The Venusian Gambit by Michael J. Martinez Page A

speeds at which engagements took place were significantly faster, thanks to the alchemical working upon ships’ sails that harnessed the very Solar Wind itself.
    “ Swiftsure is in position, my Lord Admiral,” Searle reported. “ Thunderer acknowledges her orders as well, though she’s taken some damage amidships.”
    “Then let us be on our way, Captain,” Weatherby responded. “Off toward the ovoid. The rest of the fleet may engage at will.”
    Weatherby watched as, one by one, the ships in his fleet peeled off and, with royals and studding sails unfurled, swooped toward the French line in a hodge-podge of directions. The French could continue to hew to old tactics if they wished, but Weatherby would not oblige them such a stodgy battle.
    Meanwhile, Thunderer grew ever closer as Victory and Swiftsure , the latter a “74” of fine lines and good form, spread out further apart on either side of the incoming ships in their fleet. For a moment, Weatherby wondered just how effective Finch’s working might be in communicating with O’Brian and his other captains. It hadn’t occurred to the admiral that the system of lookouts and signal flags might be improved, yet in this moment, and despite his extensive experience in battle, Weatherby wondered whether they should test Finch’s innovation sooner rather than later.
    Men raced across the deck of Victory as she raced toward the battle. Marines climbed to the tops, rifles slung across their backs, so they might take aim at the French officers upon the quarterdecks of their ships—just as the French sharpshooters would take aim at Weatherby and Searle. It was Weatherby’s duty to stand tall in the midst of this, showing courage and heart for the men aboard—indeed, while Weatherby could coordinate the battle from the safety of his cabin by using runners to convey his orders, he well knew that he served as a symbol to the men of Victory, and by extension his entire fleet, by being seen.
    Searle, of course, was busy with the efficient handling of the grand old ship, conveying his orders to his first lieutenant, whose shouts pierced the bustle aboard. Young men, barely out of their teens, hauled powder and shot across the decks to arm the guns, while the larger, stronger seamen loaded shot into their guns and ran them out. The men swarming through the rigging prepared to adjust sails according to whatever Searle—and Weatherby—wished in the moment. All 800 souls aboard were part of a well-trained, well-oiled mechanism designed to bring raw destruction forth as quickly and efficiently as possible.
    And Weatherby, as the fleet admiral, was responsible for all of it—and none of it, as it was not, strictly speaking, his ship he stood upon.
    The admiral watched Thunderer quickly grow larger as it neared, with the Xan ovoid racing after it, arcs of electric wrath firing into the Void toward the English ship. She was out of reach for now, but at those speeds, she would feel the power of those infernal workings in seconds. It would be up to the men of Victory and Swiftsure to ensure the ovoid would not get a clean shot upon their comrades aboard Thunderer , for if it did, the grand 74-gun ship would surely see the aft third of its hull ravaged.
    In a flash, Thunderer passed between Victory and Swiftsure , with O’Brian suddenly tacking downward in a course-correction that would likely wrench every man aboard his ship and stress the gravitational lodestones to a great degree. And just as suddenly, Thunderer reversed course yet again, shooting straight upward and well behind her sister ships.
    “Two points down starboard-side plane! Two points up larboard-side plane!” Searle shouted, his timing very close to perfect. Through his glass, Weatherby saw Swiftsure making the same adjustment.
    The Xan ovoid was doing its level best to follow Thunderer and—as O’Brian planned and Weatherby had hoped—placed itself slightly below and in between Victory and