Into the Dark (Alexis Carew Book 1)

by J. A. Sutherland

  “Some skill with your hands and a blade will help, to be sure, though most of the spacers are about hacking away and pounding with no plan.” He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. “I’ll not go light on you, for all that you’re an officer … nor that you’re a girl.”

  “I understand.”

  He gestured at the marines behind him, busily throwing each other to the mats or coming together in a great clang of steel on steel. “Nor that fancy fairness the officers and gentry play at.” He pointed one arm at her as though holding a sword and raised the other high above his head, wrist bent and fingers wagging at her. “There’s none of that in what we do. It’s put the other man down and move along for us, you understand?”

  Alexis considered how lucky she’d been with the spacer, Alan, in the hold. If the man hadn’t been dead drunk, the encounter certainly would have had a different outcome. She gestured at her slight frame. “Would any fight I’m likely to be in be ‘fair’ at all, do you think, sergeant? I’m sure the dirtiest trick you could show me would hardly even the playing field a bit.”

  Hodgeman grinned wider. “Oh, don’t you be demeaning my dirty tricks, now. I’ve a few and more that’ll do right for you.” He looked over his shoulder. “Clear some space, lads! We’re going to see what young Mister Carew comes to us with.” The other marines stopped their sparring and stepped to the edges of the mats.

  Alexis caught her lip between her teeth. When she’d decided to ask to train with the marines occasionally, she’d not expected to become the center of their attention right off.

  Hodgeman stepped to the center of the mat and beckoned her. “Come on, then.”

  She stepped onto the mat and walked over to him, stopping a meter away and waiting for his next instruction. She could feel the eyes of the marines on her. The sergeant gave her an odd look and someone in the watching crowd laughed.

  “He meant for you to try and hit him!” someone called out and there was more laughter.

  Alexis blushed. “Oh,” she started to step away. “Shall I go back and start over?”

  Hodgeman held up a hand stopping her. He seemed to be fighting a laugh of his own. “Let’s us try it a bit different then.” He pointed to her hand. “Show me a fist.” Alexis raised her hand and made a fist. Hodgeman grunted. “At least you know to put your thumb on the outside, that’s a start.”

  Well of course I know that, it’s not as though I’ve never hit anyone before. Though, in the sergeant’s defense, there was no way for him to know that.

  “All right then, hit me,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Hit me. I’m standing right here, so hit me. Show me that you can.”

  Alexis took a step forward and tapped him in the chest with her first.

  “I said, ‘hit me’, girl! Not pat me like your favorite dog!” The surrounding marines were openly laughing again.

  Alexis drew her arm back and threw a punch into the sergeant’s stomach. The sold thunk of her hitting him was followed by a shooting pain up her hand and forearm.

  “Owie!” she yelled, stepping back and shaking her hand.

  The laughter increased and Hodgeman was rubbing his eyes. “‘Owie’?”

  “Well, it hurt.” She rubbed her hand and flexed her fingers.

  Hodgeman grinned. “Just not the sort of thing we hear during this sort of thing.”

  “What should I say when it hurts?”

  Hodgeman hesitated and one of the marines called out, “Go on, sergeant! Tell her one!”

  He frowned. “Suppose we’ll stick with ‘owie’ for the moment.” He turned in a circle, scanning the watching men. “And you lot’ll watch your language as well, we’ve a lady training with us!” He turned back to Alexis. “So what did that teach you, then?”

  She was still rubbing her hand. “Why they call you ‘lobsters’, I suspect. You’ve a bloody shell under there somewhere.”

  The laughter doubled.

  “And what else?” Hodgeman asked.

  “That punching a grown man is far different from hitting one of the boys from the village, which I’d already suspected, by the way.”

  Hodgeman gave her an odd look. “And why did you do it then?”

  “You’re the instructor and told me to … I assumed you had a reason.”

  “Aye, to drive that point home. You’ve not the size nor strength for a stand-up fight. It’s deceit and treachery for you.” He scanned the group of marines. “Culmer! You’re a sneaky one — teach our Mister Carew here some of your nastiness.”

  Alexis sparred with Culmer for nearly an hour, then retired to the head when the marines stopped their unarmed training and began setting up the deck for firearm and sword-practice. She should start working on those as well, she knew, but she was worn out from the previous hour’s work. She was moderately skilled with a pistol, but the short, heavy cutlasses, they used were new to her. Any combat practice other than with the ship’s guns was optional for the naval crew and officers, but she did feel she’d need every advantage in the event of a boarding action.

  She came out of the head to a transformed deck. Large panels made of the ship’s strong thermoplastic hulling had been set up to form two shooting lanes the length of the deck. The air echoed with the crack of chemical weapons, along with the occasional high-pitched sound of a flechette gun. The latter, along with the few laser pistols the ship carried, were seldom used by the crew or marines. Their electronics wouldn’t work in darkspace where most actions occurred. Some officers carried laser pistols specially designed for darkspace, with each capacitor enclosed in gallenium, as the shot for the ship’s guns were, but the cost and the need to change the capacitor after each shot limited their use.

  From the far side of the shooting lanes, she heard the clang of steel on steel and assumed the marines were practicing there as well, but when she rounded the far end of the deck she saw that it was Lieutenant Caruthers and Roland who fought. The two came together for a series of ringing blows, so fast that Alexis couldn’t follow what was happening, then Roland stepped back, nodding.

  Alexis joined Philip who was seated on one of the gunroom’s mess tables, feet on a chair, where it was pushed to the side.

  “What are they about?” she asked, taking a place beside him. She watched their blades as they engaged again. This time, it was Caruthers who nodded as he stepped back. “Those are longer than a cutlass”

  Philip nodded, not taking his eyes from the fighters. “Too long for outside the ship or if the gravity goes out. No, those are for dueling – just practice blades though. Dulled and no point.”

  Roland knocked Caruther’s blade aside and followed through with the turn, swinging his elbow at the lieutenant’s head and then spinning past to slash at him from behind. Caruthers, though, spun quickly in the opposite direction, getting his blade in place to stop Roland’s. The two stepped apart, circling each other.

  “I thought dueling was forbidden to officers,” Alexis said.

  “It is.” Philip glanced over at her, then back to the action. “It’s complicated.”

  Alexis laughed. “What isn’t?”

  Philip grinned. “It’s technically against regulations, and absolutely forbidden within the chain of command. Can’t have lieutenants challenging their captain or a captain challenging his admiral. But there’s some leeway. If you’ve a title, then it’s allowed. And it would never do for an officer to challenge a civilian, that’s right out – best to let a magistrate handle something like that if it’s a serious enough offense.”

  Philip was silent for a moment as he watched. Roland lunged forward, but Caruthers turned to the side and deflected his blade, at the same time running his shoulder into Roland and knocking him backward off his feet.

  “But a captain has a great deal of discretion for handling other situations. If two lieutenants have a go at it on some remote station, what’s a captain to do? Clap the living one in the brig and be out two officers? No, he’d hand down some disc
ipline, but not raise it to a court martial.”

  “I see,” Alexis said. “Is it common then?”

  Philip shook his head. “No, not common, but it’s happened.”

  Caruthers offered Roland a hand and helped him up. “I count it seven and four, Mister Roland.”

  “Yes, sir,” Roland said when he was on his feet. “I count the same.”

  Caruthers reversed his blade and held it out to Roland hilt first. He smiled. “Loser cares for the equipment, but you’re getting better. A bit faster on that one pass and you’d have hamstrung me.”

  Roland accepted the sword from him. “Thank you, sir.”

  Caruthers nodded to Philip and Alexis then walked toward his quarters. Roland stepped over to them, a sword in each hand. He tossed one and caught it by the blade, holding the hilt toward Alexis.

  “Fancy a go, Carew?”

  “I wouldn’t, Alexis,” Philip said.

  “If you’re going to play at being an officer, you should have the skills, don’t you think?”

  Alexis eyed the hilt of the sword. “I’ve never even held a sword, Roland. I don’t think I’d be much challenge for you.”

  Roland raised the hilt and tapped it on her shoulder. “Oh, don’t sell yourself short, Carew.” He grinned. “Sorry, can’t help but do that, can you?”

  Alexis sighed. “I suppose you’ll never let it go if I don’t at least once,” she said, taking the sword from him. It was likely the path that would give Roland the least to bait her with later. If she refused he could call her afraid, but how much could he say about beating someone who’d never held a sword before? She hopped off the table and took her place in the area Roland and Caruthers had used. She held the sword in front of her in her best approximation of how she’d seen them do it earlier. How much could it hurt, really?

  Roland lunged forward. Alexis tried to move her sword to where she thought his was. There was a loud clang and a jolt like an electric shock ran up her arm from her suddenly empty hand to her shoulder. The cold length of Roland’s blade pressed against her neck.

  She stared at him, eyes wide. She couldn’t tell how he’d moved or been able to follow the motion of his blade. Roland slid the steel along her throat and tapped it under her chin.

  “Dead,” he said, stepping back and lowering his blade.

  Alexis swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. “Quite.” She retrieved her blade and narrowed her eyes, determined to at least follow what he did this time.

  “It’s customary to give your opponent a nod to acknowledge his point, Carew.”

  Alexis took a deep breath and nodded.

  Roland moved forward, his blade low. Alexis moved her own lower in an attempt to at least parry once, but with another jolt to her arm he knocked hers aside. She managed to retain her grip this time. Roland spun past her and she had a moment to recognize the move he’d used on Caruthers and think about turning herself, but then he was past and the flat of his blade slapped against her rear with a resounding smack.

  Alexis leapt forward with an involuntary screech of pain and outrage. She clapped her free hand to her backside and turned to glare at Roland. She suspected he hadn’t held back much in the blow and she’d have more than one bruise in an embarrassing place.

  “Sorry about that,” he said with a grin that belied his words. “That’d be the hamstring on someone of a proper size.”

  She continued to glare at him, but nodded to acknowledge the point. She raised her blade again and waited. Roland grinned and rushed her. This time she saw what he aimed to do but couldn’t act in time to stop it. Her arm jolted as her blade was knocked from her hand again and Roland’s shoulder slammed into her, throwing her backward to sprawl on the deck. He slapped his blade against the inside of her thigh and drew it upward to mimic a cut.

  “Dead again.”

  Alexis nodded, but made no move to retrieve her sword. Roland grinned and swept her sword off the deck, turning them both in his hands to offer her the hilts. “Loser cares for the equipment,” he said. “The gunner can show you the way of it.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Alexis took a deep breath and gazed out into the Dark. Even the stale, sweaty odor inside her vacsuit wasn’t enough to dull the enjoyment of just watching the endless variation of flowing shapes in the distance. She was off watch, and so had some time for herself — choosing to spend it out on the ship’s hull, far back toward the stern, away from most of the lights and the bustle of the men working the sails.

  She was floating free of the ship, legs crossed and gently drifting above the hull, secured only by her safety line, and the sensation of being completely free of anything but her vacsuit thrilled her. From her position, she could look aft, past the end of Merlin’s hull and past the flat planes of the rudder and elevators that bit into darkspace behind the ship. From here her view of the dark was clear and unsullied by the brighter lights forward.

  She let out a startled yelp as she was grabbed roughly and sent spinning and twisting in place, dizzying visions of Merlin’s hull and darkspace flashed across her field of view. She threw her arms and legs wide, managing to slap the hull sharply with one hand and bring her momentum under control, then she was able to grab the guidewire and right herself, glaring at the figure retreating toward the ship’s bow who was rapidly pulling himself hand over hand along the wire.

  “Philip!” she yelled, ignoring that he couldn’t hear her. She laughed with delight. She hadn’t expected Philip to come Outside this watch, but a good game of tag was far more fun than simply exploring the rigging on one’s own.

  In a shot, she was off after him, pulling hard on the wire and gaining momentum with every moment. Philip and the other spacers might have more strength, but they also had more mass, giving her an advantage in accelerating and decelerating. Within a few seconds, she’d cut his lead in half and was rapidly gaining on him, the ship’s hull flashing past beneath her.

  As she closed, she took a moment to hook her second safety line to another guidewire running parallel to the one she was on, unhooking her first once she was safely attached. Now she’d be able to pass him if she could gain more speed — or slow him down.

  Which she accomplished handily just as she was even with his trailing feet, timing her move perfectly and slapping his leg with one hand just as his own hands were only loosely on the guidewire. Using her own grip on the guidewire to control the inertia, she pulled herself as close to the hull as she could and smoothly slid under his spinning, twisting legs.

  “It!” she yelled, laughing as she sped by.

  Alexis looked ahead and saw that she was rapidly approaching the bow of the ship. She deftly spun herself around so that she was traveling feet first and wrapped her gloved hands around the wire, letting it slide against her palms and gradually increasing her grip to slow herself. She could feel her palms heat from the friction even through the thick gloves of the vacsuit. She glanced back along the hull and saw that Philip had righted himself and even begun to catch up to her, but then he too had to turn and slow.

  She came to a stop at the mainmast and planted her feet on the hull. This next bit would be trickier, for Philip had the advantage on her in traveling up the mast. His more muscular legs would give him an extra boost pushing off from the hull, but, she hoped, she had a deftness that would compensate for that. Clipping on to one of the mast’s guidewires with one safety line, she kept her hand on the carabineer and gripped her second line’s in her other hand.

  Alexis bent deeply and pushed off has hard as she could from the hull. She could have also pulled herself hand over hand to gain more speed, but that wouldn’t have allowed her to keep both lines in hand. As she neared the top of the main course, she risked a glance toward the hull. Philip was just latching on and about follow her. She slid her attached line down, the guidewire sliding smoothly through the carabineer and reached up with her free hand, the carabineer open and waiting.

  As she arrived at the top of the mast segment, she clippe
d onto the next with the spare line and deftly unsnapped the other, allowing her to continue smoothly toward the top of the mast. She looked down again and saw that Philip had made the transition as well, gaining on her slightly. She grinned widely. Topmast’ll stop him, or he’ll have to slow for the topgallant, and I’ll have more speed down the backstay.

  She made the transition from topmast to topgallant smoothly as well and saw, as she was approaching the very top of the extended masts, that Philip seemed to be stopped at the topmast crosstrees, possibly with his lines tangled or unable to detach from the lower segment. Laughing, she slowed herself and clipped onto the backstay, gaining momentum as she pulled herself hand over hand down the line.

  She glanced over at the mast to check on Philip’s progress and let out a startled yelp as she saw that he had, somehow, leapt into the space between the mast and backstay, flying across the meters of empty space, but tailing a much longer line behind him than her suit was equipped with. His body slammed into her, knocking the breath out of her for a moment, and he locked his arms around her waist and his legs around hers as his mass took her off the backstay, ripping the line from her grip.

  “It!” she heard him yell as he pressed his helmet to hers.

  The two of them reached the limit of her safety line and their momentum quickly translated into revolving around the backstay. Philip released her but not without a quick twist that sent her spinning as he attached a new line to the backstay to begin pulling himself toward the hull.

  Finally righting herself, she set off after him. He’d gotten a good start, but she was confident she could catch him again, for the chase down the backstay and then back along the hull would be all arms and pulling where she had a bit of an advantage. She saw him fumble the transition from the stay to the hull, losing a meter or two to her and grinned.

  “Umph!” She was stopped short of the hull by a sharp tug at her suit’s belt, breath yanked from her again and lost her grip on the stay. With a start, she realized she was drifting away from the backstay toward the mast, already farther from the stay than her safety line should allow. Her hands flashed desperately to her belt, searching for the line and her heart pounding at the thought of being adrift without any attachment to the ship. Oh, the spacers working elsewhere on the hull would surely get her back to safety, but it was frightening nonetheless — and would be quite embarrassing.