Chapter Text
Chapter 3:
Monday, April 24th, 2243
Harland & Wolff Shipyards, Berth #22
Team C Headquarters
Belfast, Ireland, Earth
Once the wood came in, work proceeded with the speed of determination. Once he was given a clean bill of health, Scotty supervised and threw himself into the construction; just about every other thought he had was devoted to how he would be able to see the schooner to her completion despite everything currently working against Team C. It had taken him a few more days to get that clean bill of health -- made some easier by things returning to mostly normal between him and his best friend, and by the increasing distance from the fire, both of which made sleep easier -- but once he did, he had no trouble putting everything he had into trying to see the Lady Grey to her launch.
Corry certainly did his share in the slip of late, too; not only making up for the work he hadn’t done before, but trying to rebuild the relationships he’d neglected with the rest of his team. Even then, though, for a little while every day, he spent time focused entirely on finding the saboteurs. It gave him a satisfaction bordering downright evil to tail O'Sullivan around, eavesdropping whenever he could, to see if the mutineer made any mention of the Lady Grey and what had happened.
And it was while Cor was playing spy that he stumbled across a related bit of intrigue: While Team C -- in part -- had taken to teasing Scotty about being a tyrant by nicknaming him after one (the villainous Wolf Larsen), various underclassmen had a-- different take on it. Different enough that it had taken Corry overhearing it a few times before he even realized that it was his best friend who was the subject of the whispered awe and speculation.
From what Corry could gather, Scotty busting O’Sullivan’s nose was where that origin story began, but then the rumors about the arson started snowballing it way further than that, and Scotty was achieving something of a legendary status because of it.
Now, to various underclassmen, he was just called the Wolf.
Corry also thought that if he asked around, he’d probably get a lot of different stories as to why.
It mostly bemused (and amused) Cor, who had to fight down the affectionate urge to tell all these starry-eyed junior cadets that the object of their fascination was actually just socially awkward and not at all the daredevil they were no doubt picturing, but even as he was entertained by the thought of Scotty having a bunch of groupies -- which would baffle Scotty to no end -- he still felt a little shiver down his spine when he overheard one first-year cadet murmur to another what sounded like an accurate retelling of how Scotty had busted O’Sullivan’s nose, teeth bared and bloody as he did it.
Having been jumped and pinned and snarled at by the same person, Corry had no trouble visualizing it.
Beyond that sideways bit of intrigue, though, Corry mostly was hunting for conclusive evidence that the saboteurs were the same people they suspected.
But oddly enough, it wasn't Corry who produced the biggest key to the mystery, it was Harrison. The quiet cadet had been the only one of the original mutineers who had stayed with the project; it was a fair guess he was playing double-agent, but thus far, there had been no proof.
Until he sought out Jerry Jansson not long before they were to finish work for the night, anyway.
"Jerry?"
"Yeah?" Jerry asked, putting his mallet down. It had been another grueling day; first classes, one short simulation in zero-g, then working on the ship, and he was looking forward to crawling into his bed.
Harrison shifted his weight nervously, glancing around as if to make sure no one else was listening. "About the fire--"
Jerry blinked, but he somehow managed not to give away any surprise on his face. Keeping his tone neutral, he prompted, "What about it?"
"Well, I heard some things."
"Go ahead."
Harrison cast another glance around, looking for all the world like he was being stalked by a troop of professional assassins. Clearing his throat, he dropped his voice to a whisper, "Keith was talking about it-- you know, saying that it was a good thing someone set her on fire because he'd been damned if his work would go to someone else's grade. He didn't actually say he did it, but he said that it was deserved."
Jerry nodded, though he was somewhat disappointed. If O'Sullivan hadn't actually admitted to it, then it would be very hard to do anything about it besides keep an eye on him. "Is that all?"
"Nu uh. He's volunteered for Team B."
Now that was more interesting. Team B, led by Sean Kelley. They were building a steel full-rigger, and as far as Jerry knew, they were behind schedule. It wouldn't have shocked anyone on Team C if Kelley had whispered a word or two to the Mutineers of Berth #22 about working for Team B as retaliation, though Jerry didn’t think Sean would ever resort to sabotage himself. "Did he mention anything else about the fire?"
Harrison frowned, swallowing hard. "One last thing-- he said that 'it was a bleedin' shame the tyrant didn't lose his head'. I'm assuming he was referring to Scotty."
"All right. Thanks John. I'll be sure to inform the rest of the team leaders." Oh, would he. This might be just the information they needed to proceed.
"But no one else, right? This stays between us, right? 'Cause I would get the hell beat out of me if anyone knew I told you all of this--" Harrison said hurriedly, visibly pale at the thought.
"Not a word," Jerry promised, cutting him off. "Hey, you're on our team, and we stick together."
Nodding and looking a little relieved, the other cadet replied, "That's why I told you."
"You are not going to believe who's dating Maggie Mersea." Cor stepped into the room, flushed and breathing hard. He'd almost missed getting in before curfew; apparently, he’d had to run to make it under the wire.
Scotty frowned to himself as he sat on the dorm room floor, schematics spread out all around him. He was currently trying to figure out a schedule alternative that would allow them to make up some time on the construction; it was counting down far too quickly for his tastes.
The week before, they had conned, bribed and begged eight more people to join the team. That brought the grand total up to twenty-seven. Still not enough.
"I give up, tell me," he said, half-absently; that kind of gossip might have been more interesting before all of this, but nowadays, he had his hands full with another lass altogether.
At least, until Corry decided to drop a bomb: "Keith O'Sullivan."
Forgetting about the schematics that quick, Scotty looked up with wide eyes. "Ye're kiddin'."
Corry shook his head, looking as though he was blown away by it himself. "I saw her dancing with him across town." Pacing a few steps and only just avoiding the blueprints on the floor, he ran both hands through his hair, agitated. "I knew she went for the bad boy type, but I really didn't think she'd stoop that low. And she was wearing that dress-- you know, the black one."
"The low cut one? The one that almost shows off her--"
"That dress."
Scotty groaned. After all, not only was she dating such a scumbag, but he hadn't even been there to see her in that dress, which was very flattering. "And I missed it?"
"Forget the dress, look who's she's schmoozing with!"
"Well, then I've got a bit more for ye to chew on." Sticking his pencil behind his ear, Scotty leaned back against his bunk. "Harrison told Jer a few things-- said our boy there was talkin' about how he was glad she got burned, and how I shoulda lost my head."
Corry frowned, sitting down on his bunk. "Well, that kinda backs up that we think he did it, but it's not solid evidence."
"How many people knew about the attack on me?"
A lightbulb went off. Corry paused for a moment, eyebrows drawn together. "You know, most everyone knew you were hurt, but as far as I know, only me, the paramedic, the security people, the campus docs and maybe admin knew exactly how?"
"Unless they happened to be there?" Tilting his head, one eyebrow up, Scotty jerked his chin up with a little grin. "I've got one more for ye, though."
"Fire away."
"O'Sullivan's up and volunteered to work for B."
"Holy--" Corry stood, then sat, then stood again, like he couldn’t figure out what to do with himself at that revelation. "Sean's team. Since he's dating Maggie, he might be trying to get in good with her--"
"--or he might be tryin' to get that ship finished and rub our faces in it." Smirking, Scotty crossed his arms. "Now, ye don't suppose we're gonna let that happen, do ye?"
Cor's face went through a few emotions; first musing, then determined, and finally, a downright wicked smile crossed his face. "You know, Sean's room is right downstairs, and he does room alone. Think we should pay him a polite little visit?"
Scotty got to his feet, returning the smile in kind. "I think that'd be a fine idea."
Gesturing to the door with a graceful sweep, Corry was somehow mischievous and fierce all at once. "After you."
"You can't do this! This is a complete breach of protocol!" Sean's voice was kind of squeaky, but then, Sean wasn't exactly in a great position to begin with. The Malone Road Dormitory was only three stories tall, but looking down it probably seemed a whole lot taller.
"As far as I know, so is burning another person's final," Corry said pleasantly, keeping the frightened Sean from pulling away from the edge of the roof. "Wouldn't you agree, Scotty?"
"Oh, aye, absolutely," Scotty answered, just as amicably. Arms crossed, he leaned over slightly to look at the ground below. "Tis a long drop. I think it could kill a man. Or, at least, put a powerful hurtin’ on one."
"Look," Sean said, no doubt as reasonably as he could manage in his trembling voice, "I didn't have anything to do with that. I may not like you, but I sure as hell wouldn't stoop that low."
"Well, since ye happen to have one of my mutineers workin' for ye now, and since this mutineer was talkin' about the fire, and since he seemed to know just a wee bit too much -- gettin' my meanin'?"
Corry nudged Sean a hair closer to the edge, taking full advantage of the fact he was bigger than the other cadet. "So anything you might know, spill it."
Sean tried uselessly to backpedal; Cor tried just as uselessly not to find it gratifying. "God, I will, just get me off this roof!"
"First the information, then you move."
Sean held perfectly still for almost two entire minutes. It didn't bother his captors, seeing as how they were in no rush, but he was obviously upset. But finally, he managed to say, "I didn't know they were planning it, but Keith was talking about it the next day down in the cafeteria. I think he was fishing for some kind of praise. I was there, and so was Mark and Maggie. Maggie looked unhappy, and Mark just brushed it off."
"Did he actually admit to it?" Scotty asked, both eyebrows up, drumming against his own upper arm as he watched Sean’s face.
"Yes and no," Sean replied, gulping and trying to keep back from the edge of the roof. "He was kind of vague, but he said something about wishing that he could finish the job."
"It sounds kinda like an admission to me. What d'you think, Scotty?" Corry pulled Sean back from the edge finally, now that he had gotten pretty much what he wanted.
"Kinda? No, it just does."
Sean's trembling toned down a little now that he wasn't staring death directly in the face. "What're you going to do?"
"Nothin’ ye need to be concerned about, Mister Kelley." Scotty started back across the roof, headed for the access door, sounding decidedly smug. "Ye'd best concentrate on yer own ship."
Corry smiled sweetly as he gave Sean a little shake pre-release, adding, "And if you're really really smart, you'll forget this little unpleasant incident ever happened at all." With that, he turned and followed his roommate, leaving behind a very shaken cadet to think about things.
Scotty was waiting at the bottom of the steps, eyes narrowed, when Corry bounded down to join him. "Think he should walk the plank?" Corry asked. "I think he should walk the plank."
"Hm," Scotty answered, absently, staring at the wall as he continued thinking. After a moment, he murmured almost to himself, "I didna think Sean would have done that; he's an ass, but not that bad. And I know O'Sullivan wasna workin' alone, so we still have a few more people to find."
"You've got an idea."
"Aye, a little notion." Finally looking back at Corry, Scotty grinned. "But never mind that for now. What d'ye suppose we do a little more spyin'?"
"Tonight?"
"Why not?"
Corry sighed happily, having an unrepentant amount of fun with this espionage business. "Ah, vengeance will be sweet."
"Ah, 'twas beautiful, m'lads, beautiful." O'Sullivan was kicked back on his bunk, a glass -- not a shot -- a glass of whiskey balancing on one knee. The informal dinner suit he wore was half-disassembled. The jacket was on the floor, his shirt was unbuttoned and some wine had stained one pantleg. It was in the wee hours of morning, when most would be in bed, but not Keith and not John Harrison, and not Tanner Thylita. Those three gents were clearly quite happily awake.
They weren't the only ones. Cor sat on one side of the window, back against the brick wall of the Stranmills Road Dormitory, and Scotty sat on the other side. They were silent; even their breathing was as soft as they could get it, though it was doubtful that the three cadets indoors would hear them anyway. They hadn't bothered to change out of uniform; gray and black worked well enough as camouflage, but Corry had at least worn a hat to keep his hair covered.
And they waited.
First O'Sullivan had come back and started chatting with Thylita about class the next day. Then Harrison had shown up some time ago and they all discussed what they were going to do on the break before assignment. It had gone on and on, and now it was Keith reliving the date with Maggie.
In graphic detail.
Corry was fuming over it, his face red in anger. Scotty wasn't really thrilled either, but he was more worried about his best friend blowing a gasket and giving up their cover. They couldn't afford to be caught in the act of spying, out after curfew, especially not now.
So, figuring that distraction might work, Scotty picked up a stick and drew a tic-tac-toe board between them in the dirt. So far, it was working; Corry was worrying more about the game than about defending Maggie's apparently dubious honor.
And the target kept chattering. His companions were obviously enjoying it, though the two cadets outside were almost miserably bored. Once he'd finished beating his roommate four times consecutively, Corry erased the board and wrote: 'I never knew spying was so boring.'
Scotty leaned over and read it, a grin crossing his face. Taking the stick back, he wrote under that: 'It'll be worth it, I think.'
'I don't know, he seems to be happy with his current convo.'
'Wait til he has another glass.'
Corry shook his head and erased the whole thing so he could continue the painstakingly slow conversation. 'What are you planning?'
'Wait for it.' Shaking his head back, Scotty gave Corry an enigmatic little smile. He wasn't about to pony up his ideas just yet.
'No clues?' Cor wrote, eyebrows raised hopefully. He was desperately curious to know what Scotty was conjuring up, and had asked that particular question several times now.
Tilting his head, Scotty thought about it, translating in his head for a few moments. Then, with very careful precision, he erased the message in the dirt and wrote in his neatest lettering: 'La mer ne pardonne pas.'
Corry gave him the hairy eyeball for that one, snatching the stick and writing, 'FRENCH???'
Scotty probably would have had to work harder not to start laughing at Cor’s indignation, if not for the fact that the conversation inside got exponentially more interesting.
"You know," Harrison was saying, "the schooner's coming along pretty damn well now."
Scotty and Corry both looked up in unison, holding their breaths. They had no way of knowing which side of the fence Harrison was playing -- given the fact that he was still friendly with Keith, he could have very easily been working both. A regular double-agent. Admittedly, he had given Jansson the warning of who he thought did it, but that didn't mean he didn't have a master plan.
"And those bleedin' bastards are gonna get credit for the work you, an' me, an' Tanner here did." O'Sullivan's voice didn't raise, even under the influence of the whiskey, but it had taken on a bitter, resentful tone. "I lost a credit already."
Harrison's voice was glib, lighthearted and smooth. "Yeah, but they got some grief at least."
"Not enough, in my humble opinion. If I get another shot, I'll see they get more."
"Hey, just don't leave me behind. Last time was wild," Tanner said, just as lightly. As if it were some sort of game. As if they hadn't committed arson, assault and potentially could have committed manslaughter.
That was it. Scotty erased the last messages and wrote fast, all the while kicking himself mentally. 'We should've brought a recorder.'
'Too late now.' Corry wrote in response, after he'd grabbed the stick back. 'But now we know.'
Nodding slowly, Scotty mused on it for a minute while they listened. Unfortunately, the conversation had already turned back to Maggie, but now they did know beyond all doubt. Now they knew who the ringleader was, and at least one of his underlings.
Scotty smiled a bit wickedly, erasing the messages and motioning for Cor to follow him. Slipping out of the bushes, he was already working hard in his head on the next part of their vengeance-- and the next part of the Lady Grey.
If he’d been thinking more in the moment, he might have noticed Cor didn’t follow him sooner; as it happened, though, he got all the way to the road before he realized and went back to tug his grim-looking roommate along with him.
When the alarm woke Scotty up at 0600, he was not particularly pleased. His first desire was to smack the off button, but he managed to overrule that. If he slept through class, he would never be able to bring his grades back to their usual high standards, and while he found himself caring less about that than was necessarily good, he also knew he needed to at least appear to be on his best behavior.
Until then, though, he buried his face in his pillow for a moment to yawn, mind only on one thing: Coffee.
"La mer ne pardonne pas: the sea is unforgiving," Corry said, softly, once he ascertained that Scotty was awake. "I didn't know you could speak French. Especially after you nearly bombed Basic Language."
"I can't," Scotty replied, stifling the second yawn. Scrubbing at his face, he finally sat up. "Not well, anyway. I can read it, though. Don't remember much, but Mum taught me some years ago. Enough to read recipes and apologize for bein’ underfoot whenever she took me along to Paris." Then, bobbing his head to the side, he admitted, “--taught myself a bit more colorful stuff on top o’ that, though.”
Corry nodded with a little huff of a laugh, leaned against the wall; he didn’t look like he’d slept very well, but that might have been excitement or anticipation. "Thermos of coffee on your desk."
"Ye're a lifesaver." Grabbing the thermos, Scotty poured the coffee into his well-stained mug and sat back, eyes closed, just inhaling the aroma like that would hurry some sense of wakefulness.
"Normally I'm a bastard."
"Aye, that too. But not right now."
"You're being generous this morning."
"Had a good night. We've got swabbies to walk the plank." Scotty grinned somewhat mischievously; even after all of this, he still found a hefty dose of amusement in the idea of making people walk the plank like a proper pirate.
"Yeah, I know." Corry sounded like he was trying to be upbeat, but was failing completely; it didn’t quite fit with the way the night before had gone, at least from Scotty’s perspective.
Opening his eyes briefly, Scotty asked, "What's wrong?"
Corry glanced up, startled. "Huh?"
"Somethin's wrong," Scotty said, unhesitant, closing his eyes again and sipping at the coffee. It just wasn't like Cor to be that quiet, particularly when he was itching for revenge just as badly.
There was a beat, then the sound of Cor getting to his feet. "Yeah. I'll explain it later on, though. I want to confirm a few things before I do."
Scotty quirked his eyebrows back. Fair enough, then; they both had their cards close to the chest for the moment, though not for any bad reasons that he could imagine. So, he only said, "Aye, and I'll let ye in on the plan later too." He couldn’t quite help grinning again. "I think ye'll like it."
The decision to linger after they’d gotten enough confirmation that O’Sullivan had been the ringleader and his cronies were the ones behind the burning of the Lady Grey had been completely selfish: Corry had wanted to see what else O’Sullivan had to say about Maggie. Part of it was some worry for her sake, dating someone who was willing to resort to arson; part of it was an almost morbid curiosity as to what she could possibly see in someone like that.
He had been just about to chalk it up to an unsolvable mystery and follow Scotty -- and go look up a French dictionary -- when something had ended up stopping him cold in his tracks.
"She up and bitched about me hittin' him all night, though. Didn’t figure her for bein’ that squeamish, and it wasn’t like we did any permanent damage to the little tyrant."
Corry had been so stunned by it that he hadn’t put up any resistance when Scotty came back and dragged him out of the bushes. He tried to scramble around the circuit between shock and denial, but even as he did, he knew Keith O’Sullivan had no particular reason to lie about that there, amongst his friends.
Still, Cor didn’t want to just take it for fact until he could confirm it for himself, so he went back to their room with Scotty, translated the French and then, when 0530 came around, slipped out long enough to get his best friend some coffee. As little as had been said about the fight that night the Lady Grey had been burned, he'd been trying to quietly work on repairing this friendship, and that meant going back to the good-natured persistence and thoughtfulness it had been built on in the first place.
Now, feeling somewhere between wired and exhausted, he managed to track Maggie down between classes. She was walking alone, which was a relief for Corry -- if O'Sullivan had been there, it would have been a lot harder.
Sidling up to her with a sweet little smile, he didn't even give a hint to what he was planning on talking to her about. "Heya, Maggie."
Maggie smiled back, shifting her books and tapes to her other arm. "Hi, Corry. How are you?"
"Not too bad. Just a little tired; we've been working really hard getting our ship back up to specs." Frowning, Corry was watching her reactions like a hawk; a discreet hawk, but a hawk nonetheless.
"Really?" She shook her head, her blonde hair sliding over her shoulders. "That was so awful. Who would do such a thing?"
Corry sighed, heavily. It wasn't all an act; watching her hair move over her shoulders was enough to make him have to yank his mind back from the inevitable thoughts that came up. "Yeah, it was pretty bad. But we think we might know who did it."
"Oh?"
"We think Lewis might have gotten upset about the work. I've talked to him a few times, and Scotty treated him kinda bitter, if you know what I mean."
The relief in her eyes was unmistakable, but her acting besides was perfect. Her eyebrows drew in concern, her face was composed, her voice was soft and compassionate. But her eyes told the story; it confirmed Corry's worst fears about her.
She had been there. She was lying.
"Well, I hope that someone does something about it," Maggie murmured. "Tell me how it goes, all right?"
"I will," Corry answered, smiling warmly. After she had walked away, he added under his breath, "You'll be one of the first to know."