Alexis Carew: Books 1, 2, and 3

by J. A. Sutherland

  Alexis was silent for a moment, remembering Alan as he’d lain bleeding on the deck of Grapple. His captain? she wondered. Yes, I suppose I was.

  “His mates, sir,” she said quietly.

  Grantham nodded. “I’ll speak to the purser and see it done.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Alexis paused, considering. “Sirs … you say the men would not take from the Captain’s Shares for pride, but what of the others?”

  “What others, Mister Carew?”

  Alexis scanned the tablet quickly. “‘Of other Warrant Officers nor Marines nor Mates nor Petty Officers aboard’,” she read aloud. “Those shares for whom no officers were aboard and which reverted to me by chance. Surely the men would agree that those shares are not mine and should devolve to them?”

  “Mister Breech?”

  The gunner furrowed his brow, considering, then nodded. “That they’d look upon,” he agreed. “Shares that belong to no one in particular, so to speak.”

  Grantham looked at her approvingly. “Very good, Mister Carew. I’ll speak to the purser about that as well.”

  “Well done, Mister Carew,” Caruthers raised his glass to her.

  “Your marines, Lieutenant Ames?” Alexis continued. “The two who were on Grapple, Corsey and Bays? They’re not mentioned.”

  “Dead before the action,” Ames answered.

  “I could provide something — for their families, perhaps?”

  Ames nodded agreement.

  “And you gentlemen?” Alexis ventured, meeting their eyes in turn. “Surely you can see that this is a mistake and those other shares should be disbursed amongst yourselves, as Merlin took the prize?”

  “Ha! You’ll not sneak that one by me!”

  “No,” Caruthers shook his head. “I don’t believe I’ll agree to that, Mister Carew.”

  Even the gunner, not a wealthy man by any means, shook his head, smiling. “I’ll take mine in drinks as I tell the story of Grapple, the ship what took herself, in every port.” He laughed. “Like to be more profit in it, too.”

  “No, Alexis, it’s yours,” Philip told her. “Though you will pay for the next dinner ashore, won’t you?”

  Even Roland simply waved a hand at her while he drained another glass and glared.

  “It appears you have no takers,” Grantham observed.

  “I …” Alexis shrugged. She looked around the table, everyone but Roland smiling happily at her good fortune. She raised her glass to them. “Thank you, gentlemen.”

  “You’re left with three Eighths, Alexis. That’s one thousand, two hundred twenty-nine pounds, seven shillings, ten pence.”

  “And half a farthing?”

  “Well yes, actually,” Philip agreed.

  “You’ll want an agent for that amount, Mister Carew,” Caruthers warned her. “Too much to keep in ship’s accounts. And you’ve your share of Rancor as well, and likely this fat merchantman beside us coming soon.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “And with that, gentlemen, I believe Hermione will soon be close enough for me to go and see what Captain Neals desires of me,” Grantham told them. “Pass the word for my barge, if you will, Mister Caruthers?”

  “Aye sir.”

  The group stood, Roland a bit unsteadily and filed out of the great cabin into the gunroom, Caruthers calling for a pilot and crew to man the captain’s barge.

  Epilogue

  “Thank you,” Captain Grantham said, nodding as the other captain’s steward served him a glass of wine. The man he’d come to see was seated across the desk from him, seemingly engrossed in something on his tablet. Grantham sipped the wine and set the glass down on the desk, waiting and idly looking about. The great cabin on Hermione was considerably larger and more well-appointed than his own on Merlin. A privilege of being made Post-Captain and commanding a frigate instead of a sloop.

  “Fine work, Grantham!” the other man said, setting his tablet aside. “Damn fine work!”

  “Thank you, Captain Neals.”

  “Just sorry Hermione couldn’t have arrived in time to get a piece of it. Looks like you’ve taken all the profit in the sector.”

  Grantham smiled. “I’m sure there’ll be more than enough for you and Hermione, sir. What with the war and all.”

  “Surely, surely. Always some damn fool up to something, isn’t there, Grantham? But about this …” He frowned and waved his hand irritably at the tablet. “This girl.”

  “Midshipman Carew,” Grantham prompted, wary.

  “’Midshipman’,” Neals scoffed. “What on earth were you thinking, Grantham?”

  “Sir,” Grantham said stiffly. “Mister Carew acquitted herself quite admirably in three actions. I have nothing but the highest praise for her.”

  “Yes, yes, I can see that from your report.” Neals sighed heavily. “Look Grantham, I can understand your position. Alone out here, devilishly undermanned, ship half-empty of officers and crew … I sympathize, I really do. But appointing a girl to your gunroom, Grantham? It simply isn’t done.”

  “But it is done, sir. Quite frequently — there are any number of female officers …”

  “Back at the Core, Grantham!” Neals interrupted angrily. “All, well, correct and peaceful and such there. This is the Fringe, sir! We’re fighting ships out here, not, not floating dress-shops!”

  “Again, Captain Neals, Midshipman Carew was instrumental in our success against the pirates and in bringing in the second prize.”

  “All right, Grantham, I understand. Can’t back down once you’ve done something … have to see it through. Look, I’ve a full midshipman’s berth, plenty of good lads in it. I’ll send one right over to Merlin — a good one, mind you, not some dullard. Then you can fix your report and put the girl on the beach where she belongs.”

  “I don’t understand, sir.”

  “Don’t be dense, Grantham! Once you send this report to Admiralty, it’s done! I understand you don’t want to be short of officers, so I’ll give you a good lad. Then you can excise this girl from your reports and say no more of it!”

  “I appreciate the offer of a midshipman, sir, but I simply can’t justify dismissing Carew — she’s done nothing to warrant it, sir!”

  “She warrants it by being a female, Grantham!”

  “I’ll not dismiss her, Captain Neals, and I’ve already sent my report on to Admiralty. It’s sealed in the dispatches as of this morning.”

  “Well, now you’ve stuck us with her, Grantham. I suggest you find some way to undo what you’ve done and get rid of her.”

  “Captain Neal, you’re senior to me, yes, but I’ve an independent command. For so long as I’m commander of Merlin, I’ll keep Midshipman Carew aboard and be happy to have her.”

  “I see. Very well, Grantham, so be it.” He sighed. “I’ll still send that new midshipman over to you within the hour so you won’t be so terribly undermanned. Dismissed.”

  Grantham was surprised by the generosity. “Thank you, sir, that will be quite helpful.” He rose to leave.

  “Oh, and, Grantham?” Neals called as the other captain was at the door.

  “Yes?”

  “When my boat arrives with your new midshipman, send your Mister Carew back here with it.”

  “Sir?”

  “A simple trade, Captain Grantham, for the good of the service, you understand. Your little sloop will be much better off with an experienced young officer, and your new midshipman will gain far more experience here aboard Hermione.”

  “Sir! I do protest!”

  “Protest all you like, Grantham, but my report to Admiralty will include this reasoning. Can you deny that this benefits both your ship and a young officer?”

  Grantham was silent.

  “Or is there some other reason you want this particular midshipman aboard Merlin? A personal reason?”

  “Captain Neals, sir, you go too far!”

  “Oh, don’t get your back up over it, Grantham. I’m merely pointing out what som
e might think and you know it.” He turned back to his console in clear dismissal. “Within the hour, captain.”

  A Note from the Author

  Thank you for reading Into the Dark. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

  As a reader, I’ve always been a fan of both science fiction and historical fiction from the Age of Sail. It’s been a wonderful treat for me to bring those two loves together in the Alexis Carew series.

  To some, the science and culture posited in this series may seem odd, but it is, I think, no odder than the more traditional warp drives and hyperspace modes of travel in science fiction.

  In starting to write this series, I knew that I wanted to do something with the current theories of dark energy and dark matter. Our universe’s expansion is accelerating and there is a great deal more gravity/matter out there than can be accounted for by the physical objects we can detect – the fact that 95% of our universe is, effectively, invisible to us except for its effects fascinates me.

  From the facts of unseen energy pushing our universe into expansion and unseen mass, it was a short hop for me to the fiction of winds, hidden shoals, and the “morass” of darkspace.

  And, of course, with those winds came the question: What if nothing electrical would work under those conditions and, instead of small, highly-educated crews of traditional science fiction, we were back to the large, brute-strength crews of the Age of Sail?

  J.A. Sutherland

  Orlando, FL November 1, 2014

  MUTINEER

  Alexis Carew #2

  by J.A. Sutherland

  Copyright 2015, Sutherland. All rights reserved.

  Cover Art by Steven J. Catizone

  (https://www.facebook.com/StevenJamesCatizone)

  Created with Vellum

  For Ash,

  Love you Boo.

  And to the memory of the crew of HMS Hermione (1782) and the events of September 1797.

  One

  H.M.S. Hermione’s masthead shook and spun in dizzying circles as the forces of the darkspace winds struck her sails and hull. Alexis had her legs wrapped tightly around the yard, her muscles aching as she tried not to be shaken loose. Sweat rolled down her face in steady rivulets and her breath echoed inside her vacsuit’s helmet. Her stomach rebelled at the violent motion, the sway and arc of each movement amplified by her height above the ship’s hull — fully sixty meters, as Captain Neals had left the masts, all the way to the royals, extended, even while bringing in most of the sail to ride out the storm.

  Just for me, so I’d get the full effect of his … lesson.

  The effect was to place Alexis so far from the hull and sails that the small amount of gallenium embedded in the thin royal mast and yard wasn’t enough to offset the full effects of darkspace, especially with a storm raging over the ship. Tendrils of blackness flowed past her like mist, and she could feel her thoughts and movements become slowed and dull. Not as badly as she’d heard described by spacers who’d been fully outside of a ship’s field, but quite disturbing nonetheless.

  It was enough to make her grateful that she’d had so little to eat the last day or more. Save for brief returns to the sail locker to charge her air and refill her water reservoir, sometimes wolf down a bit of ship’s biscuit if it were available, she’d been at the masthead for nearly twenty hours by her estimate.

  Her eyes burned with fatigue and her fingers cramped from gripping the safety lines on the yard. The storm had arrived some ten hours before, and she’d been sure that Captain Neals would send for her, but it didn’t happen. Instead a spacer had climbed the mast at the change of each watch to tell her it was time for air and water, then, with no word of a reprieve, she returned to her place.

  A swirl of darkspace energy struck the hull, knocking Hermione keelward, and Alexis yelped as the ship dropped away from her. Her grip held, but she felt her stomach flip-flop and her vision sparked as her helmet cracked into the yard. Far below she saw suited figures start up the mast, she assumed to take in another reef or two in the already well-furled topsail. The ship was carrying so little sail that the azure glow of their charged wire mesh barely cast any light at all.

  One them came higher, though, pulling his way up the topgallant mast and waving an arm to get Alexis’ attention, as the vacsuits’ radios, nor any electronics, wouldn’t function in darkspace. She winced as she unclenched one of her hands, knuckles popping and painful as she released the line for the first time in hours. She raised her own hand in acknowledgment. The spacer stopped climbing toward her and signaled again, this time for her to come down.

  Has it been a full watch again already?

  In the starless black of darkspace, with the only light coming from the azure glow of the ship’s sails, and that only from the bit of topsail currently let loose, she couldn’t tell who the spacer was. She waved acknowledgment and flexed her fingers, trying to work some smoothness into their motion before she moved her safety lines from the masthead to the masts guidewires to make her way down. The figure below her signaled again, making the sign for Lively Now in an attempt to get her to move faster.

  Aye, and I’ve some gestures for you, too, and I get my fingers uncramped!

  It would have to be an officer or another midshipman, then, to dare make that gesture to her, or one of the senior warrants. No common spacer would act so peremptorily toward a midshipman, even one so clearly out of favor with the captain as she was.

  With an effort and pain that brought tears to her eyes, Alexis managed to uncramp her hands and clip her lines to the mast’s guidewires. She swung her legs off the yard and wrapped them around the mast, pulling herself down toward the hull hand over hand. She’d normally just let her legs dangle and trail behind her, relishing in the sensation of gliding along the mast in zero gravity, but not with the storm.

  The ship jerked again, flinging her away from the mast to the limit of her arms and then back, knocking her breath from her. She clung to it tightly for a moment, gasping harshly, then started down again.

  When she reached the suited figure, she recognized him as Ledyard, the junior midshipman aboard and just twelve-years old, but taking on the airs and actions that permeated the other officers-in-training. They touched helmets carefully, trying to keep them in contact on the jerking mast.

  “Can’t you move faster than that, Carew? Change of watch!” Ledyard shouted, his high-pitched voice echoing inside her helmet. “Lieutenant Dorsett says you’re to come in!”

  In and then back out? Or finally in?

  Alexis didn’t ask, she’d find out soon enough. Better, perhaps, not to know until she’d reached the airlock to the quarterdeck. Until then, she could at least imagine that this nightmare was over and she’d be allowed back inside the ship — a chance to eat, clean up, and even sleep. She wasn’t entirely sure she could take another watch Outside at the masthead. This last one, she’d been afraid she’d fall asleep, unable to stay awake even with the storm, and wake to find herself flung off the mast and her safety line snapped, left to drift behind the ship as it carried on.

  Sure and they’d never stop for me. Neals’d dance a jig while he watched me fall away.

  Ledyard started to back down the mast, but Alexis reached out and grabbed his suit, stopping him and keeping his helmet in contact with hers. He tilted his head toward her and she could see his face, his eyes narrowed angrily, through their suit visors where they met.

  “Ledyard,” she said. “There’s a question you should ask yourself when delivering these messages — which angers Captain Neals more, the officer you’re speaking to or insubordination from a junior? Do you take my meaning?” Likely it would be the former, she knew, and Neals would take no note of whatever the other midshipmen did to her, but the possibility of the captain’s displeasure was not something anyone aboard Hermione took lightly. It wouldn’t help her in the gunroom when they were off-duty, but on-watch she was still senior and could demand at least some respect.

  Alexis saw
his throat work as he swallowed, but his glare didn’t lessen. “Aye, sir.”

  She released him and he started down the mast. She followed, groaning with the pains that shot through her limbs with each movement. She made her own way down the mast to Hermione’s cylindrical hull and clipped her safety line to one of the wires that ran back toward the stern. Unlike her first ship, the smaller, and much happier, sloop Merlin, Hermione was a full-size frigate. With three masts arrayed equidistant around her bow and a proper quarterdeck sitting atop the hull at the ship’s stern.

  She set her feet on the hull and felt the sharp clicks as the magnetic soles of her boots latched on to the gallenium embedded in the ship’s thermoplastic hull. It was over thirty meters back along the hull to the quarterdeck’s airlock, each of the long, sliding steps that kept one foot always firmly on the ship’s hull sending daggers of pain through her cramped legs. She felt Hermione shudder beneath her as another wave of darkspace energy washed over her. She glanced up at the mast and saw the slight roll of the hull magnified in the swaying dip of the mast.

  Please let it be over.

  “Welcome back, Mister Carew.”

  “Lieutenant Dorsett, sir,” Alexis said, standing as straight as she could. Even the dry, stale air of the quarterdeck was a relief after the old-sweat scent permeating her vacsuit, though she could still sense the odor wafting out of her suit’s neck. Ledyard passed her, carrying his own suit, which he’d removed in the quarterdeck lock. It irked Alexis that he, at twelve, was slightly taller than she. Unfortunately, she wasn’t likely to grow much more than the bit over one and a half meters that she’d achieved.

  “You may rejoin the regular watch schedule now,” Dorsett said. “I trust your experience was educational.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” She started for the hatch to the companionway down into the ship.