In Ashes Born (A Seeker's Tale From The Golden Age Of The Solar Clipper Book 1) (30 page)

It took a little longer than five ticks for me to toss everything into my grav-trunk, but not by much. It left me with the problem of what to do with the empty grav-trunk. I tried to think if there was anything on Breakall that I wanted to take with me badly enough to fill a trunk with it and came up empty. Lacking any better choices, I slaved the two trunks together and took them both down to the living room to wait for Pip.

Marx’s grav-trunk stood in the corner nearest the lock. The captain himself still stood in the galley, apparently surveying the remains of breakfast.

“The coffee’s fresh,” I said. “You want a hand clearing this away?”

He shook his head. “What’s with that kid?” he asked.

“Well, first, that kid is forty.”

“He’s almost half my age and has no sense of decorum,” Marx said. “That makes him a kid in my book. Just because he’s the CEO’s son he thinks he can get away with anything. With treating people like crap.”

“Actually, it has nothing to do with being the CEO’s son. Tom wouldn’t put up with that kind of behavior.” I shrugged. “He treats everybody the same way. As long as I’ve known him.”

“Oh, right. How long have you known him? Couple of stanyers?”

“We met on my first ship, back in ’51.”

“He didn’t go to the academy until ’53.”

“I know. I flew over with him on the
Bad Penny
. That’s how I knew the code for the ship’s systems by the way. Might want to change that to something else. We graduated together. Class of ’58.”

He blinked at me for a few heartbeats. “You’re captain already?”

“I caught some breaks.”

“Well, tell me how a cargo first gets off talking to a captain the way he does?”

“First, while you’re captain of the ship, he’s not cargo first. He’s owner. As owner, he gets to talk to you pretty much any way he likes. The only time he has to do what you say is when the ship is underway.

“Second, treating a forty-stanyer cargo first like a green third mate is a good way to get your hand bitten off at the elbow under any circumstances.

“Third, he’s really not a bad guy. Just a bit eccentric.”

“A bit eccentric? He brought a pallet of beer on the ship for personal consumption. We could have used that mass to carry paying cargo.”

“Seems to me he paid for that trip a couple of times over with that one shipment of diamonds.”

Marx looked down at the galley table. “Yeah. I’ll grant you that.”

“Has he ever flown a leg without turning a profit?”

Marx ran a hand over his mouth and shook his head. “No. Never.”

“Captain’s share is pretty decent. You earn more in salary or shares?”

“Shares,” he said without looking up.

“So, your biggest complaint is that this ‘kid’ who picks the cargoes that pay you shares in excess of a princely salary doesn’t talk nice to you?”

He glanced over at me. “When you put it like that ...”

I shrugged. “You know what I think?”

“What?”

I grinned. “I think I’m glad he’s picking my cargoes now.”

Marx laughed and I left him to cogitate in peace. I wondered how long it would take him to realize that the captain’s share on the trip to Umber would be zero unless he found a cargo.

Pip clattered down the ladder, his trunk in tow, and we headed out for the
Chernyakova
.

“Where’s the beer?” I asked.

“Courier picking it up in half a stan. Where can we put it?”

“Roll it into one of the coolers in the galley.”

“What’d you talk about with Roland?”

“What a pain in the butt you are.”

“I’m wounded.”

I chuckled.

He glanced behind us. “You’re bringing both trunks? I thought we drank all the beer out of that one.”

“We did. I just can’t think of what I would want to fill a trunk with here in Breakall.”

“I see. Not coffee?” He gave me a sly smile.

“Chandlery has buckets of the stuff. Besides, the best roaster is on Diurnia.”

“Probably for the best, then.”

“Did you sell that can yet?” I asked.

“I listed it with a broker here on station. They traded us an empty can for it while they find a buyer. It’ll cost us a percentage but they know the market here better than I do. Station services will swap the cans out this afternoon sometime.”

“Good enough.”

A small crowd waited for us at the
Chernyakova’s
lock. As we approached, somebody said, “There he is.” All the faces turned toward us and everybody started talking at once.

“What the—?” I asked.

Pip snickered. “Your fan club caught up with you.”

Chapter Thirty
Breakall Orbital:
2374, August 9

The crowd slowed us down but allowed us through to the lock, which left me with the conundrum of how to get the lock open without letting them all in or crushing somebody in the mechanism.

I locked my grav-trunks down in front of the lock itself. Pip took the cue and parked his beside mine. Some members of the crowd appeared to be members of the press. A couple had hover-cams above their heads; several held up recorders.

I held up a hand. “Hold on. Hold on. I can’t understand any of you.”

About half the noise fell away but a couple of people near the back continued shouting questions. “This will go much better if you’d put a clamp on it for a couple of ticks,” I said.

As the noise finally abated I heard Pip snickering.

“Thank you,” I said. “Raise a hand if you’re a member of the press. Yes, you can raise the one with the recorder in it.”

About a third of the crowd seemed to have one or more appendages in the air.

“All right. If members of the press would slide off to my left?” I made a shooing motion. “That will let me figure out what these other people want and make more room for you to ask questions and maybe get answers.” I glanced at Pip, who took the hint and waved people off to one side.

I turned to a trim, young woman in a shipsuit standing closest to me. “Yes? Can I help you?”

“We heard you’re hiring.”

“Well, the company is hiring, yes.” I looked up and saw more shipsuits in the remaining group. “How many are here about a job? Raise a hand?”

A little more than half, some in civvies, raised hands.

“We posted openings on StationNet this morning. Are you all here from that?”

Most of them nodded.

“All right, then. If you’re here for a job, please move to my right, would you? We’re a bit short-handed, but if you can hang on for a minute, we’ll get some specifics taken care of.”

They milled about a bit until I said, “Being able to follow simple directions is one of the qualifications we’re looking for.”

Some of them laughed but all of them moved aside, leaving maybe a half dozen people in civvies and station coveralls.

“And what can I do for you?” I asked the nearest one, a skinny man with a terrifyingly brilliant smile stretching his face.

“Oh, I just came down to see if we could get a tour.”

“A tour?”

Several people nodded and a couple more pressed closer.

“Why would you want a tour? It’s a freighter.”

The smiling man nodded. “Well, yes, Cap’n, but this boat’s been parked here over two stanyers. Most of us have walked by it a couple times a day the whole time. Even when they tried to hide it.”

Pip chuckled.

“As much trouble as this ship’s seen, I thought I’d like to come and pay my respects to the old girl before she leaves,” he said.

“How many of you want a tour?” I asked.

All the remaining people along with half the press and two-thirds of the potential crew raised their hands.

I leaned toward Pip. “Ideas?”

“We can’t very well give tours right now,” he said. “We’re too short-handed.”

“Agreed.”

“Schedule one? Maybe tomorrow?” He scanned the waiting crewmen. “A couple of them look likely and probably more are qualified. If we can hire a couple who have Barbell experience, that would help manage foot traffic.”

I looked at the three groups, all waiting patiently and politely. “All right,” I said, raising my voice so everybody could hear me. “Tour people? We weren’t exactly expecting company today, and it’s the maid’s day off.” That got some chuckles. “If you’ll come back tomorrow at what?” I looked at Pip. “1400?”

He shrugged and nodded. “That should let us take care of the worst liabilities.”

“So, tomorrow afternoon, 1400. We’ll give you a walk through the ship. There’s not much to see, but if you’re set on it, I’m game.”

The smiling man said, “Really?”

“Sure. If you want, why not?”

That seemed to satisfy them and they wandered off, leaving a gap between the press and the potential crew. I addressed the crew first.

“How many have served on a Barbell before?”

Almost all the hands went up and my breath went out in a whoosh. “I’ll admit, that was unexpected,” I said. “Deck and engineering? Hands up?”

Many of them stayed up but a few dropped.

“Cargo handlers?”

All the hands went down and several of the people laughed.

“Now I know who the real Barbell people are.”

More people laughed.

“That wasn’t a joke.”

More laughed.

“You’re losing ground, skipper,” somebody shouted.

“All right. Here’s the deal. We’re flying this ship to the yards in Dree as soon as we can make her spaceworthy. We’ll need a couple of stewards and some watchstanders for deck and engineering to get us there. No share because we’re flying on a yard permit but I’ll pay scale plus twenty-five. It’s a one-voyage contract for now. We’ll know more when we get her into the yard and see what she needs. Until we do, that’s all I know.”

Nobody seemed to object and nobody walked away.

“Very well. Let me answer a few questions for the press here, and Mr. Carstairs will take names and particulars. Then we’ll see where we are.”

Pip nodded and pulled out his tablet, setting up shop on the top of his grav-trunk and organizing the spacers in a line along the side of the dock where they weren’t blocking traffic.

I turned to the press and took a couple of steps away to give Pip some room.

“All right. Recorders on. Cams running?” I asked.

Lots of hands went up and the gabble of questions started.

“Wait. Wait. This is too cold and noisy to work that way. One at a time.” I pointed at the man in the front with a handful of recording equipment. “One question. Go.”

“Are you the same Ishmael Wang that led the salvage team?”

“That’s the best you got?” I asked him.

He blinked.

“Yes, I am.” I pointed to the next person behind him. “Yes? One question.”

The first guy stepped in and asked, “Why did you want this ship?”

I looked at him without speaking for a moment. “Standard is not your native language?” I asked.

He seemed a bit surprised by the question and answered, “Well, of course, it is, but—”

“The phrase ‘one question’ is foreign to you?”

“Well, no. I asked one question,” he said. “But—”

“Yes, you did but now you’re trying to ask another question and I’m trying to hear this gentleman’s one question. You keep interrupting. Would you like me to answer another question?”

“Well, why do you think I’m trying to ask it?”

“All right. I’ll answer that question,” I said. “Because you’re incapable of understanding simple rules or waiting your turn like everybody else. So, that will be the last question I will answer for you. Good day, sir.”

He started a bluster storm, but his colleagues soon elbowed him aside.

“So we’re clear on the rules,” I said. “You get one question. I’ll answer it if I can. If you ask me the same question somebody else asks, you’ll have to get the answer from them. When we get through, we can go around again. Depending on time, maybe a third round if anybody’s still standing. You’re all welcome to come back tomorrow for the tour at 1400.”

I pointed to the person in front with a hover-cam over her head. “One question.”

“With as much of this tragedy as you’ve seen up close, Captain, why did you agree to come back to the
Chernyakova
?”

I bit my lip for a moment, trying to think of how to phrase an answer that might sound reasonable. I gave up and went with the truth. “I don’t really know. Part of it was the tragedy itself. It was stupid. The whole crew paid the ultimate price for somebody’s unfortunate decision. I thought I might be able make some piece of that right again by fixing the ship and making it safe again. I’m not sure that makes any sense, but that’s what I have.”

She opened her mouth but saw the warning look and smiled, stepping aside for the next person.

“What was the other part?” the next reporter asked.

“He made me.” I jerked a thumb at Pip.

Pip said, “I heard that.”

The reporters laughed.

“Sorry, that was flip, but the truth is bringing that ship in from out there was horrible. It was frightening and I was scared almost every moment for the weeks it took to get her in and safely docked. He made me recognize that and invited me to come along with him to deal with it. Not very heroic, but it’s the truth.”

The reporter grinned like I’d given him a pocket full of gold but nodded and stepped aside.