Winds of Marque Read online

  The thrust block creaked again. New red indictors flashed to life on the bottom mast.

  “Change the settings,” Liam ordered, “but incrementally so there isn’t a big jump on the bridge displays. Start with top mast, then adjust the others from there.”

  “What about the nav estimates?”

  “I’ll figure that out.”

  Swift stepped away, issuing orders before busying himself at a console.

  Liam stared at the nav screen. The figure for Renaissance’s ETA at Passagia changed by the second, but stayed within a broad range that varied by no more than twelve hours. Even the short sailing of one mast had made an impact, a lengthening of the voyage time that was likely already tickling the captain’s notice. When the shorting of the other three masts took effect, those numbers would take a dramatic turn. And even under current conditions Renaissance was only tracking ten hours ahead of Celebration.

  Liam stared at the numbers, not yet sure how he was going to rewrite physics and preserve Renaissance’s perceived lead.

  “Sir?”

  The voice startled him out of his reverie. He glanced around, then down at the supply tech. She was staring up at him, her expression shy but determined.

  “Yes, Master Rating?”

  “One of the things we monitor in stores is the number of days left for each critical section of supply, which is dependent on how far we still have to go and how long it will take. We adjust it all the time—can’t you do the same for the navigation?”

  So much for not being overheard. As executive officer, he reviewed the estimated stores endurance every day. But he knew it was quite different from navigation.

  “Those figures change because we adjust our burn-through rate of stores—my nav estimate is pure speed-time-distance. I can’t adjust those.”

  “Sure you can! We adjust distance constantly, depending on where in its orbit our destination planet is.”

  The words to dismiss her suggestion were already forming in his throat. But then something made him pause. The nav estimate was by default based on the destination star, not the actual planet. If he could somehow change the distance parameters to reflect the planet . . .

  “Do you know how to do that?”

  She rose from her seat at the damage-control board and moved to stand next to him at the nav display. She opened up an obscure submenu and began typing in new values.

  “I assume you want me to put the planet as close to us in its orbit as possible?” she asked.

  “As close as the planetary limits will let you.”

  Within a dozen keystrokes, Liam saw the Renaissance’s ETA suddenly jump forward by six hours. It was a sizable jump, but still within the range of reasonable possibility. If Captain Silverhawk was watching, the new ETA would likely please him too much for him to question it.

  The supply tech finished her manipulations and straightened, admiring her handiwork with a smile. A sudden lurch of the deck knocked her into Liam, who automatically steadied her in his arms. She held on for a brief moment, then regained her stance; she was still smiling as she looked up at him.

  “Will that help solve the problem, sir?”

  A sailor, even a senior rating, holding the XO’s gaze for so long caught Liam off guard. But it was the warmth of her gaze that really caught his attention. He felt his pulse pick up slightly, and he looked away, nodding at the nav display.

  “Lucky you were on watch.”

  She gave him a curious look, then glanced back at the damage-control board.

  “Oh, I’m not, sir. I just couldn’t sleep with all the pounding, so I came down to see if I could help.”

  Liam knew that supply techs often manned critical displays during battle stations, to free up the propulsors to do technical and emergency work. He noted the name tag sewn onto her uniform.

  “Well, Master Rating Virtue, you’ve helped out a lot more than you know.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “And if you tell anyone about what just went down, I’ll run you out of the Navy.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The deck heaved again, the crosspiece groaning against sudden stress. Liam indicated for Virtue to retake her seat.

  “If you have nothing else to do, Master Rating, I’d like you to stick around. It’s going to be a long night.” He wouldn’t be moving from this spot. The crew needed to know that he was leading the charge to get Renaissance home safely.

  “I’d rather be here,” she said, “than strapped in my bunk and trusting the mast-monkeys to get me home.”

  She nodded at the propulsors all around her. Greasy, sweating, and scrambling to fulfill their duties, they cussed and shouted at each other but worked with diligent efficiency. He leaned in close, speaking just above a whisper.

  “Watch your language, bin-rat. These mast-monkeys are the ones who’re going to save your skin.”

  She turned to face him, large brown eyes glinting. “Like this bin-rat just saved yours, sir?”

  He tried to frown, but it twisted into a smile.

  “Call the galley,” he ordered. “Have a rum ration sent down for everyone in propulsion.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He surveyed the chaos of the scene around him. It was all madness, but they would make it through.

  Chapter 2

  “So, Mason,” Liam asked, casting his eyes around the ballroom before turning back to Swift. “Knocking out a prince or knocking up a princess—which would be more fun?”

  Over the rim of his third drink, Swift cast his eyes across the crowded ballroom. The polished, wooden floor was filled with small circles of chatting nobles as servants weaved with trays of drinks. Tables of food were laid out discreetly against every wall, beneath the banners of every noble house in the sector.

  “I suppose, sir, if you did it in the right order you could do both.”

  Liam burst out laughing, and clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Well said.”

  The usual fops and dandies were prancing and parading in their extravagant outfits all around the great room, the men wearing more product than the ladies they worked to impress. The women were little better, wrapped in impossible ensembles that, through their very complexity, likely served as the best defense of chastity. In their small groups the ladies held court, the subtext of eye contact and subtle gestures easily overwhelming the dim hubbub of spoken words.

  Captain Silverhawk was distinguishable from the fops only because of his naval uniform. He was in top spirits, having indeed beaten Captain Longridge to the ball, and in the snippets of conversation Liam had endured, Renaissance had apparently set a new speed record and weathered the most titanic solar storm in a century. The posturing was in full swing, with much false laughter and increasingly bold claims.

  But in the middle of it all were the real stars of the show. Nothing less than an actual princess and her brother the prince, arrived from the home world just yesterday to oversee some series of local celebrations. Neither was a close heir to the Imperial throne—children of one of the Emperor’s younger offspring, apparently—but they were still considered royal, and therefore they commanded the evening simply by showing up. Their pure white clothing stood in stark contrast to the obsidian quality of their royal skin, and even in the crowded ballroom there was a deferential distance maintained around them. He was a reedy, petulant thing who looked ready to take offense; she was pretty enough and didn’t seem yet of an age to have become jaded by the constant attention of suitors.

  “But then,” Liam said as he sipped the last of his rum, “you’d probably be hanged, and that wouldn’t be fun.”

  “Me? I thought you were intending the escapade, sir.”

  “I learned my lesson long ago, Mason. Leave the shenanigans to the great nobles and the foolish youth.”

  “Aren’t they one and the same?”

  “Mind your acid tongue,” he said with a smile.

  “If you insist on dragging me to these things, sir, acid is part of the d
eal.”

  Swift was definitely more at home in the grubby bowels of a ship in space than at a foppish ball, but Liam had long ago learned to appreciate his friend’s unfiltered view of the world. He’d done a damn fine job getting them through that storm, as always, but as Liam’s mind drifted back to the hellish scene, he kept picturing the moment Master Rating Virtue was thrown into his arms by the swells.

  “Perhaps I should have brought that bin-rat who was so helpful to us during the storm,” he mused.

  “Virtue? I get the feeling she’d eat that prince for breakfast.”

  “She did have a rapier wit.”

  “Shame she’s not in my department. If we even have a ship anymore.”

  Liam glanced over, knowing that there was no one in the fleet who better understood the damage to Renaissance than Swift.

  “Quite.”

  A new burst of laughter caught his attention and almost against his will he looked over to where Captain Silverhawk was trading gibes with a new arrival—a younger man, also in uniform. They were likely related, the youth sharing Silverhawk’s impressive height, sandy hair, and sharp features. Despite their vast difference in military rank, the two men carried on like old friends, their collective wit apparently hilarious to the surrounding suitors.

  Silverhawk suddenly looked over at Liam. Their eyes met and the captain motioned him over.

  Cursing himself for even looking in that direction, Liam silently smoothed his dress uniform and wove his way through the crowd.

  “Good evening, sir,” he said with a slight bow.

  “Ah, Blackwood. Allow me to introduce my cousin, Lord Highcastle. He’s just arrived here on Passagia and is looking for a good ship. Naturally I’d bring him aboard Renaissance, but I fear we ran her a bit hard, eh? Find him another one—a ship that’s going to see some action.”

  “And I’m not sailing with that beastly Longridge,” young Highcastle added. Liam noted his rank of cadet—not even a graduate of the Naval Academy yet.

  “Oh, stars, no!” Silverhawk laughed. “Blackwood, don’t send my cousin anywhere near that blowhard.”

  Amid a scattering of mean-spirited laughter, Liam bowed again.

  “I’ll look into it right away, sir.”

  “That’s all.” Silverhawk had already forgotten Liam was there, beginning some new tale for his cousin about adventure in the Navy.

  Liam slipped away, finding Swift over at one of the tables laid out with pastries and sweets.

  “I remember now why I agreed to come,” Swift said, mouth stuffed with cake. “Good food.”

  “And the free drinks,” Liam muttered, catching the eye of a servant and motioning for another rum.

  His own status as second child of a minor lord here on Passagia didn’t count for much in this crowd, although he couldn’t help but notice a pair of ladies hovering nearby. They giggled behind their fans and glanced at his and Swift’s uniforms with barely concealed admiration before flitting away.

  “And the pretty girls,” Swift added, reaching for another treat.

  Liam’s past enjoyed the occasional sweet treat, and he certainly wasn’t averse to the company of a pretty girl; but he’d always figured it would be through naval service that he’d earn his reputation, and it was for this reason, he knew, that he’d really come to this party.

  Liam’s gaze chased the crowd until he saw the host of the ball making his way through the crowd, his uniform dark and elegant amid all the foppish finery of the civilians. Rear Admiral Lord William Grandview was also a second son, but his noble house owned more of Passagia than all the others put together. The young nobles seemed to part before him even as he made to move. In middle age and at the height of his influence, Admiral Grandview was a man worth knowing.

  “Ah,” Swift said, finally looking up from the dessert table, “your patron approaches.”

  “Make yourself scarce, Mason.”

  “I’ll entertain those pretty girls, sir. Permission to carry on?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Liam accepted his new drink from the servant and watched as Grandview somehow managed to offer compliments and due respect to everyone he passed while barely slowing his pace. His eyes were on Liam, and in that gaze, there was a military focus rarely seen planetside.

  “Subcommander Lord Blackwood,” he boomed while still several courtiers distant. “How nice of you to join us this evening.”

  Liam straightened instinctively, his slow nod practically a bow as he noticed the sudden, jealous eyes of various ambitious dandies shift to him.

  “You honor me, Lord Grandview, with your invitation.”

  Barely checking his stride, Grandview took Liam’s elbow and led him clear of the crowd. They walked at a casual pace, but the tightness of the man’s grip made Liam suddenly wonder if he’d broken some obscure social protocol and embarrassed his host.

  “Sorry to hear about Renaissance,” Grandview said amiably, barely glancing down at him. “Thanks for bringing her back in one piece.”

  “Captain Silverhawk is an excellent navigator,” Liam answered automatically. “It was a bold maneuver.”

  “It was idiocy of the highest order,” the admiral muttered. “I’m grateful to you, Liam, that I don’t now have to explain to the Imperial court why their newest warship was destroyed on a routine passage.”

  “You’re very kind, sir.”

  “There’s someone I’d like you to meet,” the admiral continued, steering them toward the edge of the room. “Could be a good opportunity for a talented officer like you.”

  Liam felt a rush of relief. Despite his best efforts, Renaissance was badly damaged, and would likely be out of active commission for several months. Her refit could be hidden as a routine work period, but questions were likely, and Captain Silverhawk certainly wasn’t going to take the blame. Liam knew he needed to get as far from that mess as possible.

  “Lord Grandview,” came a new voice. Liam felt the admiral slow to a stop, still holding his arm. Glancing toward the voice, he saw an older gentleman dressed in a ribbed surcoat of the finest red velvet, adorned with a gold sash. His hands were nearly lost in white lace as they reached out to grip Grandview’s extended palm.

  “Lord Redfort,” Grandview said with genuine warmth. “Thank you for coming.”

  “Your generosity exceeds all protocols, as always,” the older man said. The crest on his sash revealed to Liam that he was a senior member of the Imperial diplomatic corps. “Although your attempted theft of my finest naval officer is hooliganism of the highest order.”

  The gentle smile on Redfort’s face robbed the words of any malice, but Liam still looked quickly to Grandview for a response. The admiral beamed indulgently.

  “My lord ambassador, it’s impossible for me to steal someone who never belonged to you. An officer of the Navy is sworn to serve the Emperor in battles of cannons, not words.”

  “And I fear that cannons are very soon going to replace words in our dealings with the Sectoids.” Redfort’s diplomatic façade was in full force, but even Liam could see that the ambassador was not pleased.

  Grandview suddenly released Liam with a gentle push toward one of the arched entrances to the ballroom.

  “Head to my study, lad—first door on the left—and wait for me there.”

  The admiral placed an arm around Redfort and led him away, speaking quietly but with earnest.

  Liam didn’t hesitate, and strode out into the cool dark of the corridor. Not twenty paces and he saw the study door, held open, dim lights glowing from within. As he stepped inside, he breathed in the pleasant scents of wood and spice. One of the moons sparkled through the tall windows on the far wall, a fixed point against the scattering of moving lights in the sky. At this time of year Passagia’s orbit took it to the dark side of the system, where the eerie blackness of deep space consumed the usual brilliance of the sky. The Grandview estate was perched high on a plateau, above the fog so common at the surface, and Liam took a momen
t to appreciate the beautiful, dark clarity of the night.

  In front of the windows he saw the dim shapes of the admiral’s workstation, his eyes drawn to the moonlight that glinted off a scale model on one side of the desk. He recognized the familiar lines of the battleship Vigilance wrought expertly in glass, and he stepped forward to observe it more closely, entranced. The vessel was displayed in full sail, of course, all four masts extended and the dozens of sheets billowing forward in an eternal stern wind. The chaos of the cluster rarely allowed for such simple sailing, but it was the classic image of a solar sailing ship and no doubt how Lord Grandview wished to remember his final command.

  “Dreaming she might be yours, one day?”

  The low, female voice startled him from his examination of the model. To his left was a cluster of armchairs, flanked by several table lamps emitting warm pools of light. And in one of the chairs, watching him with a neutral expression, was a woman in a naval uniform.

  She didn’t rise as he slowly approached. Indeed, not a muscle in her body shifted in her upright posture, hands resting in her lap, one leg crossed over the other. She was in full dress uniform, as he was, and her decorations and qualifications indicated a rank of commander—a step above him.

  “Good evening, ma’am,” he offered. “I was asked by Rear Admiral Grandview to come to his study.”

  “Are you Subcommander Blackwood?” she asked. At his nod she lifted a hand to gesture at the chair facing her. “Take a seat.”

  There were no name tags on dress uniforms, and as he settled his drink on the side table Liam studied her face, trying to recall if they’d met before. She looked about his age, perhaps slightly younger, though there was little sense of youth in her olive features. Her black hair was tied back efficiently, revealing a square face that would have been attractive if it wasn’t set in a heavy frown. Her brown eyes were bright, but hard, and they remained fixed on him in assessment.

  “You’re old to be a subcommander,” she said, accent revealing enough to mark her as nobility. But she was not from one of the major houses, and not from here on Passagia.