Alexis Carew: Books 1, 2, and 3

by J. A. Sutherland

  “The boy needs rest, headmaster,” Virden said. She was frowning, brow furrowed.

  “He can do that once I’ve finished with him,” Fitt said.

  “We cheated no one,” Jon said. His voice sounded weak to his own ears.

  “Your father killed himself for shame and your mother’s admitted it!” Fitt was practically yelling now. “Up with you!”

  He grasped Jon’s shoulder and pulled him upright in the bed. Jon’s head swam and his vision blurred again.

  “You must leave him be, sir!” Virden stepped forward and reached out a hand to push Jon back down.

  “You must mind your place, Mistress Virden,” Fitt said. “This is none of your affair. I shouldn’t have called for you when the boy fainted to begin with.”

  Virden stepped back and Fitt dragged Jon upright, twisting him so that he sat on the edge of the bed.

  “I had Peavey pack your things for you,” Fitt said, pointing to a spacer’s travel bag next to the bed. “It’s time for you to be on your way.”

  “On my way?” Jon asked, confused. What did Fitt mean? Was he to go home? Was there even a home to go to with his father dead and mother transported?

  “Away,” Fitt said. “You’ve no place here any longer. This school is for proper merchant shippers, not …” He scowled. “Not the spawn of criminals and cheats.”

  Jon stared at him. There was other family, but he wasn’t sure he could rely on them or what their status was. Most worked the family’s ships, with only a few, like his parents, resident on Greater Sibward.

  Fitt was using this as an excuse to get rid of him, but the school might well be the only place Jon had right now. He narrowed his eyes, thinking.

  “I’ve done nothing — nothing to be expelled for,” he said. “My tuition’s paid through term’s end, isn’t it?”

  Fitt scowled. “Think you’ll play the space lawyer with me, boy?” He grasped Jon’s arm in a painful grip and dragged him to his feet. “We can expel any student who damages the school’s reputation — which your family’s certainly done. As for tuition, well, I’m sure a refund will be issued after a proper accounting’s been made.” He shook Jon. “I’ll see it’s sent right along to your family’s creditors and victims.”

  He shoved Jon toward the hatchway.

  “Now shoulder your bag and off with you!”

  Jon thought to argue more. He looked to Virden, thinking she might help him, but she’d backed away and wouldn’t meet his eye.

  He picked up the bag. It was the same well-worn spacer’s bag he’d arrived with at the beginning of the term. Students were allowed only the one bag; it was supposed to teach them to pack lightly for their future as officers aboard trading vessels. Jon often thought it was because limiting possessions was yet another way for the faculty to control the students.

  He supposed the reason didn’t really matter now — it simply meant that the bag would contain everything he had in the world. A few clothes, his vacsuit, his tablet, and personal mementos. If mother had pled guilty and been transported for debt, then all of their possessions — the house and offices on Greater Sibward, everything in it, and certainly the company assets themselves — would have been liquidated already.

  How could it all happen so quickly?

  “Move!” Fitt yelled.

  Jon glared at him, but did as he was told, still in too much shock to think of how to protest more. Out of the clinic, past the administrative offices, and right up to the school’s main hatchway. He saw no one at all and wondered if Fitt had ordered the way kept clear.

  Fitt ushered him through the hatch and then slammed it shut behind him, uttering not another word.

  Five

  Jon stood still for a time, watching traffic in the station corridor pass back and forth before him.

  He thought, perhaps, the hatch behind him might slide open again and Fitt or some other teacher might come out and tell him there’d been a terrible mistake, a tremendous misunderstanding, and he should come back in at once.

  He’d never even been out in the main station alone before, only ever with other students on those rare occasions when some sort of holiday was granted. Lesser Sibward had not been chosen for the school’s site because of any amenities it might have. In fact, quite the opposite was the case.

  Lesser Sibward, as a star system, had little to offer other than raw ore to be had by the miners. There were no habitable planets at all and most of the station catered to those miners. The school was generally closed off from the rest of the station. Students could even arrive and depart from the private quays where the school’s own ships docked. Those ships were used to teach the basics of sailing the Dark, as well as cargo handling and loading.

  Jon had no doubt that, given only a few good hands to work the sails, he could manage one of those ships and make it to Greater Sibward in a week’s time at most. He could hand, reef, and steer, himself. He was a decent navigator — not the best, perhaps, but then everyone struggled with darkspace navigation a bit. The idea that the distance traveled changed in relation to how close one’s ship was to a normal-space mass took getting used to. He was even a competent gunner, though the Lesser Sibward School’s position on the matter was for merchants to strike colors and surrender at the first shot of a pirate, and then hope to be set adrift near a path with heavy traffic.

  None of that, though, had prepared him to be cast adrift like this. Alone on a station with no friends, no resources, and only the few coins left in his pockets and accounts.

  That brought to mind his finances, so he quickly checked his pockets and tablet. Twelve shillings and seven pence in his pockets, with only two pounds four shillings in his accounts. To be thorough, he tried to access the family accounts as well, but couldn’t even view them. They’d likely been frozen by the courts and were long since emptied.

  So … two and sixteen, with a few pennies.

  He wouldn’t starve, not right away, at least, but neither was it enough to make any kind of start. He wasn’t even sure how far it would get him on his journey home. He could estimate the cost of a cubic meter of cargo well enough, but Bartlett Shipping didn’t …

  Hadn’t. Damn me.

  Bartlett Shipping hadn’t done much in the way of passenger service. In fact, what few cabins might be available were most often left to the individual captains to set pricing on. Still, there was no telling until he’d asked.

  First thing is to get home, see for myself what’s happened and what’s left.

  That would mean a berth on a ship, preferably one going straight to Greater Sibward, even if there wasn’t much traffic directly between the two systems. Most of Lesser Sibward’s exports were raw ore, and that was taken to systems with refining and industrial bases. Greater Sibward was more business-oriented and wanted finished goods more than raw ore.

  Jon settled his bag more comfortably on his shoulder looked around to get his bearings. A ship it would be, then.

  The quayside was lined with them, but a quick check of the departures board showed only one going to Greater Sibward. Likely the same one just arrived from there, the one that the stories of his family’s doom had arrived on. Regardless, that was the one he needed.

  Jon made his way down the quay. He noted that most of the ships in-system were Marchant Company vessels, their distinctive logo of stylized blue waves in a red circle prominent on nearly every berth’s display screen.

  He reached the berth he was looking for and tapped the call screen beside the hatchway. It was only a moment before the call was answered, showing that vessel kept a decent station-watch, at least.

  “Yes?” a woman asked.

  “I’ve come to inquire about passage to Greater Sibward,” Jon said.

  “A moment.”

  Jon waited. A short time later the hatch slid open and a woman in a ship’s jumpsuit came out. She wore a third mate’s insignia on her collar and looked Jon over with an appraising eye.

  “Passage to Greater Sibward, yo
u said?”

  Jon nodded.

  “Four pounds seven shillings.”

  Jon looked at her askance. That was almost twice the funds he had available.

  “I was thinking, perhaps, more along the lines of one pound even,” he said, “I’ve no need of luxury.”

  “Four and seven,” the woman repeated. “I’ve one cabin left.”

  Jon’s shoulders slumped. That was it then. He’d have to find some way to sustain himself until the next ship docked and see about passage then. Unless …

  “Are you taking on hands, by any chance?”

  The woman frowned. “You?”

  “I’m not a miner. I know my way around a ship.”

  The woman looked him over. “Ordinary spacer, one and twelve the month.” She cocked her head. “Two-year contract.”

  That wouldn’t work at all — he only needed to get to Greater Sibward and see about meeting any of the family who were still there. A two-year contract wasn’t something he could commit to, nor would he want to — and he couldn’t jump ship; that would be something that would forever stain his records.

  “I’m rated Able, at least, and could easily strike for master’s mate,” he said. He was trained, come to that, as a ship’s officer, but they’d not hire an unknown for that. “I’ve trained at Lesser Sibward Merchant here.”

  The woman perked up at that. “Graduated?”

  “Well, no, but —”

  “Transcripts? Certificates?” The woman’s voice was growing impatient.

  Jon shook his head. The school would issue those closer to graduation, and likely not to him, even if he’d qualified for them.

  “Ordinary. One and twelve the month. Two-year contract.”

  “Look, I’ll work for free — only for my passage, please —”

  “Four and seven for passage. One and twelve the month for hire. Two-year contract.”

  Jon longed to reach out and strangle the woman, but that wouldn’t get him either berth. He met her eyes and thought he saw mockery there, but there was little he could do about it. Instead his shoulders slumped and he turned from her without a word.

  Six

  “Tuppence.”

  Jon raised his eyes slowly from where he’d been examining the surface of the pub’s table. The barmaid had set his fresh glass on the table and was staring at him impatiently. Head fuzzy with the drinks he’d already had, he gave her what he thought was a charming smile.

  “Tuppence,” the girl repeated.

  Jon nodded. “Absolutely,” he said.

  He reached out for the small stack of coins on the table, his change from the single shilling he’d started with, all he’d allowed himself for the evening’s wallowing in self-pity. He took one coin off the stack, placed it on the table top, and pressed his finger firmly atop it. Then he slid the coin toward the barmaid, left it at the edge of the table near her, and repeated the procedure with a second coin.

  After four days of trying to find a ship, any ship, that might get him closer to Greater Sibward, he’d determined to get quite drunk.

  I am quite drunk.

  “Aye, y’are,” the barmaid said. “Mind y’make no trouble.”

  Jon looked up at her blinking. “Did I say that aloud?”

  The barmaid scooped the coins up and left, shaking her head.

  Jon drained his previous glass and slid his new one into its place. He grimaced at the taste. A decent beer could be had for two pence the pint … this was not a decent beer. It was a poor beer fortified with two generous shots of Blue Ruin, the vilest gin he’d ever tasted, but it was undeniably cheap and did its business quickly, which was what he was after.

  It wasn’t what he’d normally drink, but then nothing was normal anymore, was it?

  He picked up the stack of coins he had left and slowly set them down in a new stack, one by one. Four coins. Two more drinks after he finished his latest.

  “Three down, three to go,” he muttered.

  He grasped his latest and started to raise it to drink, but a hand fell on his forearm and pressed it to the table. A soft, feminine hand, which led, as he blearily moved his head to see — his eyes wouldn’t seem to obey him — a similarly feminine forearm clad in a ship’s jumpsuit of the Lesser Sibward School’s colors. Higher to a slim shoulder with just a bit of dark hair falling over it. Jumpsuit’s collar open just a bit to show a pale throat. He tilted his head back more to see … it swung to the side a bit, as he was unable to control it so well, but he did manage to bring into view a set of bowed lips, pert button-nose, and almond eyes ever so slightly slanted.

  “Kaycie?” He frowned. “It’s late. School’s locked up. You must be … hall … hallyou …” He frowned more. “Bloody dream.”

  His drunken hallucination raised an eyebrow at him in amusement.

  Well, if he was going to have drunken hallucinations, he couldn’t think of a better one. He raised his head, waiting for its wobbling to align as best he could with hers, and leaned forward.

  “Give us a kis — ow!”

  His drunken hallucination had grasped his earlobe and pulled his head sharply back.

  “You reek of gin and cheap beer.”

  Jon’s brow furrowed. Could hallucinations smell?

  “Kaycie?”

  Kaycie shook her head and sighed. “Come on, then.”

  She took the beer from his hand and set it aside, then draped his arm over her shoulders. His other arm was grasped too, and he turned to find Wynne at his other side. Kaycie slid his remaining coins off the table and Wynne hefted his bag. The two rose, bringing Jon with them.

  “There you go, mate,” Wynne said. “One foot after the other — no, bloody one at a time, mind you!”

  “I’ve three to go,” Jon murmured.

  Seven

  Jon woke in a bunk, which was quite a different experience than he’d had the last three mornings.

  It is still only four, isn’t it?

  He had a sudden fear that he’d lost more than one night to drunkenness and quickly slid out of the bunk to find his tablet. That was a mistake, as it set his head spinning, and the small compartment he was in lurched and jumped about. He closed his eyes and sat still for a moment until his head and stomach settled. His bag was on the floor beside the bunk along with his jumpsuit. His tablet was still in the side pocket where he’d left it.

  He sighed with relief as he checked it. Just the one night lost, though how he’d managed to wind up in a private compartment he didn’t know. He’d spent the other nights wandering the shipping concourse and dozing in waiting areas. A private berth for the night cost more than he’d been willing to spend. He winced.

  Must have done it drunk. I wonder how much it’s cost me.

  He frowned. His tablet showed a message waiting.

  He’d received no messages from anyone at the school these last few days, so assumed they’d blocked his address in the school’s system for either sending or receiving anything, and there hadn’t been any ships docking from Greater Sibward that might have a message from his family.

  He opened it.

  You’re paid there for three nights, so don’t you bloody move or start to drinking again until we can get back out to you!

  Wynne & Kaycie

  PS — Bathe! K.

  That brought back his memories of the night before. His decision to drink himself into a stupor, followed by Wynne and Kaycie showing up to drag him off.

  The message made him wonder why he’d not received one before, though. They must have realized the school’s systems were blocking things and sent from their private services.

  Jon looked around the compartment. It wasn’t grand, by any means, but it was certainly better than sleeping hunched over on a bench on the station’s concourse. He wondered how they’d found him and felt a sudden warmth that they’d bothered. It was good to know there was still someone left who cared about him. A bit of the despair he’d begun to feel left him.

  He reread the note
and sniffed himself. Well, it had been four days since he’d left the school, no opportunity to bathe without using some of his limited funds — and then the drink last night, which seemed to have sweated out of him a bit.

  He took the jumpsuit and underthings he’d worn into the shower with him and washed them as best he could, then hung them to dry.

  The compartment air was chill on his bare skin, but he was loath to put on fresh clothing. He had only two laundered jumpsuits left in his bag and felt it was best to save them for when he might need to look his best when applying for a potential berth. Instead he wrapped himself in a sheet and settled onto the bunk with his tablet.

  That quickly palled, though. There were no new ships in port that he could apply to and no more news from Greater Sibward about his family. No messages. Nothing.

  He set the tablet aside and slept for a time.

  His clothes were dry when he woke, so he dressed and exited the compartment.

  The berth was one of a half dozen at the back of a small pub, and opened into a short corridor that led to the common room. It was early and there were only two patrons, both spacers by their dress. A woman looked up from the bar as he entered.

  “Sooner than I expected,” she said, looking him over. “And not too much worse for wear from your troubles last night.”

  Jon took a stool at the bar and grinned sheepishly. He must have looked a sight, being dragged in by Wynne and Kaycie the night before.

  “Yes, but a bit at a loss …”

  The barkeep nodded. “Your friends left instructions for me. You’re paid for three nights, meals included. But no drink,” she warned with a stern look, “and I’m not to serve you even if you pull out your own coin.”

  Jon bridled at that. It wasn’t as though he were a complete drunkard, and a moment’s excess could be excused, given his situation, couldn’t it? Still it was quite kind of Kaycie and Wynne to set him up like this.