Alexis Carew: Books 1, 2, and 3

by J. A. Sutherland

  “That agreement surely doesn’t hold when the entire fleet of guards has flown off and left the system to us,” Neals said.

  “I believe it does,” Williard said. “We agreed, sir, upon our honor, not to escape.”

  Neals smiled. “But once we have,” he said, “what will the Hanoverese do about it, eh?”

  Williard looked shocked — even the midshipmen looked askance at Neals. A gentleman’s word, a naval officer’s word, was supposed to be inviolate. Their honor had been pledged to the parole they’d agreed to.

  “It’s not just our honor, sir,” Williard said. “If we break our parole … well, why would the Hanoverese trust the word of the next set of officers they capture? And what of the Queen, sir? As officers we represent Her Honor as well, do we not?”

  “Damn you, Williard!” Neals almost shouted. “Are you telling me I should stay on this bloody rock because of some words I said to that jumped up whore Balestra?”

  Williard took a step back from Neals. He looked around the room at the others. “Sir …” He trailed off and swallowed heavily. “Sir, as an officer and … and in my person as Lord Ashcroft, sir, I may not break my parole.” He paled but met Neals’ eye. “And I must advise you the same, sir.” He glanced down at his tablet again and hurried on. “But there may be a way …”

  “Speak up!”

  “Sir, we may not, none of us who gave our parole, escape. Not with our honor intact. But …” He looked at Alexis and then back at Neals, as though dreading his next words.

  “Spit it out, man!”

  “Sir, we may not escape, but we may be rescued.”

  “Captain Neal’s mad, sir.”

  Alexis nearly cried out with relief when Moberly squeezed in beside her and closed the door to the ground-truck’s driving compartment. With Simcoe set to drive them all back to the warehouse, she’d been afraid that Neals would insist on riding up front, but Moberly had announced that he’d need to supervise Simcoe — with the two of them, there was just enough room for Alexis in the middle. Neals and the other officers had been relegated to the truck’s open bed with the marines.

  “Moberly ...” Alexis warned.

  “Barkin’ mad, sir,” Moberly said. “I expect we’ll see him running wild and howling at the sky come the next full-moon night.”

  Alexis struggled to maintain her composure. The stress of the day, the night, and, not less, the last quarter hour of listening to Captain Neals rant and harangue Lieutenant Williard over the thought of being ‘rescued’ by her — all of it had come together to put her on the very edge. The image of Neals baying at the moon was almost enough to put her over into hysterical laughter.

  “That’s enough of that, Moberly,” she said instead. “He’s still the captain.”

  “Not as Lieutenant Williard tells it, sir, least not as I heard him.”

  No, Williard had been quite clear on the point, standing up to Neals no matter how angry the captain had become. None of the officers could participate in the escape, they could only follow. They could not be armed, could not fight, could give no orders, could not even offer advice — not without breaking their parole. The entire responsibility for getting them back to New London space would fall upon Alexis and the crew.

  In a way she was grateful to Williard, for she had little confidence that Neals could manage it if he were in command. At the same time, she held no illusions about Williard’s motives. The man wanted to get home, and with his honor intact — he cared not one whit about Alexis or the men. In fact, the insistence that they “be rescued” protected not only the officers’ honor, but their very lives.

  If the group was recaptured, Alexis and the men could be executed as escaped prisoners while Neals, Williard, and the midshipmen would at least have the argument to make that they were still on parole and only being “rescued”.

  Alexis’ own status as an unparoled prisoner complicated things even more. If a New London force had stormed the system and released them, they’d have been free to arm themselves and fight from that moment. But Williard’s reading of the regulations and the wording of their parole was that Alexis didn’t qualify — only making contact with a free New London force would free them from the terms of their parole.

  For Neals the prospect of having to stand aside and follow Alexis’ direction until they reached a New London system or made contact with the Fleet … well, Alexis had feared the captain would fall to the ground in an apoplectic fit before he’d finished venting his spleen on Williard. And so much the easier for all of us if he only had.

  If anything, Neals had been even angrier upon being informed that he would have to leave most of his personal effects and cabin furnishings behind. They’d been brought down from Hermione for him, along with the other officers’ chests and belongings, but there was no way it would all fit in the ground-truck — and no way Alexis would take the risk of bringing the hauler into town. Instead all of the officers had been limited to what they could stuff in makeshift bags and carry along with them.

  “Get us back, Simcoe,” she said.

  “Aye sir.”

  She settled back for the ride, only now that her own part in retrieving the officers was done she began to worry about the men who’d gone off after the hauler. They should have arrived at the fields where she thought the hauler would return by now. Their return trip, if they were successful, would be much quicker. Quicker even than her little group in the ground-truck. If they hadn’t been successful then … well, that didn’t bear thinking on. For her and the men there was no turning back now. They had no choice but to succeed.

  She breathed a heavy sigh of relief as she saw a hauler’s lights ahead of them, landing at the warehouse. Simcoe picked up the pace and sent the ground-truck speeding forward without having to be told. Neals would probably have something to say about the jostling as the truck careened up to the warehouse and rocked to stop, but Alexis was too relieved to care.

  The men left in the warehouse had heard the hauler or one of the lookouts had informed them, and they poured out, lining up to board. Alexis crowded past Moberly and rushed to the hauler, finding Lain as he clambered out of the hauler’s massive, box-shaped cargo compartment.

  “Trouble?” she asked.

  “Not a bit, sir,” he said. “Found it just like you said at the edge of that field. Looked like some men were up and at breakfast nearer the farmstead, but no guard a’tall. Might as not even know we took her yet.”

  “Moberly!” Alexis called over her shoulder. “You and Lain see to loading the men!” She turned to face the growing crowd. “It’ll be crowded, mind you, lads! So watch your tempers!”

  “Aye sir!” came the chorused reply.

  Alexis hurried to the hauler’s cab. It would be crowded, indeed, with more than seventy men and their bags crammed into the hauler’s cargo compartment. Moreover, it would be uncomfortable, with no seating — and no pressurization or heat for the long flight to the nearest port almost two thousand kilometers away. Even at the hauler’s top speed the trip would be hours long with little room to sit down.

  “I hear it all went smoothly, Collison,” she said, climbing into the hauler’s cab.

  “Weren’t even locked, sir” Collison said, lip curled in disgust.

  “I’m sorry, Collison. The very next time we’re captured, I’ll try to ensure it’s a properly distrustful planet, shall I?” She settled herself behind him. “Where do we stand, then?”

  “Disabled the transponders right off, sir,” he said. “Such as they was. This system don’t have enough satellites fer proper navigatin’, ferget about trackin’.” He gestured at the sparse console. “By guess and by eye ter get us anywheres, but there’s a decent map.” He tapped one of the panels that showed a map. “I’ve an idea of the proper course for the port, sir.”

  “Anything on the radio?”

  “Nothing, sir, but it’s nearing dawn. I’d ‘spect they’ll find this thing’s missing soon.”

  “All rig
ht, Collison,” she said. She opened the cab’s door to hop out and check on the loading. “Good work.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Alexis made her way to the rear of the hauler, trying to think of what might happen next. What would happen on Dalthus if a hauler went missing? First whichever holder had hired its use would try to raise it on the radio … no the hauler’s pilot, there at the holding, would try to raise it. He’d want to know what fool was off joyriding in it and he wouldn’t want to alert the dispatcher that he’d gone and lost one of the most valuable things on the planet.

  Then there’d be the sheepish call to the dispatch office. More calls to locate the other pilots. Had someone made a mistake and taken the vehicle on another run? It could be an hour or more, she hoped, from the time they discovered it missing to when they suspected foul play. Longer, perhaps, if the original pilot received a response to his initial queries — something garbled, with a great deal of static, but just enough to make him think there had been a misunderstanding or emergency? It was certainly worth a try.

  Twenty

  “I make it one boat, sir.”

  Alexis reached forward and turned off the hauler’s radio. They were in sight of the port’s landing field and the hauler’s original pilot and dispatcher had grown angry and suspicious with her anyway. She’d managed to put them off a bit, at least until the prison guards’ replacements had arrived to find their fellows locked up. Once that news had filtered from place to place over the radio, it had been pretty clear who had taken their hauler. Now she could only hope that whatever response was organized took enough time for her and the crew to reach the port and take a boat. The only boat, she saw as the port’s landing field came into view. She’d hoped for more than one boat to be on the field, which would mean more than one ship in orbit — more than one chance for it to be a ship large enough for her crew and not some pinnace or cutter that would hold less than half of them. One’s better than none, though.

  “I’d hoped there might be more than one, Collison,” she said, “but we’ll make do, yes?”

  “Aye sir,” he answered. “Makin’ do’s done us well so far, it has.”

  Alexis took a deep breath. “Let’s be about it, then,” she said.

  Collison nodded and hunched over the hauler’s controls. He seemed to have the hauler aimed directly for the ship’s boat and as they got closer and lower with the hauler still at high speed, they overflew the boat with barely a meter’s space to spare and dropped to the field immediately past it. If the hauler hadn’t had its own gravity generator and inertial compensator, the men in the cargo compartment would have been flung about like rag dolls. As it was, Collison slammed those compensators off as soon as the hauler had stopped moving and that was the signal for the men in back to a.

  They threw open the doors of the cargo compartment and fell on the few merchant spacers around the boat. It was over before Alexis and Collison were even able to exit the cab and rush to the rear of the hauler. Shocked by the hauler’s abrupt arrival and the rush of men, the boat’s small crew was overwhelmed. Lain and Moberly wasted no time in identifying the boat’s pilot and dragging him to Alexis.

  “What ship?” Alexis demanded.

  “Que?”

  Oh, I’m bloody tired of hearing that, I am. “Navire! Ce navire?” Her crew was busy crowding aboard the boat.

  “Trau Wunsch.”

  “How big? La taille?” In the corner of her vision she could see Neals and the other officers standing to the side while the crew streamed aboard. Are they really? Would Neals really stand on precedent and insist on boarding last even given the circumstances?

  The pilot was pale and shaking. “Barque, une cent de tonnes.”

  Alexis almost shouted with delight. It would be large enough … just. The ride up in the boat would be standing room, with most of the crew stuffed into the boat’s hold or stacked like cordwood, but a ship that size would be enough for them. It would be tight, and they’d have to sleep in shifts with many berthing in the hold, but it would be enough — there’d be enough air and water to sustain them the week or two it would take to reach New London space, and food might grow short, but they could do it.

  “En haut! Immédiatement!” She gestured for the pilot to enter the boat.

  “Que?”

  “On the boat and take us up!” Alexis yelled, pointing at the ramp. “Vous prenez l'avion!”

  The man blanched and Lain gave him a shove toward the ramp. “Up you go, lad, a’fore the cap’n feeds ya yer own liver!”

  Alexis followed them, calling out, “Get aboard, lads, and hurry!” she called out.

  She rushed up the ramp and into the cockpit, seating herself beside the pilot. She wracked her brain for the French to make him understand.

  “Vous nous prendre pour le navire. Aucun avertissement. We take your ship and you have the boat and your life, yes? No warnings!” She drew a finger across her throat to underscore the threat. “Comprenez vous?”

  “Oui!” the pilot nodded, head bobbing rapidly.

  Lain and Moberly crowded into the cockpit behind them.

  “Lads’re aboard, sir,” Lain said. “Captain Neals is on the ramp.”

  The taking of Trau Wunsch went quickly. The boat’s pilot made some excuse for returning to the ship so quickly. Alexis didn’t know exactly what, because the pilot was speaking German, Trau Wunsch being from Hanover proper and not one of the formerly French worlds. She was confident, though, that Moberly’s hulking presence next to him kept the pilot honest.

  They likely could have taken the ship simply by announcing their intentions on the way up to orbit, though, as Trau Wunsch had only three men aboard as an orbit watch. The rest were on leave or about business in the port. Once the boat made fast and the hatch opened, there was no resistance as Alexis’ crew stormed aboard and took control.

  “All hands to the sails, Mister Lain! At least those we’ve vacsuits for and’ll fit.”

  “Aye sir!”

  Alexis ran her fingers over the barque’s navigation plot, confirming, for the third time since entering the quarterdeck, that the ship’s systems were unlocked. Unlocked … but in bloody German, which’ll be a challenge in itself.

  “Sergeant Moberly, are our reluctant benefactors well away?”

  “Aye sir! Into the boat and the cockpit locked against them. Shoved away and drifting. They’ll not bother us ‘til a boat from one o’ them other ships comes for them.”

  “Thank you, Moberly.” She rested her palms on the plot. “Take the signals console, Simcoe, as best you can. Get us underway, Ficke.” She tapped the plot. “This moon here is closest — we’ll transition at L1. No more than half power to the conventional drive, mind you, Ficke … lord help us if they’re in the same state as the rest of this tub. Mister Lain, I’ll want the masts raised and all plain sail ready to charge the moment we transition.”

  “Aye sir!” the men chorused.

  The ship’s quarterdeck was a bustle of activity. The mess deck was even worse, with all her crew crowded in and trying to sort out who would best fit the bare two dozen vacsuits aboard. Most merchant ships carried the minimum of crew, and this one was no different. That was lucky for them in taking her, for half the crew had been planetside and there’d been only three of those left awake when their stolen boat arrived and made fast. Awake and eating bloody breakfast on my quarterdeck! Alexis shoved a dropped plate and its contents aside with her boot. Eating on the quarterdeck, indeed. Their orbit watch was as slovenly as the rest.

  Trau Wunsch was not well-kept. The decks and bulkheads were filthy, her mess deck was cluttered and strewn with the crews’ possessions, and the air had an odor to it. Not just the staleness and undertone of old sweat that a normal ship had, but a sour, gagging reek, as though some long forgotten cargo were rotting in the hold.

  “Sergeant Moberly!” Alexis went on, returning to the long list of tasks that would see them underway.

  “Sir?”

&nb
sp; “Two marines to the hold, if you please, and they’re to see no one goes down there on a lark.” She had faith in most of the lads, they were still in far too much danger to take things less than seriously, but one or two might take the chance for a bit of exploring. She’d need her lads whole and sensible, not raiding whatever wine or spirits were stored aboard.

  On the monitors, Giron fell away and behind them as Ficke applied power and pointed the ship toward the nearest moon and its Lagrange point. Did I just feel the ship move?

  “Mister Lain!”

  “Aye sir?”

  “Two lads to engineering, lively now, and they’re to see to the compensators. They’ll not be able to read the consoles until we’ve changed them to proper English, mind you, so pick those who’ll know what to look for in the readouts.”

  “Aye sir.”

  “And two more to the hold, while you’re about it, please. Steady lads, and I’ll have an accounting of our stores.” They’d need to know how they were set for food and water. With so many more men aboard than the ship normally held, they could be on short rations for this trip. She looked around the quarterdeck, trying to think of what else needed doing before they transitioned, and after. The myriad little things it took to keep a ship running and safe. Her foot slid out from under her as she turned and she barely caught herself on the edge of the plot. Her face twisted with disgust at the smear of egg yolk across the deck and on her boot. “And an idler with a bucket, Mister Lain — handsomely, but I’ll have this mess cleaned off my quarterdeck!”

  “Aye sir!”

  Alexis heard a muttered oath and looked up from the plot in shock. She scanned the quarterdeck for who might have made the outburst. Oh dear …

  Captain Neals, along with the other officers, stood to the side. Crowded into the corner, really, as the quarterdeck itself was far smaller than a Navy ship’s. He was scowling at her, face red. Alexis had all but forgotten him — having him locked away in the hauler’s cargo compartment, in the passenger compartment of the boat on their way up, and, certainly, at the rear of the short, anti-climactic boarding action to take Trau Wunsch had been a great relief. She hadn’t even noticed that he and the others had made their way onto the quarterdeck, so focused was she on getting underway. Her quarterdeck, as she’d just named it, clearly to Neals’ greater displeasure.