“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.”
“Reflection,” Breech said.
“The gundeck’s most exposed during action,” Philip said. “Has to be, for the gunports to open. We want nothing that would reflect an opponent’s beam inside the hull.”
“Or worse, splinter it. Turn one beam into ten, each that’ll hole a man’s suit or kill him outright.”
“Yer a girl.”
Alexis was staring at the man, so fascinated by his resemblance to Doakes, the Port Arthur chandler, that she could barely register irritation at his, now expected, reaction to meeting her. They could be kin. The same weaselly look, the same narrow, pinched face, the same long nose that seemed to twitch from time to time. I do wonder if there’s not a factory somewhere that turns them out in job lots.
“Lieutenant Caruthers compliments, Mister Lothrop,” Philip said, “and we’re to see Mister Carew all signed aboard.”
Alexis tore her eyes away from the purser and looked around the compartment they were in, trying desperately not to inhale through her nose. After leaving Merlin’s magazine, they’d toured the environmental and hydroponics parts of the ship. After the fresh, clean scent of the air in those compartments, the stench in the purser’s compartment was nigh unbearable. Great bubbling vats of nutrient solution lined one of the walls and were the source of the odor. They were filled with clumps of pinkish mass, with an occasional lump of grey.
Lothrop frowned and grumbled, but held out his hand for her tablet. Alexis handed it over and he laid it next to his console, mumbling to himself as he worked. “Midshipman … articles signed … here.” He slid her tablet back to her. “Fill these out. Sign.”
Alexis picked up her tablet and reviewed the forms. “Excuse me, Mister Lothrop, but don’t you already have much of this information from my identification chip?”
Lothrop glared at her. “Fill it out. Sign.” He turned back to his console. “Or leave me be to get back to my work here.”
Philip leaned toward her and whispered. “Best to just do as he asks, I suspect.”
“Oh, very well.” Alexis quickly filled out the forms and pressed her thumb to the required places, then she placed it back on the counter.
Lothrop tapped it against his console and slid it back to her. “Done, then. Off with you.”
“Mister Lothrop, if you’ve time, I’ve also a guinea coin I’d like put on my account for safekeeping,” Alexis told him, digging in her pocket for it.
“Hmph.” The purser held out a hand. “Give it here, then. I’ll see it logged to yer account when I’ve time.”
Alexis held out the coin, but also raised her tablet and an eyebrow. “I believe I’m to see it put on my account at this time, sir, or so Lieutenant Caruthers advised me.”
Lothrop grunted and picked up his own tablet. A moment later, Alexis’ tablet pinged with a message and she saw that her account onboard Merlin now had a balance of one pound, one shilling — a full guinea. Lothrop held out his hand. “I’ve not all day to wait on you, Mister Carew,” he prompted and Alexis handed over the coin.
“Thank you, Mister Lothrop,” she said.
“I’m a girl.” Alexis stated, hoping to head the remark that, so far, everyone she’d been introduced to aboard Merlin had seen it necessary to make.
Dudgeon, the ship’s carpenter looked at Alexis curiously. “Well and I can see that, can’t I? I’m not blind.” He turned to Philip. “She a bit, ah, simple?” he asked, tapping his temple.
Philip coughed into his hand to hide his laugher while Alexis closed her eyes and sighed.
“She’s our new midshipman, Mister Dudgeon.”
The carpenter furrowed his brow irritably at Philip, seeming to crinkle all of the skin on his shaved head. “And I can see her rank tabs as well, Mister Easely, sir.” He paused, taking in Alexis’ ill-fitting jumpsuit. “Though the uniform’s a disgraceful fit. Now, will the two of you state your business or let me get back to my work?” He waved a hand impatiently at an array of hoses, nozzles, and robotic arms that made up the ship’s fabrication compartment. “I’ve much to get built today, you know.”
&nbs
p; Philip squared his shoulders and cleared his throat. “Lieutenant Caruthers’ compliments, Mister Dudgeon, and we’re to ask you for a chest and to see what may be done with Mister Carew’s vacsuit, sir.”
Dudgeon crossed his arms and nodded. “Better, young sir, much better. Less wasting time with nonsense and the obvious. Now, as for the one …” He turned to a nearby console and started pressing keys, squinting and frowning at the screen. “There,” he said, with a final keypress that started a nearby machine moving. Alexis watched, fascinated, as the machine’s arms began laying down strips of some material that quickly hardened and fused together. Within seconds, she could see that it was building a chest similar to Philip’s. “Like it, Mister Carew?” Dudgeon asked.
“It’s fascinating, Mister Dudgeon. I know there’s a small fabrication plant in Port Arthur, but I’ve never seen it — the material cost …”
“Expensive out here,” Dudgeon agreed, nodding and smiling. “Cheaper to build from wood and what you can make yourselves in the colonies.” He patted a nearby barrel fondly. “But we’ve full tanks on Merlin today. Could build a whole new ship if I’d a need to.” Then he frowned again, his good mood gone and gestured impatiently for her vacsuit. “Hand that over and let me have a look then.”
Alexis handed him the bulky suit and he held it up next to her, grunting when he saw that the collar was even with her eyebrows. He laid the suit on a counter and unzipped it to look inside. “Need to fix that,” he muttered.
“Yes, it is quite too large for me, sir” Alexis agreed. “I do hope you can …”
“Not the size that’s the problem, Mister Carew, not the size at all. Size we can fix with ease — trim it a bit and reweld the seams in a heat sealer, not a problem. Easier by far than making that uniform fit, I’ll wager. No, the problem here is the …” Dudgeon blinked rapidly, as though just realizing something and cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Well, the, er, water, is the problem.”
Alexis frowned. She’d seen that the suit had a container for water, as well as air, and a mouthpiece near the collar for drinking, but didn’t understand how that could be a problem or need sizing. “I don’t understand, Mister Dudgeon. How is water a problem in sizing the suit for my use?”
Dudgeon flushed red and looked helplessly at Philip. “Can you, perhaps, explain it to her, Mister Easely?” But Philip looked as confused as Alexis felt. Dudgeon motioned Philip to the side and whispered to him. “It’s the making of water, Mister Easely.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t follow …”
“The plumbing, Mister Easely!” Dudgeon said irritably and quite a bit louder.
There was an embarrassed silence into which Alexis said quietly, “Oh … my, no, that would never work, now would it?”
Six
Alexis approached the long table at the center of the gunroom’s common area with a bit of trepidation. Of the men gathered there, she’d met only the gunner, Mister Breech. At least the spacer, Acker, had completed altering one of her ship’s jumpsuits in time for her to change into it before supper so she’d not look a total fool. Though he’d warned her, “It’s a quick job, Mister Carew, sir, so go easy on the seams, and I’ll have another done up proper afore six bells in the first watch.” She’d thanked him, though she had no idea whatever when that might be.
“Gentleman,” Philip announced as they approached the table. “May I present to you one Mister Alexis Carew, our latest midshipman and –” His face spread in a wide grin. “– the junior one.”
The men eyed her speculatively as they offered her their hands and introduced themselves. First the sailing master, Mister Gorbett, an older man with white hair and what seemed a perpetual squint, which made him appear to be always in deep thought about some matter. The lieutenant of marines, Ames, a young man, perhaps in his early twenties, Alexis estimated, with an aristocratic nose and bluff, hearty bearing. The gunner, whom she’d met earlier in the day, and, finally, Stanford Roland, the third and senior midshipman she’d heard about. Philip had told her he was twenty-one, and had been five years aboard ships, but he appeared to be older. Lean with a haughty demeanor that didn’t lessen a bit as he shook Alexis’ hand with a smirk.
“Mister Carew,” he said, with a slight emphasis on ‘Mister’.
“Well sit down, Mister Carew!” Ames said, holding up a bottle. “And have a glass before the meal arrives!”
Alexis sat and the man poured her and Philip each a glass of wine from one of the bottles on the table. Philip had explained to her that no one would note that she contributed nothing to the table’s wine or food, as her supplies were not aboard and stowed as yet, so long as she did so once they were.
“Thank you, lieutenant,” she answered, sitting and taking a small sip. “It has been an eventful day and I do welcome the opportunity to relax for a moment.”
“Ha!” Ames laughed. “Few enough of those aboard ship, true enough! Especially for you young officers! Eh, Roland? Easely?”
The two midshipman indicated their agreement heartily and raised their own glasses in response.
“You’ve not served aboard ship before, Carew?” Roland asked, his voice a lazy droll that grated on Alexis’ nerves.
“I have not,” she affirmed. “Haven’t even been off Dalthus before, truth be told.” Then, anticipating his next question and wishing to deflect it beforehand, so as not to reveal too much of what had driven her to leave home. “It seemed like the proper choice for me at this time. A worthwhile life of service and duty.”
“Ha!” Ames exploded, his every sentence seeming to be punctuated with explosions of mirth and unable to speak without it being an excited utterance. “‘Service and duty’! I like that!” He leaned forward and looked pointedly at Philip and Roland. “Not all about the prize money and advancement, young sirs! Remember that!”
“Prize money?” Alexis asked.
“It’s a bit of an … incentive, so to speak,” Philip said. “If we take a ship for piracy or smuggling–”
“Or an enemy warship or some fat merchantman, should we ever see a war,” Roland added.
“Yes, or those, should it come to that. Well, those captures are called prizes and they’re either sold or bought into service by the Navy, and we all share in the value.”
“Not that there’s been much of either these last years,” the sailing master muttered.
“True enough,” Roland agreed, raising his glass and drinking deeply. “To a bloody war or a sickly season!” The other men laughed and raised their glasses in response, so Alexis did as well, though wondering at such a brutal toast and merely sipping. “Is the wine not to your taste, Carew?”
Alexis took another small sip. “I’m afraid I’ve little head for wine,” she admitted, grinning ruefully. “Not nearly enough of me to absorb it properly, you see?”
“Ha! You’re a small one, right enough! Leaves more wine for the rest of us, though! Eh, Roland?”
“I do suppose.” Roland eyed her thoughtfully for a moment, then glanced up as three spacers approached with covered platters. “Ah, supper at last.”
The platters were placed on the table and plates and silverware passed around from one of the cabinets in the wall — bulkhead, Alexis reminded herself — and the group began eating. There was a small roast chicken, a dozen or so cutlets of beef, roasted potatoes, and a platter of assorted vegetables. As the platters were passed around the table, Alexis choose a small piece of chicken, one of the cutlets, a few potatoes, and a large helping of vegetables. Conversation quickly ceased as they began eating. Philip, she noticed, had filled his plate with the meats and potatoes, but none of the vegetables. Without thought, she swallowed a bite of carrot, which was surprisingly well done in her opinion and said, “You should try some of the vegetables, Philip, they’re quite good.”
“Ha! Yes, young man, eat your vegetables!”
Roland eyed Philip evilly. “Yes, Philip, eat your vegetables.”
Alexis saw Philip’s deep blush and
regretted her words. While Ames’ outburst was clearly, to her, good-natured, Roland’s seemed filled with spite. “I merely intended, sir, that they are quite good. I’m sorry, Philip.”
“Quite all right, Alexis.”
“Oh, no harm!” Ames said. “A bit of ribbing and wordplay’s all the thing amongst you lot! You’ll see that soon enough!”
“Yes, Carew,” Roland agreed. “Just a bit of fun, no harm.”
Alexis nodded politely and took another sip of wine, not believing that Roland’s intent had been good-natured at all. She’d seen his like before and was certain that he enjoyed embarrassing others and putting them on the spot. She noted that, while her own glass was still half full, the others, including Philip, had all refilled theirs several times and the level remaining in the bottles on the table had decreased dramatically. She wondered if, even with her own light drinking, the twelve bottles she’d brought aboard would last even a week and how the others could afford such consumption on the meager Navy pay. They must spend every bit on food and drink.
The group resumed eating and Alexis raised a bite of the beef cutlet to her mouth. It was curiously tender, cutting easily, but she did notice an odd aroma. An aroma, she realized as she placed it into her mouth, which carried over to its taste. It was, in fact, quite unlike any meat Alexis had ever sampled, with a mushy texture and a sour, pungent flavor that made her want to spit it out, if that weren’t such an impolite thing to do at table. With a start, she realized that the others had stopped eating and were watching her as she slowly chewed the morsel, unable to keep herself from grimacing at the taste.
“Ha! First taste of the vat as well, Mister Carew?”
Alexis swallowed heavily and grasped for her wine. “Good heavens, what is that?” she asked, taking a much larger swallow of wine than she normally did.
“That, Carew,” Roland drolled, “is quite the finest nutrient-fed, vat-grown beef our fair purser can provide.”
Alexis Carew: Books 1, 2, and 3 Page 8