Winds of Marque

by Bennett R. Coles

  “We’ll take that into account when we draw up our battle plan,” Riverton said.

  “I recommend level-two air and water rationing commence immediately,” Amelia suggested. “But let’s keep the regular food coming—nothing kills morale faster than emergency rations.”

  “Agreed.”

  Liam waited for any other comments, then offered his own observation.

  “Crew morale is good, although there has been a growing feeling of uncertainty about the mission. Our last pair of engagements have been indecisive, and the crew is well aware that prize money earned to date is minimal.” He couldn’t help but glare at Highcastle as he spoke. “I think the idea of striking the pirates’ base will focus the crew and raise morale.”

  The cadet picked up on the silent accusation immediately, straightening in his seat.

  “Yes, I speak to the crew,” he said defensively. “I feel it’s important as a leader to maintain a close relationship with my people. In fact, sometimes I think I’m the only one here who feels that way.”

  Liam’s own indignation was clearly reflected in the expressions of the other senior staff. Butcher’s face darkened, but he glanced at Liam before speaking. Liam quickly noted Riverton’s quick headshake, and motioned Butcher to stay silent.

  “Go on, Mr. Highcastle,” he said quietly.

  “Crew morale is not good,” Highcastle said, his voice rising. “Your observation is correct that they are feeling uncertain, but I disagree with your statement that they will be cheered by news of this new mission. They are clever people, and they will see as clearly as I do that this plan is reckless. Our ship is damaged, we are low on supplies, we are understrength, and we have no blasted boats! And there’s the possibility of a spy on board, not to mention a Sectoid ship steadily bearing down on us.”

  “I gather you’ve never been to war,” Sky said. “This is hardly the worst it can get. Far from it.”

  “But if we have the option to withdraw, gather our strength, and then strike later, why not do so?”

  “Because we don’t have that option,” Riverton said firmly. “The fleet is depending on us to solve this pirate problem, and they won’t wait for us to limp back every time we get a bloody nose. Thank you for your input, Mr. Highcastle.”

  Liam was impressed at her resolve. He honestly hadn’t expected it.

  “Even if we survive the attack,” Highcastle pressed, “how are we going to cross the gulf with no supplies?”

  “We’ll replenish from the pirate base,” she said. “No doubt they’re well stocked.”

  “And what if we can’t take the base?”

  “Then we’re dead, and it doesn’t matter.”

  Liam had seen battle enough times to not be afraid of dying. But even he was chilled by the seeming indifference in Riverton’s words. She stared down her youngest officer with unflinching certainty. A weak scoff of disbelief escaped his lips . . . but then he dropped his gaze.

  “Anything else?” she asked the table, cocking her head.

  No one spoke.

  “Thank you, Captain,” Liam said finally. “We’ll begin preparations for the base attack.”

  The next few days passed uneventfully. Level-two air restrictions meant a minimum of exertion even for routine tasks, but Liam knew there was a lot of restless energy in the ship. He’d already dealt with a couple of fights, but instead of imposing the usual punishments, he’d quietly implored the guilty parties to just behave. The number of romances on board also seemed to be climbing, and he was determined to turn a blind eye completely to that. Riverton probably wouldn’t approve, but she spent all her time either on the bridge or in her cabin and likely hadn’t even noticed.

  For himself, Liam knew of several ways to keep his spirits up and his restlessness down. One he’d just finished: another tour of the ship—keeping his finger on the pulse and ensuring the crew saw the senior leadership regularly. And a second he hoped to start right away. He knocked on one of the cabin doors at the after end of Two Deck.

  The door opened, but he kept his face completely neutral until he saw who greeted him. Amelia peered up at him around the door, unkempt hair tumbling past her shoulders. She was dressed in a white shift with the top three buttons undone, one bare leg visible where she balanced herself. He opened his mouth to speak but she shook her head fiercely and indicated with her eyes back behind the door. Her cabinmate, Chief Sky, was home.

  “Thanks, Able Rating,” she said. “Take it down to stores and I’ll see you there in a minute.”

  He stepped back in silence as she shut the door, then made his way casually down to the stores office. It was locked, of course, and he made a show of examining the firefighting gear mounted on the bulkhead across the passageway. Quick steps announced the approach of a sailor, but he purposefully kept his eyes on his apparent task.

  “I think that particular set of hoses,” said a familiar, lovely voice, “is the best-inspected piece of kit in the whole ship.”

  He turned, watching as Amelia unlocked the stores office and stepped through. She was in uniform, although she’d left her coat in her cabin and the white shirt clung to her figure.

  “I do try to run a tight ship,” he mused, following her in.

  She shut the door and locked it, stepping right into his waiting arms. Her lips pressed passionately against his, hands gripping his shoulders and running hungrily down his back. Both hands squeezed his butt.

  “I like it when you keep things tight,” she breathed in his ear.

  He laughed, nuzzling against her neck. “I like it when you talk so crassly.”

  “Too much for you, my delicate duke?”

  Everything about her was more than he’d ever known in a woman. She was absolutely intoxicating.

  “I’m not a duke, silly.” He pulled back slightly to gaze down at her beautiful face. “But I’d joust for your favor any day.”

  She scoffed, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him firmly.

  They simply enjoyed each other for a while, delicately exploring as they got to know each other more and more. It was the noble way to love, and while part of him always wanted to follow her initial instincts and tear each other’s clothes off, he’d always found that titillation and anticipation were far more powerful aphrodisiacs.

  As quartermaster, she’d easily been able to secure a blanket for the floor and a couple of pillows. With only the glow of the computer screens to light the office, it was about as romantic as a compartment on a ship in space could be. After a while they lay side by side, she tracing a finger across the fabric of his unbuttoned shirt while he played with her long, silky hair.

  “So what do you do when you’re bouncing around at Lord Grandview’s balls?” she asked.

  “Hobnob,” he answered, to a burst of laughter. He thought for a moment, casting his memory back to more carefree days. “For the first while everyone stands around, drinking and looking for the best people to talk to. There’s a lot of vapid conversation, and a lot of gazes not really looking at you. Eventually the guest of honor will arrive, to much ado and huzzahs, and his or her usual first act is to try the food. This then opens the food tables for all the guests—who are ravenous by this time—to get their snouts in the trough. The food helps to soak up some of the alcohol, so by the time the dancing starts, most of the guests have both the courage and the coordination to take the floor.”

  “I think it’d take an entire bottle of cheap plonk to give me either of those. Can I bring my own bottle?”

  “Dancing is actually rather easy. You have to learn about a dozen different steps, and then it’s just a matter of knowing which combination to move in. And as a lady you’ll always have a gentleman to lead you.”

  “I’m not used to that,” she said, leaning her head on his chest.

  “Not much dancing in the taverns?”

  “No.” She lifted herself to stare down at him with luminous, dark eyes. “I mean I’m not used to relying on a man to guide me.
”

  He stared up at her, realizing suddenly just how little he knew of her world. He’d spent enough time on missions to be able to blend into the common world, but he was never really a part of it. What was to him just a gallivant before returning to the comforts of home was an entire lifetime for her. The Navy was what they had in common.

  “I doubt you’ve ever needed one,” he said. “I think you’ve cut your own path with remarkable fortitude.”

  “Thanks,” she said, smiling before she laid her head on his chest again.

  “But dancing well,” he continued, tracing his fingers down the bare skin under her shirt, “is a different sort of challenge altogether. One which requires true skill and dedication.”

  “Are you saying I don’t have that?” she asked with a dangerous expression.

  “To be a dancer you need to know your body”—his fingers continued to slide down her back—“and you need to know your partner’s body. You need to know every strength”—his fingers slid to the spots on her waist just above her hip bones—“and every weakness.”

  He stabbed her only tickle spots and she screamed her laughter, fighting to squirm free as he wrapped an arm around her and continued to poke. With impressive strength, she wrenched herself free, climbing on top of him as he lay back.

  “You stop that—what do you call it?—that tomfoolery right now, Liam.” Her eyes were afire, but they were also starting to smolder. She pressed her weight down on him and leaned in for a kiss.

  Chapter 19

  Amelia realized how long she’d been staring at the screen when it switched itself off due to lack of input. She blinked, then sat back and rubbed her eyes. The dim lights of the stores office made viewing screens easier, but didn’t help her maintain concentration. That, and her mind kept drifting to the other series of far more interesting encounters she and Liam had recently been enjoying down here. Sighing, she tapped the screen again, hating this netherworld of fatigue that made her too tired to work but too wired to sleep.

  Liam—she smiled to herself—would probably come down to look at stores reports in order to fall asleep. He’d finally admitted to her just how dull he found her job—although she’d suspected it for some time. It was sweet how long he’d tried to keep up the façade, but his own fatigue was wearing him down as well.

  In the ten days since that command briefing to the captain, she didn’t think anyone had slept well. The crew had indeed been re-energized by the news that they were sailing to attack the pirate base, but Amelia could sense the undercurrent of uncertainty. At least one sailor stopped by every hour during the day, asking her how their supplies were holding up. She always had a reassuring response, but it was clear that somebody else was feeding negative information to the crew. At least now, in the middle of the night watches, she got some peace.

  “Hey, PO.”

  She turned, suppressing a sigh of frustration. Her mood lightened, though, when she saw Hedge standing in the doorway. The young technician was definitely on the mend from her battle wound, even if her old infectious enthusiasm hadn’t yet returned in full.

  “Hey, Hedgie—what are you doing up?”

  “Couldn’t sleep. And I’m on watch in two hours anyway, so I figured I’d just take a stroll. You?”

  “Just checking on our burn-through of food,” Amelia said, gesturing at her screen. “You guys eat a ton.”

  “Not me,” Hedge said, stepping in and taking the other seat. “I hardly feel like eating anything.”

  “Well, that’ll save rations and make my job easier.”

  Hedge didn’t laugh. She looked pale, Amelia noticed, and she glanced back at the passageway every few seconds.

  “Hedgie, are you okay?”

  The younger woman looked up at her with pleading eyes.

  “PO, do you think we’re going to survive this mission?”

  Amelia sat in silence for a moment. It would be a relief just to share her own fears with a friend, but she was very aware of her position as a senior sailor and the responsibilities that brought.

  “We’ve survived everything up until now,” she said with a forced smile. “I don’t think the pirates will have anything worse to throw at us.”

  “We haven’t been hit by the Sectoids yet.” Hedge shuddered. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle that.”

  Amelia couldn’t disagree. She’d heard Sky mutter enough things about the bugs to know that the chief was afraid of them, and that terrified Amelia.

  “I think when it comes to fighting bugs, we just stand off as best we can and hit them from range. Our bullets shoot further than their acid.”

  “And what about that huge ship chasing us?”

  The Sectoid vessel was out there again, and seemed to be gaining on them. But so far it hadn’t done anything provocative.

  “From what I hear, our missiles out-range their weapons.”

  Hedge folded her arms, almost curling up on herself. And her eyes still darted toward the door.

  “I just wish we could have a way out of this. I don’t think we’re going to survive if we keep going the way we’re going. And I’m worried about what’s going to happen.”

  Amelia reached out a tender hand to grip Hedge’s arm.

  “I’ll be here for you,” she said. “No matter what happens.”

  “Really?” The relief in Hedge’s eyes was obvious.

  “Of course.”

  Hedge uncurled and leaned forward, wrapping her arms tightly around Amelia. She buried her face in Amelia’s shoulder and squeezed even tighter. Amelia held her for a long moment. Then she noticed movement at the doorway.

  It was Flatrock. He met Amelia’s gaze for a moment, but then dropped his eyes.

  “Hedge,” he said quietly, “it’s time.”

  She disengaged from Amelia, wiping her eyes. She looked intently at Amelia, a brief smile lighting up her wan face. “The PO should come with us,” she said to Flatrock.

  The big sailor considered for a moment, then nodded.

  “Where are we going?” Amelia asked.

  “To the bridge,” he replied. “We’ve been summoned.”

  Off-watch personnel getting called to the bridge rarely meant good news, Amelia knew as she rose from her chair, especially when it was the middle of the night.

  She followed Flatrock and Hedge up the ladders. The ship was as quiet as expected, with all off-watch personnel in their bunks, but Amelia could sense the tension in both Flatrock and Hedge as they silently ascended to the bridge, and it made her uneasy.

  She glanced around, on high alert as they stepped out onto the dim open space under the canopy, but she saw nothing immediately unusual. There was no gathering of senior staff, or a group of specialists prepping for a mission. There was just the officer of the watch, Highcastle, and his three regular bridge crew.

  The young cadet spotted them immediately, motioning them over with barely contained nervous energy. His gaze lingered on Amelia and his brow furrowed in confusion.

  “The PO should be here,” Hedge said, noticing his look. “She’s dedicated to us and to the ship.”

  Amelia was puzzled by the statement, but before she could question it, Flatrock spoke.

  “Have you got something, sir?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Highcastle said. “We’ve got her dead to rights. Listen to this.”

  He pressed a button on his console, and the recording of a crackly signal echoed through the bridge. It was a mechanical voice, a translator over the clicking of Sectoid speech.

  “Human warship Daring, this is the Sectoid warship Two-Seven-One. We will connect. I am here for Sophia Riverton.”

  As the sound of the recording faded away, Amelia felt her insides twist. One glance at the other sailors was enough to see their horrified glances matched her own.

  “So,” Flatrock said finally, “she’s a traitor.”

  “That’s what we’re going to find out,” Highcastle replied firmly, before pushing another button on his conso
le. “Captain, ma’am, officer of the watch.”

  “Captain,” came Riverton’s sleepy voice from her cabin.

  “Request you come to the bridge, please.”

  Liam stared up at the dark lantern in the center of the ceiling. Starlight through the portal over his bunk always cast a soft glow through his cabin, but Daring’s current aspect to the distant stars of the Hub directed the illumination onto the lantern. It swayed almost imperceptibly as the steady winds pushed Daring forward into the darkness. In times past he’d often used the steady swinging motion to clear his mind and lull him to sleep, but the past few hours of staring upward had brought no respite.

  Contrary to Highcastle’s immature prediction, the crew had responded well to the news that Daring was en route to destroy the pirate base. Sky had selected her new boarding team members, and no one had complained at the extra drills. Swift and his team had battened down as best they could, and Amelia had brought out the best food to keep spirits up.

  But Liam knew it was all a conspiracy of optimism. This was a do-or-die mission and the weight of responsibility was exhausting him. And that, perversely, was robbing him of sleep. It had been ten days since the command team meeting had set them on this course and not one of those nights had brought rest.

  Commander Riverton was showing the strain as well, despite her best efforts—Liam had watched her mannerisms shift subtly from the cool military commander to the haughty noblewoman. She was tired, and falling back on instinctive behavior. She’d asked him three times about the loyalty of the crew. Clearly her own confidence in her command decisions was less than rock-solid. He’d assured her that the crew was fully onside, even as his own doubts in her ability to see this mission through wisped into his mind.

  Adjusting the thin sheet thrown over him, he wished for hardly the first time that Amelia was here with him.

  She shared a cabin with Sky, and he wondered if fear of awkward questions from the assaulter might also be a motivator for her not sleeping elsewhere.

  A sudden knock at his door startled him. For a wild minute, he hoped it was Amelia—that for some reason, she had changed her mind . . .