In Ashes Born (A Seeker's Tale From The Golden Age Of The Solar Clipper Book 1) (31 page)

“One question,” I said to the next one in line.

“After you sold Icarus to DST, why come back at all?”

“After Icarus, I found myself in the position of being able to do anything I wanted to instead of whatever I needed to. I took a few weeks off and visited with some old friends. I tried to think of what I wanted to do. I couldn’t think of anything I’d rather do than sail.” I nodded to the next one. “One question.”

“Have you recovered from losing your engineer?”

“No,” I said. “But I’m healing.” I pointed to the next reporter. “One question.”

So it went for the better part of a stan. I got all the way through the crowd of reporters once and almost through a second time when I realized that the crowd was bigger than when I started. I looked up at the reporter. “Wait a second. You weren’t part of the original group.”

“No, Captain, I wasn’t.”

I sighed. “All right. One question and then I’m done. I’ve got a ship to run.”

“And crew to hire,” Pip said from his vantage point by the lock.

“Any regrets about outbidding Malachai Vagrant?”

“Not yet,” I said. “It hasn’t been a whole day yet and I still need to finish checking out the ship. Once I find out how much it’ll cost to put her right, I may have a few.” I stepped back and said, “Sorry, that’s really all I have time for. If you have any other questions or want follow up, contact Phoenix Freight via StationNet and we’ll do our best to accommodate you.”

“We’re still welcome on the tour tomorrow?” one reporter yelled.

“Yes. 1400. We’ll figure something out.”

Pip shook his head at me. “You’re going to regret that.”

“Probably,” I said. “Who do we have here?”

“Captain, these poor sods think they’d like to sail with us to Dree.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said.

They all laughed, some with real humor and some more from duty than amusement.

“I wasn’t expecting a mass hiring,” I said. “I don’t know why I wasn’t, but there we have it. Mr. Carstairs has all your particulars?”

They all nodded and Pip nodded with them. “I’ve got everybody’s name and contact information, along with a statement on credentials, Captain.”

“Very well. If you’d give us until 1500 to find our feet here, we’ll start calling people back a few at a time and give you all a chance to get into the ship and see what we’re up against. Engineering crew will meet with our chief engineer. I’ll meet with deck and stewards. Any questions?”

A hand went up in the back. “I have one, skipper.”

“Sound off,” I said.

“I know this is a one-off with a yard stay, but will you be willing to hire us on after?”

“If at all possible, yes. I’m a little fussy about who I risk my life with in the long term, but anybody who’s willing to risk theirs to help get this old girl into Dree has at least a vote of thanks from me.” I shrugged. “And we’ll need a full crew on the other end, won’t we?”

They seemed to take that in stride and a few even looked a bit more relaxed.

“Anything else?”

“Skipper?” Pip said and nodded me away from the lineup.

We stepped back toward the lock.

“Two stewards. A spec two and a messmate. Both seem competent. They’re the only two in the whole lot.”

“Only ones competent or the only stewards?”

“Stewards.”

“Whew. You had me worried for a second. You’re thinking we need somebody to make coffee?”

“It would make the interviews go much smoother if we can get the mess deck cleared away,” he said.

“You’d hire them?”

“Yeah.”

“Names?”

“Franklin and Sharps.”

“Sounds like a law firm.”

Pip laughed.

I went back to the line of expectant faces. “Franklin. Sharps. If you two could lounge around with us for a bit, the rest of you we’ll see this afternoon.”

A man and a woman came forward though the dispersing crewmen.

“Captain, this is Spec Two Melanie Sharps and Messman Alan Franklin.”

I shook hands with each. “You two know each other?”

They both said “No, sar” at nearly the same moment.

“I’ve been operating out of Diurnia for the last bit and I’ve never met either of you myself. How do you happen to be here looking for a berth, Ms. Sharps.”

“You and I were both with DST, Captain. I was with Captain Avery on the
Linda Loren
before he retired.”

“Tanker life didn’t agree with you?”

“We’ll just say I wasn’t fond of his replacement and didn’t cotton to being a bunk bunny, sar. My contract expired while we were here on Breakall.” She shrugged.

“You make biscuits?” I asked.

“Doesn’t everybody?” she grinned.

“How’s your coffee?”

“I hear you like Djartmo Arabasti.”

I looked at Pip who studied his tablet as if it were actually turned on.

“Mr. Franklin?” I asked.

“I got bumped here in June, sar. UFH mixed cargo hauler needed a slot for an able spacer and the cascade bumped me off the ladder.”

“A full-share messman got bumped?”

“I was only a food handler at the time, sar. I passed the messman exam while I was waiting.”

“Been there, Mr. Franklin. That why you want to get to Dree? Confederated ports have better slots?”

“I just want to get back out, sar. Mess deck isn’t glamorous but it pays the same and you eat good.”

“Fair enough. Here’s the deal. We got a mess in there and we need it made right. You’re the only two stewards who came down to call on us today and I like initiative. Even when I’m on the wrong end of it.”

They shared a glance.

I nearly laughed at the worry they shared. “How about you come in and look it over. Decide how badly you want the jobs?”

“Sounds fair, sar,” Sharps said.

“Yes, sar,” Franklin said.

“Come on then.” I keyed the lock and pulled my grav-trunks into the ship. They followed me with Pip bringing up the rear. I waited until he’d closed the lock behind us before heading deeper into the ship.

“First impressions, Ms. Sharps?” I asked as we stepped onto the shambles of a mess deck.

She scanned the area, her mouth slightly open and her gaze darting everywhere. “How bad was it when you brought her in, sar?”

“It’s been cleaned up a bit,” I said.

She looked me in the eye. “Whole ship like this?”

“Some was better. Some worse.”

“Mercy Maude,” she said.

I crossed the mess deck and stepped into the galley with Franklin and Sharps close behind.

“This isn’t so bad,” Franklin said.

Sharps gave him a look that was all too familiar.

“What do you think, Ms. Sharps?”

“There may be a galley under all this cruft, sar.”

“I think there might be, given a bit of elbow grease and a bucket of disinfectant,” I said.

I saw the moment she shifted from shock to planning. The aimless gaze clicked into inventory mode as she looked at sinks and stove tops, skated across the work spaces, and checked off the coolers and cabinets.

“Mr. Franklin?” I asked.

“Looks like a lot of work, sar.”

“You up to it?”

“Nothing else on my calendar today, Captain.”

“Neither of you has mentioned the smell,” I said.

They glanced at each other again. Ms. Sharps asked, “Was that a question, sar?”

“You’ll get used to it,” I said.

“Oh, I hope not,” Franklin said and then looked horrified. “Sar.”

Pip and I both laughed.

“I suspect Chief Stevens has the scrubbers on overtime at the moment, trying to clear away the worst of it,” I said. “I’m sure you’ll believe me when I say it was much worse when I first came aboard.”

“You mean yesterday, sar?” Franklin asked.

“I mean back in ’71.”

He paled. “Oh. Of course, sar.”

“What’re your priorities on this, Captain?” Ms. Sharps asked. “This will take a couple of days to make right, but you need the mess deck this afternoon, right?”

“Exactly. You should find some cleaning gear in the locker there. Some of it might be good. The brooms won’t have rotted, but I’m not sure of the swabs and soaps. Figure what you need and see Mr. Carstairs to get it from the chandlery. We’ve an account you can use for replenishment but no inventories set up. You’ll be able to order your own once you’ve signed The Articles.”

She nodded to Pip. “Aye, aye, sar. I can’t guarantee coffee by 1500 but we should be able to find you a clean place to sit.”

“All efforts will be appreciated, Ms. Sharps.”

“I’m in, Captain,” she said.

Franklin nodded. “Me, too, sar.”

I pulled out my tablet and brought up the contracts Pip and I had agreed to, and after some fumbling managed to get both crew signed on. “Thanks, both of you. You’ve got your work cut out for you, and I need to get on with making captain noises so I’ll leave you to it.”

I left the galley and picked up my trunks on the way up to the cabin. Pip followed me up the ladder and paused in the passageway for officer country. “Any of these cleaner than the rest?”

I shook my head. “Not really. We’re going to need to replace all the mattresses and bedding before we sleep aboard.”

“The berthing areas are already stripped,” he said.

“Small blessings. Book us a suite at the Rangefinder on deck ten, would you? We’ll need someplace to sleep for a few nights.”

“Aye, aye,” he said and trundled down the passageway, his grav-trunk following in his wake.

“Hey,” I said.

He looked at me.

“What happened to the beer?”

“Redirected it to a storage locker on the oh-two.”

“Didn’t want to share with the new crew?”

“Thought better of trying to store it in that cooler before it’s been cleaned.”

“Thanks. You did good out there,” I said.

“We make a good team. Always have. Anyway, I’ve got work to do.”

I pulled my trunks into the cabin and locked them down out of the way.

On the bulkhead the chrono ticked over to 1054. It felt much, much later.

Chapter Thirty-One
Breakall Orbital:
2374, August 9

My stomach grumbling alerted me to a basic priority. I bipped the chief to meet me on the mess deck and picked up Pip from his stateroom on the way down the ladder.

Sparks and Franklin had done yeomen’s work on the mess deck in the scant time they’d had available, clearing away the rubble and bagging it for disposal. They worked with the simple tools of buckets, hot water, soap, and rags to clean off the surfaces of three of the tables. I found them up to their elbows in the muck, sleeves rolled up and smiles on their faces.

Franklin saw me enter and straightened up to attention. “Captain on deck.”

Sharps straightened before I could speak.

“Oh, belay that. We’re going to work together and we’ve got too much to do to get all military.” I looked around at the progress and nodded. “Nice job here. What do you need most?”

“Mops and wringers, skipper,” Sharps said. “A fresh jug of deck cleaner and another for glass would help.”

“We’ll do that, but I think you’re wrong.”

She looked at me, her eyes wide. “Captain?”

“I think what you need most is lunch.”

Pip nodded. “I know that’s what I need most. You two aren’t hungry?”

“Well, yes, sar,” Franklin said. “No offense, but this isn’t someplace I’d want to eat just now.”

Chief Stevens stepped onto the mess deck and laughed. “You’re not the only one.”

“Chief? Spec Two Sharps and Messman Franklin. Our first new crew members. Sharps and Franklin, this is our chief engineer, Margaret Stevens.”

The chief nodded and smiled. “Nice to meet you. You’ve made some good progress here in—what? A stan?” She eyed me. “I heard you come aboard and wondered if you were going to skip lunch mess.”

“First priority,” I said.

“Feed the crew,” Pip said.

Sharps tossed her cleaning rag into the bucket on the table and rubbed the end of her nose with the back of one wrist. “We calling for takeout, sar?” she asked. “I didn’t look in the coolers, but I’d bet we’d like what’s in there even less than what’s here.”

“Who wants a beer?” I asked.

Pip raised his hand instantly, straight up from his shoulder, his face alight with a grin.

I turned to see the chief with her arm up. The ratings stood there with confusion so plain on their faces I nearly laughed. “Let’s go find food,” I said. I led them off the ship and down to The Corner.

The place jumped with the lunch crowd so we took a round of the washrooms to sluice off the slime from being aboard ship. By then Brian had saved us a table in the corner and I ordered a pitcher of Whistle Wetter while we perused the menus.

“You can have something else, if you don’t like the beer,” I said glancing at Sharps and Franklin. “Mr. Carstairs will drink it if you just leave it there.”

“Sorry, Captain,” Sharps said with a glance around the table. “I guess I’m just not used to drinking with officers.”

The chief leaned over and asked, “Would it make you feel more comfortable if we took off our collar tabs?”

Sharps laughed. “No, sar. Not really.”

“All right,” I said. “This is a ship’s function. We need food. We need information. And Mr. Carstairs likes beer. We can tiptoe around all day but there’s work to do.” I grinned. “We may as well enjoy it. Besides the cleaning gear, what does the galley need, Ms. Sharps?”