Alexis flushed, but went back to examining the shelves, quite convinced that Dansby had expected her question and been waiting for it just to discomfit her.
Well, at least I’ve not to worry about the cost, she thought, moving to what appeared to be the most expensive ship’s jumpsuits in the shop.
She fingered the fabric, which promised to be quite a bit more comfortable than those the Navy issued. The Foreign Office might never see the funds Eades had advanced to Dansby again, but with him footing the bill for her outfitting she’d not feel at all bad about spending his money.
Alexis continued to shop while the two men talked quietly over the counter. At first, she thought to worry what they were discussing, but she overheard snippets as she moved about and it seemed to be no more than two old friends catching up after some time apart.
She moved the last of her selections to the shop’s counter and waited while Dansby and the chandler continued to talk. She had to admit the pile was quite impressive, even with only one of each item being on the counter itself. She assumed, like most chandlers, this one would take the order and quantities and have most of the items delivered directly to the ship.
After a time, the two men wandered over.
“All ready, dear niece?” Dansby asked.
Alexis nodded, determined to have some words with Dansby about his form of address. She thought they’d agreed he’d use her given name.
“I am,” she said.
“This is my niece, Alexis, Bickham,” Dansby said, finally introducing her.
Bickham nodded to Alexis, then returned his gaze to Dansby. “Thought y’had no family?”
“A distant relation,” Dansby said. “Grandfather’s brother’s line, really. Quite forgotten about them, until dear Alexis contacted me.” He grinned. “She was about to be married off to a pig farmer on some colony world, you see, and fair begged me to become her savior. Isn’t that right, dear niece?”
Alexis kept her thoughts off her face as much as she was able. “For the most part, uncle,” she said, “though I’m sure Mister Bickham isn’t at all interested in such things.”
“Nonsense,” Dansby said. “Bickham’s an old friend of mine and always one for a tale.” He rested his elbows on the counter and leaned toward Bickham. “I sent her some money, of course, for though I’ve had no contact with that branch of the family, I felt my obligation to her sorely, and dear Alexis here hopped aboard the very next merchantman to make her way to me.” He shook his head. “Not too much for planning, though, the dear girl. Fled with naught but the clothes on her back and what money I’d sent her. Had her pockets picked at the first station they stopped at and lost all the coin. Lucky she’d paid in full for her passage or she’d have been stuck there, isn’t that right dear niece?”
“Yes, uncle,” she said, staring at him. “It was quite naive of me to be so trusting. I shan’t make that mistake again, I assure you.”
“See that y’don’t, miss,” Bickham said, nodding. “Lots o’untrustworthies around.”
“Indeed,” Alexis agreed, not taking her eyes from Dansby.
“Had to sell even the clothes she’d fled in,” Dansby went on, seemingly oblivious to Alexis’ growing anger. “So as to have even a few pence to supplement the ship’s meals, you see, and so arrived with nothing at all but this second- or third-hand jumpsuit. Not quite the sight I expected when I met her ship, I can tell you.”
“No doubt,” Bickham said. He patted Alexis’ hands where they rested on the countertop. “Well, yer uncle’ll take care o’ya now, miss, y’just wait and see.”
“I’m sure he will, Mister Bickham.” The corners of her lips curled up a bit. “Uncle Dansby was quite distraught when I arrived and he saw the state I’d been traveling in for so long. He was most profuse with his promises that I suffer no such deprivations now that I’d arrived.” She slid the first pile of items — jumpsuit, underthings, and boots, all the finest and most expensive she’d found in the store — toward Bickham. “I shall never be able to express my full gratitude for Uncle Dansby’s generosity.” She saw Dansby’s face tighten. “A round dozen of each of these, I think — save the boots, of course. A single pair of those.”
The norm aboard Navy ships and most merchantmen was six, and Alexis saw Dansby frown and begin to speak.
“I know, uncle, but …” She ran a hand over the jumpsuit she wore and looked up at him with wide eyes. “After so many weeks with just the one …”
Dansby cleared his throat, made as if to speak, and then shrugged.
“We’ll just get yer sizes, then, miss,” Bickham said.
He gestured to a hatch behind the counter and Alexis went through it to find herself in a small room with a raised, circular platform in the center. Bickham had slid the hatch shut behind her and left her alone, so she stood silently for a time, waiting. Eventually she slid the hatch open and peered out.
“Excuse me, Mister Bickham,” she said, “but what am I to do?”
Alexis flushed as Dansby laughed out loud and Bickham looked at her curiously. “Be measured, miss?”
“Stand on the platform,” Dansby said, still laughing. “It’ll tell you what to do.” He turned to Bickham. “Colonial.”
Alexis slid the hatch shut, face burning, and stepped onto the platform. The room’s lights dimmed and she jumped as a series of lasers shone through the room, playing over her body, then again as a voice sounded.
“Please remain still for proper measurements,” the voice said, a female voice, though clearly generated.
Alexis snorted as she realized what it was, no more than a larger version of the device that could scan a part for replication aboard ship. She stood still and the lights played over her again.
“Please remove all clothing for proper measurements,” the voice said.
Alexis glanced once at the hatch, which was shut but didn’t seem to have a lock. She shrugged and undressed, shivering in the chill station air. The hard plastic of the platform was even colder on her feet. She resumed her place and the lights played over her again. The voice gave a series of instructions — where to stand, how to stand — and Alexis followed them. She sighed with relief when she was finally done and the voice said, “Measurements have been completed and transferred to your tablet. Have a nice day.”
“Thank you,” Alexis said automatically as she stepped down from the platform.
“You’re welcome.”
She dressed quickly and slid the hatch open.
“Order’ll be no more’n an hour,” Bickham said. “Here or delivered straight t’ yer ship?”
“I’ve taken lodgings,” Dansby said. “Have them sent to The Glaive, if you please.”
Bickham raised an eyebrow. “The Glaive, is it? Yer doin’ better’n I thought.”
“Well enough,” Dansby said.
“Excuse me,” Alexis said, not sure if she’d heard properly. “Did you say the whole lot would be run up in an hour’s time?” A dozen jumpsuits and underthings, plus boots, all to her size and in only an hour?
Bickham laughed and shared a look with Dansby. She was quite certain they were both thinking the same thing, colonial, but it was a surprise to her. Clothing on Dalthus was still mostly hand-made and she’d had no need for anything but uniforms since joining the Navy — those were bought ready-made from the Naval chandlers and altered for her by the hands aboard ship. Many of the crew were dab hands with a needle and thread, for they’d much rather mend a torn uniform than purchase new — why waste the cost of a good beer, after all?
“The manufactory for these is here on-station,” Bickham said. “Order’s already in their queue to be made.”
“Of course,” Alexis said. Indeed, of course, for why shouldn’t there be a machine to make the clothing to order just as the carpenter aboard ship could tap a few things into his tablet and have a new halyard or pulley, or even an entire mast, printed by the replicators? Once a system’s infrastructure became large enough to support such a t
hing it would be common-place. But clothing had always been such a utilitarian thing that she’d never considered it. A thought began to form, but Dansby spoke before it became fully realized.
“We’ll need to see your special room, as well, Bickham,” Dansby said.
The chandler raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“If she’s to come aboard ship with me, it’s probably best.”
Alexis looked from one to the other, but neither paid her any attention and she didn’t want to seem “colonial” again, so she simply followed. They went behind the counter and through another hatch, then down a dim corridor to where Bickham stopped facing a seemingly blank bulkhead. He tapped in a particular place and a portion of the bulkhead slid back to reveal another compartment.
She followed them in and stopped, staring around in amazement as lights came on. Weapons of all sorts and sizes littered the walls and counters. Blades, from tiny knives to elegant dueling swords, chemical-propellant pistols, laser pistols, flechettes.
What a bounty of potential mayhem …
Dansby and Bickham were muttering together again, but this time Alexis felt no need to join them. She was far too fascinated with the surroundings and wandered the room take in all that was on offer. She’d thought for some time that she should purchase some personal weapons — all of the other lieutenants had something more than the dress sword they wore with their uniform — but hadn’t found the time.
“Alexis? Dear niece?” Dansby was calling. She looked up from a display of lasers that were not only sold as matched sets for dueling, but whose capacitor cartridges were made of gallenium for use in darkspace. Despite the shocking price, she was sorely tempted to have a pair — to be able to fire lasers during a boarding action would be decisive. But the thought of dropping one or more of those cartridges, priced at nearly twenty pounds, while reloading with a vacsuit’s gloves on, was daunting.
“This might be appropriate for you,” Dansby said, holding his hand out to her. “It will give you some means of defense and it isn’t too great to handle.”
Alexis stared at his hand for a moment, thinking it was empty, until she saw the small flechette gun he held. It was a tiny thing. The darts must be no more than five centimeters. In fact it was almost smaller than her own hand and was dwarfed in Dansby’s. As a weapon it would be deadly enough — tiny darts would be stripped off a solid block of plastic embedded with metal and impelled by magnets at the target — but it was still so small that Alexis felt a surge of irritation that Dansby simply assumed it was all she could handle.
“Uncle Dansby … dear uncle,” Alexis said. “Perhaps this might be the proper time to have a word or two about assumptions.”
In the end, Alexis had to prove to Dansby that she could, indeed, use the items she’d selected. The look on his face when they crossed practice blades was only slightly less satisfying than that he had when she demonstrated her marksmanship.
No more than half of those in the station’s corridors were openly armed, though, so it was with no little self-consciousness that she stepped out of Bickham’s shop. The sword on her left hip was a bit longer and much lighter than the cutlasses a Naval crew might use in a boarding action. Not so long as a gentleman’s sword for dueling, but long enough to make up for her shorter arms in action against another ship’s crew. The chemical-propellant pistol on her right hip would look too large in her hands, but it was powerful enough to punch through even a Naval vacsuit, and its recoil wasn’t so great that she’d be unable to use it in vacuum or if a ship’s gravity were cut, provided she was able to brace herself against something.
Bickham had convinced her to take a shorter blade as well. She’d been reluctant, as she’d never used one, and the marines she’d trained with aboard ship had always been quite clear that there was never a winner in a knife-fight — only one who was bleeding somewhat less than the other. But if she were to find herself hard-pressed in close quarters, a smaller blade might be useful. She had two now. Both short and slim, but very sharp. One strapped to the inside of her left forearm and one in the outside of her right boot. Bickham had altered the orders for both her jumpsuits and boots to make accommodations for them, so that they’d be easier to draw.
Lastly the tiny flechette pistol Dansby had selected was tucked into the small of her back. Bickham had changed the jumpsuits she’d ordered for that as well, giving her a small, unobtrusive pocket that sealed the pistol in place without being at all noticeable.
All in all, she was better armed than she’d ever been — even aboard ship with a boarding imminent.
“It’s not as though you’ll be fighting battles aboard Marilyn, you know,” Dansby said, his voice sour.
“I simply wish to be prepared for any eventuality, uncle,” Alexis said. In truth, she’d been wanting some personal weapons for some time — to have them paid for out of Dansby’s purse was simply icing on the cake. “Marilyn? Is that your ship?”
Dansby nodded. “Her name’ll change when we enter Hanoverese space, but that’s what she’s called now.”
Alexis remembered the litany of ships’ names Eades had read off. “Are all your ships named after women?”
Dansby leered. “Amazing what a lady’ll do if she thinks you’ve named a ship for her.”
Alexis sighed. Life aboard ship with Dansby was going to be a chore, no doubt. She thought of the idea she’d had before being distracted by Bickham’s armaments room. Civilian clothes would not be at all amiss, if they were to be had as readily as her jumpsuits.
“I believe our next stop should be a civilian clothier — for something other than shipboard attire.”
Dansby scowled. “Now what do you need that for, niece?”
Alexis looped an arm through his and pulled him into motion. “Well, uncle, a man may wear the same three suits day after day, but if I’m to meet who I plan to, then I should be prepared to dress for any occasion or venue.” She scanned the storefronts for someplace that looked likely. Her dress uniform was appropriate attire for any event, but she couldn’t very well wear it in Hanover. Nor could she wear a simple, ship’s jumpsuit in any but the most common of station pubs. “After all, there’s no telling where he’ll be. There may be many meetings necessary to settle the proposal, and they could occur over dinner, at a club, perhaps a ball, anywhere at all.”
“A ball?” Dansby asked, nearly choking.
“Of course.” Alexis patted his arm, already planning what she’d need. Clothes had never been very important to her. On Dalthus, denim trousers and a linen shirt would suffice for most days. She’d owned one dress that she wore for special occasions — she did not include the horrid, pink concoction her grandfather had seen fit to buy her for courting. Since she’d entered the Navy, it had been nothing but uniforms. Even at liberty, a uniform would suffice. But meeting Delaine in Hanover, she’d have to appear as something other than a simple spacer — especially a foreign spacer. No, civilian dress was the thing, and fine enough that no one would think twice about seeing her in conversation with a young lieutenant. “Don’t worry, uncle,” she said. “We’ll only need a few things here. The rest we may purchase at our destination.”
“Rest?”
Chapter 22
“And for yourself, miss?”
Alexis glanced up from the menu displayed on the table’s surface to the hovering server. Hovering, indeed, for it was simply a thick, round tray floating in the air beside the table. She blinked once, then caught the smirk on Dansby’s face. He seemed to take an inordinate amount of glee in her reaction to any technology she hadn’t encountered before. A glee which irked her both for him looking down on her and because it caused her to dampen her own enthusiasm.
I should be able to enjoy these things without being laughed at.
“Do you have Scotch?” she asked. She saw Dansby frown, likely at the price, for real Scotch whiskey was produced in only three systems and cost of transport made it dear indeed.
Dansby cleared his throa
t, but the menu in front of Alexis had already changed to display The Glaive’s selection of whiskeys.
“The Auchindoun Reserve, please,” Alexis said. It wasn’t the most costly on the list, but the price was high enough to sting.
“Very good, miss.” The server floated away.
“I should have taken you straight to my ship,” Dansby said, “and saved my purse.”
“And have me come aboard in some spacer’s castoffs, uncle?” Alexis smoothed the front of her dress. “That would never do, I think.”
Dansby frowned. “Wouldn’t have thought you such a clotheshorse, coming from the Navy as you have.”
“And I would have thought you’d speak with more circumspection, considering your line of work.” Alexis glanced around the dining room to see if anyone was close enough to overhear.
“The privacy field’s on,” Dansby said, tapping a red light at the center of the table. “No one can hear us.”
“If there’s one thing my association with Mister Eades has taught me, uncle, it’s that no system is entirely secure.”
Dansby grunted.
Alexis smoothed her dress’ skirts and had to admit to herself that he had a point about the clothes. She’d not have thought it of herself, either, but the remainder of the day’s shopping had been … enlightening. The first civilian clothier they’d stopped into had completely changed Alexis’ perception of both clothing and herself.
The shopkeeper had taken her in hand and she’d found that the scanner in Mister Bickham’s shop had stored on her tablet not only her sizes, but a complete three-dimensional rendering of her. The clothier’s systems could show her a life-size image of herself wearing virtually anything the shop offered. Alexis had merely to react to seeing it and the system would quickly move on, using her expression of approval or dislike to determine what she was presented with next, and doing a quite creditable job of learning her tastes.
The outcome of which was that the longer she stayed in the shop, the more she liked what was presented to her. There were even, she discovered, some … structural enhancements, as the shopkeeper described them, that made the most of what little she had, and she found herself judging each outfit presented to her by what she thought Delaine might make of it.
The Little Ships (Alexis Carew Book 3) Page 13
