She then noticed that there were two triangular panels attached to the wall on either side of the door. Curious, she gave one a tug and it folded down, clicking into place to form a triangular surface in the room’s corner.
Two bunks and two desks, she thought. And me the only girl on board.
“Oh, Alexis Arleen Carew,” she whispered. “What have you gotten yourself into now?”
With the fourteen men Captain Grantham had signed aboard at the camps her grandfather had told him about, there’d be eighty-four crew and officers aboard Merlin. Eighty-five, including Alexis. Still not near the one hundred seven she’d learned was Merlin’s full complement, but a daunting enough ratio. And she’d be sharing this small room with one of them.
Oh, she’d overnighted at the lumber camps and mines before, sharing the men’s barracks, even camped rough and shared a tent, but there’d always been the comforts of the farmhouse to return to at the end, and the knowledge that the work crews were a familiar lot — men she’d grown up around and knew well. All she knew about the other resident of this compartment was that he was named Easely, was thirteen and had been a midshipman for less than a year.
Well, you’re well and truly in it now, so put the best face on it.
She stood up and grasped her bag that the spacer, Acker, had deposited in the corner. He’d taken one of the jumpsuits and promised to have it fitting reasonably by the end of the watch, whenever that would be, then get to the others before the ship was underway. In the meantime, Alexis was stuck with the one she was wearing, rolled up sleeves and all.
Lieutenant Caruthers had told her to get settled in, so she’d better get her things put away. Alexis examined the compartment again, but there didn’t appear to be any cabinets or drawers in the walls, and there certainly wasn’t a chest of drawers or closet in the small space. Under the lower bunk was a small, cube-shaped box of the same material as the rest of the ship, which she assumed was Easley’s chest. Though she’d been promised one of her own, she thought there had to be a more accessible place they were expected to store their things.
Alexis noticed a notch in the side of the upper bunk and slid her fingers in, pulling sharply. A drawer, perhaps ten centimeters high, slid out of the bunk. She saw that it was filled with clothing and quickly slid it shut again. That must be Easely’s, she thought and knelt to pull open the corresponding drawer in the lower bunk. This one was empty, so she began transferring things from the bag to the drawer. She quickly realized that there wouldn’t be enough space in the drawer for everything. Should I wait for my chest, then? she wondered. But what goes where?
She stood quickly and, with a guilty glance at the compartment door, slid open the drawer in the upper bunk. She took in what it contained and how things were arranged, ignoring the clearly personal articles, then slid the drawer shut again and began rearranging her own things. So dress uniform and vacsuit must go in the chest, she decided, having not seen one in Easely’s drawer. Shortly, she had her own belongings neatly arranged, with her bag, vacsuit, and dress uniform neatly folded on the lower bunk to await the arrival of a chest for her.
She’d no sooner sat down again when the compartment’s door slid open and a young man in a uniform identical to her own, though much better fitting and more than a little rumpled, rushed in.
“Hello then, I’m Philip Easely,” the boy started in a rush, brushing an unruly lock of dark hair from his forehead. A full head taller than her and thin. She noticed a gap between his wrists and the cuffs of his jumpsuit, as though he’d just grown a great deal. “Lieutenant Caruthers said I was to show you around the sh … here now, you’re a girl!”
Alexis started to grin, then deliberately opened her eyes wide in shock and looked down at herself. She leapt to her feet and looked down at herself, returning her gaze to Easely. “I do believe you’re right,” she gasped breathlessly. “Do you think anyone else has noticed?”
The boy grinned widely. “You’re a right one, then, aren’t you? ‘Do you think they’ve noticed’?” He laughed and eyed the rank tabs on Alexis’ collar. “Are you really a midshipman?”
“So they tell me,” Alexis affirmed. She held out her hand. “Alexis Carew.”
Easely took her hand firmly. “Philip Easely,” he repeated. “What’s your date?”
“Date?”
“Your appointment date — which of us is senior?”
“Senior? Well, I’m fifteen.”
Easely laughed. “No, your appointment as midshipman — I’m March twenty-seventh, this year. Haven’t you ever served in a berth before?”
“No, I … I guess it would be today.”
Easely looked shocked. “What? Appointed today? I thought you’d transferred in from somewhere.”
“No, until today, I lived on Dalthus.”
“Well then, I’m senior to you.” He grinned broadly. “First time I’ve not been junior midshipman in the berth!” He gestured to her uniform and bag on the lower bunk. “You’ve stowed your gear, then?”
Alexis nodded. “Yes, I saw your things were in upper drawer, so I took the lower, was that all right? I haven’t a chest yet.”
“Well,” Easely said. “Being just Roland and me, with two berths between us, the top drawer was easier to get to, but I’ve been sleeping on the bottom. But that’s okay, better for you to be on the bottom, since you’re a girl.” He froze and blushed furiously. “That is … I meant to say, easier for me to be on top … I mean …”
Alexis regarded him calmly, arching one eyebrow. She watched as he blushed deeper, a curious process that started with a darkening of his ears and then a rush of red rising from his collar and slowly crawling up his face. I do wonder if the top of his head will pop off from the pressure.
“Because you’re short!” Easely burst out suddenly. “Not because … I’m not saying …”
Alexis relented with a laugh. “It’s all right — I take your meaning … Mister Easely? Is that correct?” she asked. “Is it Mister This and Mister That between us midshipman as well?”
Easely sighed with relief and the color slowly started to fade from his face. “Well, with Roland, he’d prefer it so,” he said. “He’s a right proper prat and senior to both of us.” He grinned. “But off watch and amongst ourselves, given names’re quite proper and allowed.” He paused uncertainly. “For friends, at least, if we’re to be friends.”
Alexis smiled at him. “I think I should like that very much.” She held out her hand again. “Philip?”
“I should, as well … Alexis.”
* * *
“So, to show you the ship,” Philip continued, grinning broadly as they left their tiny room, Alexis carrying her vacsuit to be left with the ship’s carpenter for resizing. “This here’s the gunroom, which is for us, the officers and such — the crew all berth on the gundeck. Through that hatch forward is the ladders between decks and past it the captain’s great cabin and past that is the bow chasers, two four-pound guns.” He began pointing rapidly right and left. “Those next two, port and starboard, are the lieutenants, though we’ve only the one just now. Then us, and Roland across the way there.” He paused. “I’ve never shared a berth with a girl before,” he admitted. “If you’d like, I could see about switching to berth with Roland, but …” He glanced around nervously and continued in a whisper. “He’s a bit of a prat, he is.”
Alexis had to giggle at this. “You stay, Philip,” she reassured him. “We’ll get along famously, I think.”
Philip gave an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Thanks. I’ve followed him in the head and wouldn’t want to sleep near him. So after us is the captain’s clerk, who we’ve none of at the moment and the sailing master.” He continued pointing. “The purser and bosun, with our pantry between them, then the carpenter and gunner.”
“Carpenter?”
“Fabrication — anything needs making or replacing aboard.”
Alexis nodded her understanding.
“Where was I? Right,
come on, then.” He led her past the cabinets in the middle of the floor that he’d said were the pantry and pointed to two doors to his right. “There’s a spacer who acts as our steward, Gillian, and keeps it all set to rights. We each contribute a bit for the extra work it sets him — a pence or two for us midshipmen, so nothing really. Port, here, we’ve got the engineer and Lieutenant Ames, he’s got charge of the marines, then to starboard …”
“Wait!” Alexis cried, laughing. “Let me catch up a bit. First, what’s this port and starboard business?”
Philip looked at her in bewilderment. “Well, it’s the sides of the ship, isn’t it? Hadn’t you ever been aboard ship before?”
“Philip,” Alexis explained, “until this morning, I’d never left atmosphere before.” His eyes widened in shock. “And all of this is quite new and confusing to me, so please, do understand.”
“Oh … all right then. So, the sides of the ship, this here’s port,” he said, “and the other’s starboard.”
“Why can’t they just be left and right?”
Philip’s brow furrowed. “Couldn’t call them that … it’d confuse everybody.”
Alexis stared at him flatly.
“How to explain it … I know!” He turned to face her. “So imagine this compartment’s just been holed and the air’s streaming out fast.” Alexis nodded. “Now I scream out that the emergency vacuum suits are in the left-side compartment, where’re you going to look?”
Alexis gestured to her left.
Philip grinned. “But, see, I meant the left-side of the ship, because I’m facing forward and it’s to my left, they’re in the portside compartment. An now you’re dead because what’s to starboard of us here is the heads — that’s what we call the toilet aboard ship.” He glanced around and whispered: “Which you’ll be wanting a good vacuum suit for if you’re following Roland in there.”
Alexis chuckled and nodded. “I see. But how do I know if I’m facing the front or back of the ship, even?”
“Fore or aft,” Philip corrected. “See the stripes on the wall?” Halfway up each wall was a thin stripe, red on one wall and green on the other — every few feet, the stripes were broken by a white arrow. “Red’s port and green’s starboard, and the arrow points forward. See? Easy.”
“I do see,” Alexis allowed. “The jury’s still out on ‘easy’, I’m afraid.”
“You’ll catch on, never fear. Now where was I?”
“The potentially deadly … heads to … starboard?”
Philip’s ever-present grin grew wider still. “You’ve got it! So aft of Lieutenant Ames to port here are the marines and the brig. They’ve charge of the armory, as well – can you shoot?”
“A bit, but only chemical projectiles. Lasers or flechettes are too dear on Dalthus.”
“You’ll have to learn those for n-space actions, but it’s all chemical in darkspace anyway.”
“I see.” Alexis wanted to ask about darkspace, her own knowledge being the little bit she’d learned in schooling, but Philip hurried on.
“And over to starboard is the pilots’ berth, then the surgeon’s cabin and sick berth. Then the aft ladders to get between decks and behind that’s engineering and the n-space drives. Come on, we’ll head down to the gundeck.”
“Where are the guns?” Alexis asked.
“On the gundeck.”
“No, the guns here.”
“Aren’t any guns here on this deck, except the chasers, and they’re far fore and aft.”
“But you said this was the gunroom?”
Philip nodded. “It is.”
“But there are no guns?”
“No, this is where us officers berth.”
“Then why is it called the ‘gunroom’?”
“Ah, see on a frigate or a ship of the line there’d be a wardroom for the lieutenants and some few of the warrant officers, then on the gundeck there’d be the gunroom for us and the other warrants, but on a smaller ship like Merlin there’s just the one, see?”
“I … suppose so,” Alexis allowed, not really understanding what a “ship of the line” might be, but assuming it was one quite a bit larger than Merlin and feeling as though she’d asked quite enough questions.
“Come on, then,” Philip called, leading her on.
* * *
“You’re a girl.”
“I am, Mister Culmer,” Alexis answered as she stared around Merlin’s engineering spaces, fascinated by the vast array of equipment. There were consoles, pipes and wiring everywhere in the two-deck high space, all crammed around the edges to make room for the large, metal oval of the ship’s fusion plant that dominated the center of the compartment.
“And a midshipman?” Merlin’s engineer looked up from his tablet and then back again, he seemed completely oblivious to the two midshipman, except when he was speaking — the rest of his time was spent deeply engrossed in whatever system he was monitoring.
“So they do assure me, sir.”
“She’s just come aboard today, Mister Culmer,” Philip informed him.
“Well, and I could’ve known that myself, couldn’t I, Mister Easely?” Culmer said shortly. He ran a hand through his stubby, grey hair. “I’m not so cut off from the rest of the ship back here that I’d fail to notice a girl on board for weeks at a time, am I?”
Philip flushed. “No, sir.”
Culmer turned his attention back to Alexis, glaring at her. “Know anything about fusion plants? Environmental controls? Networking? Particle projectors?” Alexis could only shake her head repeatedly as the man’s questions came rapidly, one after another. “Ion drives?”
“No sir,” Alexis finally managed when it appeared the engineer had run out of things she had no knowledge of.
“Well then, you’ve quite a lot to learn, don’t you, Mister Carew?”
“I’m sure I do, sir.”
Culmer grinned at her. “Well, recognizing that’s the first step, then, isn’t it?” He turned back to his tablet. “But I’ve work to do, so off with you, lads.” He hesitated, glancing at Alexis in consternation. “Lass … whatever I’m to call the mix of you, off now!”
* * *
“You’re a girl.”
Alexis sighed, wondering if everyone aboard would respond the same upon her introduction. The gunner, a man with the unfortunate name of Breech, was a rough man, heavily built, with large hands scarred by small burn marks. She and Philip had found him in the ship’s magazine, deep in the hold where he was working on a row of odd canisters — each was thirty centimeters high and, perhaps, ten in diameter, but it was the material that caught Alexis’ eye. A shining metal with a finish of deep purple and brilliant white swirls. “Is that …”
“Gallenium,” Philip whispered. “Protects the electronics of the shot from darkspace.”
“Why’s a girl aboard this ship, Mister Easely?” Breech asked. “We’re not out of discipline, are we? I’d heard nothing about that.”
“Ah, no, Mister Breech. Mister Carew here has come aboard today as a midshipman.”
The gunner stopped working, hand raised with a light, felt-covered hammer he was using to seat a cover on one of the cylinders. “Midshipman?”
“Yes, Mister Breech.”
Breech looked thoughtful for a moment. “Well,” he allowed, “that’ll be different, then.” He pointed the hammer at Alexis. “Very well then, Mister … Carew, was it?” Alexis nodded. “As you’re here, you’ll learn about the shot now.” He set the canister aside and selected another, which Alexis saw was empty. “Each casing’s worth more than you are, Mister Carew, so treat them well. Now, first in is this bit.” He held up a fat disk, several centimeters tall, that fit snugly into the canister, snapping securely to the bottom. “That’s the capacitor that charges the shot. And next the lasing chamber.” He slid another assembly inside the canister, this one nearly filling it. “And finally the cap. Once it’s sealed, it’s protected from darkspace and can still fire. That’s a six-pound shot, there
.”
Alexis frowned. “With so much gallenium, sir, surely it would cost more than six pounds?”
“Oh, each shot casing’s cost would be nearer one hundred pounds, Mister Carew. No, the six is its weight — the weight of its capacitor, at least. Measure’s the power of the shot.”
“Weight?”
“A bit more than two and a half kilos, or six pounds, as the Navy measures it. An archaic measure, but the way it’s done.”
“A tradition,” Philip explained.
Alexis rubbed her forehead. “Is, perhaps, ‘tradition’ a naval term for some sort of insanity, I begin to wonder?”
The gunner barked laughter. “Now that would explain a great deal, wouldn’t it, Mister Easely?”
“Indeed.”
“As to the different types of shot,” the gunner told her. He reached beneath his work surface and pulled up three cones, each of them of the same purple and white gallenium. He set them in front of Alexis and tapped each in turn.
“Round shot,” he said, indicating a cone that ended in a wide hole, perhaps, six-centimeters in diameter. “For the hull.” Then in turn, he tapped the others, first the one where the cone ended in a wide, thin dash shape, and then where it ended in a series of smaller set of round, narrow holes. “Your chain shot and your grape. For sails and rigging and,” he grinned, “targets of a softer nature.”
“Softer nature?” Alexis asked.
“Crew,” Philip said. “Fewer, smaller beams that spread out. For firing at crew on the hull or when their gundeck’s been holed and we can fire into it.”
Alexis thought of the gundeck as she’d seen it on entering the ship, with its darkly colored decks and bulkheads, almost black where the rest of Merlin was the gleaming white of its thermoplastic construction, and the dozens of crewmen swarming it as they unloaded supplies from the captain’s barge. She shuddered at the thought of the thin laser beams slicing through that space.
“Why is it colored that way?” she asked. “The gundeck, I mean. It’s so dark, where the rest of the ship is light.”
Into the Dark (Alexis Carew Book 1) Page 7