Alexis Carew: Books 1, 2, and 3

by J. A. Sutherland

  “Sir, I —”

  “And that Crandall, too! Why the man had the nerve to contact me and compliment me on having such an officer as you!” Neals slammed his hand onto the desk again, his face growing red. “What kind of slattern are you to have so befuddled good officers?”

  Alexis flinched and stared at the bulkhead. She felt her eyes burn and her muscles clench with the effort to fight back the urge to speak. She’d forgotten, at least for a time, how easily and quickly Neals’ moods could swing. The time aboard Penduli Station, out from under Neals’ thumb, had caused her to relax — perhaps not such a good thing now she was back aboard Hermione.

  Twelve

  Alexis started for the base of the mast, easing herself along the hull in the gliding walk that always kept one magnetized boot in contact with the hull at all times, so she wouldn’t drift free and have to pull herself back toward the ship by her safety line. The men of her division had just finished trimming the sails to Captain Neals’ latest orders and were hurrying down.

  The captain had again ordered that the last man down be flogged, a practice that made Alexis sick to her stomach. She understood the use of flogging for discipline — with months spent in space, well away from any planetside authority, the captain had to have some means of enforcing order. As one of the spacers on her first ship, Merlin, had explained it to her, even the men understood the need, and typically faced their punishment with an attitude of ‘over, done with, and now forgotten’ for both the flogging and the offense for which they’d earned it. They understood that there was no way for a captain to imprison or otherwise discipline a man while spending months in space, and so the corporal punishment allowed for an immediacy of consequences.

  And then there are the Tartars. The captains who didn’t just use the lash for serious offenses, but for every little thing, thinking it motivated the men to work harder or, as she suspected of Neals, because they enjoyed ordering it.

  So stupid, she thought as she took her place at the base of the mast. She hated this task, as she’d have to identify the last man down herself and report him to Neals. Her stomach turned at the thought of being complicit in his barbarous cruelty, but she couldn’t refuse a legal order.

  It was the best of the topmen who bore the brunt of Neals’ order, for they were the ones who went highest and farthest out on the yards to work the sail. Naturally it was they who were last down. Flog your best and most skilled men — for no more reason than that they are the best. The man’s a fool.

  High above her, the men had started down. Those nearest the mast on the yards clipping their safety lines to the guidewires and pulling themselves toward the hull. Those further out began jockeying for position, trying to reach the mast ahead of their fellows. The men were already dreading the next Captain’s Mast, for Neals had announced that he’d be passing judgment on them for their offenses aboard Penduli Station. There was no little resentment about that, in addition to the dread, and not just from her own division — she’d heard the muttering and dark looks from the rest of the crew when Neals had announced his intentions.

  One of the men on the topgallant yard, almost forty meters from the mast’s base, unclipped his line and leapt off the yard for the mast. He caught hold of it in a narrow space between two shipmates, but it was as though his actions had spurred the others. A half dozen more spacers on the topgallants unclipped their lines and pushed off downward at an angle toward the mast. Bodies were suddenly flying across the intervening space, crashing into those already on the mast and knocking them loose to be pulled up short by their safety lines. But those who’d leapt had no lines attached and Alexis’ blood chilled as she saw two, knocked off course by their fellows, miss the mast and sail past.

  Several spacers already on the mast reached out to them or jumped from it themselves, relying on their own safety lines to keep them attached in an effort to reach their mates, but the two men were already too far away. The would-be rescuers were brought up short by their lines and could only watch helplessly as the two drifted away from the ship.

  Alexis cried out and reached for the rescue gun at her belt. The officers each carried one for these circumstances, it used a charge of compressed gas to shoot a weighted bag attached to a line. She’d used hers once on Merlin when two men were cut loose from the masts during an action and she’d managed to save one of them.

  Crying out again, this time in frustration, she saw that it wouldn’t work. The men had already drifted out of the ship’s field and entered the morass of darkspace. As their momentum slowed, the ship continued to sail away from them and she was too far down the bow of the ship, near the mast’s base just above the sail locker. Hermione was too large for her shot to reach the men, so she began scrambling up the bow. If she could reach the top of the hull and a clearer shot, or even pull herself aft and catch up with them.

  Her breath rasped, echoing in her helmet as she cleared the top curve of the hull. She transferred her safety line to one of the guidewires that ran the length of the ship and grasped it with both hands. Her lower mass meant she could accelerate faster than someone larger and if she could just get close enough to fire off the line. She glanced up and saw that she couldn’t. The two men were already more than halfway down the hull and the squat bulk of the quarterdeck took up a full third of the upper hull. She’d have to maneuver around that to reach the stern and a clear shot, but the men were falling farther back faster than she’d be able to travel.

  The bosun, on the other hand, had a clear shot. Alexis gripped the guidewire, fists tight as she watched him squat on the hull and aim his own rescue gun upward. There was a puff of escaping gas and the weighted bag flew toward the two men, Hermione’s lights sparkling off the wire that trailed behind it.

  The bag left the ship’s field about ten meters up and started to slow and fall behind the ship as well. It arced slowly through the void toward the two figures, whose arms and legs were flailing in a vain effort to turn or propel themselves back to safety. The nearer man saw the bag crawling toward him and reached out his hand, straining to grasp it, but it slowed to a stop just out of his reach.

  The men and the bag continued to fall behind, the rescue line playing out, and Alexis screamed in frustration at the horrifying tableau. The nearer man continued to reach and grasp, his hand opening and closing in a desperate effort to reach the bag that remained always just centimeters away.

  The bosun dropped the now useless rescue gun and rushed for the hatch to the quarterdeck. Alexis yanked on the guidewire and pulled herself toward it too. If they could notify the captain in time to begin turning the ship, then the men could still be saved.

  There was no battle in progress, no reason not to bring the ship about and sail back to retrieve the two spacers. If they saw the ship turn, then they’d have a chance to activate the chemical lights on their suits so that Hermione could find them, but they’d have to see the turn begin before they gave up hope of rescue, for many spacers would dump their air if a ship wasn’t clearly returning for them, preferring to end things quickly rather than suffer through an extended period of time under the effects of darkspace.

  Ahead of her, the bosun had entered the quarterdeck airlock. Alexis kept her speed up along the hull, barely slowing as she closed on the hatch herself and finally slammed bodily into the closed hatch.

  She slid it open and then closed behind her, leaping across the small room for the valve that would fill the lock with air. She unsealed her helmet, grimacing as the difference in air pressure made her ears pop painfully. When the pressure in the lock had equalized with the quarterdeck she slid that hatch open and rushed in.

  She froze as she saw the bosun facing Captain Neals. The bosun’s face was set, the muscles in his jaw clenched and his eyes tight. Alexis saw his eyes narrow as he spoke, voice low and the only reason Alexis could hear his words was because the rest of the quarterdeck crew was deathly still and silent. The spacers at their stations stared fixedly at their consoles and ev
en Lieutenant Dorsett and the marines stationed at the airlock and ladderway looked pointedly away from the two.

  “Sir,” the bosun said, “they’re just behind us — it’d take no time at all.”

  Neals’ nostrils flared and he clenched his own jaw. “Are you deaf, Mister Maslin? I believe I was clear.” The bosun swallowed and started to speak, but Neals cut him off. “The answer is no.”

  Alexis couldn’t believe what she was hearing, the captain couldn’t be talking about stopping for the two men who’d gone overboard. He could not possibly be refusing to come about and pick them up. Hermione wasn’t facing the enemy, she was on no urgent errand — coming about for the two who’d gone over would affect their speed less than the pointless sail evolutions he’d been putting Alexis’ division through. Behind her, she was dimly aware of the lock cycling again and the hatch slid open.

  “That is an order, Mister Maslin,” Neals continued.

  The bosun squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. “Aye, sir.”

  “No!”

  All eyes on the quarterdeck turned to her. She knew it was a pointless, but couldn’t stop herself. She couldn’t let those men die without protesting the decision.

  “You forget yourself, Carew,” Neals said.

  “Captain, please, you can’t just leave them out there! It would take but a little time to come about!”

  “This ship is on course and making good time. Come about and waste that for two lubbers who couldn’t be bothered to clip on a line? I think not — worthless, the lot of them.”

  Alexis opened her mouth, but couldn’t find the words to respond. She’d known Neals was cruel, heartless even, but to leave men to die like this? To call them worthless and lubbers, a deadly insult to experienced spacers, when they were, in truth, the most skilled sail handlers aboard? Her eyes burned as she tried to think of some argument, some words that would change the captain’s mind.

  Neals looked over her shoulder and his face grew angrier. “What are you lot doing in my quarterdeck lock?”

  Alexis glanced behind her and saw that a half dozen spacers had crowded into the lock, their faces dark as they’d clearly heard what the captain had said about their mates. “No one sets foot on the quarterdeck without my leave — clear out!”

  Despite the angry looks, discipline held and the spacers began affixing their helmets in preparation to return to the hull when a voice echoed from the airlock.

  “Bastard!”

  Everyone on the bridge froze. Neals’ eyes widened and his face flushed red.

  “Who said that?” He spun on the bosun. “Mister Maslin, take that man’s name!”

  The bosun swallowed heavily and took a step back. “Sir, I was looking away … I didn’t see who spoke.”

  “Damn you!” Neals’ face grew redder. “Carew! Those men are of your division! Whose voice was that?”

  Honestly Alexis had not been able to tell, with the voice’s harshness and echoing from within the airlock combined with her own distraction at the captain’s cruelty she hadn’t recognized it. “Sir, I couldn’t say …”

  “What are you men still doing there?” Neals yelled. “Clear the quarterdeck this instant! Marines!”

  The marines reached for their sidearms, but the airlock hatch was already being closed by the men inside. Just before the hatch slammed shut, the voice sounded again.

  “Bloody bastard!”

  Neals stood still for a moment, staring at the hatch. His breath was ragged and Alexis could see the muscles of his jaw working. His lip curled up in a sneer.

  “Carew,” he said.

  “Sir, I’m sorry,” she said hurriedly. “The men are distraught, you understand … their mates …”

  “Those men are of your division, Carew?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, but I did not recognize the voice. I’ll look into it, though, I swear —”

  Neals raised a trembling hand to point at the airlock. “Get back out there, Carew, and bring them in through the proper lock, then assemble those men on the mess deck.” He turned to the bosun. “Mister Maslin, pipe All Hands to the mess deck to witness punishment, then pass the word for Lieutenant Blowse — I want the marines turned out, every one, for I will surely hang the next man who speaks so to me.”

  Alexis left the quarterdeck airlock and stepped out onto the hull, waving to get the attention of the men in her division even as Hermione’s hull lights began flashing to call the full crew inside. She hurriedly made her way to the bow and gathered her men around her, ensuring that they entered the sail locker together and with no others.

  She faced the inner hatch while the compartment filled with air, not wanting to turn around and see the others. Not wanting to see who was missing. Finally, the air stopped hissing in and she couldn’t delay it any longer. She unsealed her helmet and lifted it over her head, turning to face the men.

  “Matheny and Urton,” she said dully, seeing who was missing.

  “Yes, sir,” Nabb said.

  Alexis clenched her eyes shut, feeling them burn, but she didn’t have time for tears. Matheny and Urton were gone, likely dead by now for they’d surely dumped their air when they saw that Hermione hadn’t turned back for them. But the men in this room were still alive and she vowed to keep them so. She opened her eyes and met theirs in turn. Their gazes were hard and angry, red-rimmed and some with tears mixed into the sweat on their faces, but more angry now.

  “The captain —” she began.

  “That —”

  “Goodnowe!” she barked harshly. “Not a word!” She took a deep breath and let it out, shuddering. “Not a single word from any of you, do you understand me? The captain, whatever else you may think of him, is the captain and he’s promised to hang the next man who says a word against him.”

  “He can’t —”

  “Shut up, Goodnowe! Are you mad?” She looked around at the others desperately. “He will hang you, then put it in the log and go to his dinner with never a second thought.” There was a pounding on the hatchway into the ship and she knew that she hadn’t much time. “Please, lads, hold your tongues.” She met each of their eyes in turn. “Matheny and Urton are gone, but I cannot bear to lose another of you this day.”

  “Aye, sir,” Nabb said nodding and the others followed suit.

  Alexis took another deep breath and slid the hatchway open then led the men up the companionway to the mess deck. The marines were already assembled, as well as most of the hands. She made her way aft to the wardroom hatch where the other officers waited. After a short wait while the rest of the hands made their way inside the ship and assembled, Captain Neals stepped forward. He surveyed the assembled men.

  “Lieutenant Blowse,” he said.

  “Sir—”

  “As I ordered, Lieutenant!”

  “Arms!” Blowse ordered and the marines drew their sidearms. There was a collective intake of breath from the men, followed by muttering.

  “Silence!” Neals yelled. “Lieutenant Blowse, the first man who moves from his place without orders is to be shot down, do you understand?”

  “Sir—”

  “Do you understand, Lieutenant?”

  Blowse nodded to his marines who readied their weapons. “Aye, sir.”

  Neals took a deep breath. “Carew, bring your division forward — here in front.”

  Alexis stepped forward, wondering what Neals had in store. “Come on, lads, form up in front.” The men of her division stepped forward, nervously eyeing the marines, and formed into lines in front of the officers. Neals stepped forward and jerked his head at her to stand back with the other officers.

  “Two men short, this division is.” Neals narrowed his eyes. “Two useless lubbers who couldn’t be bothered to look to themselves Outside!”

  Alexis concentrated on keeping her face impassive. She looked from man to man, meeting their eyes in turn. Please, lads, hold your tongues. He’ll do what he will, but, please, don’t give him cause for more.

>   “And someone in this division is an insubordinate cur!” Neals’ face was turning red again. “Mister Maslin!”

  “Aye, sir?”

  “Every man in this division … two dozen. Every man left, that is.”

  Alexis was stunned and she could tell by the silence on the deck that the others were as well. She looked around at the other officers and saw that their eyes were wide. Williard was pale and his mouth had fallen open. There were over two hundred men gathered on the deck and not a sound was heard for several seconds, then there a soft murmuring. Not from Alexis’ division, she was relieved to see. All of them stood still, faces blank and jaws set. The murmuring grew louder and some of the gathered men shifted in their positions.

  “Silence!” Neals bellowed. “I will have order on this ship! I will have discipline and attendance to my orders!”

  The bosun cleared his throat and started to speak. “Sir, is this—”

  “Be about it, Mister Maslin, you have your orders! And do not shirk, or I will see you at the gratings yourself, and your backbone bared this very day!”

  “Aye, sir.” The bosun jerked his head at one of his mates who rushed off to fetch the cat. He returned in a few minutes, all the while the assembled men stood still and silent, but Alexis watched their faces. Hermione had never been a happy ship and floggings were common. It was rare for a Captain’s Mast to go by without at least one spacer finding himself bound to the gratings for some offense, but this … a full division flogged at once? Twenty-two men?

  The bosun took the red baize bag he stored the cat in from his mate and reached inside. He withdrew the cat o’ nine tails, made from length of ship’s cable. The cable was unwound to free its three cords, each made from three strands of braided line. Almost a meter long, its nine strands were knotted to add weight and stiffen the blows. Half its length was left solid, the better for handling. The boson grasped the handle and shook his arm loosely.