Mutineer (13 page)

Neals slammed his tablet onto his desk. “I’ve the reports from Station Patrol right here, Carew! That they caught the man before he could succeed doesn’t excuse it!”

“Sir, Isom wasn’t deserting. He was free to do as he wished until reporting back — the lieutenant misunderstood something about a pass and —”

“Will you forever argue with me, Carew? Forever play the space-lawyer?” Neals stood, palms on his desk and looked down at his tablet. “I have never in my life seen —” He raised his eyes to look at her. “— such a list of offenses.”

Alexis stared at him in shock. What Navy had the man been serving in all these years? While she’d been on station, she’d seen the Penduli Station Patrol take up virtually the entire crews of two other ships, rival captains in some matter, and ban the lot from landing for six months over brawling. Her lads had been piddling puppies in comparison. Why, her brawlers were welcomed back into pubs as soon as the damages were settled, and her drunks … well, publicans had sent boys to wait outside the berth to make sure her lads found their way back the next night.

“This is what happens from putting a woman in the mix,” Neals went on. He slammed his palm down on the desk. “No
discipline!
”

Alexis clenched her jaw and resumed staring at the bulkhead.

Neals came around the desk and stood near her. This close, she could feel him trembling with anger.

“I thought I was finally shut of you, Carew,” he whispered. “Cost me a boat and some crewmen, but well worth it at twice the price. Yet now you’re back.”

Alexis swallowed hard to stifle a gasp. It sounded almost as though he’d left them behind deliberately and not just as an accident of his running, but not even Neals would do something like that, would he?

“I
will
be shut of you, Carew, do you understand? I’ll have you out of my Navy, no matter the cost.” His jaw worked, breath ragged, before he stepped back.

“Sir —”

“Shut up, Carew.” Neals resumed his seat and picked up his tablet. “No discipline. That’s what comes of trying to play at Captain Goodfellow with the men. They should have been in the Assize Berth where they belong, not … coddled by a little girl.” He sighed. “Well, I’ll have them back under proper naval discipline.” Neals narrowed his eyes and tapped the tablet. “You’ll write them up for next Captain’s Mast, Carew, every one of these offenses.”

“Sir! I held Masts myself and issued punishments. They’ve already been —”

“Punishments?” Neals raised the tablet. “Yes, I read your report as well as the Station Patrol’s, Carew.” He snorted. “Cleaning? A bit of pay stoppage for the worst? Confined to the berth …
in a pub?
”

Alexis cringed. Yes, confinement to a pub for drunkenness might seem odd, but the lads had taken the spirit of it. The offenders had kept to themselves at a corner table for the duration and not had a bit to drink past their daily issue. All of them had taken their punishments as willingly as they would have aboard ship. And she feared their reaction if they had to appear before another Captain’s Mast for the same offenses — the men would accept punishment for an offense, even the lash, but they expected that to be the end of it. “Over, done with, and no more said about it,” was their view — to be punished twice for the same offense wouldn’t be tolerated lightly.

“As for yourself, Carew,” Neals was saying, “I must say that I find myself disappointed beyond measure.”

Well, of course, why would I expect any different?

“This coarse, money-grubbing scheme of yours to steal from your shipmates goes beyond even my lowest opinion of you.”

Alexis blinked and her mouth dropped open in shock.
What on earth —

“Trying to claim a prize for yourself alone? Cheat
Hermione’s
crew of their just reward? Shame, Carew. You can be sure I’ll be challenging this in the Prize Court … on behalf of the crew.”

Alexis steeled herself. Well, of course he’d try to get a piece of what her lads had accomplished in taking
Sittich.
She wouldn’t begrudge at all sharing the award with
Hermione’s
crew, but for Neals to accuse her of cheating and stealing from them …

“Sir, it was submitted so at Admiral Piercy’s order.”

“Yes, I’ve seen the tale you spun the admiral about being ‘abandoned’, Carew. Not a word about your utter, contemptible failure to dock with
Hermione
as ordered? As ordered
more than once!
You can be assured that I’ve corrected Admiral Piercy’s perception of the events … despite your conniving efforts to beguile the poor man.”

“Sir, I —”

“And that Crandall, too! Why the man had the
nerve
to contact me and
compliment
me on having such an officer as you!” Neals slammed his hand onto the desk again, his face growing red. “What kind of slattern are you to have so befuddled good officers?”

Alexis flinched and stared at the bulkhead. She felt her eyes burn and her muscles clench with the effort to fight back the urge to speak. She’d forgotten, at least for a time, how easily and quickly Neals’ moods could swing. The time aboard Penduli Station, out from under Neals’ thumb, had caused her to relax — perhaps not such a good thing now she was back aboard
Hermione
.

Alexis started for the base of the mast, easing herself along the hull in the gliding walk that always kept one magnetized boot in contact with the hull at all times, so she wouldn’t drift free and have to pull herself back toward the ship by her safety line. The men of her division had just finished trimming the sails to Captain Neals’ latest orders and were hurrying down.

The captain had again ordered that the last man down be flogged, a practice that made Alexis sick to her stomach. She understood the use of flogging for discipline — with months spent in space, well away from any planetside authority, the captain had to have some means of enforcing order. As one of the spacers on her first ship,
Merlin
, had explained it to her, even the men understood the need, and typically faced their punishment with an attitude of ‘over, done with, and now forgotten’ for both the flogging and the offense for which they’d earned it. They understood that there was no way for a captain to imprison or otherwise discipline a man while spending months in space, and so the corporal punishment allowed for an immediacy of consequences.

And then there are the Tartars
. The captains who didn’t just use the lash for serious offenses, but for every little thing, thinking it motivated the men to work harder or, as she suspected of Neals, because they enjoyed ordering it.

So stupid,
she thought as she took her place at the base of the mast. She hated this task, as she’d have to identify the last man down herself and report him to Neals. Her stomach turned at the thought of being complicit in his barbarous cruelty, but she couldn’t refuse a legal order.

It was the best of the topmen who bore the brunt of Neals’ order, for they were the ones who went highest and farthest out on the yards to work the sail. Naturally it was they who were last down.
Flog your best and most skilled men — for no more reason than that they are the best. The man’s a fool.

High above her, the men had started down. Those nearest the mast on the yards clipping their safety lines to the guidewires and pulling themselves toward the hull. Those further out began jockeying for position, trying to reach the mast ahead of their fellows. The men were already dreading the next Captain’s Mast, for Neals had announced that he’d be passing judgment on them for their offenses aboard Penduli Station. There was no little resentment about that, in addition to the dread, and not just from her own division — she’d heard the muttering and dark looks from the rest of the crew when Neals had announced his intentions.

One of the men on the topgallant yard, almost forty meters from the mast’s base, unclipped his line and leapt off the yard for the mast. He caught hold of it in a narrow space between two shipmates, but it was as though his actions had spurred the others. A half dozen more spacers on the topgallants unclipped their lines and pushed off downward at an angle toward the mast. Bodies were suddenly flying across the intervening space, crashing into those already on the mast and knocking them loose to be pulled up short by their safety lines. But those who’d leapt had no lines attached and Alexis’ blood chilled as she saw two, knocked off course by their fellows, miss the mast and sail past.

Several spacers already on the mast reached out to them or jumped from it themselves, relying on their own safety lines to keep them attached in an effort to reach their mates, but the two men were already too far away. The would-be rescuers were brought up short by their lines and could only watch helplessly as the two drifted away from the ship.

Alexis cried out and reached for the rescue gun at her belt. The officers each carried one for these circumstances, it used a charge of compressed gas to shoot a weighted bag attached to a line. She’d used hers once on
Merlin
when two men were cut loose from the masts during an action and she’d managed to save one of them.

Crying out again, this time in frustration, she saw that it wouldn’t work. The men had already drifted out of the ship’s field and entered the morass of
darkspace.
As their momentum slowed, the ship continued to sail away from them and she was too far down the bow of the ship, near the mast’s base just above the sail locker.
Hermione
was too large for her shot to reach the men, so she began scrambling up the bow. If she could reach the top of the hull and a clearer shot, or even pull herself aft and catch up with them.

Her breath rasped, echoing in her helmet as she cleared the top curve of the hull. She transferred her safety line to one of the guidewires that ran the length of the ship and grasped it with both hands. Her lower mass meant she could accelerate faster than someone larger and if she could just get close enough to fire off the line. She glanced up and saw that she couldn’t. The two men were already more than halfway down the hull and the squat bulk of the quarterdeck took up a full third of the upper hull. She’d have to maneuver around that to reach the stern and a clear shot, but the men were falling farther back faster than she’d be able to travel.

The bosun, on the other hand, had a clear shot. Alexis gripped the guidewire, fists tight as she watched him squat on the hull and aim his own rescue gun upward. There was a puff of escaping gas and the weighted bag flew toward the two men,
Hermione’s
lights sparkling off the wire that trailed behind it.

The bag left the ship’s field about ten meters up and started to slow and fall behind the ship as well. It arced slowly through the void toward the two figures, whose arms and legs were flailing in a vain effort to turn or propel themselves back to safety. The nearer man saw the bag crawling toward him and reached out his hand, straining to grasp it, but it slowed to a stop just out of his reach.

The men and the bag continued to fall behind, the rescue line playing out, and Alexis screamed in frustration at the horrifying tableau. The nearer man continued to reach and grasp, his hand opening and closing in a desperate effort to reach the bag that remained always just centimeters away.

The bosun dropped the now useless rescue gun and rushed for the hatch to the quarterdeck. Alexis yanked on the guidewire and pulled herself toward it too. If they could notify the captain in time to begin turning the ship, then the men could still be saved.

There was no battle in progress
,
no reason not to bring the ship about and sail back to retrieve the two spacers. If they saw the ship turn, then they’d have a chance to activate the chemical lights on their suits so that
Hermione
could find them, but they’d have to see the turn begin before they gave up hope of rescue, for many spacers would dump their air if a ship wasn’t clearly returning for them, preferring to end things quickly rather than suffer through an extended period of time under the effects of
darkspace.

Ahead of her, the bosun had entered the quarterdeck airlock. Alexis kept her speed up along the hull, barely slowing as she closed on the hatch herself and finally slammed bodily into the closed hatch.

She slid it open and then closed behind her, leaping across the small room for the valve that would fill the lock with air. She unsealed her helmet, grimacing as the difference in air pressure made her ears pop painfully. When the pressure in the lock had equalized with the quarterdeck she slid that hatch open and rushed in.

She froze as she saw the bosun facing Captain Neals. The bosun’s face was set, the muscles in his jaw clenched and his eyes tight. Alexis saw his eyes narrow as he spoke, voice low and the only reason Alexis could hear his words was because the rest of the quarterdeck crew was deathly still and silent. The spacers at their stations stared fixedly at their consoles and even Lieutenant Dorsett and the marines stationed at the airlock and ladderway looked pointedly away from the two.

“Sir,” the bosun said, “they’re just behind us — it’d take no time at all.”

Neals’ nostrils flared and he clenched his own jaw. “Are you deaf, Mister Maslin? I believe I was clear.” The bosun swallowed and started to speak, but Neals cut him off. “The answer is no.”

Alexis couldn’t believe what she was hearing, the captain couldn’t be talking about stopping for the two men who’d gone overboard. He could not possibly be refusing to come about and pick them up.
Hermione
wasn’t facing the enemy, she was on no urgent errand — coming about for the two who’d gone over would affect their speed less than the pointless sail evolutions he’d been putting Alexis’ division through. Behind her, she was dimly aware of the lock cycling again and the hatch slid open.

“That is an order, Mister Maslin,” Neals continued.

The bosun squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. “Aye, sir.”

“
No!
”

All eyes on the quarterdeck turned to her. She knew it was a pointless, but couldn’t stop herself. She couldn’t let those men die without protesting the decision.

“You forget yourself, Carew,” Neals said.

“Captain, please, you can’t just leave them out there! It would take but a little time to come about!”

“This ship is on course and making good time. Come about and waste that for two lubbers who couldn’t be bothered to clip on a line? I think not — worthless, the lot of them.”

Alexis opened her mouth, but couldn’t find the words to respond. She’d known Neals was cruel, heartless even, but to leave men to die like this? To call them worthless and lubbers, a deadly insult to experienced spacers, when they were, in truth, the most skilled sail handlers aboard? Her eyes burned as she tried to think of some argument, some words that would change the captain’s mind.

Neals looked over her shoulder and his face grew angrier. “
What are you lot doing in my quarterdeck lock?
”

Alexis glanced behind her and saw that a half dozen spacers had crowded into the lock, their faces dark as they’d clearly heard what the captain had said about their mates. “No one sets foot on the quarterdeck without my leave — clear out!”

Despite the angry looks, discipline held and the spacers began affixing their helmets in preparation to return to the hull when a voice echoed from the airlock.

“
Bastard!
”

Everyone on the bridge froze. Neals’ eyes widened and his face flushed red.

“Who said that?” He spun on the bosun. “Mister Maslin, take that man’s name!”

The bosun swallowed heavily and took a step back. “Sir, I was looking away … I didn’t see who spoke.”

“Damn you!” Neals’ face grew redder. “Carew! Those men are of your division! Whose voice was that?”

Honestly Alexis had not been able to tell, with the voice’s harshness and echoing from within the airlock combined with her own distraction at the captain’s cruelty she hadn’t recognized it. “Sir, I couldn’t say …”

“
What are you men still doing there?
” Neals yelled. “Clear the quarterdeck this instant! Marines!”

The marines reached for their sidearms, but the airlock hatch was already being closed by the men inside. Just before the hatch slammed shut, the voice sounded again.

“Bloody
bastard!
”

Neals stood still for a moment, staring at the hatch. His breath was ragged and Alexis could see the muscles of his jaw working. His lip curled up in a sneer.

“Carew,” he said.

“Sir, I’m sorry,” she said hurriedly. “The men are distraught, you understand … their mates …”

“Those men are of your division, Carew?”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry, but I did not recognize the voice. I’ll look into it, though, I swear —”

Neals raised a trembling hand to point at the airlock. “Get back out there, Carew, and bring them in through the proper lock, then assemble those men on the mess deck.” He turned to the bosun. “Mister Maslin, pipe
All Hands
to the mess deck to witness punishment, then pass the word for Lieutenant Blowse — I want the marines turned out, every one, for I will surely hang the next man who speaks so to me.”

* * * * *

Alexis left the quarterdeck airlock and stepped out onto the hull, waving to get the attention of the men in her division even as
Hermione’s
hull lights began flashing to call the full crew inside. She hurriedly made her way to the bow and gathered her men around her, ensuring that they entered the sail locker together and with no others.

She faced the inner hatch while the compartment filled with air, not wanting to turn around and see the others. Not wanting to see who was missing. Finally, the air stopped hissing in and she couldn’t delay it any longer. She unsealed her helmet and lifted it over her head, turning to face the men.

“Matheny and Urton,” she said dully, seeing who was missing.

“Yes, sir,” Nabb said.

Alexis clenched her eyes shut, feeling them burn, but she didn’t have time for tears. Matheny and Urton were gone, likely dead by now for they’d surely dumped their air when they saw that
Hermione
hadn’t turned back for them. But the men in this room were still alive and she vowed to keep them so. She opened her eyes and met theirs in turn. Their gazes were hard and angry, red-rimmed and some with tears mixed into the sweat on their faces, but more angry now.