Black Sails to Sunward by Sheila Jenné

Author:Sheila Jenné [Jenné, Sheila]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hansen House
Published: 2023-02-03T07:00:00+00:00

On the way to Deimos, Moira closeted herself with her best officers, trying to work out a plan. Maggie had moved out of our berth to sleep between the guns with the others, so I spent a great deal of time alone, pushing back and forth along the walls. I watched the planets crawl across the constellations of the zodiac, day by day; memorized more astronomical tables; wrote letters home.

The last was the most difficult. I wrote them up in my notebook, scratched lines out. Who knew when I would have any chance to mail them, or what information I could safely give them. I had a draft from months ago, which I hadn’t bothered mailing at Aphrodite Station, since radio rates were so expensive and paper mail so slow. “I was surprised to see Moira Singh is a member of the crew as well. You may tell her parents she appears to be in good health.” It was true, so far as that went, but I couldn’t very well ever send it. What would I write now? “You may tell her parents she is a traitor to the Empire and is never coming home”? I wrote the words anyway, just to scratch them out again.

Maggie’s absence also left me time to consider my options for escape or sabotage. I inspected every inch of our berth for possible weapons or a way out. I had Marron’s screwdriver, but my first idea, attempting to repair the bowchaser in our room, proved impossible. The whole firing mechanism was gone, and without it, I couldn’t so much as open up the tube.

I could, however, unscrew any panel I wanted in the walls. Each wall, except the metal of the outer hull, was the same densified wood—thin but strong, and lighter than metal would have been.

The decks above and below were the same. Wood panels, about a foot and a half square, secured at the four corners with screws. Going up, I ruled out immediately. Above me was the sail deck, right where the forecastle began. Someone was always there, without fail. The walls weren’t much better; they opened on the gun deck where the men slept and messed and played cards, when they weren’t exercising the guns. But below was only the store level. Hopefully there wouldn’t be anyone in the different storerooms.

Twenty minutes of careful unscrewing later, I eased one edge of the panel upward. It was dim down there—promising. I put one eye to the crack and peered down.

Below was the gun room, where the gunner was stationed during a battle, ready with repair tools. The room aft of it held all the ammunition, where it could be passed up the hatch right outside my berth.

Either room would be perfect for my purposes. In the gun room, I could find the necessary tools to fix the bowchaser in my room. Or I could go through it to the ammunition room, strike a spark, and blow the ship to pieces.

It was hard to force myself to keep moving after that thought.

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