“We’ll take some of the captives, not too many and only those who know their way about a ship. Only those who look as though they’ll follow orders and keep their heads about them. There’s no one on Minorca responsible for their taking, and I’ll have no bloodbaths of vengeance against our crew.”
“Aye,” Detheridge agreed.
They sorted things in quite a short time.
Avrel entered each compartment, told the captives what they were about, asked who was a spacer, then picked the one or two who appeared not to be overcome with rage at their captivity. In the end, they’d added twelve men and women to their force. A large enough group to take the quarterdeck and fusion plant, with four stunners between them, but not so many as to draw too very much attention as they moved through the ship.
Up on the main deck, where the quarterdeck was located, Avrel paused. He checked his tablet to see the time. The other team would need a few more minutes to reach and take the fusion plant and engineering spaces—time Avrel decided to put to other uses.
“We’ll free Kaycie first.”
Sween gave him a puzzled look.
“Miss Overfield,” Avrel explained, flushing at the further looks he got from both Sween and Presgraves. “She’ll be of use taking the quarterdeck, as the hatch might open for her.”
“Right,” Sween said, though he looked dubious.
Avrel himself felt it was a slim chance, but Morell was not so punctilious about some things. It was possible, throwing an officer off the ship not being a thing he did all that often, that Morell’d simply had her locked up and not removed any of Kaycie’s access to Minorca. If the quarterdeck hatch did open for her, it would save them the trouble of making some excuse to get through it. They could also, if Minorca’s controls were similar to what Avrel’d learned at Lesser Sibward, throw open the hatches to the fusion plant, making things easier for Detheridge and her team.
“Kehoe’s on her hatch, last I heard,” Sween said. “Naught to do but keep her from talking to any of the crew, as I hear it.”
Avrel nodded. Kaycie hadn’t been aboard so long as to have any of the crew loyal to her—naught but himself, in any case—nor could she hope to escape to anywhere, so Morell must have thought there was little need for a tighter guard.
“Right,” Avrel said. They were just down the companionway from the officers’ cabins, tucked around the corner where the deck opened up to the main spaces. Kehoe and Kaycie’s compartment were only a few meters away and there were only a few others of Minorca’s crew about on the main deck. The ship would be on her current tack for hours yet, and the crew was resting and idle before being called to the sails once more. “We’ll just walk up, casual-like, and distract him, then free Kaycie. Do you suppose there’s a mess tray anywhere about? We could say we were delivering a meal or some —”
“Bugger that,” Presgraves muttered. She stepped around Avrel and Sween into the companionway and strode toward the guard.
“Hell,” Sween muttered.
“What’s she —?”
Avrel heard the sound of Presgraves’ jumpsuit fastener coming undone and she shrugged as she walked so that it slid down her arms exposing her shoulders.
“Oy! Kehoe!” she called. “Fancy a poke before we’re back at it?”
“You did say to distract him,” Sween muttered, craning his neck to see around Avrel.
“Hst! He’ll hear you and —”
“Mean to say, I’m distracted and I don’t even get sight of the front bits —”
Presgraves was only a meter from the guard now, with her jumpsuit slid so far down her back that quite a bit of skin was exposed. Kehoe’s view from the front would, indeed, have a few more bits in it.
Kehoe stared, open mouthed.
“Well?” Presgraves asked. “Quick, before we’re called to change sail again, eh?”
“I —” Kehoe stared, swallowed, cleared his throat, and stared more. “Captain said I’m to guard this hatch, see? Next watch, maybe?”
There was silence for a moment, with both Presgraves and Kehoe standing still, Kehoe staring, then Presgraves leapt for him.
“Next bloody watch?”
Presgraves drove Kehoe to the deck with a flurry of blows. By the time Avrel and Sween rounded the corner, she had Kehoe on the deck, sitting atop him, with her arms wind milling furiously as she struck the man.
“I show you the goods, offer you a poke, an’ you say, ‘Next bloody watch?’”
Avrel could hear Kehoe yelping, but the sound was overridden by Presgraves and the sound of fists hitting flesh. He and Sween each grasped one of Presgraves’ arms, both struggling as she jerked against them to strike Kehoe again, and pulled her off. Avrel caught a glimpse of the “goods” as Sween then swung her around and backed her against the bulkhead.
“Here, now,” Sween said, “no call to go and kill the bugger over it.”
Presgraves stopped struggling and turned her attention to Sween, whose own attention was clearly on the goods.
“‘No call?’ No bloody call, you say?” Presgraves shrugged off Sween’s grip, then grasped the goods and fairly shoved them in Sween’s face, not to any obvious displeasure on Sween’s part. “You’d tell these, ‘Next bloody watch,’ would you?”
“Not in life,” Sween assured her, nodding in time to Presgraves’ movements.
Avrel knelt next to Kehoe, who was bloodied about his nose and mouth and whose left eye was starting to swell.
“Are you all right, mate?”
“What … what happened?” Kehoe shook his head. “’m supposed to guard the hatch.”
“Ain’t right, what he done,” Presgraves said. “Ain’t right, at all.”
“What’d I do?”
“Get a girl all worked up thinkin’ she’ll get a poke, then tell her, ‘Next bloody watch.’” Presgraves glared at Kehoe. “Not right, it ain’t.”
“What? I never —”
Sween kicked Kehoe’s leg. “Shush, you bugger,” he said, never taking his eyes from Presgraves. “No, not right at all, but, look here, you’ve your own work to be about, don’t you?”
Presgraves turned her gaze to Sween, blinking. “What?”
“Well, now, what if we’ve need of the fusion plant blowing, eh? Where’ll we be if you’re off shagging and that needs done? Might have t’have someone else do it and you’d miss out.”
Presgraves blinked again. “Right.” She pulled her jumpsuit together and fastened it, to Sween’s obvious disappointment, then frowned. “How about you, then? Blowing a thing up always does make me fancy a poke.”
Sween cocked his head for a moment, then nodded slowly. “All right, lass—if we’ve need of your blowing the plant, I’m your man right after, right?”
Presgraves grinned. “There you go.” She spat on Kehoe. “Not like this bugger, you.”
“Whyn’t you wait a bit down there, eh?”
Presgraves nodded and moved down the companionway closer to the quarterdeck, and farther from the fusion plant, much to Avrel’s increased comfort. He and Sween shared a look.
Kehoe made to stand, but Avrel pushed him back down.
“Is she entirely right in the head?” he asked.
Sween glanced toward Presgraves as though to ensure she couldn’t hear, then said, “No.” He grinned. “But she’s a fancy set of bits, if a man can keep the lass on track.”
Avrel stood. “You stay there,” he said as Kehoe started to rise too.
“But I’m to watch the hatch —”
“Stay put or I’ll call Presgraves back and remind her of what you did.”
“I’ll stay right here then, shall I?” Kehoe lay back and closed his eyes. “Whatever you lot’re about, I went down and out.” His eyes scrunched tight. “Never heard nor seen nothing after, me.”
“Good man.”
Avrel rubbed his face. It was lucky so much of the crew was resting on the berthing deck, or this scuffle would have drawn attention. Even with it not, there was lit
tle time before Detheridge would be at the fusion plant, and the quarterdeck crew would need distracting when that happened. Still, he wanted Kaycie freed and with them, and if the hatch wasn’t locked they still had time.
He keyed the hatch, which opened to reveal a darkened compartment. She must be sleeping, with little else to do while held captive.
Avrel stepped into the compartment, whispering so as not to startle her from sleep, “Kaycie, I’ve —”
Thump.
Avrel looked up from the deck, wondering for a moment just how he’d got there.
Kaycie looked down at him, as did Sween and even Presgraves, who seemed to have come back from her place down the hall—Kehoe, he assumed, was still doing his best to appear incapacitated, especially with Presgraves back.
“Are y’with us, lad?” Sween asked.
“Jon, I’m so sorry.” Kaycie tossed what she was holding—her compartment’s small desk surface, Avrel saw, which had once folded down from bulkhead in one corner—onto her cot, but not before Avrel noted a smear of red on it. The compartment was lit now, which hadn’t been the case when he entered, so he must have lost a bit of time.
Kaycie, with her desk ripped off the wall, waiting in a dark compartment, and now Avrel on the deck with, he noted, most of his face feeling a bit like Kehoe’s must.
And bits of myself smeared on that desk panel. Right—that explains it, then.
Kaycie knelt and helped him sit up. He shook his head a bit to clear it, which was rather an error.
When his vision cleared, he grasped Kaycie’s hand.
“I’m here to rescue you,” Avrel said. “You hit me.”
Kaycie flushed. “Right. Sorry about that. I thought you were the guard and I wanted loose.”
“I’m here to rescue you,” Avrel said. “You hit me.”
Kaycie frowned. “Right, again. Are you —?”
Avrel’s senses were coming back a bit more and he struggled to his feet. “You hit me.”
“I didn’t know it was you!”
Avrel raised his hand to his face, probing at the tender spots. “You hit me hard!”
Kaycie stood, dropping Avrel back to the deck with another thump. “Well, it’s no more than you deserved after … after what you did on Kuriyya!”
Avrel blinked. What’d he done to Kaycie on Kuriyya? “What’d I bloody do to you?”
“Why you …” She trailed off and clenched her jaw. “You’re dense as any stone, Jon Bartlett!”
“We’ve little time for all this,” Sween put in, “beggin’ yer pardon for interrupting, miss.” He frowned. “And why’re you callin’ him that?”
Kaycie flushed and cut her eyes from Sween to Avrel. “It’s … it’s a name we use where I’m from.” She narrowed her eyes at Avrel. “For a man who’s a dolt and dullard.”
Sween nodded. “Well, if yer through hitting him, we may be about the same sort of thing. As you seem to’ve been bent on gettin’ yerself loose, and all.”
“And what were you thinking to do once you were loose?” Avrel asked.
Kaycie shrugged. “I had no plan, but anything aboard Minorca would be better than being put in-atmosphere wherever we’re bound. If the system is importing slaves, then I’d not hold out much for my chances there. I thought I might hide some message in the ship’s mail core that could alert my family, or at the very least cause a bit of havoc and disrupt Morell’s plans.”
Presgraves nodded, grinning. “There’s a plan, a bit of havoc.” Her eyes widened. “Shall her and I off to the fusion plant, then?”
“No,” Sween and Avrel said as one.
Avrel checked his tablet. “We’ve barely time to get to the quarterdeck,” Avrel said. “Come on.”
Presgraves pouted, but otherwise followed along.
There was no guard on the quarterdeck hatch. Minorca was no warship, after all. Morell must have felt he needed only to guard the captives and his one recalcitrant officer, while the rest of the crew was behind him.
Avrel knew differently. Many, perhaps most, of the crew were either ambivalent or opposed to Minorca’s nasty business. They might not assist his little group in taking the ship, but once that was done they’d not fight to free Morell, either—not once Avrel’s lot were clearly in charge. As well, once in control of the quarterdeck, the fusion plant, and, he’d got the codes from Morell for the arms locker, the common crew would have no means to fight back.
He had only to gain that control, then announce his intentions to sail back to Penduli and the New London authorities, and most of the crew would at least play along, if not covertly support him.
“How do you plan to get through the hatch if he’s keeping it locked?” Kaycie asked, as they made their way up the companionway. It was near the watch change and they could hear the bustling movement of bodies below on the berthing deck as those about to go on watch made ready.
“I’d thought to rush it when the watch changed,” Avrel said. “There’ll be new men for the consoles and he’ll have to open for them.”
Kaycie grunted. “Dicey.”
“A bit.” Avrel nodded. “But now you’re with us, and there’s a possibility he did no more than lock your cabin. Your tablet might still open the quarterdeck hatch.”
“So, do we wait for the watch change or rush it now?” Sween asked.
“Wait, I think —” Avrel broke off as the hatch a deck below them sounded and footsteps came up the companionway.
All four of them turned to look as a spacer came into view.
“Blakesley,” Sween said, nodding to the man.
“Sween,” the man said, nodding to each of Avrel’s group in turn. “Dansby, Presgraves …” He frowned. “Miss Overfield? I thought you were —”
Kaycie smiled. “A misunderstanding—all cleared up. Are you going on watch?”
“Signals,” Blakesley said. “Not much for it, with just the one ship along with us, but the station’s got to be manned, don’t it?”
“It does,” Kaycie agreed. “Well, I have the next watch, as well, shall I walk with you?”
“Not but a few meters, but —”
“Fine, then.” Kaycie slid the hatch open and gestured for Blakesley to precede her. As he passed, she plucked the stunner Avrel’d taken from the guards in the hold from where he held it behind his back out of Blakesley’s sight. “You’re from Thatchlow, are you not, Blakesley?”
“Aye, miss.”
“My family’s firm did some trading there, at times. It’s known for its fishing, yes?”
Blakesley nodded, not noticing that Avrel and Sween were following along behind him, as well.
“Sport fishing, aye, miss. There’s a beastie as shouldn’t be missed, if such is your passion—horrible eating, but fights like a bugger … begging your pardon, miss.”
Whether to the presence of Blakesley’s tablet or Kaycie’s, Avrel couldn’t tell, but the quarterdeck hatch slid open.
No sooner had the hatch slid open enough to fit her, did Kaycie shove Blakesley to the side and leap through.
Avrel followed immediately behind her, not entirely sure when or how she’d taken up the lead—not that she’d done it wrong, mind you, only that he’d been saying who was to do what since their meeting in the hold and now Kaycie was all but waggling her fingers for him to follow along.
Plucking that stunner from me, like she did and —
Through the hatch and onto the quarterdeck left him no more time to think.
Both Morell and Turkington were there, along with four spacers at the consoles—Turkington closest to the hatch and Morell on the far side of the circular navigation plot that filled the center of the compartment. All of them looked startled at Kaycie’s appearance, then again as Avrel followed, and more so as Sween and Presgraves rushed in.
Kaycie raised the stunner and fired at Morell without a word, but the captain reacted before she could pull the trigger. Her shot went over his head, brushing the spacer at a console behind him and sending that
poor sot to the deck in a crumpled heap.
“Boarders!” Turkington yelled.
It wasn’t, strictly speaking, correct, as they’d been aboard the whole time, but it was what spacers were trained to react to. The quarterdeck crew was no different and, if they took a brief moment to determine it was Avrel’s group Turkington was yelling about, they did figure it out.
Turkington grabbed Kaycie’s arm and Jessup, the man Blakesley had been about to replace on the signals console, tackled Avrel at the knees.
“Get Morell!” Avrel yelled as he went down, slamming his fists into Jessup’s back and kicking to try and break his grip.
Sween went around the navigation plot, but he was taken down by one of the quarterdeck crew and the two rolled about on the deck.
Presgraves took the clearer route to Captain Morell. She leapt onto the navigation plot, slid across the smooth surface, and off the far edge to land on the captain, who let out a grunt of pain audible even over the shouts and scuffles that filled the quarterdeck’s space.
Avrel struggled to his feet, kicking at Jessup, who still clung to one of his legs. He grasped the edge of the navigation plot and pulled himself up, then ran his fingers over the surface. The menus were all much the same from ship to ship, and the Marchants could be trusted to keep their equipment updated, so there were no worries about it being antiquated. Neither Morell nor Turkington had the time to lock it for their entry, so there were no barriers to what Avrel planned.
Any ship traveling the Dark needed some means of controlling an unruly crew and Minorca was no different. Avrel flicked through the menus—Morell or Turkington would have known exactly where the setting was, but Avrel had to check all the possibilities, as well as kick and strike at Jessup to keep his footing.
He glanced up. On the other side of the navigation plot, both Morell and Presgraves had gained their feet, Presgraves between Morell and the plot.
Orphans In the Black: A Space Opera Anthology Page 33