“Very little to salvage. We brought back some data drives to examine, but the ship’s memory core was destroyed. And we discovered the ship’s name: Golden Wind.”
Riverton’s fist thumped the table, her frustration finally showing through.
“But that was our only lead!” Highcastle protested. “Tell me there’s something useful on those drives.”
“Watch your tone, Cadet,” Liam snapped, unable to contain his own emotions.
Riverton was silent for a long moment, and all eyes eventually turned to her. She looked back at her senior staff impassively.
“Lieutenant Swift,” she said finally. “Does Windfall Station have the facilities to make our required repairs?”
“They have the facilities,” he replied, with some hesitation, “but they’re short on manpower. I’d probably need to use our own crew to effect repairs, getting supplies and tools from the station.”
Silence descended again, Riverton’s expression hardening. She looked at Virtue.
“We don’t have the supplies to reach any major port beyond Windfall, do we?”
“No, ma’am.”
She stood suddenly. Everyone at the table scrambled to rise.
“Subcommander Blackwood,” she said, “set sail for Windfall Station, best speed. Impose maximum air and water restrictions. Prepare a list of requirements for repairs and restocking—I don’t want to spend an extra moment alongside.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Riverton strode from the mess without another word.
Liam sized up his officers and senior sailors. They were all still dirty and harried from the battle, and new fatigue hung over all of them.
“You heard the captain,” he said, rising to his feet and giving them an encouraging smile. “To your duties.”
Butcher and Sky moved for the door first, their faces set and grim. Templegrey was close behind them, gesturing silently for Highcastle to follow. Virtue was watching him, as if she had something else to say, but eventually she nodded and left.
That left Swift, who hadn’t moved from his chair. He eyed Liam expectantly.
Liam stared back for a moment, then sighed and retook his seat.
“That did not go well, Sails.”
“It was a battle,” Swift said with a curious frown. “There are always casualties, and always damage. Compared to some, I’d say it went pretty well.”
“Sure, because I broke our cover and expended nearly half our heavy weaponry on a bunch of pirate ships which we desperately needed to take intact.”
Swift cocked his head. “So it was your order to fire the missiles?”
“The captain was actually trying to maneuver us clear so that we could keep engaging with cannon and conceal our true identity.” Liam rested his chin in his hands. “She was focused on the mission—I just wanted to keep us alive.”
“That’s no bad thing,” Swift offered.
“No.” Liam glanced around the empty table. “But since when have I been one to play it safe?”
“You set a trap, like you always do. And it worked. Except this time, we had three pirate ships instead of one enter the trap.” Swift shrugged. “Sometimes the trap works too well—and we needed an escape plan. You saw that we were in over our head, long before the captain did, and you acted accordingly. I see no fault in that, sir.”
“We should have seen them coming—should have spotted the threat beforehand.”
“I don’t think that was your job,” Swift said carefully.
“No, it was Riverton’s!”
His last words hung in the mess for a long moment. Swift drew a tired hand across the back of his head.
“I want to put my faith in her,” Liam said finally, “but I’m struggling. She doesn’t have the experience to lead this kind of operation.”
“The crew don’t know what to think of her.”
“What do you think, Mason?”
Swift let out a long breath. “She’s better than some. At least I don’t expect her to get us killed racing to a grand ball. But I think she’s more of a courtier than a warrior.”
“Yes.” Liam had been coming to very much the same conclusion.
“Which is why she needs you,” Swift added bluntly.
Liam nodded. He wanted to leave it there, but another thought, one he had been trying to suppress to no avail, bubbled to the surface and he finally had to voice it.
“But I don’t need her.”
Swift’s eyes widened, and for a moment he couldn’t find his voice.
“Oh, I’m not talking mutiny, Mason: she has my loyalty, to my dying breath,” Liam clarified quickly. “But at times I wonder . . . is she just getting in my way?”
Relief visibly washed over Swift as he realized they weren’t contemplating the ultimate crime, and his usual frown settled into place again.
“Most of us feel that way about our superiors,” he said thoughtfully, “at some point or another. But at least with this mission, if we succeed, we’ll all be rich enough to chart our own courses. So let’s accomplish this mission, and worry about who’s in our way afterward.”
Liam considered that for a moment, and could see the wisdom in Swift’s advice. He nodded, feeling like a weight was lifted from his shoulders. “Let’s accomplish this mission,” he repeated.
Chapter 14
Amelia turned carefully in her space suit, trying to reach her tool bag without getting caught up in her tether again. Moving outside the ship in zero-gravity was an acquired skill, and one that she hadn’t practiced in a long time. Since leaving the airlock, she’d kept her movements slow and steady, gliding along the curving surface of the hull. Even the slightest wrong push could send her sailing away into the blackness, and no tether was guaranteed unbreakable.
Retrieving a small spray can from her tool bag, she inched forward again and scanned the hull through her faceplate. She could tell by the pattern of cannon impacts that she was close to the breach, but the blasted thing was proving devilishly hard to find. The once-smooth surface of Daring’s hull was dented and chipped from cannon fire. Up ahead, the towering form of the starboard mast rose away from her, the sails shimmering in a blustery solar wind. She skirted around the shattered remains of a sensor pod, wondering idly what aspect of the bridge was now blind for its loss.
“Okay, Able Rating Massive,” she said into her circuit, “I’m in position. Release the spray.”
“Yes, PO,” came the reply from her storesman in the cargo hold.
As she waited, Amelia marveled at the oddities of perception. Massive was little more than five paces away from her, just on the other side of the battered hull against which she now floated. In other circumstances they could have reached each other in seconds. But here, with her bundled in a space suit staring down the Abyss, and him inside a pressurized hull wearing just his duty uniform, they might as well have been on different worlds.
“Spray released,” he reported. “It’s moving toward the hull, topside.”
She turned herself to look over the hull toward the top part of the cargo hold, readying one hand to push forward while holding the spray can in the other. She waited, eyes scanning the battered surface.
There! A tiny cloud of rapidly freezing liquid emerged against the metal. She pushed off, sailing over the hull to intercept. The fluid had been specially treated to crystallize upon freezing, making it easy for her to spot. She slowed over a dent in the hull nearly as wide as her arm span and watched as the fluid seeped through the tiny crack. Reaching down with her own spray can, she smothered the metal surface with sealant.
“That ought to do it,” she said. “I’m coming inside.”
“Yes, PO.”
Grabbing her tether, she pulled herself back to the airlock and started the depressurization sequence. In those few seconds of waiting, she looked out away from the ship, marveling at the vastness of this ocean of nothingness in which Daring sailed. The brilliant swell of the Hub was visible past her feet, millions o
f stars lighting the sky in all directions. Above her the Halo began to fade toward the Abyss, but there were still too many stars to count even in that direction. She wondered how many other tiny objects were out there, invisible and lost, like the jettisoned cargo of that first pirate ship. The airlock door signaled ready and Amelia heaved it open, having no desire to become one of those lost objects herself.
It took more than ten minutes to get back into the ship, call the bridge to report she was in, climb out of her space suit, and get everything stowed. Able Rating Massive came up just as she closed the locker, asking if there was anything else she needed.
“Give the outer sealant an hour,” she said, “then do another test with the fluid to ensure there’s no remaining leak. Until then, see if they need a hand in the galley.”
“I hear we got some provisions from the pirate wreckage?”
“Yeah, and some of it might actually taste good.”
“Shame we didn’t get much else.”
It was a common complaint these days. With the lure of prize money dangled before them, this entire crew was becoming obsessed with anything Amelia kept in her stores.
“I’m just glad we all kept our skins, Able Rating,” she said, a bit more harshly than she’d intended.
“Yes, PO,” he muttered, walking away.
Beyond him, the main passageway of Two Deck was alive with activity. A pair of propulsors were hunkered against one of the internal airlocks, pounding at the doorframe to realign the seal. Massive bumped into another one of the storesies coming up a ladder, laden with supplies, and took some of the burden as they headed for the galley. A train of gunners was passing ammunition up the after ladders, no doubt replenishing all the cannon shot so recently used. And through it all, a lone ordinary rating was diligently sweeping the deck on his cleaning rounds. A busy ship was a happy ship, she’d often heard said.
Since the battle, she’d certainly lived by that motto, running from one task to the next in every waking moment. But with the last hull breach finally isolated and contained, she wondered if she might not make a bit of time to stop in on Subcommander Blackwood. No doubt he could use a status report—she smiled to herself as she started down the passageway—or maybe just a friendly chat.
She’d barely made it five steps when she noticed a sudden hush at the after end of the passageway. The gunners all stopped passing ammunition and cleared the ladder up to One Deck. A pair of white-uniformed legs appeared, and the willowy form of Commander Riverton emerged, her blue uniform coat in stark contrast to the grubby work clothes of the crew.
Amelia couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen the captain down on Two Deck. Those gunners still on the deck knuckled their foreheads to the captain and the ordinary rating abandoned his broom to do the same. Massive struggled to put down his armload in time to offer a salute. Riverton simply strode forward, eyes locking on to Amelia even from a distance.
An eerie silence descended as Riverton came to a stop in front of her, staring down with her usual frosty expression. Amelia knuckled her forehead, resisting the urge to bow her head.
“Were you able to secure that leak, PO?” Riverton asked simply.
“Yes, ma’am,” Amelia replied. “The sealant will hold until we return to Windfall Station, and the bright color will make it easy for repair crews to spot.”
“Good.” The captain cocked her head slightly. “Isn’t hull repair a propulsor’s job?”
“Normally, ma’am, but they’re busy. This leak was in one of my cargo holds and I want the space back, so I coordinated with Lieutenant Swift and did the job with my own department.”
Riverton nodded, her face inscrutable.
Amelia stood frozen, wondering if she was expected to say anything else.
“Well done, PO,” Riverton said. Then she turned and strode back down the passageway.
Amelia remained motionless, ignoring the stares from the two propulsors. The entire passageway seemed paused in a tableau until Riverton returned to the after ladder and ascended out of sight.
Then motion resumed, with the gunners collecting their ammunition packs and the ordinary rating retrieving his broom. Still, no one spoke as Amelia slipped past them.
Massive was handing stores through the door to the galley, but he looked up as Amelia approached.
“Excuse me, PO,” he said hesitantly. “This box needs to go to the senior mess—could I please trouble you to take it there so I can help in the galley?”
She saw the small wooden box of coffee bags by his feet and scooped it up, noting how nervous he appeared, though the favor was such a small one. She offered him an easy smile and nod, and saw a trace of relief cross his features.
When she reached the senior mess, she found Subcommander Blackwood seated at the table, work spread out in front of him. He glanced up, face brightening.
“Wow,” he said. “Not ten minutes from a spacewalk and now you’re delivering coffee. Is there anything you can’t do, Amelia?”
She laughed, not even trying to tamp down the sudden rush of happiness she felt. She handed the box to the steward on duty and leaned against one of the dining chairs. “Well, apparently I’ve also mastered the persona of being a mean old petty officer. You should have seen how nervous Massive was, asking me to carry that box down the passageway.”
“Get used to it.” He sighed, leaning back and stretching. “As a senior sailor, you are now, in the eyes of the crew, officially part of the problem.”
“What problem?”
“Any problem. It’s always our fault, whether it is or not.”
She glanced to where the steward was doing his best to be invisible, silently unpacking the coffee into a cupboard.
“What are you working on, sir?” she asked, taking the seat next to him.
“I’m studying the small-objects chart we bought—and kept—from our friend Mr. Long.” He gestured to the large viewers spread out on the table. “It’s best to look at large screens, and my cabin is pretty tight. Here I can spread out—and actually have a bit of Human contact.”
His tone was casual, but his eyes danced as they met hers. She felt her heart flutter just a bit.
“Just what are you looking for?” she asked, holding his gaze.
He blinked, lips parting as he considered an answer, until she nodded down at the charts.
“Oh,” he said. “Er, there are only certain kinds of objects in space that would be useful to the pirates. I’m pinpointing them to try and narrow our search.”
“Long-orbit comets?” she ventured.
“Mostly. Anything with water, really. There are plenty of rocks floating around out there which could serve as a base, but if they don’t have water they’re not much good for the long term.” He shrugged. “At this point we don’t have a lot of hard data to go on, so I’m just trying to give us some direction where we can focus our search efforts.”
“Can I help you?”
He glanced at the steward, then gave her a little smile.
“Much as I’d normally appreciate it, this is rather technical, detailed work and it’s best for me just to focus on it without distraction.” He reached down and gave her hand a quick squeeze. “Another time.”
“Another time, sir.” She rose and headed for the door. When she glanced back, he was still looking at her.
Butterflies were rioting in her stomach, but she tried to temper her excitement. He was a nobleman, and they were notorious for charming young sailors all the way to heartbreak. He was also the executive officer of this ship. The Navy had no formal ban on relationships within a crew—centuries of space travel had proven the impossibility of stopping people in isolated, close quarters from seeking each other out—but when it crossed ranks there was always the risk of trouble.
But he was just so damn cute. And intelligent, and courageous.
She forced herself to take a deep breath. She just had to be careful.
The gunners were still loading ammunition, passing w
hat seemed like an endless stream of heavy sacks up from Three Deck and then up again to One Deck. Sweat soaked their uniforms and chests heaved as the sacks were handed up. Just to the side of the ladder was a pack of what looked like tools, which struck Amelia as an odd place for it to be. The master rating who stood on the deck between ladders noticed her approach and called down the hatch for a pause.
“Do you need the ladder, PO?” he gasped, reaching for his canteen.
Amelia suddenly realized that she wasn’t sure where she was going. So many little distractions had come up in the last five minutes she’d lost her sense of purpose. Not wanting to appear indecisive in front of the crew, though, she latched on to her latest thought. She pointed down at the pack of tools.
“Is this yours? It seems out of place, here.”
“Oh, that’s for the crew repairing Gun Five,” he replied. “We’ll get it to them eventually, but right now I’ve got this ammo train set up and I don’t want to mess with it.”
“I’ll take it up for you,” she offered on impulse.
“Would you, PO?” he asked gratefully. “That would be much appreciated.”
She hefted the pack, waited for the gunner perched on the ladder to climb down, then scooted up. The hatch on One Deck was also crowded with hardworking gunners, clearly appreciating the break in efforts. Amelia stepped past them, noting the two open gun compartments on either side of the hatch where ammunition was being stored. There were sixteen gun bays on each side of Daring and she headed to Gun Five, third from forward on the starboard side. It was immediately recognizable from the bent bulkhead and buckled door. A temporary airtight door had been mounted in the passageway but it was open.
As soon as Amelia stepped through she felt the temperature rise. Half a dozen lanterns were placed around the space to provide strong light and her eyes were immediately drawn to the pale brown metal of the temporary hull plate bolted onto the far end of the space. This was where a pirate cannon had breached the armor and hit the gun’s own ammunition. The explosion had killed the gun crew instantly and blasted an entire piece of the outer hull away. The temporary hull plate was airtight, but it wasn’t treated to properly hold out the solar radiation from the thousands of nearby stars.
Winds of Marque Page 19
