Alexis Carew: Books 1, 2, and 3

by J. A. Sutherland

  “Please!” Beal cried, holding up a hand to forestall her. He cleared his throat. “Leave me my illusions, at least?”

  Lynelle pouted and Denholm realized that her burr was more pronounced too, as though she were already throwing off the conventions and requirements of New London society the closer they came to leaving. He knew she’d had to keep both her language and accent in check to avoid being looked down on by their social set, only relaxing her guard in private with him or her own family, but only now began to suspect just how much of an effort that might have been for her. Always having to pretend, so as not to be looked down upon.

  “Bless ya, lass,” Denholm said, putting on an exaggerated accent himself in support of her. “Soon it’s ever’ improper word y’like, y’cn be sayin’.”

  Lynelle pulled back and stared at him for a moment. She rested one hand gently on his chest.

  “’At was a brogue, love … and a poor one.” She shook her head quickly. “Dinnae try agin’, please? There’s nary a bit o’Celt in you.” She settled back against him and looked at Beal. “The pirates’re made more of than they are,” she said. “Proper armed and crewed, one ship could stand ‘em off.”

  “There is that,” Beal agreed, “but men and arms require more coin each voyage.”

  Lynelle nodded. “And these merchants’ll ship no more crew than they need to make sail.” She snorted derision. “And arms that’ll do more harm tae their own. Lasing tubes all cracked ‘n fair t’blow apart. Shot that’ll nae hold a charge … or t’won’t seal against darkspace.” She sighed. “Penny-wise ‘n pound-foolish, the lot of ‘em.”

  Denholm hugged her tightly. “You’ve thought on that a bit. Perhaps we should sell off our shares and buy a ship?” he teased. “Be my first mate?”

  Lynelle raised an eyebrow. “You, the captain?” She grunted. “No, you can be my bosun — keep the hands in line, like.” She dug a finger into his ribs. “An’ I’ll be your only mate, if y’ken what’s good for you, love.”

  Beal cleared his throat. “As may be,” he said, “but that business I spoke of?”

  Denholm and Lynelle nodded to indicate he had their attention.

  “Good, then. I’ve kept the investigators working,” Beal said, “right up to this last minute. So far as we can tell, the Dalthus Company is entirely commercial. None of the other shareholders seem to have any agenda or politics to speak of.”

  Denholm nodded and he felt Lynelle sigh with relief. They’d been fairly sure of that, but one could never be entirely certain. Even if a colony venture had no overt biases, there was always the possibility of a small group hidden within the larger. Colonies had changed a great deal since the very first ones, in some ways becoming even more complicated.

  When humanity first found habitable planets, the governments of Earth saw them as a fresh start. A way to show that people, no matter their histories, could start over without the petty hatreds and bigotry that had caused so much misery on Earth. Both Terra Nova and Nueva Oportunidad had been founded with those ideals. Colonized with people from all over the world, carefully selected by the best experts available, and thrown together to make a fresh start on brand new worlds.

  The wars had been violent, bloody, and filled with atrocities on all sides.

  All, not both, for there were dozens of sides involved. All willing to ally with others, for a time, in an effort to get rid of “those bastards” … whichever bastards those happened to be. The fact that there were so few colonists seemed to make it worse, not better. Despite an entire planet to spread out on, the thinking seemed to be, “Well, there aren’t many of them are there? So if we kill them all now, we’ll have a whole planet free of the bastards!”

  Then the reports from further survey ships had come in. Habitable planets were not, in fact, so rare as first suspected. They were, to tell the truth, almost embarrassingly prevalent. Oh, not every star system held one, but there were enough that people began to think quite differently about them. No longer as a scarce, rare resource that, of course, should be managed by proper government regulation, but as something quite common. It was a short leap from that to wondering why governments should be involved at all. History, after all, was filled with examples of governments “discovering”, and claiming, new lands … most of which examples had not turned out terribly well.

  There were already private ships that were capable of entering darkspace — that odd, terrifying realm that allowed travel between star systems — so why couldn’t they explore? And once a habitable system was found by a private ship, why couldn’t that company claim it as its own? And, once claimed, why couldn’t it be sold?

  Want to live somewhere free of those bastards, whomever your particular bastards might be? Get together with your other, right-minded fellows and buy a planet. Buy the whole system — star to Kuiper belt. Dislike your government — whatever that may be? Have a better idea of how to do things? Well, gather your right-minded fellows together and make a go of it with a settled, homogeneous population.

  The wars had been violent, bloody, and filled with atrocities on all sides.

  Humanity, it seemed — especially those with a strong, passionate certainty that they were right-minded — needed someone to hate and blame. If those bastards — be they a race, ethnicity, religion, or political philosophy — were taken out of the equation then, well, it must be somebody else’s fault. And as soon as we’ve identified those new bastards and got them dead, well, then it’ll be all right, yes?

  The colonies that seemed to prosper, or at least not devolve into civil war, were those whose members, really, just wanted to be left alone. “You farm your land, I’ll farm mine, and if you need a hand now and again — and not too bloody often, mind you — well, I suppose that’s all right.”

  There were still many of the other sort, though, who had very set ideas about how things should go. Denholm and Lynelle had tossed all those immediately, but worried about the others. Where a group hadn’t quite the means necessary to buy a system outright, but could scrape together a majority, or super-majority, depending on the colony’s charter, to push things their way. They didn’t want to find, after the last shuttle had lifted from the planet’s surface, that they’d landed themselves into a developing theocracy or political commune.

  Or one of the truly crazy ones, Denholm mused.

  New London, despite its success and eventually becoming the capital of a whole kingdom of star systems, had originally been founded by a group who’d thought a powerful monarchy and hereditary aristocracy, along with a quite liberal code duello, were fine ideas. That it had somehow managed to work for several hundred years didn’t belie the fact that it was lunacy.

  Not to mention bringing back the bloody farthing, he thought. It’s not a surfeit of sanity they were having.

  “And you’ve a fair number of shares between you,” Beal continued, “so should be able to strongly influence any votes. There’s four others have larger interests than you, though, and a dozen who have nearly as much — enough that you’re a force to be reckoned with.”

  “Not going so as to muck about in politics,” Denholm said. “If I wanted that headache I’d stand for Parliament here, as the family wanted.”

  “Mmh, yes,” Beal said. “About the family …” He sighed. “Your Cousin Reginald’s head of the family, once you leave, you know — and he’s … well …”

  “Disowned me, has he?”

  Beal nodded. “Made it clear, at least, that once you board the shuttle, you’ve no further tie to them. Not to come running to him for help, as he put it.”

  “Bastard.”

  “Denholm!” Lynelle said. “He’s your kin, no matter what he thinks of you. Dinnae stoop for him.”

  “Only the truth, love. Aunt Alfreda let him in the house and raised him, for she couldn’t bring forth an heir for Uncle Dorion, but cover it though they might, we all know Reggie came out the wrong side of the blankets.” He shrugged. “And the better part of him was lef
t running down Uncle Dorion’s leg, to tell the honest truth.”

  “Denholm!”

  Beal covered his mouth with one hand and looked away. Whether shocked or to cover a laugh, Denholm couldn’t tell, but he suspected both.

  “I am going to miss you, Denholm,” Beal said when he’d recovered. “To business, though, as we’re almost to the port. The gist of Reginald’s decree is that you’ve no call on family funds or resources once you leave. That includes my services, by the way, as paid for by the family.” He met Denholm’s eye. “Which if you’ve need of, you’ve but to write and I’ll do all I can for you. Reginald may rant, but I’ll not charge you a pence.”

  “Thank you, Beal, I appreciate that.”

  “Yes, well, in any case, there are some things I’m sure you’ve thought of, but I’d feel remiss if I didn’t mention them.”

  Denholm could see him gather himself after having come perilously close to expressing more emotion than was strictly proper for a New London gentleman, especially to one who’d been, at least ostensibly, his employer.

  “You’ll be careful in your indentures, won’t you?” Beal asked. “And keep the colony at large from becoming too desperate in accepting them?”

  Denholm nodded, but felt Lynelle stir.

  “That’s the one thing I dislike about the whole idea,” she said. “It smacks of slavery and I dinnae like the taste.”

  “Nor do I,” he said, “but it’s the way of it.”

  Most colonies had some sort of indenture system to bring in more people. Once those who had the funds or skills to buy shares in the colony had been landed, the indentures would begin arriving. Shiploads of those too poor or unskilled to afford even a single share. Without even the means to pay their passage, perhaps having accrued debt on their homeworld, they’d ship out for the colonies in hopes of a fresh start. The holders there would buy their services, paying off the cost of the passage and any debts in return for an indenture — years of service that would pay off those outlays before the new arrival would be free to make their own way.

  More than those, though, would be the ones who’d been given no choice in their indenture — or, rather, that the choice was to either board the indenture ship or enter the gaol.

  Beal nodded. “You’ll need hands to work your fields, your mines, your mills … more hands than you think, until you’ve built up an infrastructure to produce proper, modern machines. Can’t rely on buying them in, after all, when you’re months away from a world with a factory.”

  “I ken,” Lynelle said. “I do, but it’s so like buying the man.” She shuddered. “And the abuses …”

  “Not on our lands,” Denholm assured her.

  The car was descending, almost to the port now, and Denholm could see the rows of shuttles parked and ready to load. The last of the thirty ships the settlers had hired had arrived in orbit the day before and, with that, the call had gone out that it was time to depart. The car landed outside the terminal and Beal stepped outside with them. He held out his hand to Denholm, for he’d not follow them into the terminal itself, then to Lynelle, who pushed his hand aside and wrapped her arms around him.

  “Thank you for all your help, Beal,” she said.

  Beal cleared his throat as she released him, flushing. “Of course, Lynelle, of course.”

  Denholm took Lynelle’s hand and they were at the doorway before Beal called out again.

  “Denholm!” They turned back and Beal squared his shoulders. “Your father would be proud of you,” he called. “Your mother’d be throwing a proper fit, but Chadburne would be damn proud.”

  Three

  Denholm and Lynelle entered the terminal. There were a confusing multitude of corridors, some with sliding walkways, branching off the main terminal area, but the building recognized their tablets as they entered and a voice sounded near them.

  “Welcome, Mister and Mistress Carew. Please follow the purple line to Dalthus Company embarkation.”

  A line of purple light appeared on the spotless white floor near them, leading off to one of the corridors. As they stepped forward, the line extended, disappearing behind them.

  “Now remember,” Denholm teased, remarking on their last bit of training for colonization, a week of orienteering in a New London national park. “There’ll be no such directions and paths in the forests of Dalthus.”

  Lynelle jabbed him in the ribs, flushing. She’d been quite put out to discover that her sense of direction was, to put it politely, abysmal. She’d kept turning the compass in her hand, twisting it to and fro, while muttering, “No, that’s North, y’silly thing!”

  “I’ve time on Zariah tae work on it more,” she said. “And we’ll not be so far into the wilderness at the start.”

  “No,” Denholm agreed. “Not until we’ve better transport imported. And there’ll be the satellite constellation we’re bringing along, so long as it operates.”

  The purple light led them to another open terminal and then down yet another corridor, this one not as nicely appointed as the first. In fact, it was quite bare and utilitarian, more suited to cargo than passengers. Which is where they were led in the end, through wide double doors that opened into a vast warehouse full of people and pallets of goods.

  “Your personal goods are located in bays C-47 to C-62, Mister Carew” the same voice that had welcomed them said. “Please confirm their contents prior to loading. Once confirmed, you may follow the purple line to livestock confirmation and then to boarding.”

  “Thank you,” Denholm said automatically, though he knew the voice was only the terminal’s computer.

  He followed the purple light down the pathways between pallets of goods, nodding hello to the other settlers. Most he’d met only briefly, but even those he knew well were more concerned about confirming their belongings were packed than chatting. This was their last opportunity to ensure everything was correct before departing — once aboard ship, they’d have no recourse for something forgotten other than to purchase it on Zariah, assuming it was available, or to order it shipped in with the second wave of supplies and indentures, which would mean a six month wait or more to receive it.

  They found their pallets and began checking the contents, Denholm ticking items off on his tablet while Lynelle crawled over and behind the pallets to confirm what was packed on each.

  The pallets contained all of their personal goods. Steel plows and fittings for harnesses, a pair of lightweight, plastic wagons, disassembled and packed small, along with the fittings to build two more from wood on the planet’s surface. Piping and electrical wire that it would be years before the colony was able to produce in quantity on its own. Solar and wind generators for their homestead, though the colony’s shared goods included a fusion plant. It would be years, again, before that plant’s power could be transmitted to any great distance from the landing site. An electrical forge and all the metal-working tools necessary for a small homestead — all the tools of any sort, in fact. For mining, lumber, farming, and a host of other activities — all needing to be shipped in until the colony had at least the beginnings of industry for its own.

  A few, very few, personal items that they couldn’t bear to part with. Very few, as the cost of shipping them so far was dear and they knew every last bit of mass they could afford should be spent on something that might make the difference between life and death in the first few years.

  Once they confirmed everything was packed and ready to be loaded, the purple light appeared on the floor again and they followed it out of the warehouse and down another corridor. Their destination became clear before they’d even arrived at the next warehouse, for the corridor filled with the scents and sounds of animals. They entered the next warehouse to find the makings of a veritable fleet of arks. Irate ones, to be sure, as none of the animals appeared entirely pleased at their new circumstances.

  Feathers and fur filled the air, along with the sounds of chickens, geese, lowing cows and oxen, barking dogs, and a host o
f others. They seemed to know these new circumstances heralded something even more unpleasant and didn’t hesitate to voice their distress. The stench, though, was the worst.

  Lynelle covered her mouth and gagged. “Lord, love!” she said. “’T’weren’t as bad as this at the farms when we selected ‘em.”

  Denholm tried to breathe shallowly through his mouth, so as to avoid the worst of the smells. “Too many and too close together. And it’ll be worse aboard ship.” He coughed. “At least they won’t be aboard the passenger ships.”

  “Your assigned livestock bays are LC-17 through LC-36, Mister Carew.” Even the terminal’s computer seemed to express distaste for the conditions and wish to have as little to do with the place as possible.

  This time Lynelle led the way to follow the purple light, striding purposefully and quickly. Denholm followed, marveling at the sheer number of beasts that crowded the warehouse.

  Least the beehives’re enclosed!

  And the sheer expense.

  The animals themselves cost little, but the shipping … a full grown draft horse, and the feed to keep her sound on the twelve week trip … and the water, no matter the ship’s recyclers. Then, almost half as much as the purchase and shipping costs was the insurance — the shipping company had three full ships and animals of their own following the colonization fleet, to replace insured beasts that died in transit or to sell, at a profit, to the colonists who’d shipped none, or too few, of their own. Even the poorest craftsman, who’d “bought” his share with the promise of his skills, would find the need to have a chicken or two in his yard.

  And some’ll not have realized all they’d need, beasts or equipment, neither.

  He was suddenly quite certain that the shipping and colonization companies reviewed each colonist’s manifests quite thoroughly, and planned for what they could sell when the man realized his want. No matter the number of lists of essential items made available, there’d be some who’d scrimp now and pay dearly later.