Privateer (Alexis Carew Book 5)

by J. A. Sutherland

  She pursed her lips for a moment as she studied the systems which were closest. The Barbary was not one kingdom or nation as New London or Hanover was. Instead, each system was its own sovereign, unless some particularly strong leader took it into his head to unite, or conquer, his neighbors — usually for a quite short-lived time before rebellion or some other cause cast him down.

  She wanted to reach the privateer rendezvous Eades had told her of during one of the appointed times, but three points off their course was not so much and the men could do with a bit of action. All of the surrounding systems, those that were inhabited, were on the list covered by her letter of marque, and so their merchant shipping was fair game for Mongoose.

  “Fly Hanoverese colors, Mister Villar,” she said. That was who the Barbary systems bore some allegiance to, after all, and the Chase might deem them friendly, she thought, “and bear down on her. Interrogative as the signal, I think. We’ll let her believe we’re a friendly ship in need of news.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Alexis felt pangs of uncertainty as they closed with the other vessel. Not anxiety over any action, for Mongoose, even without an inordinate number of guns for a schooner of her size, was more than a match for the dowdy, unknowing merchantman very nearly within deadly range of her broadside, but rather, over taking a merchantman at all.

  Taking an enemy’s warships was one thing, their merchant shipping in time of war another, but there was no formal declaration of war between the Barbary systems and New London — more, the Barbary consisted of so many nearly independent systems, that such a declaration would be meaningless on its face. Instead she must make do with Eades’ list of “systems and nations known to engage in the despicable acts of piracy.” All well enough for some functionary on New London to write up, but much different to the owner-captain of a small ship, trying to make do with cargo run to cargo run.

  This was a thing which was done, however — letters of marque were not so unusual. And there was the chance, however small, that putting up with the distaste of this business might lead her to Delaine.

  It was nearly time to be on with it.

  “On my mark, Mister Villar,” she said, “our true colors and run out the broadside. Heave-to is the signal.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Alexis waited for the moment she felt might have the most impact on the other captain — the one which would make him feel hopeless and have no will to run or fight when he saw what he faced.

  “Now.”

  There was nothing, really, the other captain could do but surrender – not a common merchantman faced, in-range, with a broadside of twenty-four guns and a faster ship by far.

  Good sense prevailed and, after a moment’s shock, the other ship struck, masts and hull, which had previously displayed the colors of a nearby system, going dark as the ship turned up into the wind and doused its sails as well.

  “Bring us alongside, Mister Villar. I believe I’ll attend the boarding party myself — this first time, at least.”

  “Aye, sir,” Villar said.

  Alexis’ trepidations about privateering against honest merchants grew aboard Beneghem.

  The ship’s crew was a motley band, ill-dressed and scowling at the crew of Mongoose as they came aboard. The captain was little better, a man who looked as though he saved a few pence on his water recyclers by not bathing, and the smell as Alexis neared him merely confirmed that thought.

  Alexis disliked him, but her fears about this enterprise only grew despite that, for this ship had all the look of an independent vessel, and dislike was not enough, she thought, to destroy the man’s livelihood as taking it would do.

  “See to the cargo, Reddish,” she ordered, choosing one of the master’s mates and one of the steadier hands of the boarding party, “while I speak to Captain …?”

  “Aksoy.” His accent was harsh and guttural, a different accent and language than she’d found in Hanover proper, though he appeared to speak some English, so she wouldn’t have to resort to her tablet’s translation software, something she disliked. The disembodied voice in her earpiece always made her queasy when it didn’t match up to the speaker’s lips, but the Barbary’s patois would eventually drive her to use it, she was sure.

  Alexis nodded. “Captain Aksoy, Mongoose is a private ship sailing under letter of marque from New London. I am authorized to take your vessel and cargo, as the Kayseri system is known to engage in piracy and other infamous acts.”

  Aksoy spat. “‘Authorized.’” He spat again, nearer her foot and Nabb fairly growled beside her.

  “Easy, Nabb,” Alexis said. “There’ll be none who’re pleased by our presence here and this won’t be the worst we see, I suspect. Captain Aksoy, shall we retire to your cabin? I wish to review Beneghem’s records.”

  She followed Aksoy to his cabin, Nabb and two other spacers behind her. She might understand the other captain’s anger, but that didn’t mean she should be so foolish as to be alone with him.

  Beneghem’s records did nothing to ease her mind, for the ship was, indeed, owned solely by Captain Aksoy. How could she, in good conscience, take the man’s livelihood like this?

  This privateering may not be for me at all … yet how would I get out of it?

  She made a show of rereading the ship’s records, hoping none of her concerns showed on her face. She felt both Aksoy’s and Nabb’s eyes on her — the one with anger and the other always seeming to know when something was bothering her.

  It was somewhat with relief that she heard her tablet ping and Reddish’s request that she join him in the hold.

  She motioned for Aksoy to follow her and made her way down the nearest companionway.

  In the hold, she found Reddish and four men reviewing the Beneghem’s cargo. Reddish came over at her entry and held out his tablet.

  “Bit of a mix, sir, but some value.”

  Alexis reviewed the list and it was, indeed, a mix of cargoes. Condensers from Hanover, three materials printers from New London itself, several crates of assorted machinery from Hso-Hsi — just the sort of thing one might expect being imported to worlds with a limited manufacturing base. For though the Barbary bordered on the Core, the worlds were so sparsely settled that she thought they’d likely be forever part of the Fringe.

  “What are these ships’ names here?” Alexis asked, pointing to a column.

  “Looks as though these bastards didn’t bother removing the original lading tags from the loads, sir,” Reddish said. “Those are the ships these things come off of.”

  “Ah,” Alexis said, “so the ships which brought them here in trade?” She wasn’t at all certain that was useful information or why Reddish had included it.

  “No, sir,” he said. “That’s off the lading tags — a proper delivery and the ship bringing it would’ve took that back with them as proof they’d turned it over. Next ship took the cargo on would have its own tag, see?”

  Alexis thought she did see now.

  “So this cargo was never properly delivered by these ships, you mean?”

  Reddish nodded. “Proper pirates back someplace civilized would’ve stripped those off and made their own — this lot don’t seem to care who knows.”

  “I buy!” Aksoy called out, speaking for the first time since they’d arrived in the hold.

  “You may well have, sir,” Alexis said. She believed that, for there was little chance Beneghem herself could act as a pirate. “But from entirely the wrong source, it seems, and that is to your detriment.” She took a deep breath — this find did make her feel better about her actions. “Mister Reddish, stay aboard with your pick of —” She considered the size of Beneghem’s crew which would have to be watched over and the hands necessary to sail her. “— twelve hands, armed. Make ready to sail and trail Mongoose. We’ve still time to make our first rendezvous if we don’t delay.”

  “Aye, sir,” Reddish said with a grin. As the prize crew, he and any men he chose would have larger shares of Bene
ghem and the cargo was a decent one.

  Alexis’ tablet pinged for her attention.

  “Aye?”

  “Sail, sir,” Villar said. “To windward, but coming our way.”

  This sail proved to be another merchantman. One which turned and ran at the sight of Mongoose and Beneghem, her captain rightly determining that two ships, sitting idle in darkspace, could not bode well for his own command.

  Mongoose, though, proved her speed again, and quickly caught up.

  There was no subterfuge of false colors necessary, as the Chase was already alerted and running, so Alexis had her colors showing from the start, guns run out and bowchasers manned.

  It took only a single shot from those bowchasers, laid close along the Chase’s starboard side, to bring the captain to his senses.

  Alexis soon found herself boarding a strange ship for the second time that day, Nabb and the remnants of her Nightingale boat crew at her back, another grinning master’s mate, this time Corrick Stott, leading the way, for he knew he’d have the prize crew’s share of this one.

  “This one”, though, turned out to be the Bisharet, a shabby, decrepit bit of a ship, even after the standard for these worlds set by Beneghem, carrying bulk goods from Kayseri to Antalya. The captain spoke no English at all, and Alexis had none of his language, so she must resort to having her tablet translate, which introduced a slight, but frustrating, delay in their converse.

  She supposed she’d have to begin wearing her earpiece as a means to better hear the translations, though she disliked it. Perhaps, if Mongoose were to spend more time near the portion of the Barbary which bordered the former Berry March she might make use of her French, but her German was simply not up to the task of speaking with native Hanoverese, and as she understood it, there were more languages than German spoken in the Barbary, as well — far more. The systems here seemed to be a dumping ground for the unwanted of nearly the entire rest of settled space, and rather than settle on any one language, they often made do with bits of each. Alexis found that she could, at best, garner one word in five of the local patois, so resorted to her tablet’s translation.

  Alexis stared from the sacks of grain in the hold to the ship’s records on her tablet and made a sudden decision.

  “Captain Katirci?”

  “Yes? You wish?” the man said, nodding nervously. He was fat and mustachioed, with metal beads tied into the ends of his waxed facial hair in a way that Alexis found comical, but she was certain must be the height of style on his home world.

  “You see the Beneghem trailing after us and know what we’re about, yes?”

  Katirci sighed and nodded, his shoulders slumping. He murmured something and a moment later her tablet repeated, “You will take my ship because the beep big man takes yours.”

  Alexis sighed. There were some terms that simply couldn’t be translated in any reasonable manner — the machine did its best, she assumed, but couldn’t when the concepts were simply too alien. “Big man” must be some dialectical term for whoever ruled the system Katirci was assuming Alexis and New London were in reprisal against.

  “Mister Stott?”

  “Aye, sir?” Stott’s grin was wide as he readied to take over the ship.

  “Collect your prize crew and return to Mongoose, Mister Stott.”

  “Aye, si — wait, what?” He blinked and frowned. “Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but … what again?”

  “Return to Mongoose, Mister Stott, we’ll not be taking Bisharet — at least not today.”

  The hope in Katirci’s eyes nearly broke Alexis’ heart, for she thought he might still be wondering if she was playing with him — raising his hopes before dashing them again.

  “Beneghem was carrying pirated cargo, Captain Katirci, and it appears you are not.”

  “No, lady” Katirci said. “We carry only grain to Kayseri and then beep untranslatable local produce to Antalya.”

  “So I see from your records and from your cargo. This is why, Captain Katirci, I will not be taking your ship.”

  “Blessings!” Katirci exclaimed. “You rain blessings upon me and my family’s blessings shall fall upon you!”

  “Captain,” Stott said, looking around the hold, “do you really want to —”

  “Easy, Mister Stott, you’ll lead the prize crew for the next ship we do take — one with, perhaps, more than grain for its cargo, yes?”

  Stott perked up at that. The grain wouldn’t bring much at all at a prize court and Bisharet wasn’t much of a prize herself, come to that. He could look to forward to a share of a much larger pie now, and that seemed to ease his disappointment at putting it off.

  “Keep away from the pirated cargoes, Captain Katirci, and you’ll have nothing to fear from Mongoose, do you understand?”

  Katirci swallowed heavily and nodded. “Grain and beep untranslatable local produce,” he said, nodding more. “Always grain and beep untranslatable local produce. Never anything for your great devourer of serpents to worry over.”

  Alexis stared at her tablet for a moment, lips pursed. Was that how the thing would translate Mongoose now, she wondered? Well, it could be worse — or more appropriate.

  Defiler of boots, she mused, or we could be known as stinking-bloody-nuisances.

  “See that you do,” Alexis said.

  Katirci nodded vigorously.

  “Captain Katirci,” Alexis added, deciding that she might as well begin her search with someone who owed her a bit of good will, at least, “I do have some questions. Have you, in your travels, come across word any foreign fleets?”

  Katirci shrugged. “All fleets are foreign here.”

  “I suppose so, but some time ago — over a year now, I think — the Hanoverese and New London fleets may have crossed the Barbary, perhaps even battled here. Have you heard of such a thing?”

  Katirci shook his head. “This is a thing you wish to know? The knowledge would be a blessing to you?”

  “It would, indeed.”

  Katirci grinned. “Then I will find this thing.”

  Twenty-One

  Enclave was an odd world to Alexis’ eye, with far reaching ice caps and what little land not covered in ice being desert. There were three settlements, all at the very edge of those ice floes, and spaced nearly equidistant around the globe.

  Mongoose transitioned from darkspace and made her way toward the planet with no pilot boat and no challenge from the world itself. There was plenty of other traffic in-system, and therefore plenty of communication, but there seemed to be no one in overall charge.

  Ships announced their intention to leave orbit, take orbit, or transition with impunity.

  That was all well and good for a Fringe world with little in the way of traffic, but Enclave had nearly fifty ships in orbit, and the lines of their tracks cluttered the world’s image on the navigation plot.

  “Is this right?” Villar asked, looking up from his tablet. “A geostationary orbit?”

  “That’s what the sailing notes, what there are for this world, claim is best.” Alexis said. “And over the territory of whichever of these towns you plan to visit. Apparently they are none too neighborly here.”

  Enclave was variously held by three other systems, and had been fought over by more for some time. Its location made for a welcome break through the Barbary, midway between New London and Hso-Hsi, and its makeup, with so much ice, made it a preferred place for taking on fresh water.

  After years of fighting, those three systems had reached an uneasy agreement to share the system, hence the three different settlements. One of those catered primarily to Hanoverese shipping, another to Hso-hsi, and the third’s, their destination’s, custom came from New London ships. None of the settlements were official outposts of those governments — though with the entire Barbary being ostensibly Hanoverese, the argument could be made that the entire system was. In reality, it was simply that merchants of a given nation sought their own and this was how it had worked out here.

 
Enclave was also one of the systems Dansby had given her, a place where there’d be a contact outside of Eades’ to gain information and perhaps sell their prizes.

  “Make for the New London portion of their orbital, will you, Mister Villar?”

  “Aye, sir.”

  The freezing, dry air struck Alexis immediately on debarking from Mongoose’s boat, tightening her skin and making the inside of her nose ache and itch. She sniffed irritably and looked around, noting that most of the people on the landing field — only a space of the ice flow kept somewhat flat and clear of snow — had a sort of scarf over the lower half of their faces, in addition to hurrying from one place to another. Many seemed to be wearing vacsuits, despite being on the planet’s surface, and she supposed that made sense as the suits were quite good at regulating heat.

  She and the others merely had heavy coats, and they quickly found these not nearly enough.

  Alexis made her way toward the nearest structure, followed by Villar and Nabb, the rest of the boat crew staying behind and quickly raising the ramp after her.

  The door, more of a hatch, really, despite their being on the surface, was closed when she got there and there appeared to be no way to open it — only a speaker and button mounted on the wall nearby.

  A voice sounded from the speaker before Alexis could press the button.

  “Twenty centimarks.”

  She blinked. “What?”

  “Twenty centimarks for entry.”

  Alexis thought for a moment, calculating the Barbary’s currency, loosely tied to Hanover’s, into more familiar units — that was nearly a shilling. “So much?”

  If a speaker mounted on a wall could shrug, this one seemed to. “It’s twenty to open the hatch. Twenty or lift, your choice.”

  “What? A shilling each time?”

  “Heat costs. Now do you wish to come in or no?”

  “Very well.”

  The hatch slid open and then started closing again as Alexis and the others entered. She saw then that it was, indeed, a ship’s hatch, not just made to look like one, and part of an entire airlock. The outer hatch closed and the inner opened, revealing a set of metal steps leading down.