibration of the steel all the way to her shoulder, but she shoved her way forward, slashing again, feeling the bite of her blade against a vacsuit and the flesh beneath, then a rush of air and a burning in her side as someone stabbed past her guard. Her suit sealed itself, but she felt a rush of warm blood soaking her skin.

  She heard her breath coming in harsh, quick gasps that echoed in her helmet. Her voice grew hoarse and her throat hurt from yelling encouragement. Her arm felt like a leaden weight from swinging the heavy cutlass, and the cut on her side stung. She could feel it opening and tearing with every movement.

  Another lunge, a parry, the impact of steel on steel as she ground forward. Hearst dropped back with a startled cry, taking the blade from an enemy’s hand where it lodged between his arm and side. Alexis swung viciously at the man’s head, cracking his helmet visor and seeing the puff of air released, then swinging at the next. She realized at the last moment that the man had his arms raised, hands empty of a weapon, and she twisted her own hand barely in time, slapping him heavily with the side of the blade instead of the edge. She looked around and saw that other Hanoverese, too, had their hands raised or were kneeling on the deck. Her helmet speakers crackled with Lieutenant Egenhauser’s voice.

  “Wir kapitulieren! Quarter! We ask quarter!”

  Alexis shuddered, stepping back from the fight. “We’ve won, lads! Quarter! Give quarter!”

  Around her, men stepped back from each other, lowering their blades. The deck was strewn with bodies, some moving, some still. She knew that deaths would be rare — the vacsuits would seal over and reair themselves, constricting around tears to put pressure on wounds. The still men would be unconscious from a few moments vacuum or trying to remain still and out of the fight. She shook her head as sweat streamed into her eyes, stinging them.

  “Make a lane!” she yelled, transmitting over all channels so that the Hanoverese would hear her, as well. They might not understand the words, but they’d know the meaning. “Make a lane and let me through, damn your eyes!”

  She stepped forward, making for the ship’s quarterdeck and Egenhauser. The mass of men parted before her, fighting done. She found Egenhauser on the ship’s quarterdeck. The compartment’s lock had been forced and the quarterdeck was in vacuum. Alexis brought four men with her and slapped a repair seal over the breach in the hatch, leaving orders with Nabb to seal and air the rest of the ship after securing the Hanoverese crew aboard their boat. Eganhauser stood stiffly while the quarterdeck was reaired. When the pressure settled, he took his helmet off and flung it to the deck. Alexis took hers off and regarded him calmly.

  “You …” Eganhauser began.

  “Watch yerself, you,” Matheny growled from beside her, raising his cutlass.

  “Easy, Matheny,” Alexis said. “Lieutenant Egenhauser is understandably distraught.”

  Eganhauser glared at her. “A dishonorable ruse,” he said.

  “You saw what you wished to see, lieutenant.” Alexis crossed to the navigation plot and checked that the ship was unlocked and that she understood how to switch its controls to English instead of German. By asking for quarter, Eganhauser had surrendered and should turn the ship over to them, but if he felt she’d acted dishonorably he might have laid some sort of trap. Eganhauser looked away, jaw stiff. Alexi sighed. “Well, you’ll be shut of me soon enough, lieutenant.”

  “You do not take us prisoner?”

  “No,” Alexis said. “I had quite enough of prisoners on a long voyage last time, thank you.”

  Nabb came through the quarterdeck lock.

  “The ship’s aired and sealed, sir, and the lot of ‘em’re in the boat.”

  “Thank you, Nabb.” Alexis wanted to ask about the men, how many injured and how many dead, but they had to move fast. She wanted the Hanoverese off her new ship and to be underway as soon as possible. There was a chance, if they transitioned soon enough, that they might spot Hermione in darkspace and be able to catch her. “Be sure all the food and water is brought aboard this ship, please.
” Nabb nodded and left again. Alexis turned to Eganhauser. “If you’ll go aboard the boat now, lieutenant? A patch or two and you should be able to reair her and make it to the planet’s surface with little trouble.”

  “You are —”

  “I am what I am, lieutenant. If being that gets my lads home safe, then I’ll suffer your scorn.” She nodded at his helmet. “You’ll need that.”

  Eganhauser scooped up his helmet without another word. Alexis escorted him off the quarterdeck to the boarding tube. She met Nabb there leading a party of men back with boxes of supplies.

  “The boat’s console is locked, lieutenant,” she said at the airlock. “I’ll send you the codes before we transition.” Eganhauser nodded, his lip curling. Alexis jerked her head at the lock, wanting to be shut of the man and his reproach. When the lock was closed and the boarding tube had begun to retract, she whispered to Nabb, “What was the butcher’s bill?”

  “Four of the Hanoverese dead,” he said, “but not a one of ours.”

  “None?”

  He grinned. “Took ‘em with their skivvies down, you did, sir. That lieutenant told ‘em to expect a bunch o’ drunken sots, not fighting men. Oh, there’s a lad or two of ours hurt. Hearst has a hunk o’ skin carved off his ribs and there’s four with blood in their eyes from cracked helmets. That’s the worst, though, and they’ll all heal.”

  Alexis grasped the bulkhead to steady herself. She’d been dreading the cost of the fight and to hear she’d lost not a single man came as a shock.

  “Should have yer own looked at, sir,” Nabb said, nodding to the sealed cut in her own suit.

  Alexis probed it gently and found that it didn’t hurt. “I think the suit’s taken care of it, now I’ve stopped running about.” She frowned, considering what would have to be done next. “Find Matheny and put him on the helm,” she said. “Bend a course for L1, that should still be closest. We’ll follow Hermione out … hopefully she’ll still be in sight.”

  “Aye, sir.” Nabb looked doubtful, but he went off in search of Matheny.

  Alexis scanned the cutter’s deck. There was so much yet to be done. First get into darkspace and on their way back toward New London space. If Hermione was still in sight, then they’d have to hurry to catch up. Hopefully the ship would see their signals and wait for them — a nice little cutter as a prize might make Neals more willing than the ship’s boat alone had. If the ship wasn’t in sight, then they’d have to make their own way home, which meant plotting a course. Alexis shuddered. At least she’d have a solid starting position, but the thought of their lives and freedom hinging on her ability to navigate chilled her to the bone.

  She’d need an inventory of supplies, Penduli was four weeks sail from here — not an insurmountable range for a cutter, but only if there was adequate food and water aboard. Supplies of spare sail and cordage she’d need to know as well, and the state of the guns. How much shot there was aboard and what its condition was. All of the thousand things necessary to running a ship.

  She caught sight of Isom seated against a bulkhead, a bloody cutlass still clutched in his fists. The man had been aboard Hermione longer than Alexis, but was still rated Landsman. The only reason he was in her division, working the masts, was because he was young enough and somewhat agile — someone aboard Hermione was convinced he could be made a topman. But he seemed to have no head for space and constantly complained that he shouldn’t be there, that he was a legal clark who’d been caught up in the Press by mistake when the war started. Given the state of his weapon, he might have at least made some good use of himself during the action. Alexis made her way over to him and crouched down.

  “Are you hurt, Isom?” she asked. “Do you need the surgeon?” Not that they had a surgeon. A couple of the lads could do a bit more than apply the wound sealant that their suits sprayed out, but that was all.

  “I …” Isom started to speak, but then trailed off. His eyes were wide and red-rimmed. His hands were white-knuckled and shaking where he clutched the cutlass.

  Alexis draped an arm over his shoulders. “What’s wrong, Isom? What is it?”

  “I … I killed a man, miss,” he said, voice quavering. Alexis tightened her hold on his shoulders, ignoring that he’d called her ‘miss’ instead of ‘sir’. “I stuck this sword right in him …”

  She reached out and grasped the blade. “Let me take that, Isom,” she said.

  “Stuck it right in … it was like …” He closed his eyes and shivered. “It popped when it went into him.”

  Alexis tugged harder on the blade and managed to get it loose. She set it on the deck to her side and slid it away. Men were hurrying by, busy at the tasks to get the ship moving. One of them looked about to speak and Alexis shook her head sharply. Isom was not well-liked and she wanted no harsh words now.

  “You did what you had to do, Isom,” she said.

  “I heard him scream.”

  Alexis wrapped her other arm around the man and he sank against her, head against her chest. She felt him shudder as he began to sob. The popping he’d felt would be the suit, she knew, and any screams were likely from his mates. With the compartment in vacuum he’d certainly heard no enemy scream unless he was helmet to helmet. It was likely he hadn’t killed anyone at all, merely wounded them, and not gravely at that. But telling him that wouldn’t be a kindness — he’d either not believe or it could make him hesitate in the next action. Better for him to think he’d killed once already, and that it was the right thing, so he’d be better prepared next time.

  Nor could she really tell him it had been his duty — not when he’d been taken up by the Impressment Service. Not even the men who’d volunteered fought for that, really. Not when the guns were firing or the blades were out. No, they fought for themselves and their mates — to stay alive and so the others wouldn’t think them shy.

  “You did right, Isom,” she said. “You fought beside your mates and we’re all alive, yes? We’re all safe and there’s not a one of them can say you didn’t stand and do your part.” She felt him nod, then held him until she felt the sobs start to subside. “I have to see to the ship now, Isom. I’m going to have your mates find you a place to rest, do you understand?” He nodded.

  Alexis caught the eye of a passing spacer. “Ficke, find a place for Isom out of the way and let him get some rest.” She stood and grasped Ficke’s arm. “Be easy with him,” she whispered.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Hermione wasn’t visible when they transitioned to darkspace, but the little cutter — Sittich, Alexis found she was called — made good time. She was a joy to sail, well-kept and far more agile than a frigate or other square-rigged ship. Once she was sure they were out of Hanoverese space and safely within New London’s borders, Alexis took to spending at least one watch each day experimenting with her. The fore-and-aft rig was so much simpler than Hermione’s sail plan that Alexis almost felt she’d be able to sail the ship herself — certainly it was no hardship doing so with such a large crew aboard.

  She stood at Sittich’s bow, one arm upraised as she watched the sails. They were close-hauled on the port tack, the darkspace winds streaming over the port bow, filling the sails and making their azure glow spark and flash with white. She’d never seen a ship sail this close to the wind’s eye before and she resisted the urge to order her just one more point closer — she thought she might be able to, if she rolled Sittich just a bit and took the winds against her sails at an angle, but then they might also end up in irons again. Head on into the wind, dead in space until they were able to thrash and flog the sails around to catch a bit and move again. No, the watch was almost over and she’d soon have to go back inside and stop her playing.

  She flung her arm down and the waiting men went into action. Her order was relayed inside to the quarterdeck and the helmsman turned the ship. Men on the sails hauled on lines, far fewer than there were aboard Hermione, to bring the long boom that anchored the bottom of the sail across the deck.

&
nbsp; Sittich’s bow came up into the wind, slowing as the sails hung loose for a moment and the winds played along both sides, then the bow continued on, faster and more agilely than Alexis would have credited it if she hadn’t seen it for herself. The sails shuddered, lifted, then filled with a snap Alexis swore she could hear through the vacuum, and Sittich seemed to leap forward again, now on the starboard tack.

  Alexis cried out with glee, glad that her vacsuit’s radio wouldn’t transmit in darkspace and that none of the crew could hear her. A vacsuited figure came toward her, gliding over the hull as he pulled himself along the guidewires that ran the length of the ship. Alexis went aft to meet him and recognized Nabb as they came close enough to touch helmets and speak.

  “Sail, sir,” Nabb said. “Fine on the starboard bow, near dead ahead.”

  Alexis turned to look, even though she knew she’d likely see nothing at this distance, not without the optics that brought images inside the ship.

  “Thank you, Nabb,” she said. She sighed. The time she’d spent sailing Sittich back to New London had been so different, almost a joy, and now it was likely over. Whoever captained the ship ahead of her would likely put his own prize crew aboard and start her and her lads back to Hermione.

  * * * * *

  When they were close enough to exchange signals, Alexis found that the other ship was H.M.S. Lively, a 32-gun frigate commanded by a Captain Crandall. Alexis signaled that Sittich was a prize and Lively ordered her to heave-to. The larger ship came alongside after her crew unstepped the foremast so that her starboard side was clear of rigging and made fast.