Alexis Carew: Books 1, 2, and 3

by J. A. Sutherland

  Three weeks spent in orbit had repaired the worst of the damage to the ship. Three weeks of almost constant work by the full crew, which left Alexis and everyone else exhausted and with no time for liberty. Despite her proximity to home, she’d had no opportunity to visit and had only been able to exchange messages with her grandfather.

  Of his efforts to change the inheritance law, her grandfather reported nothing new. The opposition was still strong and still led, unsurprisingly, by Edmon Coalson, who’d inherited his father’s vote and suffered very little damage to his family’s prestige by his father’s actions. Alexis had heard this and wondered at the politics involved, which she simply could not fathom.

  Alexis had carefully considered her position and decided that, if there could be no decision on her lands for a period of years, then she would build what life she could away from them. Despite its hardships and her own uncertainties, she would trust Captain Grantham’s assertion that she could be of value to the service and would stay aboard Merlin.

  The time had also allowed Lieutenant Caruthers’ legs time to heal enough that he could return to duty, though he wore heavy braces on both legs and had difficulty moving with any speed.

  “Charge the sails, Mister Car …” The captain was cut off as consoles around the quarterdeck began demanding attention.

  “Transition!” the spacer at the tactical station announced. “Crash transition at L1.” The navigation plot quickly added the presence of an unidentified ship at the L1 point, immediately between Dalthus and its primary moon.

  Even before he’d finished speaking, the newcomer’s first broadcasts were arriving at Alexis’ station, announcing who she was, as well as delivering dispatches and mail as her automated systems recognized Merlin. Alexis’ console quickly sorted the incoming traffic according to priority, first of which was the new ship’s identity.

  “H.M.S. Hermione, sir. Frigate. Thirty-two guns. Captain Neals commanding.”

  The quarterdeck crew visibly relaxed as the new ship was announced to be friendly, when Alexis’ console suddenly pinged loudly. “Incoming dispatch, sir.” She paused. “Captain’s eyes only.”

  “Transfer it to my tablet, Mister Carew.”

  “Aye sir.”

  Captain Grantham spent a few moments reading, then eyed the navigation plot as though to confirm something. “Clear for action, Mister Caruthers,” he said calmly. “But keep the guns inboard.”

  Caruthers looked puzzled, but answered immediately. “Aye sir. Clear for action, guns to remain inboard.”

  There was a flurry of activity as the order was passed and the crew rushed to comply. Alexis quickly clambered into her vacsuit, leaving her helmet clamped to the console where it would be available quickly. More messages began appearing on her console. “Signal from Hermione, sir. Our number and Captain to repair onboard.”

  Grantham nodded, but ran his fingers over the navigation plot. He singled out one of the merchantmen in orbit around Dalthus.

  “Thank you, Mister Carew. Mister Gorbett, I would be obliged if you would place Merlin abeam that Hanoverese merchantman. Best time, if you please. Mister Carew, respond to Hermione, make Cannot Comply followed by Enemy in Sight.”

  Alexis glanced over in surprise, then quickly turned back to her console and made the signals. “Aye sir.”

  The old sailing master was squinting at the navigation plot, watching the orbits of the other ships around the planet. “Can do it as she comes around this time, Captain, but we’ll skim awfully close to this other one.”

  “Best time, Mister Gorbett,” Grantham repeated, his eyes on the plot.

  “Aye sir.” Gorbett began issuing orders for the thrusters to fire, and Merlin moved out of her high orbit, dropping quickly toward the planet. As they dropped past another merchantman, coming within a few hundred meters of the larger ship, Alexis’ console began beeping frantically for her attention as the merchantman’s quarterdeck crew called to complain about the sudden maneuver and close call.

  “Pay them no heed, Mister Carew,” Grantham ordered before she’d even alerted him to the call. “Instead, get me that Hanoverese merchantman’s captain, if you please.”

  “Aye sir.”

  “Mister Caruthers, run out the guns immediately we are abeam that ship.”

  “Aye sir.”

  After several attempts, Alexis was able to contact the merchantman, speaking to a frightened spacer on deck watch who was watching in terror as Merlin swooped down on his ship like a raptor from the skies. He claimed quickly that he’d called for his captain, who was supervising something in the hold, but was on his way to the quarterdeck. “I have the merchantman, sir,” she told Grantham. “Their captain is on his way to the quarterdeck. It will be a Captain Covalt, sir.”

  “Thank you, Mister Carew. We’re close enough for video and I think I owe him the courtesy, so please do so.”

  “Aye sir.” Alexis spoke to the spacer on the other quarterdeck for a moment and soon had an image of the merchantman’s quarterdeck displayed on one of the monitors. A moment later and an angry Hanoverese captain appeared.

  “What’s the meaning of this? We’ve cleared customs twice already!” He paused, taking in the vacsuited figures on Merlin’s quarterdeck and glanced to the side where an image of Merlin, gunports open and guns run out beside his ship was displayed on a monitor. His shoulders slumped and he turned back to address Grantham. “Is it war, then?”

  “I’m afraid so, Captain Covalt.”

  “I’m independent, sir — this ship is all I have.”

  “I am sorry, Captain Covalt,” Grantham answered, his expression softened. “Dalthus is a decent system. You and your men will be well treated here for the duration.”

  Covalt grimaced, then sighed heavily. “We’ll not resist you, Captain Grantham, that would be foolish.”

  “Thank you, sir. Just keep your crew inboard. I’ll send over my bosun and a file of marines shortly.” Grantham nodded to Alexis to terminate the connection. “Secure from quarters, then the bosun and a file of marines to the boats, Mister Caruthers, and I’ll have the officers and senior warrants in my cabin instanter, please.”

  “Aye sir.”

  Alexis quickly stripped out of her vacsuit and went to find Roland and Philip on the gundeck. The two were talking excitedly while they watched the crew return the last of the deck plating and guns to their positions.

  “Is it true, Alexis?” Philip asked as he approached. “You were on the quarterdeck — are we at war with Hanover?”

  “That’s what Captain Grantham told the merchantman’s captain,” she affirmed. “We’re to meet in the captain’s cabin immediately.”

  “Well, come on, then,” Roland said, smiling widely and heading forward. “If it’s war then there’ll be promotions and prize money!”

  Alexis and Easely followed him, Alexis thinking about the merchantman’s captain and what war had meant for him. They entered the captain’s cabin and found most of the other officers there. The captain’s steward was busy pouring wine and when the others arrived, and all had been served and seated, Grantham began.

  “Gentlemen, as I’m sure you’re aware by now, some damn fool somewhere has gone and gotten us a war. We are at war with the Republic of Hanover. We are to sail immediately for the border worlds there to join the assembling fleet. While we wait for Hermione to join us in orbit, let us discuss Merlin’s state and what we shall need to bring aboard for the journey.”

  “In happier news,” Captain Grantham continued. “News you would have already received, had we not been so busy this last hour and you’d had time to check your tablets, the Prize Court at Zariah has acted with uncharacteristic efficiency, likely due to the sudden news of war, and has bought in both Rancor and Grapple.” He waited for the sounds of approval to diminish as the officers contemplated their unexpectedly swift good fortune. “Though most of us here will see no value from Grapple, I’m afraid.”

  “I did not think she was so badly
damaged, sir?” Caruthers objected. “What did they find wrong with her?”

  “Oh, nothing at all,” Grantham answered with a grin. “She was in fine shape. Perhaps Mister Carew would like to enlighten us as to her disposition, however.”

  “Me, sir?”

  Grantham slid his tablet to Alexis. “You’ve a copy of their findings as well, Mister Carew, but perhaps you’d be so good as to read it out for the rest of us.” He grinned broadly. “Just start there where it says ‘The Prize Court’s Findings’.”

  Alexis looked around at the others uncertainly, but they were all waiting on her, eager to hear the news. She looked down to the tablet and began reading. “‘The Prize Court’s Findings, in the matter of the prize Grapple, are as follows’,” she read. “‘That the prize Grapple is determined to be a True and Legal Prize, to be bought-in to Her Majesty’s service with a Valuation of …’” Alexis trailed off, glancing up at the captain who nodded for her to continue. “‘With a Valuation of Three Thousand Seventy-eight Pounds, Seven Shillings, Nine Pence.’” She waited as the officers around the table cheered. Whatever the odd news about Grapple was, surely Rancor would have been valued higher and they would all have shares of that.

  “Go on, Mister Carew.”

  “‘Further’,” she read, “‘it is found that the taking of the prize Grapple by …’” She blinked, not quite believing what she was reading. “‘By … the ship Grapple, Midshipman Alexis Carew (Commander, Acting of Grapple)’ … Sir, I don’t understand?”

  Alexis looked up to find Captain Grantham grinning more broadly, but the others looked as perplexed as she felt. Then Lieutenant Ames let out an explosive “Ha!” and raised his glass to her.

  “Well, if you’ve gotten the jest, Ames, please do help the rest of us along,” Caruthers suggested. “For I do admit, I am perplexed.”

  Ames laughed again. “Then you’ve no true appreciation for the absurdity of the Prize Court, lieutenant! Go on, Carew, read the next bit and they’ll get it!”

  “‘By the ship Grapple, Midshipman Alexis Carew (Commander, Acting of Grapple), there being no other ships In Sight at the time of the Action …’”

  “Hell!” Roland exploded, his eyes wide and his face white.

  At the same time, Caruthers burst out in laughter.

  “Ha! You’ve got it now, eh?”

  “There’s no mention of Merlin,” Philip said, still sounding perplexed.

  “No,” Caruthers agreed, wiping his eyes. “The bloody Prize Court’s gone and bolloxed up the reports! They’ve got our Mister Carew commanding a ship that took itself!”

  “Read on, Mister Carew, please, do read on,” Grantham said, sipping his wine and grinning. The others seemed to have gotten the joke now, for they were watching her intently, wide grins on their faces, except for Roland who, still pale, was pouring himself a full glass of wine with shaking hands, and Philip who looked as confused as Alexis remained.

  “Aye sir. ‘There being no other ships In Sight at the time of the Action, the Prize Court orders and distributes the Valuation as follows: To Midshipman Alexis Carew (Commander, Acting of Grapple), the share of …’” Alexis paused, scarcely able to believe what she was reading and Philip gasped in sudden realization.

  “They’ve given you the captain’s share, Alexis?”

  “Bloody hell,” Roland muttered, drinking deeply.

  “‘Two Eighths’,” Alexis read in a whisper. She looked to Grantham for confirmation. “Sir, is this true?”

  Grantham raised his glass in mock toast, eyes twinkling brightly. “Oh, the Prize Court, in its infinite infallibility has said so, Mister Carew, so true it must be. But do read on, for I feel these other gentlemen have not yet plumbed the true depths of their mirth.”

  Alexis lowered her eyes and read. “‘Further, this Prize Court finds that the ship Grapple, at the time of the Action, was acting of Independent Command and upon Admiralty Orders as not part of any Fleet and so awards…’”

  “Three,” Philip breathed in amazement while Roland drained his glass and held it out to the steward for refilling.

  “‘… a further One Eighth to Midshipman Alexis Carew (Commander, Acting of Grapple).’”

  “Three eighths of nigh thirty-three hundred pounds, Mister Carew,” Gorbett congratulated her with a raised glass. “A tidy sum.” The others agreed, raising their glasses as well, all but Roland, who merely upended his, draining it in one long gulp, and Breech, the gunner, who was staring at the sailing master in amazement. “What?”

  “Gorbett, you dense block, do you not see what’s to come next?”

  “What?” the man asked again, eyes searching the others’ faces.

  “Read on, Mister Carew, and enlighten Mister Gorbett, please.”

  Alexis’ head was reeling at the thought, sure there must be some mistake, but she lowered her eyes and began reading again. “‘With regard to the Senior Officers and Masters, this Prize Court finds there being aboard the ship Grapple at the time of the Action, no Lieutenants nor Captain of Marines, and only, of this group, the Sailing Master, Burrell Gorbett, One Eighth is so awarded.’”

  Alexis looked up to find the sailing master staring at her in shock, his eyes wide. She smiled at him gently. “Well, that might start a little farm, mightn’t it?”

  “Aye,” Gorbett breathed in amazement. “Nigh four hundred pounds.”

  “Four hundred nine pounds, fifteen shillings, eleven and a half pence the eighth,” Philip announced with a wide grin, looking up from his own tablet. “Plus half a farthing, if it matters.”

  “Please continue, Mister Carew,” Grantham said, gently.

  “‘Of other Warrant Officers nor Marines nor Mates nor Petty Officers aboard the ship Grapple at the time of the Action, there being none, the Prize Court orders these Two Eighths revert to …’”

  “No,” Roland whispered, draining his glass again. “Can’t be. Can’t bloody be.”

  “Five?” Philip asked quietly.

  “‘… revert to Midshipman Alexis Carew (Commander, Acting of Grapple)’,” Alexis finished weakly.

  “Here, here!” Caruthers cheered, raising his glass.

  “Ha!” Ames agreed.

  “Captain,” Alexis protested. “It’s too much — I can’t, sir.”

  “Two thousand forty-eight pounds, nineteen shillings, ten pence,” Philip announced, grinning. “And half a farthing, if it matters.”

  “Read out the rest, Mister Carew, so it’s all out there, though there’s no more for you, I’m afraid,” Grantham told her, eyes dancing.

  “Aye sir,” she agreed dully, still shocked at the amount. “‘Regarding the Crew’s Share, the Prize Court awards Two Eighths to those spacers aboard the ship Grapple at the time of the Action, namely Able Spacer Jonathon Peters and …’” Alexis had to pause, her throat tightening and eyes burning. “‘… Able Spacer Robert Alan (Deceased), his Heirs, Kin, Debtors, and Estate.’” The remainder of the message was a short list showing the exact amounts awarded and she saw that Easely had calculated them correctly, even to the half farthings — the master, Peters, and Alan’s estate were to receive some four hundred pounds each, whilst her own tablet would contain a draft for over two thousand pounds. “Surely this is a mistake and we must tell them so?”

  “Ha!” Ames said. “Tell the Prize Court they’ve made a mistake?”

  “Mister Carew,” Caruthers said kindly, “you will have ample opportunity in your career to argue with the Prize Court, I’m sure. There is certainly no need to do so to your own detriment.”

  “Ha! Too right!” Ames said.

  “But sirs,” she began, scanning their faces for some support and finding none. Even Roland, well into another glass of wine and glaring daggers at her, seemed to think the idea of questioning the ruling to be foolish.

  “Think, Mister Carew,” Grantham said gently. “If you question their ruling on Grapple, then they’ll likely take another look at Rancor as well.”

  “They�
��d put both of them back through the hopper and no award for months,” Breech agreed.

  “And,” Grantham continued, “questioning even Grapple will affect others.” He gestured to the sailing master. “Would you have Mister Gorbett return his award as well? Or Peters?”

  Alexis watched the elderly sailing master as he tried to remain impassive, but she could tell that he was already thinking of a small farm and seeing his family again, too old to continue sailing the Dark. And she thought of Peters, young and with a truly once in a lifetime opportunity — four hundred pounds would allow him to start a cozy spacer’s pub on some world or station, surely. “No, sir,” she whispered.

  “Then I’m afraid you’re stuck with it,” Grantham told her smiling.

  She scanned their faces again, finding only happiness and goodwill, save for Gorbett whose eyes were still wide with shock, and Roland who sat with crossed arms and a clenched jaw.

  “This is grand for you, Alexis!” Philip enthused. “Just grand!”

  “If it’s awarded to me, sir,” Alexis said, trying once more. “Can I not dispose of it as I will? Disburse it to Merlin’s crew or some such? They’re the ones who truly took Grapple, they deserve the credit.”

  Grantham considered for a moment, then shook his head. “No, I think not. Your opinions, Lieutenant Caruthers, Mister Breech?”

  Both men shook their heads as well. “No sir, I don’t think they’d take it,” Caruthers said. “Not like that.”

  “Too proud,” Breech agreed. “They’d see it as charity and turn up their noses at it. A drink or two in port is one thing, but a share of your own prize money? That’d get their backs up.”

  “I’m sorry, Mister Carew. You will have to decide what to do with Alan’s share, though.”

  “Me sir?”

  “According to the Prize Court, you were his captain at the time he died. It falls to you to see his share disbursed. I checked his records earlier, as I’ve to do something with his share of Rancor, much smaller though it is — the man had no family so far as I can tell, so you must decide what to do with it.”