Owner's Share (Trader's Tales from the Golden Age of the Solar Clipper) (22 page)

“What about a family?”

“I had a wife. It didn’t work. I think I’d like another someday, but I need to find a way to take her with me out there.”

“Lots of people do, Ishmael. What’s the problem?”

“How do you deal with the power differential, sir?”

He turned to look at me then. “Power differential?”

“Of course, sir. As captain of the ship, I’m responsible for making the decisions. How can I have a relationship with somebody when I have that kind of responsibility over them.”

He looked at me and his face crinkled in amusement before he finally broke into his raspy laugh again. When he caught his breath, he reached over and patted my forearm where it lay on the arm of the chair between us. “Dear chap, your problem isn’t power.”

I could feel my eyebrows coming together as I tried to figure out what he was talking about.

“It’s selection.”

“I’m not sure I understand, sir.”

He chuckled a little and turned to look back out into space. “Out there are thousands upon thousands—millions, billions even—of people who live and work and fight and make up. You’re a starship captain, you’re not a god. You must know couples who live and work together. Solar clipper people, even.”

“Well, yes, sir, I do.”

“How do you think they do it, Ishmael? One of them puts on the captain’s hat and says ‘Jump, frog?’” He glanced over to me and snorted before turning back to the view. “I bet you don’t run your ship that way now. What makes you think you’d do it if you were married to your cargo master, or your engineer?”

“Well, the chain of command, sir. They have their jobs and I trust them to do them. I have mine and they trust me to do it. They advise me, I listen, and usually do what they want. Sometimes I have to argue them around a bit, but usually it works out.”

“Sounds like a description of marriage to me, Ishmael. What’s the issue?”

“If I have to pull rank now, I don’t destroy my marriage.”

He glanced sideways at me. “You think on that a bit, Captain.”

We sat there for as much as two ticks. He seemed in no hurry to move me along, and I sat there trying to figure out what the old bugger was trying to tell me. I was pretty sure it was something important.

“You’ve got a couple of more immediate problems, Ishmael,” he said at last. “First, you’re about to come into a great deal of money. Second, you think you want to go into business for yourself.” He turned his face to me and observed, “If you go into business for yourself, you’ll solve the first problem handily because once you head down that road, no amount of money will help you.”

“I’m getting that impression, sir.”

He smiled at me and patted my arm again. “You’ve also got a third problem that’s related to both of the first two, and that’s Christine Maloney.” He sighed and shook his head, looking back out into the void. “She’s not really your problem. You don’t need to be Geoff Maloney’s mule on this load, but accepting it might get you a leg up on the other two issues.” He sighed again, smiling this time. “Geoff was a master at that. Getting people to do what he wanted them to do because it was the fastest way for them to get what they wanted themselves. Sometimes it even worked out.” He paused for a moment. “I’m gonna miss that boy.”

I thought he was going to subside into contemplation again, but he surprised me by turning to me suddenly, and leaning half out of his chair so he could face me almost directly.

“You’ve got DST by the short and curlies. Kirsten knows it even though that fool Jarvis thinks he knows better. They have a ship they’ll sell you, and you’ve got a windfall the likes of which we haven’t seen around here since Virgil Murphy struck gold out in the belt.”

“But I can’t afford that ship, sir. I talked to Mr. Larks, and he showed me the problems with that.”

He sat back on his haunches and looked at me, head cocked to one side. “Dick Larks?” He made a pfft sound. “That boy wouldn’t know a decent deal if it bit him on his backside. If it doesn’t come with a balance sheet, he’s lost. We should never have taken him aboard, let alone made him lead partner. He keeps thinking we invest in assets. Silly git.” He shook his head. “No, he’s right about one thing. You probably can’t get a loan to buy that ship. Banks, collateral, payments. Gah, you’d sink from the red tape. You don’t need a loan, Ishmael. You need capital.”

He could see the confusion on my face and asked, “How much money do you need to go indie, do you think?”

“Enough to get a ship. Enough to have operating funds.”

“How much is that?”

I shrugged. “My best estimate is about half a billion.”

“Oh, my stars,” he exclaimed. “Not nearly enough, or way too much, depending.” His face crinkled into a smile. “Look, Ishmael. You don’t need to own a ship to be an indie. You only need to have a ship to sail around in.”

“How does that work?”

“Son, you ever buy an apartment?”

“Well, no, sir, you have to lease...”

His eyebrows went up in a “Do you get it now?” expression.

“I can lease a ship?”

He settled back into his seat and gazed out at the panorama in front of us. “About a third of those ships out there are leased. Almost all the big lines lease some ships. It’s a good way to get access to capacity without capital investment. Short term expenses are a bit stiffer because the leasor has to make a profit, and that’s your penalty, but it’s done all the time.”

I sat back in my own seat and looked out.

“You need something more than a ship. Ship’s the least of your problems, Ishmael,” he said after a few ticks.

“What’s that, sir?”

“You need a plan.”

I turned my head to look at him and he looked back. “That’s why I asked you what you wanted to do, and we started all the psychological claptrap. You really haven’t a clue, my boy, but I’d have been surprised if you did.”

He chuckled at the look on my face.

He waved a hand at the window. “Look out there. Take a good look. Get a grip on how many ships there are, how many of them are the small fast packets that you’re thinking about running.”

I frowned and did as he said. When I started looking, I began to realize what he meant. There were thousands of metric kilotons of cargo capacity floating in the darkness.

“What’s going to make customers for you, Ishmael? Why are they going to ship with you instead of him?” He stabbed a finger at an Unwin Eight just coasting past the view about two kilometers out. “Or her?” He pointed at a tractor under tow with Schulman livery. “Those people have been out here earning a reputation for decades. You think you can just waltz in, grab a cargo, and poof? You’re an indie?”

His words hit home and he subsided back into his seat to let me stew on it a bit.

“Thank you, Mr. Simpson.” I said at last.

“Don’t thank me yet, Ishmael.” There was a glint of humor in his voice.

“After all this, I’m not sure I can handle much more, sir.”

His raspy laugh bubbled out again. “Well, you haven’t seen my bill yet either, my boy. Patience.” He laughed some more and I found myself laughing along with him, although I wasn’t sure what was funny.

Eventually we stopped laughing except for the odd chuckle from one or the other of us.

He reached over and rested his hand on my forearm again, but left it resting there. His eyes were focused out into space, but he patted my arm with each point.

“This is where I earn my fee, Ishmael.” Pat. “When you leave here, go down around to the main Admin Office here on deck four, register the name of your company, get your tax id number. You’ll have to pay a filing fee, it’s cheap.” Pat. “When you leave there, go down to the oh-four deck and see the nice people at Spacer’s Bank. Open a commercial account, deposit a thousand there for incidentals and fees. Don’t buy the extra services. That’s what we’re for.” Pat. “Go next door to see Patti Cantrell at Presto Personnel Services. Get your payroll, contract, all that stuff through her. She’s expecting you.” Pat. “Do all that and you’re an indie.” He turned his face toward me. “You, and about a million other people. It’s one of the problems. It’s too easy. Anybody can do it. You’ve got some advantages. You’ve got a master’s license. You’ve got experience. You’ve got DST in a position where you can get a ship for almost nothing if you can deal.” He stopped then and looked at me shrewdly. “Now, take out your tablet and write that all down because otherwise you’ll forget.”

I grinned, and did as he said, reading it back as I did so.

“Good,” he said with a final pat. “We’ve got about two weeks or so before Jarvis gets back, but Kirsten knows the tapdancing has to stop soon. Do you have any questions?”

“Well, sir, this is all good, and I can see where we’re going today, but where do I get the price of a ship? How do I raise the capital I need to get this going if I don’t take out a loan?”

He leaned back to look at me. “Oh, the hardest part of that is already done. We just need a company to tie it to.”

“Tie what to, sir?”

“Why your stock offering and the bonds, of course.”

He rasped his laugh again. “Ishmael, how do you think the other companies do it? They can’t afford the level of debt that would be required to get one of these ships out of dry dock, let alone fueled and filled with cargo. We’ll set you up with a private stock offering in the next few days. I need to file some paperwork. You need to file some paperwork. You’ll need to put together a board of directors, and they’ll need to file some paperwork.” He shrugged. “It’s boring but sure.”

“But don’t we need to find people to buy the stock?”

He grinned. “Oh, you already sold the stock, Ishmael. We just need to figure out who gets what pieces.” He reached over and patted me one last time. “Now, go. Roll up your share of the red tape so we can do ours. When you get done, send me all your account numbers so we can start your tax processing. Don’t send me any passwords or access codes, mind. I don’t need that trouble. Just the public numbers so we know where to put the credits when they come in. Now get out of here. Scoot. Spread your wings and fly.”

I thanked him again and let myself out, leaving him sitting there staring out into the dark.

Ms. Arellone waited just outside, looking about as subtle as a black eye. “Not many places to blend in here, Ms. Arellone?”

She chuckled. “No, but the upside is there’s not much place for risks to hide here either.” She roused herself a bit, stretching her arms above her head for a moment, but never stopping the scan. “Where we going next, Skipper?”

“Admin office, then down to oh-four. We’ve got some red tape to deal with.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me, sar?”

“I have a problem, though; I need to name the company.”

“You haven’t named it yet?”

I shook my head. “I need something classic. Has to be flexible. Something maybe inspiring.”

“Well, let’s walk that way, sar. Maybe something will come to you on the way.”

“I hope so, Ms. Arellone.”

“Did you get the money you needed, by the way, sar?”

“I hope so, Ms. Arellone,” I repeated.

She glanced at me for a heartbeat. “You hope so, sar? You were in there a long time. What’d he say?”

“A lot of things. We need a plan. Something that separates us from the other carriers.”

“That’s sort of a given, isn’t it, Skipper?”

“It should have been, Ms. Arellone, but I really thought I’d have a lot more time to think about this.”

“Like the name, sar?”

“Yes, Ms. Arellone.”

We were almost at the entrance to the main Administration Office and I still hadn’t come up with a name.

“Well, did he give you any hints about a name, sar?”

I shrugged. “Not really. We spend the first few ticks talking about the normal ‘Who’s stopping you?’ kind of stuff. He wasn’t really interested in it, but wanted to see if I had a clue. Which I don’t, apparently.”

“Sar, I have to agree with him about most things, but I’ve seen you with the crew. I have no idea what it was really like before you took over, because all I know is what I heard on the dock, and some of the stories I heard in the berthing area, but, Skipper, you really do have a reputation as a high flier on the docks. Everything I’ve seen since has only re-enforced that.”

“Thank you, Ms. Arellone.”

“Just the truth, Skipper. A lot of people thought you’d crash and burn when you got a ship of your own. I remember some of the betting—”

“What did you say, Ms. Arellone?”

“About the betting, sar?”

“No, crash and burn.”

“Oh, it’s just a saying, sar. Sometimes when a First Mate gets his ticket, and takes off on his own for the first time, he gets a little carried away, and it all comes tumbling down. They call it crash—”

“I’m familiar with the phrase, Ms. Arellone.”

“Then why did you ask, sar?”

I grinned. “Because of something that Mr. Simpson said just before I left his office.”

“What was that, sar?”

“‘Spread your wings and fly’, Ms. Arellone.”

“Sar?”

“Onward, Ms. Arellone, I know what I’m going to call the company.”

Chapter Eighteen
Diurnia Orbital:
2372-December-22

“Rise and shine, Ms. Arellone.” I banged on her door at 0700. “Uniform of the day is shipsuit.”