Perilous Journey of the Much-Too-Spontaneous Girl

by Leigh Statham

  “Yes, sir,” Outil’s sweet feminine bot voice sounded out of place given the situation.

  “Well, we have to get a few things straight while you are on the Renegade. This is a military operation. We have a mission to accomplish and as ballistics officers—yes, I consider the bot my officer as well—you will be answering to me. Got it? You must do as I say when I say it, or you could very well die. I didn’t want to bring a rich girl and her pet robot on this trip, but they assured me it would be worth my while.”

  “Of course, sir. We wouldn’t dream of—” Marguerite started.

  “That’s enough. I don’t need an explanation or any pretty compliments. I just need you to know that what I say goes. Not to be indelicate, but there is one more matter we must discuss.”

  Marguerite tipped her head, curious.

  “You will have a bunk to yourself, but it will be in the ballistics hall. You will not be allowed in the other ballistics bunks and neither will your bot. You will lock your door each night, and your bot will be in your room with you at all times. You will not flirt, flounce, or otherwise use feminine wiles to gain favor, access, or exceptions. In return, I will make sure you are treated with the utmost respect. Are we clear, m’lady?”

  “Clear as crystal.” Marguerite clenched her fists and gritted her teeth.

  “That should be yes, sir,” he said.

  “Yes, sir,” she managed to sputter.

  “Last but not least, it was brought to my attention that you have special favor with our captain. I hope I do not need to remind you that in the military, even though he may be my commanding officer, you are still my second in command and under my jurisdiction. I would appreciate it, for the sake of our comradery as a ballistics crew, if you would please keep your personal affairs to yourself.”

  “Yes, sir.” Marguerite sucked in through her nose and out her mouth before opening it to speak, but Officer Vuitton was already heading back up the dock.

  “I’m sure we’re going to have a lovely time together,” he called over his shoulder. Marguerite stomped after him. “Outil, help me pick up some crates, would you?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Marguerite swore the bot giggled as she said this, but bots didn’t giggle.

  “I’m losing my mind,” she muttered to herself. “Completely losing my mind.”

  Chapter Nine

  On board, Marguerite barely had time to take in the amazing view from the deck before she was ushered below to help load the supplies and ready the ship for departure. The stairwells were much tighter than on the Triumph, and there weren’t any of the hand-crafted wooden embellishments she enjoyed on that ship. This ship was made for nothing but war and efficiency. Everything was forged from aluminum alloys—gleaming in silver and bronze. She descended three flights of stairs before reaching the belly of the beast where she was shown to the main meeting room for artillery. Crates of ammunition were stacked on the floor, leaving hardly any room for all those assigned to maneuver in the tight quarters. In the center of the space, behind locked metal gates, one whole wall was lined with guns and knives, just like in the Triumph.

  Marguerite stared at the possibilities in front of her. She knew exactly which weapons she preferred to shoot, which would feel balanced in her hand, and which would be hard for her to manage. She memorized their positions, from the giant long-range musket ballers to the air-powered dart slingers, and all the pistols in between. This was her new job.

  She felt torn between excitement at such a remarkable array of weapons at her disposal and the memory of what it meant to actually use one—to be hit by one. She reached up and rubbed her shoulder without thinking.

  Vuitton was there, barking orders again.

  “Gentleman, and Ladies,” he tipped his now bare head at Outil and Marguerite. “We are on a very important mission for His Majesty, King Louis XIV.”

  “Long live the king!” the men around her shouted in unison.

  “Long live the king,” Vuitton repeated. “You have a particularly delicate job on this voyage. We are to maintain the weaponry, keep track of the ammunition stores, calculate battle efficiency—if there is a battle—and if need be, provide the captain with support in hand to hand combat. If any of you do not feel like you can provide these types of services for His Majesty, that’s rather unfortunate. It’s too late to back out now.”

  A few of the men laughed at this. A few laughed while they looked at Marguerite and Outil. This crowd response did not go past Vuitton’s watchful eye. “Gentleman, I’d like to introduce you to my second officer, Lady Marguerite Vadnay, and her automaton companion, Outil. Ladies, please join me.” He motioned for them to leave the crowd and stand on an ammunition box next to him at the front of the small space filled with bodies.

  Marguerite couldn’t be sure, but as she passed through the group, she thought she felt someone’s hand on her backside. She jumped, but in a split second, decided not to pay them any heed. That’s probably what they wanted, to see her squeal and squirm like a little girl. As soon as she stepped a bit farther, she heard a yelp behind her and turned to see Outil squeezing the hand of a man she’d just passed.

  “I’m sorry. It was an accident,” he whined.

  “Enough, Outil. I’m pretty sure he learned his lesson,” Vuitton ordered. Outil dropped the man’s hand, and the ladies made it to the front of the room without further incident.

  “Lady Vadnay comes to us with glowing references, battle experience, and a brilliant head on her shoulders. Outil is more than just a labor bot. She is highly intelligent, stronger than all of you put together, and able to crush your hands if you step out of line. So there will be absolutely no disrespect to my second officer or her companion. Am I clear?”

  “Yes, sir!” the room cried in unison.

  “Good, because the next person to disrespect either of them will be thrown overboard without a chute. Am I clear?”

  “Yes, sir.” They all cried again.

  “Lady Vadnay will be referred to as Officer Vadnay on board. Her orders are as good as my orders. You will obey without incident. She will be in charge of maintenance, inventory, and calculations. I will assign a team to her momentarily. Outil will be in charge of assisting Officer Vadnay and any extreme, heavy work that needs doing. This does not mean that you will grow fat and lazy on my watch. This also does not mean you will order this bot around. This is not your bot. She does not belong to any of you. She answers to me, Officer Vadnay, and King Louis. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Marguerite tried not to, but she couldn’t help smiling a bit at this man’s ability to control a crowd. She tried to take mental notes on his stance, his tone of voice, anything that might set him apart from your average aership officer. She needed to learn fast and learn well.

  The rally broke apart at Vuitton’s word, and everyone got to work. “We sail in one hour!” He cried, and everyone cheered. “You two come with me.” He had Marguerite and Outil outfitted with parchment and autopens and set them to work cataloging the ammunition. It was a tedious job, but it kept Marguerite from having to deal with any more wandering hands or carrying any more impossibly heavy crates.

  The time passed quickly, and before she knew it, the audio pipes lit up. Marguerite nearly jumped out of her uniform when a familiar voice thrummed through the works and echoed in her compartments.

  “All hands on deck! This is Captain Laviolette. We are pulling anchors now. All hands on deck!”

  Marguerite looked up at Outil, who had been bent over a stack of retractable harpoons. The bot shrugged and pointed to the others filing out of the room to join the crew on deck. Marguerite shook her head and mouthed, “No!” She couldn’t risk Jacques finding out she was on board yet. He’d toss her off with an anchor and be done with her in front of the entire city. It just wouldn’t do. She bent back over her catalogue and continued to make careful marks on the thick cream paper.

  “You too.” Vuitton’s
voice was louder than necessary in the small space. Marguerite jumped. “Excuse me?”

  “All hands on deck means you too. Come on, get to it.” He stood by the stairway, the last of the men chugging up the stairs in front of him. Marguerite sighed and lay down her writing utensils. Outil followed suit and took up behind her mistress on the metal stairs. They were steep, and Marguerite’s muscles ached by the time she reached the top, but her heart bubbled and burst when the excitement of the deck and the expansive view overcame her.

  Men and bots, plus a few women, were everywhere, hoisting weights and coiling ropes as a fine mist from the gray clouds around them settled on their clothes and faces. They were all singing a working song in unison.

  Upon the air, we’ll fly our flag

  Upon the currents merry,

  And over shore and over land

  We’ll float our big brass belly!

  Sing Hey! Sing Ho!

  Shine up your gears

  and fill the envelope!

  Sing Hey! Sing Ho!

  Toss off your fears.

  The dawn is full of hope!

  Renegade!!

  Marguerite almost forgot to watch herself amidst this chorus of joy, dew, and sweat. Then she caught sight of Jacques across the deck, monitoring the progress and talking with another man of high rank. She quickly ducked behind a stack of flour sacks still waiting to be moved to the galley. Outil followed suit. “M’lady, do you mean to hide from him our entire journey?”

  “No,” Marguerite hissed. “But I don’t want him to see me when he can just pitch me over the side into the St. Lawrence without guilt.”

  “Hey there, lass! Give us a hand?” A merry crewman signaled for her to grab a rope he and four others were already pulling on. “Just coil up the extra there in a neat pile while we pull it on deck, will ya?”

  “Of course,” Marguerite was more than happy to be given something to do other than hide. She grabbed the wet rope—as thick as her arm—and started to coil it at her feet as neatly as possible. Outil stepped up next to the small group and pulled the rope with both hands so effortlessly the humans stumbled to the sides from the slack in it.

  “Well, now! That’s a bot I could live with!” the man cried and slapped Outil on the back.

  Having found themselves free from their burden, the others moved to help Marguerite coil—it was more than clear that she needed the help. The work was done in quick order, and the ship began to drift higher into the air, leaving Montreal far below.

  A cheer went up from the onlookers left at the port. Marguerite ran to the port side rail to watch the river and city shrink beneath her. She couldn’t suppress a gleeful smile and a bit of a yelp. Others soon joined her and began to wave and shout Au revoir! to those below. A loud roar burst through the cool morning as the engines came to life. A surge of steam shot from the stern and a horn sounded. The deck went wild with cheers. The Renegade was on her way.

  Outil joined Marguerite and pointed to three smaller war vessels of an older make that had also lifted their tethers and were following closely. “What do you suppose they are about?”

  An aerman standing next to them answered, “Those’ll be our partners for this trip. Gonna take more than one ship ta bring in the cargo King Louis’s sent this time.”

  “Seems a bit much, wouldn’t you say?” Marguerite questioned.

  “Oh no, my darling. You’ve obviously never encountered the southern buccaneers. It will take heaps more than this small fleet to stop them. There are also war vessels accompanying the supply lines. I only hope the Brits don’t get involved—those bloody technology stealing parasites.” The man spit over the rail and made an obscene gesture in the general direction of England.

  “Oh, my goodness.” Marguerite instinctively placed a hand on her face at the vulgarity. Outil immediately stepped between the two.

  “Sorry, ma’am. Meant no offense.”

  “Quite alright,” Marguerite replied, but Outil didn’t move. Overhead a loud whoosh caught their attention and the entire crew still on deck looked up. A huge sail was unfurled and caught the morning breeze, urging them to the east as the envelope full of helium pulled them toward the aether. The engines kicked in, and suddenly the ship turned port side. They began to pick up speed, headed straight for the Atlantic.

  The air was suddenly filled with the sounds of Jacques’s voice. “Welcome, crew! I hope you brought your air legs and your iron spirits. This will be a harrowing voyage, but hopefully one with historical outcomes. We will be joined by our sister ships, the Henrietta, the Steam Lily, and the Grapple.”

  Marguerite looked around for the source of the voice, but couldn’t see Jacques anywhere, so she relaxed and leaned back against the flour sacks to enjoy the ride. “The Grapple sounds like a proper name for a warship.” Outil observed. “I’m not certain about the Henrietta and the Steam Lily, however.”

  “They ought to hire someone with a bit more imagination to christen these lovelies,” Marguerite agreed while Jacques continued with his rallying speech.

  “There is no finer fleet of aermen, women, and bots in the world! There is no chance for failure as long as we stand together. The lawless will fall, and we will return triumphant at the end of this campaign. Too long have the buccaneers and corsairs, even British privateers, assaulted our kinsmen and stolen our technology and goods. Today we fight back! Today we exact revenge! Today they fall!”

  A cry went up from the crew, so loud that Marguerite had to cover her ears. She looked to Outil, who stood at the ready, and wondered for a moment if this was, in fact, a wise journey to have undertaken.

  Chapter Ten

  The Renegade rose high above the earth as Marguerite and Outil descended deep into its belly to continue their assignments. Marguerite felt particularly proud of herself for having not only secured this position, but also for doing so without Jacques finding out.

  They gathered their lists and autopens and began cataloging and testing all the weaponry and ammunition. Marguerite found she thoroughly enjoyed this kind of work. She thought it would be tedious at first but quickly fell into a routine of polishing, oiling, testing and inventorying each item. She longed to fire some of them but knew better than to ask Vuitton for that privilege.

  Meals were fast and small, but she was delighted to find that they were made up of more than just the dreaded salt meats and beer. Fresh fruits and vegetables accompanied fresh eggs and warm bread, and of course, salt meats and beer.

  Her cabin was small, but it was her own. She dutifully locked the door and changed for bed while Outil powered down in the corner. She curled up on the small pallet and only wished for her silk covered feather mattress for a moment before she drifted to sleep.

  The next day started in much the same way. Marguerite felt happier than she had in months. She was finally getting close to accomplishing her goal of being an aership captain, and she found that life on the aership suited her.

  She and Outil were finishing up with a carton of ignitable grease pellets when the ship suddenly lurched forward. Since leaving port the trip had been very smooth, and Marguerite could hardly tell they were moving at all from the lower decks. Everyone stumbled and a few called out, but Marguerite flew right off her feet and landed in a heap of ammunition crates.

  “Ow!” she cried. Outil was instantly at her side to offer her an arm, as were four other crewmates, smiling and shy. “Why, thank you all.” Marguerite reached up and took the arm of the most attractive man within reach.

  “It’s a bit rough at times. Not usually that rough, but you’ll get used to it, Officer Vadnay.” He smiled wide, revealing dark yellow teeth and a few black holes where teeth of any color should have been.

  “Oh, my!” Marguerite tried to hide her surprise at the contrast between his horrid mouth and handsome face. “I’ll be ready next time. Thank you.” Outil rolled her robot eyes and went back to her job.

  “All stop,” Vuitton
came through to their compartment. “Ship is at an all stop, prepare for orders.” He continued into the next set of rooms and repeated himself. Marguerite let go of the man’s arm and turned to another. “What exactly does that mean?” He was not nearly as handsome, but his teeth didn’t show while he talked or smiled.

  “Means something’s prolly not right with the riggin’s. I figure we’re only about forty miles or so out of Monty, so it’s prolly just a precaution.” The sounds of shuffling and boxes moving were interrupted by a strange, new sound. It was light and steady, the sound of wings flapping.

  Marguerite turned to see an automated pigeon flapping around the small compartment. Its wings beat frantically as it flitted about the small space. A few men swatted at it; others jumped out of its way. She laughed at the scene until she had to duck suddenly as the out of control bird sailed right for her head.

  Outil was still standing close enough to reach out a shining arm and snatch the bird out of the air. However, she wasn’t fast enough to do it before it emitted a formidable blob of gear grease right on Marguerite’s head. “For the love of monkey wrenches!” she cried. “Who let this blasted bird in here?”

  “Someone looking for you, miss.” Outil held the bird out in one hand, its mechanical eyelids blinking with a click click, and its body still twitching from flight. In the other hand Outil held out a small piece of parchment.

  “What is this fuss?” Vuitton asked as he rounded a stack of crates.

  “Lady Marguerite is being summoned to the bridge, sir,” Outil said.

  Vuitton leaned in closely, measuring each word as he said, “If this is some kind of lover’s spat, you best nip it in the bud and get back down here to work.”

  Marguerite’s stomach filled with rocks as she read the neatly written paper. She’d recognize the penmanship anywhere. Even the best autopen in the world couldn’t hide his scrawl. Jacques had found her out.