Alexis Carew: Books 1, 2, and 3

by J. A. Sutherland

  “Beef-like,” Philip amended. “Can’t label it beef in the Core Worlds — have to call it ‘beef-like processed food product’.”

  “True,” Roland agreed. He carved off a large hunk of his own cutlet and shoved it into his mouth, chewing and grinning widely. “Welcome to the Navy, Carew.”

  “‘Beef-like’, I think, does it quite too much favor,” Alexis said, cutting another piece and sniffing it warily. “Were the cows dead in the sun for a fortnight or more?”

  “Ha!”

  Gorbett, the sailing master, cut himself a large mouthful as well. “It is vile,” he agreed, “but it’s what we have when our own supplies run low.”

  Alexis chewed her second bite, washing it down with another gulp of wine. Perhaps these great quantities of drink have a purpose after all. “And the men, sir,” she asked curiously. “Are they required to supply their own food, as well, or receive this if they do not?”

  “Ha!”

  “Not at all, Mister Carew,” Gorbett answered. “The men have so little mass allotment that they could never bring enough food aboard. They are supplied out of the vat daily.”

  “Half a kilogram a day!”

  Alexis shuddered at the thought of having to eat the vile substance daily with no option to supply her own provender. Though, she supposed, there would be times when she’d have no choice but to eat it when supplies or her own funds were low. But every day, day in and day out, for months on end? She couldn’t fathom it. With a shudder, she took another bite, not wanting to waste what she’d already placed on her plate, but resolving not to serve herself from that platter again unless in dire need.

  “What of your berth, Mister Carew?” Gorbett asked, during a lull in the conversation. “Do you find yourself all settled in?”

  “Yes, Carew,” Roland asked speculatively. “How goes it with your bunkmate — do you prefer the top or the bottom?”

  “There are still some issues to be resolved with my uniforms,” she answered Gorbett, glancing at Roland, but ignoring his question. “But I do believe I’m settled in. Or, at least, so much as one can be in such a very different situation than one is used to.”

  “Ha! Well said! Quite different, I’m sure!”

  “Likely the top,” Roland pressed. “Given young Easely, after all. Can’t imagine him on top!”

  “Here now!” Ames objected.

  Roland took another long drink of his wine. “A jest!” he said. “Merely a jest, I assure you.” He winked broadly. “Though I’m a topman, myself, and always will be!”

  Alexis saw that Philip was blushing heavily and raised her own glass to sip. She realized that Roland would continue, like any other bully, so long as he was unopposed by his victims. “I’m quite sure,” she said, “that Mister Easely would acquit himself with distinction, no matter the position.”

  “Mayhap,” Roland said, leaning forward with a leer and another gulp of wine. “But you’ll never find me on the bottom, I assure you.”

  Alexis met his gaze levelly and took another slow sip. “I’m sorry to hear your repertoire is so limited, sir. Perhaps with more experience, you’ll achieve some versatility.” The table was silent for a moment, then the gunner, Gorbett and Ames burst into hearty laughter while Philip gave her a grateful grin and Roland flushed furiously.

  “Ha! ‘Limited repertoire’, indeed!”

  “That’s right, lad,” Breech, the gunner, said with a wicked grin. “There’s more to it than just running your rammer home.” This set off another round of laughter amongst the three older men, causing Roland to flush even more.

  “Thank you for that bit with Roland, Alexis,” Philip said.

  The two of them were in their berth, each at one of the corner desks, using their sturdy chests as seating and studying their tablets. Near the end of supper, everyone’s tablets had let out a demanding ping, and they’d received the message that Merlin would be setting sail the next day at “six bells of the morning watch”. Alexis thought this bells-bit would likely be one of the most difficult things to get used to aboard ship. The watches, she could understand — dividing the day into watches of four hours each made sense, though why one of those was split in two and then called dog watches, she couldn’t fathom. But to then take those four hours and split them up into eight segments by ringing bloody bells?

  “You’re quite welcome, Philip,” she answered absently, continuing to read.

  The message on her tablet had included an admonition from Lieutenant Caruthers to learn about the ship’s masts and sails before morning, for she’d be going out on the hull with him as they left orbit. Provided the alterations to her vacsuit were completed by then, of course. And she quite didn’t think it was at all fair of them to send her outside the ship on her first morning in the Navy — though it probably made sense, in a way, as they’d want to find out early on if she reacted badly.

  “It’s just that I can never think what to say to him in return,” Philip continued.

  “The thing about bullies like Roland, Philip, is that they’re often quite insecure themselves.” She continued reading, wondering how she was ever going to remember all of it for the morning. “Frequently about the same things they use to attack you. It’s just a matter of turning it all back on them.”

  “I’d never thought of it that way.”

  Alexis turned to look at him. “That does not, by the way, mean saying things like ‘I know you are, but what am I’.”

  Philip laughed. “No, I imagine not. Have to be a bit cleverer than that, I guess.”

  “A bit.” Alexis returned to studying the diagram of Merlin’s masts and sails. “Is he often like that?”

  “Told you he was a prat, but he’s been absolutely horrible since we left Zariah.” He yawned. “I think he got notice he’s turned down for lieutenant again.”

  “How’s that?” she asked.

  “Last we were at Zariah Station, Roland went off for two watches and wouldn’t say where. Usually he’s bragging about which whor …” Philip stopped and cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Well, which establishment he’s off to when on leave, I mean.”

  Alexis chuckled. “I believe I take your meaning, Philip. Do go on.”

  “I think he stood for lieutenant again, but didn’t say. You can do it after you’re three years a midshipman, you see, and he’s been five. Stood for promotion twice earlier, but the captains wouldn’t pass him, so I suspect he didn’t want anyone to know he was standing again.”

  “I see — is it a very difficult examination then?”

  “I’ve heard it is. Three or more captains all barking questions at you and you’ve to answer immediately.” He shuddered. “Not looking forward to it, myself. The captain and Lieutenant Caruthers will sometimes quiz us so, to help us prepare.” He smiled as though remembering something pleasant. “Roland does as well at that as at the other.”

  “I wonder what’s given Roland so much trouble with it.”

  Philip yawned. “Wouldn’t know — but I believe it’s time to get a bit of rest.”

  “Quite right,” Alexis agreed, rubbing her tired eyes. “I do hope I remember all of this lot in the morning.” She stood and slid her chest under the lower bunk, then raised the desk, hearing it fasten to the wall with a sturdy clunk. She stretched and then hesitated for a moment, looking about the small compartment. Well, then, we hadn’t considered this bit, had we?

  She thought about the situation and then shrugged. The baggy underthings supplied by the Navy weren’t any more revealing than what she’d wear on a hot summer’s day back on Dalthus, after all. She considered asking Philip about it, but dismissed the notion — she’d already revealed her utter ignorance of the Navy quite enough for one day, and she was well familiar with the way men behaved in the work camps. So long as they changed their actual underthings in the head or when the other was out of the berth, she saw no reason to make an issue of it. She raised a hand to her collar and began unsealing her jumpsuit.

  “H
ere, now! What’re you doing?”

  Alexis stopped and turned to see Philip staring at her with wide eyes and pale face. Well, and it appears I misjudged that as well, now didn’t I?

  “I’m going to bed,” she told him.

  “But … you’re undressing!”

  Alexis laughed. “You don’t expect me to sleep in this jumpsuit, do you?” She paused for a moment. “Or is there some rule that we must?”

  Philip cleared his throat. “No, I suppose not,” he said uncomfortably. “But you can’t just strip down right here!”

  Alexis thought of the summer days spent at the village pond near home, where the bathers would frequently wear next to nothing, or even nothing at all, and smiled. “I wasn’t going to strip naked, Philip,” she told him, grinning wider as a red flush spread up his face. “We’ll simply have to deal with this — preferably without a lot of bother and inconvenience. Surely these underthings cover enough? You’ve seen knees and elbows before, I assume?”

  Philip hesitated. “Well yes, but …” He flushed a deeper shade of red. “They’re underthings … and such.”

  “Yes, the same underthings you have on, I imagine.” She resumed unsealing the jumpsuit, which caused Philip to turn his face to the wall and cover his eyes.

  “Yes, yes,” he agreed. “I’m sure they’re much the same, it’s just the …” He trailed off, his discomfort clear.

  Alexis sat on her bunk to remove her boots, then pulled the jump suit off and slid under her blanket. “The ‘and-suches’?” she asked, trying desperately not to laugh at the poor boy. For all he knew far more about the ship and the Navy than she did, he was still but thirteen.

  “Yes,” Philip agreed, still facing the wall. “The … 'and-suches' are quite disconcerting.”

  “You could always move in with Roland, I suppose.”

  “No, I don’t want to do that, but … it’s just the idea, you understand.”

  “My 'and-suches' or Roland’s gastric distress, Philip. I fear you’ll have to pick one or the other.”

  Philip swallowed heavily and squared his shoulders, still not looking away from the wall or lowering his hand. “I’m sure I’ll get used to the idea in time. For the moment though, just please do give me a bit of warning and I’ll look well away.”

  Alexis bit her lip to keep from laughing. She propped her pillow up and grabbed her tablet to study a bit more before going to sleep.

  “You can turn around now, Philip,” she told him. “The 'and-suches' are all safely covered.”

  Seven

  “I’m opening the hatch now, Mister Carew.” Alexis heard Lieutenant Caruthers’ voice over her suit radio. “Just stand easy.”

  And it’s easy for you to say, she thought, swallowing hard. She was wearing her newly sized vacsuit and standing at the fore of Merlin’s sail locker, just in front of the closed hatch. The suit felt bulky and weighted down with the equipment she’d need outside the ship. A pair of safety lines at the belt, to keep her from floating off into space, more tools than she could name, and a gun that shot a heavy bag attached to a long, light line – a “rescue gun” they’d named it. Just the thing to inspire confidence in one who was about to step into space for the first time. Caruthers stood beside her and reached over to grasp the handle and slowly pull the hatch open. You and your bloody ‘traditions’.

  It was, she was told, a Navy tradition for a new spacer to stand at the front of everyone his first watch “Outside”, both in normal-space and darkspace so that their first view outside the hull would be unobscured by any of the other hands. She closed her eyes as the hatch slid slowly open, took a deep breath and then opened them, gasping in reaction. She threw her left hand out, grasping the edge of the hatchway, suddenly certain that she about to tumble forward and fall forever.

  “Easy, Mister Carew,” Caruthers reminded her.

  Hearing her breathing heavy inside the suit’s helmet, Alexis swallowed again and took in the scene. Framed by the hatchway was a yawning emptiness scattered with faraway stars. To the upper-right, she could see just a sliver of Dalthus above and a bit ahead of the ship’s bow as it placidly orbited the planet. I’m in space, she thought, amazed.

  “Out onto the hull now, Mister Carew. We’ve work to be about.”

  Remembering her instructions, Alexis grasped one of the safety lines at her belt and unclipped an end, pulling it taut and sliding her other hand along it to ensure that the free end was still attached. She carefully knelt down, keeping her eyes on the hatch’s edge and tentatively reached a hand through the hatchway.

  The ship’s sail locker opened at the very bow of the ship, like a doorway halfway up a vast, curving wall. Immediately in front of it was the ship’s bowsprit, a meter-wide, narrowing spike, thrusting out from the bow, to which the rigging attached to hold the masts in place. Along its length and cross-hatching the hull as well, were a series of wires and pipes to which the safety lines could be attached, allowing the spacers to safely navigate the hull and masts.

  Alexis carefully clipped the free end of her safety line to one of these and gave it a nervous tug, then stood up. She could feel the eyes of the entire sail crew behind her, watching as she made her first step Outside. And they’ll be judging me, sure. Just as miners or loggers would. Wanting to see if I’ve aught for them to respect.

  Alexis held her breath and lifted one foot over the hatchway’s edge, feeling the pull and click as her suit’s magnetized sole made contact with the hull. Not so bad at all, she thought, lifting her other foot and swinging it forward. As she passed the hatchway, leaving Merlin’s artificial gravity, her stride didn’t come down as she’d expected. Instead, her free foot arced up, away from the hull, but her other foot, the one still in contact with the hull, had started to lift in the natural cadence of walking. She found herself, suddenly and unexpectedly, with both feet floating several centimeters above the hull as the momentum of her stride carried her slowly out along the ship’s bowsprit.

  Alexis tried desperately not to panic, though she twisted and flailed frantically in an effort to regain contact with material of the bowsprit. She stretched her legs to their fullest, pointing her toes desperately to regain just the slightest bit of contact that would let the magnets bring her back down, even going so far as to wave her arms and hands as though she were swimming. As she continued to drift, her breathing grew more ragged and she could feel the blood pounding in her head. Rationally, she knew that she was probably in little danger, there was an entire crew of experienced spacers behind her in the locker, as well as Lieutenant Caruthers, and surely, they’d be on the lookout to keep her from such obvious harm her first minute Outside.

  “If you are finished skylarking, Mister Carew?” Caruthers asked dryly.

  On the lookout for me to make a fool of myself, Alexis thought, feeling her face grow hot with shame. How’m I to … Her thought trailed off as she drifted higher and felt a tug at her waist. Silly twit. She stopped waving her arms about and grasped the safety line at her waist, pulling herself down with such force that her knees buckled and she stumbled forward as her feet made contact with the bowsprit.

  “Very good, Mister Carew, please stop where you are and don’t move a muscle, now.”

  Alexis froze, certain that she’d drifted into some dangerous area of the ship. Her heart was still beating rapidly and she slowly turned her head to see the lieutenant gliding toward her along the bowsprit in an odd, shuffling gait that kept one foot firmly planted at all times. So that’s the way of it.

  Behind Caruthers, the men were exiting the sail locker and Alexis had another moment of vertigo as she saw them clamber out to stand and walk on what seemed to her a vertical surface. She realized that there was quite a bit more to get used to in all this, when “down” seemed to be whichever way your feet were pointing.

  Caruthers reached her and carefully examined her safety line where it was clipped to the guidewire, as well as the bowsprit near her feet. Alexis’ suit radio crackled briefl
y and she heard the lieutenant call out, “I make it eleven meters, seven, lads!”

  There was a chorus of groans over the general channel and what sounded like a single cheer. “Ladding had eleven meters even, sir, looks like he takes it.”

  Alexis’ eyes grew wide and then she smiled as she realized what had happened.

  “Can’t blame the lads for a bit of fun at a landsman’s expense, can we, Mister Carew?”

  The lads and yourself, I think, lieutenant, she thought, realizing that her hands were still shaking a bit inside of the suit’s gloves. She took a deep breath before answering, knowing that the men would judge her on how she took both the joke and their betting on it.

  “No sir,” she said, voice still a little ragged from the experience, but trying for far more bravado than she actually felt. “But if someone had thought to tell me, I’d have given a bloody great shove out the hatch and gone for a record.” She heard a bit of good-natured laughter and thought she might have won a few of the crew over, at least.

  “All right, lads,” Caruthers called. “We’ve had our fun and there’s work to be done. Let’s have the mainmast stepped, top and topgallant, if you please, bosun!” A chorus of “Aye sir!” sounded over the radio and the men started moving over the hull to the top of ship. “You picked a fine spot to come down, Mister Carew. Watch carefully from here and you’ll see the whole of the evolution.”

  “Aye sir,” Alexis watching in fascination and trying to relate what she saw to what she’d read. Within a few minutes, however, she found herself distracted by the discomfort of the vacsuit. Though its insulated materials protected her from temperature extremes such as the cold of open space or the heat of direct sunlight unfiltered by an atmosphere, it was also efficient at keeping heat in, and Alexis soon found herself quite warm, with an occasional bead of sweat trickling down her face — an annoying occurrence when she instinctively raised a hand to wipe it away and encountered her helmet. She wondered how much worse it was for the men who were laboring to raise the ship’s masts.