Winds of Marque Page 5

  Curious, Amelia approached with a slowing stride. Despite appearances, it was a warship: there was a beam turret forward of the bridge, and yes, there were the trace outlines of gunports for cannon running nearly the length of the hull.

  The jetty was deserted in front of this ship, with only a single gangway leading across to an airlock. Amelia wandered up and saw the ceremonial ring hanging by the brow: hmss daring.

  “Huh,” she muttered aloud.

  She looked back across the jetty, at all the activity around the mighty Renaissance. The cruiser was a thing of beauty, she had to admit, and she remembered the pride she’d felt when she’d first joined the crew. But Renaissance was ugly on the inside, and was only going to get worse now that she was damaged and stuck in port. She turned back to examine Daring. A ship was only as good as her crew, and here was a chance to build a new crew from scratch. That could make this little frigate as beautiful as any ship of the line.

  “Hello,” she said to the silent hulk floating before her. “My name’s Amelia, and I’m going to be your quartermaster.”

  With a new skip to her stride, Amelia headed off to Renaissance to collect her gear.

  Chapter 4

  Daring might have had lovely lines, but if so, they were well hidden. Liam stepped down onto the jetty and surveyed the dark shape of the frigate that was his new ship. Much of her hull was hidden behind bulky cargo holds that had been fastened down her length, mismatched and multicolored boxes that looked garish and clumsy. Daring was an older vessel, with none of the curving, molded surfaces of the latest generation of warships, and Liam had to admit that the cargo holds didn’t look out of place. Admiral Grandview had promised them a ship that could pose as a civilian merchant, and this tub certainly fit the bill.

  Directly across the dock from Daring, the cruiser Inspiration floated just beyond the polyglass, fresh from refit and looking lean and hungry. Forward of her rested the battered hulk of Renaissance, the dearth of activity before her only accentuating the cruiser’s wretched appearance. Even from here Liam could see the unnatural bend in the top mast, which was still extended because it no longer fit in its stowage couplings.

  Forward of Renaissance, a pair of huge battleships were tied up on either side of the jetty, an army of storesmen preparing them for an imminent departure. Liam had just read the new orders and he knew where they were going. He envied them in a way, but the sudden importance of Daring’s mission instilled him with a renewed sense of purpose. All those stores being loaded, he thought, didn’t just magically appear on the jetty, and if Daring didn’t succeed in ridding the lanes of this pirate infestation, the entire fleet would suffer. Both jetty cranes moved with graceful precision as they loaded the heaviest equipment through the polyglass gates, their towers stretching up out of the surface lighting to disappear against the blackness of orbital space.

  Some of the brightest suns were still visible, but the dark sky out here in the Halo was even deeper than usual. Having grown up on Passagia, Liam didn’t mind the darkness when his world swung through the outer portion of its orbit, but he knew that it caused great unease in many people.

  One of Passagia’s moons was overhead, and spotting it spurred Liam into motion. Tidal forces were critical to getting ships into space and sailing, and with the orders he’d just received, they didn’t have much time to get the ship loaded. He looked over at the enormous pile of crates in front of Daring, and at the sailor moving efficiently around them.

  Ignoring the rumble of forklifts behind her, Petty Officer Amelia Virtue was focused on her count as she finally reached the end of the stacks. Her uniform was grubby, her chocolate-colored hair was wisping loose from its bun, and her face was locked in a scowl. But Liam saw the sense of purpose in her movements, a determination entirely lacking in the pair of storesmen who stood idly by, waiting for orders.

  Virtue was discussing the loading situation with her small crew as Liam approached.

  “All three storage ports are open,” one of them reported to her, “but it’s going to take all of us just to man a single loading station.”

  Before she could answer, Liam stepped into the conversation.

  “Quartermaster.”

  She turned, her eyes widening as she recognized him.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I just received updated orders. A fleet of Sectoid ships has been sighted on the border and all available units are being massed for action. We have an updated departure time—seventeen hundred. The battleships are going first, then Inspiration”—he indicated the cruiser across from them—“then us.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said automatically, although the concern on her face tightened into near panic.

  He stared down at her, wondering for just a moment if he’d been too hasty in bringing her over from Renaissance—with a promotion, no less—and trusting her with the role of quartermaster.

  “What do you need, Quartermaster?”

  “I need those jetty cranes and a squad of longshoremen,” she blurted.

  “Not going to happen,” he clipped. “We’re lowest priority for dockyard support, and there are three bigger ships in front of us.”

  She nodded, her eyes flicking down the jetty, then toward Daring. A moment of quiet descended, broken only by the distant bangs and clangs of crates being loaded onto the other ships. “I need,” she said carefully, “our entire crew up here to help load stores.”

  Good answer, Liam thought. Don’t wish for what you don’t have—use what you do have.

  “Some of the propulsors are busy in the rigging, but I’ll get you the rest. Have a plan ready.”

  Ignoring her startled reaction, he turned on his heel and approached the sailor who was standing watch at the brow. The position of brow’s mate rotated through the lower ranks, and this particular sailor was one Liam had met only once before, when he’d been signing up new members of the crew. Master Rating Flatrock, if he remembered correctly. The big man looked perfectly capable of handling the single access point between the jetty and Daring as she floated just beyond the polyglass. At Liam’s order, Flatrock activated the ship’s internal broadcast to muster all sublieutenants and below to the jetty.

  The broadcast was still echoing through the airtight passageway connecting Daring to the jetty when Liam saw the first hint of movement from within the ship. He glanced down the passageway, curious to see who the keener was, and immediately snapped to attention.

  “Pipe the side,” he barked.

  Flatrock pressed his bosn’s call to his lips and shrilled the three-note signal indicating the passage of a commanding officer.

  Just as Liam raised his hand in salute, and noticed Virtue and her storesmen instinctively doing the same, Commander Riverton stepped onto the jetty. She returned the salute crisply and motioned for Liam to walk with her away from the brow.

  “I just got word that your previous commanding officer is on his way over,” she said without preamble. “Any idea why?”

  Liam felt his heart sink even as his mind raced. Silverhawk was coming here, hours before Daring was due to sail? Was his former captain coming under pressure to explain the damage to Renaissance? Liam could guess pretty quickly where that line of investigation would end up—and he wanted nothing to do with it.

  “No, ma’am.”

  “I guess we’ll find out in a moment.” Riverton nodded toward a pair of tall, uniformed men emerging from a nearby carriage and striding toward them. A pair of servants followed, carrying civilian-style luggage. Liam recognized Silverhawk, and realized that the younger man next to him looked familiar.

  “That cadet is Captain Silverhawk’s cousin,” he said, remembering the ball. “He’s looking for a ship to sail in.”

  Riverton muttered something under her breath that sounded neither inspiring nor ladylike.

  Silverhawk was upon them moments later. He returned their salutes and peered down his nose at them before casting skeptical eyes toward Daring.

  “Comma
nder Riverton, I understand you’re sailing today for a routine patrol mission.”

  “Yes, sir,” she replied. “Nothing interesting—mostly post-refit trials and some engineering tests.”

  It was the official line, an attempt to keep Daring’s departure as low profile as possible.

  The cadet sighed heavily, his eyes passing over Daring toward the battleships.

  “Not ideal,” Silverhawk said, glancing at him, “but a start. It’ll give you time to develop your bridgemanship skills in a slow-paced environment.”

  “But I want to be on the battleship,” the cadet replied. Or rather, openly whined.

  “In time,” Silverhawk said with an indulgent smile. “Off you go, then, lad.”

  The cadet seemed ready to argue further, but after a moment he sulked off toward Daring, motioning for his servants to follow.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Riverton said icily, “but it seems that my ship is somehow involved with your discussion. As such, I rather think I should be involved as well.”

  “Yes, Sophia, of course.” Silverhawk offered her his most engaging smile. “My cousin, young Highcastle there, will be attending the Academy next year and we both know how much better a cadet can perform if he has real operational experience prior to commencing his studies.”

  “And . . . this involves my ship how?”

  “He’s going to join your crew,” Silverhawk replied, a flicker of irritation marring his easy expression.

  “Surely, sir, he’d have a more educational experience aboard one of the larger vessels.”

  “No room aboard them,” he clipped, just a bit too quickly. “It has to be yours. I’m sure you can find a use for him. Ava Templegrey is your medical officer, isn’t she?”

  “Yes, sir, but—”

  “Perfect. She and Highcastle are well acquainted.”

  Riverton turned her head to stare at Liam. Her expression was very close to neutral, but her eyes betrayed her anger.

  “Blackwood, supervise the loading of stores, if you please.”

  Liam knew a dismissal when he heard one, and with great relief he saluted his superiors and returned to the ship.

  Most of the crew had emerged, automatically forming up into three loose ranks on the jetty. A pair of officers stood off to one side, joined now by the towering, gangly cadet. The ship’s assaulter, a powerful-looking woman Liam knew only by name and rank—Chief Petty Officer Sky—noticed his return and approached.

  “Available crew mustered, sir,” she said with a salute.

  “Very good.”

  “We taking on a new cadet?”

  Liam glanced over to where Highcastle was introducing himself to the pair of sublieutenants. “Not sure, Chief. We’ll find out soon enough, I’m sure.”

  Petty Officer Virtue finished checking the last of the crates and moved closer, clearly not sure if she was allowed to interrupt the executive officer and the assaulter.

  “Crew mustered, Quartermaster,” Liam reported. “What’s your plan?”

  “Sir,” she said, clearing her throat and trying to sound confident. “My team are currently marking each crate for loading into one of the three bays. I request that the crew be divided equally and spaced down through the decks next to each bay. I’m getting six lifters brought up and I need the crew to guide each crate down to the storage lockers as directed.”

  Liam nodded. “Chief Sky will direct the crew into position. Get these stores moving.”

  Sky turned and barked a series of orders to the crew. The ranks broke up as sailors scrambled on board to take up their assigned positions.

  The three junior officers, Liam noted, were hardly as responsive. Highcastle seemed more interested in watching the activity near the battleships, and one sublieutenant made a quiet remark that caused the other to laugh.

  The storesmen appeared with lifters—each a meter square and ideal for taking the weight of a crate—and started handing them out at the loading bays. Under Chief Sky’s direction, temporary airlock corridors were connected to all three cargo access points and sailors began deploying themselves into a chain for passing stores.

  Sky returned, glaring at Virtue.

  “You got a plan for those snotters, PO?”

  It was a statement of Chief Sky’s confidence in her position that she was willing to call junior officers “snotters” in front of the second-in-command. Liam had to assume that Commander Riverton held this assaulter in very high regard.

  “They’d be useful as loading captains down below . . . ,” Virtue offered, glancing nervously between Liam and Sky.

  “Like hell.” Sky snorted. “Ideally you want them as far away from decision making as possible, especially when their decisions will affect you.”

  “Well, they’re young and strong. They’ll be useful in guiding lifters down the hatches.”

  “Now you’re talking.”

  Virtue relaxed visibly, until she realized Sky was still glaring at her expectantly.

  “So get over there,” the chief growled, “and make them do it.”

  Virtue jumped into motion.

  Sky cast an amused eye at Liam. “This should be fun, sir.”

  Liam agreed, curious how Virtue would deal with the officers. He wandered over to the brow and made himself look busy with the communications console while watching.

  Highcastle still had his eyes down the jetty, looking wistfully at the battleships, and didn’t even notice Virtue’s approach. The two subbies regarded her with little interest.

  Sublieutenant Charlotte Brown was one of Liam’s picks for the crew, a no-nonsense commoner who had won a seat at the Academy through her sheer ability. She’d been one of the few shining stars on Renaissance’s bridge.

  But it was the other subbie to whom Virtue spoke—one of the captain’s picks. Liam had met Ava Templegrey briefly and knew that she was fresh out of medical school.

  “Sublieutenant Templegrey,” Virtue said. “We’re really pressed for time to get everything aboard and I’d appreciate the help of all three of you.”

  Templegrey raised a single, doubtful eyebrow. Her pale features were smooth and fine, no doubt the product of generations of selective breeding, but her bright blue eyes fell on Amelia with disinterest.

  “And what would you like us to do?” she asked, her cultured voice carrying a sense of superiority with frightening ease.

  “You’re probably the three fittest people here,” Virtue said. “You’d be a great help guiding the lifters down between decks.”

  Templegrey laughed, real amusement laced with derision. “Well, Charlotte,” she said to Brown, “I’m glad we’re appreciated for our fitness.”

  Brown smiled, but her expression was less sanguine. She glanced over to where the rest of the crew was now bringing the first of the crates aboard.

  “We should help out,” she said simply, frowning. “If the ship isn’t loaded and we miss our launch window, there’ll be hell to pay.”

  Her common accent was laced with Academy intonations, making for an interesting cadence.

  Templegrey surveyed the loading activities for a long moment. “I suppose I’ll want to ensure that the medical supplies get to the right place.” She turned back to Virtue. “Which storage are they destined for?”

  “Midships, ma’am.”

  “Then I’ll put myself there.” She tapped the young cadet behind her. “Come along, James.”

  Highcastle started at the soft rap against his uniform. He noticed Virtue hovering for the first time and cast a querying glance at Templegrey. “Where are we going?”

  “To help load the ship. They apparently need our strong bodies.”

  “No.” His gaze swung back to the activity farther down the jetty. “I want to watch the battleships.”

  Templegrey rolled her eyes and wandered off, presumably to oversee the medical supplies. Brown took a couple of steps, then looked back.

  “Mr. Highcastle,” she said, “let’s go.”

  Cadet Hig
hcastle’s uniform was so new it practically still had the tailor’s marks, but the air of superiority in his cold expression was long-practiced. From his great height he looked down his nose at her. “I said,” his voice cut with the clipped precision of the royal accent, “that I want to watch the battleships.”

  Brown’s face hardened. “I don’t give a damn what you want, Cadet. If you’re part of this crew you’ll pull your weight. Now get over to the forward loading bay and start helping.” He looked to protest but she cut him off. “That’s an order.”

  A cross between a scoff and a protest burst from his lips. He seemed genuinely perplexed for a moment, but Brown’s glare didn’t shift. Finally, seeming to understand she wouldn’t relent, he pushed past her and strode rapidly toward the ship.

  “Forward team,” he called out with easy authority, “I want our bay loaded first, and there’s a crown for each of you if we do it!”

  Liam watched the three officers join the efforts, then glanced back to where Virtue still stood. The petty officer looked exceptionally uncomfortable, and rightly so; that clashing of officer egos was not really a scene any sailor should have seen. Liam made a note to speak to Brown about not being quite so blunt with the cadet. For a moment he dared to hope that Highcastle would soon be nothing more than a bad memory, but Commander Riverton was returning, and her black expression said everything.

  “Add Cadet Highcastle to our crew list,” she said, voice flat. “And assign him to understudy your commoner, Sublieutenant Brown.”

  “Brown can certainly handle him,” he replied, “but do you not think, ma’am, that Templegrey might be a better—”

  “I said Brown.”

  Liam was caught short by the sudden order. Riverton’s angular features were taut with suppressed emotion.

  “Yes, ma’am—I’ll add him to Brown’s watch right away.”

  She stalked across the brow without another word. She was halfway down the passage before Flatrock thought to pipe the side, but her salute was more a flicker of her hand as she disappeared into the ship.