Barr gave Alexis a small grimace and Alexis fought down a surge of irritation. She was torn between sympathy for the lad having to make his way in a strange environment and irritation that he couldn’t manage to find his way to his watch station until the very last moment.
Was I ever in such a state? she asked herself, struggling not to smile at the thought.
“I have the deck, Lieutenant Barr,” she said.
“The deck is yours,” he agreed. “There are no changes to the standing orders.” He nodded to her, and glanced at Artley who was murmuring to Thedford at the signals console. Everyone else from the previous watch had already left the quarterdeck. He gave a little sigh and shrugged to her before leaving.
Alexis reviewed the state of the navigation plot, noting the positions of the ships in the convoy. She settled into her place to enjoy the quiet for a time. She’d always liked standing the middle watch best, running from the ship’s midnight to four a.m. when the hands would wake and Shrewsbury would begin to bustle and echo with the sounds of the day’s activity.
In the quiet of the night, with the other officers and Captain Euell all asleep, Shrewsbury was truly hers. Barring a storm or significant change in the winds, she could order sail and course changes, even issue orders to the entire convoy, without anyone questioning her. She caught her lower lip between her teeth to keep from grinning.
Until morning when the captain reviews the log and asks why I’ve sent his convoy zig-zagging about to my whims.
“Mister Artley, a throw of the log, if you please,” she said. “I’d admire an update to our course.”
“Aye, sir.”
She made a point of watching surreptitiously as he worked the signals console to send her order out to the spacers minding the sails. Darkspace was a featureless void, with not even stars to navigate by — only a constantly roiling mass of shadowy storms were visible in the distance. Once a ship was out of sight of a system’s pilot boat, assuming there was one, the only way to navigate was through dead reckoning.
One of spacers would have to take the log to the ship’s keel and launch the weighted bag outside of Shrewsbury’s field, where it would stick in the morass of dark matter that permeated darkspace. The bag was attached to a line and timed. How much line was pulled out in that time would tell Alexis how fast Shrewsbury was traveling and the angles to the bag at the end would give her an idea of the ship’s speed, course, and drift.
What made the whole system work was the odd effect darkspace had on distances. The farther a ship traveled from a star system, from any normal-space mass, really, the faster or farther it traveled in darkspace, but to the ship itself, the speed appeared constant and quite slow. So though the thrown log might only strip a few hundred meters of line off the log’s reel, Shrewsbury herself might have made light years of normal-space distance.
Or not … I never have been sure if we’re traveling faster or farther or what.
Since a ship could only transition back to normal-space — and that only in star systems and at particular places called Lagrangian points — there was no way to tell how the distances between matched up.
Of course, none of that would happen if Artley didn’t relay her order to the crew outside.
Alexis frowned as the time dragged on and Artley pecked at the signals console. It was a simple, common order, given four or more times each watch, and this was not Artley’s first time at the console. In fact he’d spent all his watches there, as it was often the assignment given to the most junior midshipman on watch.
Artley finally reported that the order had been relayed to the spacers outside via the ship’s fiber optics, no electronics being functional outside the hull in the darkspace radiations.
Once the log had been thrown and the information relayed back inside, Alexis bent over the navigation plot to update the ship’s course. She ran her own calculations, then allowed the plot’s computer to do so. She grinned as she saw that hers was not too far off the computer’s — it had been a long time since she’d once plotted her ship’s position all outside of known space, but the mental hoops required for darkspace navigation still tripped her up from time to time. That she and the rest of Shrewsbury’s crew relied on what were essentially guesses of the ship’s speed and direction for their safe arrival did still make her a bit queasy.
When she was done, she displayed Artley’s records on the navigation plot to review them. The time he’d taken to relay a simple, expected order, and the uncertainty he’d shown, troubled her. She’d have to rely on him to command or even help man half her guns in the next action, and what she’d seen of him so far made her far from confident.
Artley was new to Shrewsbury, she saw, with not very much more time aboard than she herself had. He’d come aboard just as the ship left the Core Worlds for the Fringe. That in itself wasn’t unusual. Shrewsbury had transferred to the Fringe from Core Fleet just before she’d come aboard and fully half the crew and officers were new to the ship.
True, Shrewsbury was Artley’s first ship and he’d been in the Navy no longer than he’d been aboard, but midshipman recruits in the Core Worlds were most often from families with a Naval tradition. Artley’s lack of confidence and knowledge didn’t speak of someone from a Naval family and his records confirmed it. It seemed he’d had no prior contact with the Navy at all.
Alexis’ frown deepened. From most Fringe Worlds the Navy was a step up for a young lad who didn’t want to follow in whatever work his father performed, especially if one could become a midshipman, an officer in training, rather than as common crew. But Artley had come from the Core, where there were far more opportunities and options available. Why, the lad hadn’t even finished the basic schooling available in the Core. True, there were ample opportunities for him to study with Shrewsbury’s systems, but it was still odd. What could have made him sign aboard ship? And more so, what could have convinced his family to allow it?
Whatever the reason, his records didn’t say. She closed them and crossed to stand next to him at the signals console.
“Mister Artley?”
Artley jumped, as though he’d been unaware that Alexis had approached, and turned to face her. “Sir?”
“I’m given to understand that you’ll be joining my division on the upper gundeck, in place of Mister Blackmer.”
Artley nodded. “Yes, sir.”
He swallowed and Alexis thought she saw his eyes glisten.
Were they close, then? And has anyone thought to comfort him after Blackmer’s death?
It was hard to know. Shrewsbury had eighteen midshipmen aboard, ranging in age from Artley’s twelve to a practically ancient one of twenty-three — who’d failed to pass for lieutenant so often that he’d likely resigned himself to being a midshipman forever — and their berth was a chaotic one. Alexis had visited once, then left and thanked her fate that she’d been promoted lieutenant without having served aboard a ship so large as Shrewsbury.
It was hard enough being the only girl of six aboard Hermione. She shuddered at the thought of what Shrewsbury’s midshipmen’s berth might be like for her, though none of the lads aboard were near so vile as Hermione’s had been.
Still, the Navy did tend to forget that the midshipmen were little more than young lads, or, as in Artley’s case, barely more than children. Shrewsbury had seen little action since leaving the Core Worlds and Blackmer had been the first death aboard, save by accidents Outside on the hull. Artley had likely never lost a friend at all, much less by so violent circumstances.
Alexis laid a hand on Artley’s shoulder.
“He was a good lad, Blackmer was.”
Artley nodded, swallowing again.
“You’ll have a time of it filling his shoes, but I’ve confidence you’ll do him proud.”
There was little else she could say. Not on the quarterdeck with other hands about to hear. She made a mental note to speak to the boy more later, though, and to ask Slawson about the matter when he returned. As sec
ond lieutenant he was nominally in charge of the midshipmen’s berth. When she’d have time to do so she wasn’t sure, though.
Alexis returned to the navigation plot and noted that one of the merchantmen in the convoy was drifting from the projected course.
“Mister Artley,” Alexis said, “Imperial Rose has been sailing a point or two to leeward and is falling away from us. Make a signal to request she come up a bit and rejoin the convoy.”
Artley spun around and looked at her with wide eyes. He gulped visibly. “Aye, sir.”
Alexis watched him out of the corner of her eye while appearing to stare at the navigation plot. Artley pecked at his console for a long time before she saw the signal go out, lights on Shrewsbury’s masts and hull flashing and changing color to signal the other ship. Alexis sighed. Far too long, but the other ship did see the signal and firmed up her course to remain with the convoy.
Six
Shrewsbury said goodbye to the last of the merchant vessels as expected, but added a fast packet from New London that was waiting at their last stop before entering French space. They were within sight of the pilot boat for the Caillavet system, but still in darkspace. As the merchants were leaving them and Shrewsbury had adequate supplies, Captain Euell saw no need to transition. Instead he passed a message back via the pilot boat and waited while the packet joined them in darkspace.
The packet made fast to Shrewsbury’s starboard side, matched docking tubes, and passed along its messages.
Eades quickly closeted himself with Courtemanche; there’d apparently been some last minute priority instructions for him aboard the packet.
All through Shrewsbury’s wardroom, the officers’ tablets pinged as messages were processed through Shrewsbury’s system and delivered. Alexis felt a moment’s anxiety, as she had ever since her time on Hermione.
On that ship one of the midshipmen had placed a filter in the messaging system that had prevented any of her messages from being sent or delivered. She knew that Shrewsbury — that most ships, even — was far different than Hermione had been, but the experience had still left her with scars.
Scars on mind and body, she thought, as her own tablet pinged and she felt her body release the tension.
She worried every time Shrewsbury’s messages caught up with them that hers were going astray again. Sometimes, not always, certainly, but sometimes, when Captain Euell ordered a change in Shrewsbury’s sails, she would tense, waiting to hear the echo of Hermione’s captain call out, “And flog the last man down from the yards!”
The scars on her back, where that same Captain Neals had ordered her flogged, had healed well. Shrewsbury’s surgeon had even performed some work on them that had eased the tightness when she stretched too far. They were still visible — thin, white traces across her skin, some of them raised — but bothered her little.
I could wish my mind had healed so completely. Living in constant fear for near six months leaves a mark as deep as any lash.
She scanned through her messages quickly. There were several from her grandfather back on Dalthus and she opened the last of these, relieved to read his first words assuring her that everyone was well.
That was the most important thing, and she’d read them in detail at her leisure. She hoped there might be word of his attempts to gain support for changing Dalthus’ inheritance laws to allow her to inherit his lands, but the situation was unlikely to have changed from the last she’d heard. It was a slow process, trying to garner support first to place an amendment to the colony’s charter on the ballot for the next conclave of the settlers, then trying to get enough votes to pass it.
There was a message from Mister Grandy, the solicitor she’d consulted with in the Penduli system about Isom’s situation. Isom had been a legal clerk and was taken up by the Impress Service. Thrown aboard ship with no knowledge of the Navy and with a still-bleeding tattoo to “prove” he was a spacer. With Shrewsbury not only away from Penduli but about to leave New London space entirely, there was little Grandy could do about the matter, though he was still trying to get Isom’s impressment records sent to him.
Alexis was somewhat surprised at Isom’s attitude toward the whole matter. He seemed to have given up on any hope of challenging his impressment and become resigned to being aboard Shrewsbury.
“Passing the word for Lieutenant Carew,” Midshipman Slayden called from the wardroom hatch. “Lieutenant Carew, sir?”
Alexis looked up from her tablet and realized that she’d been lost in thought for some time and not looking at her messages at all. In fact, she’d not fully read a single one.
“Yes, Mister Slayden?”
“That Mister Eades is asking for you, sir,” Slayden said.
Alexis sighed. “Of course he is. Thank you, Slayden.”
She made her way to Eades’ cabin and knocked, entering at Eades’ shout of acknowledgment from within.
“Come in, come in,” Eades called.
He and Courtemanche were hunched over the table in their day cabin. The table’s surface displayed a star map and several messages. Courtemanche was frowning and running his fingers over several systems, measuring distances.
“Come over here, Carew,” Eades said, not taking his eyes from the table. “Look here, we’ve just received word of the forces being assembled for our efforts.”
Alexis approached the table. She could make out the worlds of the Berry March highlighted on the starmap. Eades tapped a system quite near the border.
“Here at Alchiba,” he said. “A fleet of forty warships and over a hundred transports.”
“Sixty thousands of men,” Courtemanche said, grinning widely, “cavalry, air … all that will be needed.”
Alexis frowned. “Should you be telling me this, sirs?”
Eades waved his hand in the air. “It isn’t as though the Hanoverese could have a spy aboard this ship, Carew. Just don’t you go blabbing it about.”
Alexis ignored that, concentrating instead on what Eades had said of the forces being assembled. “Did you say only a hundred transports?” The transports would be smaller than Shrewsbury and, though they’d have a smaller crew as well, wouldn’t be able to transport nearly as many men. She thought the usual number was to place three hundred men aboard a troop transport and had no idea how much space these cavalry or air forces would require.
“I’m assured its enough. Possibly more than one round-trip required,” Eades said. “Top men were involved in this planning. Top men. In any case —”
He was interrupted by the sound of bosun’s pipes over the ship’s speakers, followed quickly by the drum signaling that they beat to quarters.
Eades frowned. “Isn’t that what they played just before we attacked the Hanoverese frigate?”
“It is,” Alexis said, “but this will be only a drill. Captain Euell said that he wished to exercise the guns as soon as that packet was off with our dispatches.”
“Hmph. And I suppose you must join the rest of the crew for this nonsense?”
Alexis tried to keep her face impassive and not smile. In truth the opportunity to exercise the guns again thrilled her and that it interrupted more of Eades’ company was a pleasant bonus.
“I’m afraid so, sir,” she said. “If you’ll excuse me?”
Seven
“Ready forward!”
Alexis peered through the nearest gunport at the short tube of hull material Shrewsbury would use as a target for gunnery drill. It was being towed on a long line by the captured Hanoverese frigate. As she waited for the aft guns to be ready, bolts of light flew toward the target from the main gundeck, blasting great holes in the target.
“Read … ready aft!”
“Fire!” Alexis called almost immediately.
Captain Euell had set the decks in competition against each other for this drill, and they weren’t so far behind that they couldn’t catch up, if only Artley and his teams would speed things along a bit.
Alexis stepped back and watched the
teams working to reload. Forward the work went as efficiently as she could hope, but the aft guncrews were frequently in disarray. Loaders found themselves having to check their pace on the way to the breech, gun captains found access to their gun’s breech blocked, men examining the barrels were jostled out of position and forced to begin again, and all, as nearly as Alexis could tell, a result of Midshipman Artley placing himself in the wrong place at the wrong time.
How on earth can a single boy find himself under so many feet?
“Mister Artley!” she called. “Stand clear of the guns unless your assistance is required!”
She turned to the fore guns as Artley’s “Aye, sir!” crackled over her suit radio. Walborn’s crews were moving with the smooth motions she’d come to expect. The more senior midshipman stayed out of his crews’ way, stepping in only when needed and knowing where to stand so that he’d not impede their work.
Captain Euell had taken advantage of the last merchantmen departing to exercise Shrewsbury’s guns on a daily basis, and Artley should have gained the knack of at least staying out of the way by now.
“Ready forward!”
Alexis peered out through the nearest port. Shot flashed from the main gundeck below to strike the target.
“Ready a-aft!”
“Fire!”
Her deck was a full ten or more seconds behind the others now. She had a sudden urge to rub her forehead at the frustration of it, stopped only by the helmet of her vacsuit.
Shouts of alarm sounded over the radio. Alexis drew back from the port and looked around, then rushed aft as she saw the crowd of spacers around the eleven gun struggling with something. She couldn’t make out what was wrong until she got there; the shouts ran over each other.
She shoved her way through the crowd of men from the other guns and found Artley. The eleven gun’s captain and crew were struggling to free the gun’s breech where the sleeve of Artley’s vacsuit was caught. A jet of vapor streamed from his suit where the breech torn it, and Artley was struggling to pull himself free. As she watched, his struggles lessened and the jet of vapor trailed off. At first, Alexis thought that his suit had finally sealed against the tear and he had calmed as his suit reaired, but then saw his right hand go to his helmet’s collar.
Alexis Carew: Books 1, 2, and 3 Page 62
