Alexis Carew: Books 1, 2, and 3

by J. A. Sutherland

  Well, I suppose I could likely fit in it. Her own first vacsuit had been one of full size that was cut down by her first ship’s carpenter. Since then she’d been able to replace it with one that was better made to her own small frame.

  She nodded and gathered up the vacsuit.

  “Thank you, Mister Grayson.”

  “And Mister Artley will be visiting me to sign for it, will he?”

  Alexis sighed and nodded again.

  “I’ll see that he does.”

  Grayson would likely see that the cost of the suit was deducted from Artley’s pay and he’d get no credit for returning it. Perhaps he could keep it as a spare, as Alexis had with her first vacsuit.

  She took the vacsuit across the hold to the carpenter’s berth. Grummer was already hard at work fabricating parts for the repairs and replacements that would be done on Shrewsbury that day. Behind him a half dozen materials printers hummed and spun, laying out layers of plastic and metal to build up the requested parts.

  Grummer met her at the counter and she passed over the vacsuit.

  “For Mister Artley?” Grummer asked as he spread the suit out on the counter to examine it.

  “Yes,” Alexis said. She wrinkled her nose in distaste as Grummer opened the suit and the scent of its previous wearers wafted up. No matter the suit liners that could be removed and washed, the nature of crew’s hard work had them sweating right through into the suit itself. Her own smelled no better, but at least it was all her own.

  “I’ve repaired his old one as best I can,” Grummer said, “but this will be a sight better.”

  “Might it be ready by the start of the morning watch tomorrow?”

  “Oh, aye, no problem at all.”

  Twelve

  The next morning saw Alexis awake early again, though the night had spared her any shadowy dreams.

  She retrieved Artley’s new vacsuit from the carpenter’s shop and made her way to the main gundeck, then aft to the gunroom where the midshipmen and warrants berthed. The gunroom was a bit of a madhouse in the morning. The warrants were already up and about the ship, leaving the midshipmen to ready themselves for the day. Alexis stepped through the hatchway to be narrowly missed by a sopping wet towel thrown at Trigg, a lanky boy who’d dodged past the hatch just as she opened it.

  The towel struck the bulkhead beside her and drops of water spattered her uniform.

  “Gentlemen!” she yelled.

  The horseplay ceased immediately at her call, leaving the dozen or so midshipmen who were present scattered about the compartment in various states of dress, all staring wide-eyed at the compartment hatch. Alexis flushed as she caught glimpses of hastily covered bits, but held her ground at the hatchway.

  It wasn’t the first time she’d caught sight of something she’d rather not have, but that was a part of life aboard very crowded ships. At least she encountered such things less as a lieutenant in Shrewsbury’s wardroom than she would if she were still a midshipman.

  Alexis had never served in a ship of the line as a midshipman, so had never had to deal with a berth so crowded with young men. Her first ship, Merlin, had been a sloop-of-war, with only herself and two others. Hermione, her second ship, had a complement of six midshipmen, but they were a surly, cruel lot, mirroring the ship’s captain. Shrewsbury was generally a happy ship and it was reflected in her crew and officers.

  She’d often wondered what it might be like to have served in such a berth, but a quick glance around the gunroom convinced her that she might be better off for lacking that experience.

  Apparently she’d interrupted some sort of towel battle, as half the midshipmen held towels twisted into whips and the other half stood near those they’d hastily dropped. She looked down at the soaked towel piled on the deck beside her. They must have taken the towels into the head’s shower with them, given the low daily water ration midshipmen received.

  At least it wasn’t a waste of the water. Ships were a closed system. No matter if it went down the drain or evaporated into the air, the water would eventually make its way to Shrewsbury’s recyclers.

  Face impassive, she scanned the assembled midshipmen but didn’t see Artley amongst them. With a glance down at the towel that had almost struck her, she walked to the gunroom table and set Artley’s new suit on it.

  “Is Mister Artley about, Mister Trigg?” she asked the hapless midshipman who’d been the target of the towel that almost hit her.

  Trigg was pale and wide-eyed. While a certain amount of horseplay was acceptable in the midshipmen’s berth, or even a bit of skylarking through the rigging, it was best kept out of sight of lieutenants and certainly not to be done around the captain. If she’d been struck by the towel, no matter their intent, she could have ordered dire consequences. Even on a happy ship such as Shrewsbury, some lieutenants wouldn’t abide such an act.

  If anything, Trigg went paler at her question and she wondered why.

  “I —” Trigg began.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Champlin, the senior midshipman, said. “Mister Artley’s in his cabin … may I pass your request on to him?”

  Alexis frowned. She looked around the gunroom and each of the midshipmen suddenly found the deck or bulkhead quite fascinating as her gaze passed over them. Not a one would meet her eyes, including Champlin. They were up to something, no doubt. She had a sudden worry for Artley, then forced that thought down. No, none of Shrewsbury’s midshipmen were cruel or would harm the lad, but still …

  “Is the boy sick, Mister Champlin?”

  “No, sir,” Champlin said, still looking down at the deck.

  “Then I should wish to speak to him.”

  Champlin’s shoulders slumped.

  “Aye sir.”

  He nodded to two of the others, who went to one of the cabin hatches and slid it open. A pile of towels almost as tall as them toppled out to the floor and they bent to pick it up. It was only as they got the pile upright that she saw it wasn’t all towels. There was a thin slit at the top, through which she could see a pair of eyes peering out at her.

  Thin, towel-wrapped appendages stuck out to either side and two more below, and the entire mess was wrapped round and round with vacsuit repair tape, the sort one could wrap around a holed suit in an emergency.

  “Mister Artley?”

  The pile shuffled forward, its legs and arms unable to bend. A muffled sound emerged. Alexis was torn between laughter and concern. She fought to keep her face impassive.

  “It weren’t but a game, sir,” Champlin said quickly, quieting when Alexis glared at him.

  “Are you quite all right, Mister Artley?”

  More muffled sounds emerged.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake! Will one of you not free his mouth?”

  One of the midshipmen who’d opened the hatch hurriedly tugged at the towels around Artley’s head until his mouth was visible. This had the unfortunate effect of covering Artley’s eyes, however, and he began slowly swaying back and forth as though unable to keep his balance.

  “I’m fine, sir!” Artley called out.

  “Hold him steady, will you?” Alexis said. “So that he doesn’t topple over.” She turned to Champlin. “What exactly is the meaning of this, Champlin?”

  “It’s as Mister Champlin said, sir!” Artley called out loudly. He shuffled forward again and turned, whacking his toweled arms into the midshipmen around him. “Naught but a game!”

  “A game?”

  Champlin stepped forward. “It’s, well, you see, sir …” He trailed off.

  “Go on, Mister Champlin, I am all a-tingle to gain acquaintance with this new game.”

  “They all raised the coin to buy me a new vacsuit!” Artley yelled.

  “You do not need to yell, Mister Artley, I can hear you quite well.”

  “What?”

  “Gentlemen, can you uncover his ears, as well?” Alexis turned to Champlin again. “Out with it, Mister Champlin.”

  Champlin squared his shoulders
. “Sir, after we saw the real state of Artley’s suit, well, we took a bit of a whip-around … the whole berth put in, you see, even the bosun gave a bit.” He shrugged. “It’s a tidy sum and’ll go most of the way toward a proper suit.”

  Alexis nodded, happy to see that the gunroom had rallied around Artley in that way. He might not have fit in perfectly since coming aboard, but she was pleased to see she’d been right about Shrewsbury’s midshipmen. They were a good lot at heart. Still, there was the whole matter of Artley’s current state.

  “I remain singularly unenlightened, Mister Champlin.”

  Champlin cleared his throat and scratched his neck. “Well, then someone said —”

  “It was me, sir,” Trigg said, stepping forward. “It was just that, well, we were looking at that sum — and it’s a tidy bit of coin — so I mused on as how we should just build Artley a new vacsuit and spend the lot on a bit of fun when we get to Nouvelle Paris.”

  It was all Alexis could do to keep from laughing.

  “And so you built him a suit out of towels and sealant tape?”

  “Aye sir,” Champlin said, flushing and looking around the berth. “Things deteriorated a bit after that, though.”

  “So I see.”

  “I’m quite all right, sir!” Artley yelled, still apparently unable to hear properly. “It weren’t but a game, really!”

  He waddled forward a few steps, then toppled over to rest on the deck, limbs waving feebly.

  Alexis closed her eyes and shook her head slowly. She rested her hand on the vacsuit she’d brought.

  “As you can see, gentlemen, I’ve brought Artley a suit … a proper suit, he can use until we reach Nouvelle Paris and he can avail himself of your generosity.” She looked down at Artley. “Mister Artley, I’d admire it did you meet me at the sail locker immediately after breakfast.”

  “What, sir?”

  Alexis sighed.

  “I’ll see he’s there, sir,” Champlin said.

  “Thank you.”

  Alexis made her way back to the gunroom’s hatch, then paused and bent to retrieve the wet towel from the deck. She turned back to look at Trigg, who flushed and swallowed hard. The other midshipmen shifted nervously and Alexis wondered if she hadn’t missed out on something after all, something important, in being promoted so quickly and after serving on only two ships.

  The other lieutenants spoke with great fondness of friends they’d made as midshipmen. For Alexis’ part, she could count only one of those she’d served with as truly a friend, and the count of those she’d relish never meeting again, the midshipmen of Hermione, was quite a bit higher.

  She kept her face still and stared at Trigg for a three-count before throwing the towel and catching him full in the face.

  “As you were, gentlemen,” she said as she left and slid the hatch shut.

  Thirteen

  Artley joined Alexis at the sail locker hatch carrying his new vacsuit. Alexis had donned hers already and waited while he put his on. Then they entered the lock.

  “What are we doing, sir?”

  “I thought we should have another talk,” Alexis said. She sealed her helmet, as did Artley, and she cycled the lock.

  The crew was still at their breakfast and Shrewsbury was sailing easy. The captain wouldn’t be ordering any course or sail changes until after they’d eaten, unless some sort of emergency came up.

  Alexis often went out onto the hull at this time. Much like the middle watch, it had a quiet, peaceful feel to it that she enjoyed.

  Once on the hull, she made her way down the bow to the ship’s keel. She looked behind her once to make sure Artley was following and that he’d clipped on a safety line to the guidewires that ran along the hull. She’d read more of Artley’s record the night before and noted that he’d spent very little time Outside, whether in darkspace or normal-space. Lieutenant Slawson, the second lieutenant, who was nominally in charge of the midshipmen had even made a note that Artley didn’t join the others in skylarking amongst the rigging in his off-time.

  Shrewsbury’s keelboard was extended, as she was sailing close-hauled to the wind. It was a thin, telescoping plane that ran the length of the keel and, at the moment, extended over twenty meters from the hull. As the keelboard contained no gallenium, it caught in the morass of dark matter that made up darkspace, causing drag that allowed Shrewsbury to offset the force of the winds and sail against them.

  Alexis pulled herself along the guidewire until she reached Shrewsbury’s stern, then stopped and waited for Artley to catch up.

  When he arrived, she grasped his shoulder and touched her helmet to his. The suit radios were useless outside the hull in darkspace, as the dark energy radiations made all electronics inoperable. That also made it the most private way to speak aboard ship, which was why Alexis had brought him here. Artley’d had enough of his business butted about the ship.

  “I like to come back here of a morning.” Alexis gestured past the stern and the ship’s massive rudders. “Are you quite recovered from your vacsuit fitting this morning?”

  Artley laughed, his voice echoing oddly as it was transmitted from his helmet to hers. “Yes, sir. It was a mess to get all the tape off, but we managed.”

  Alexis nodded, though he couldn’t see her. She was glad that Artley had taken it well and it seemed to have been a good-natured venture. Especially with the other midshipmen having done a whip-around to raise the funds for a new vacsuit.

  “I thought it was quite kind of them to put together that much coin for me,” Artley said, echoing her own thoughts. He seemed to be on the verge of saying more so Alexis waited him out. “I talked with Walborn and Champlin quite a bit last night, sir. Pulford and Adley joined us for a time, but mostly Walborn and Champlin.” He paused again. “I believe I had a bit too much to drink.”

  Alexis bit her lip to keep from laughing. Artley might be young yet, but a midshipman’s berth would teach one to drink, if nothing else.

  “Was it a good talk?”

  “Yes … what I remember of it, I suppose.”

  “Well, it sounds like you’ve made a good start, with the gunroom at least.” She tried to keep amusement out of her voice. “We’ve a fine set of lads aboard Shrewsbury. You’ll find staunch, sturdy friends there.”

  Artley was quiet for a time and Alexis again waited him out.

  “I’ll likely never have my Da’s shop, will I? That’s what they think.”

  Alexis considered her answer. She didn’t want to give the boy false hope, but neither did she want to quash it entirely. He’d have options, after all, though they’d be a difficult road.

  “It’s not entirely out of the question, Mister Artley, but things do appear that way.”

  “I never wanted to do anything else … certainly not the Navy.”

  “I never wanted to join the Navy myself,” Alexis said.

  “You didn’t?”

  “No. All I’d ever hoped for was to inherit my family’s lands and go on as he has, taking care of the land and the people.”

  “And now you don’t want to do that anymore?”

  “Sometimes yes and sometimes no, Mister Artley … there’s something to be said for the Navy.” She gestured off the stern of the ship. “What do you see out there?”

  Artley was silent for a moment, then, “The Dark?”

  Alexis smiled. She looked off into the distance. Yes, the Dark — full of its roiling clouds of black that seemed to be fighting some battle. Flashes that weren’t light, but were somehow blacker than the Dark itself. She wasn’t sure how to put her feelings into words for Artley.

  “How many people are there on your home world, Artley?”

  “Nine billion, I think.”

  Alexis raised an eyebrow. She’d known Shrewsbury and her crew had come from the Core Worlds and what that meant, but the figure was still astounding to her. What must a single planet with nine billion people on it be like? Would there be any space left at all? Dalthus had not a fra
ction of that number, even if one included those still indentured.

  “How many of them, do you suppose, have ever been off the planet? Out of atmosphere?” She thought of her first time stepping through the outer hatch on HMS Merlin, her first ship. “How many have seen their own sun except filtered through air? Or seen the stars from behind a planet, where that sun’s light doesn’t dim them?”

  She gestured off the stern again.

  “And that out there’s an even rarer sight. You’ve joined a select few, Mister Artley, to look out on the Dark. Even the rich toffs who buy passage between systems and never leave their sealed ships haven’t seen it. Just us spacers.”

  “The men are afraid of the Dark,” Artley said.

  “And should be,” Alexis agreed. “It’s harsh and unforgiving, both the Dark itself and life as a spacer, especially the Navy’s version — but there, again, you’ve joined a select few, you know. The Navy’s all that stands between the Fringe Worlds and the pirates who’d prey upon them. In this war we stand between Hanover and all of New London.”

  “Like a wall, sir?”

  “Aye, very like a wall. New London’s worlds — Fringe and Core, both — are filled with farmers and merchants and families all going about their business. Mister Eades has told me some of what Hanover’s done to worlds it wanted … I’d not have that happen to my world nor yours, not if I can help to stop it.”

  “I suppose it would be grand to be in some heroic action. Like the ones they strike medals for.”

  Alexis could almost hear him grinning.

  “Or to be made captain … or admiral even,” Artley went on. “Wouldn’t that show him?”

  Alexis smiled tolerantly. She could tell the ‘him’ Artley was speaking of would be the stepfather who’d sent him off.

  “My Da’d be proud of me for that,” Artley finished.

  Alexis gripped his shoulder.

  “I’m sure your Da would be proud of you regardless, Mister Artley. Live a good life and be happy in what you do, that’s what my grandfather always told me would make my parents proud.”