Owner's Share (Trader's Tales from the Golden Age of the Solar Clipper) (34 page)

I took a long pull of the nutty ale, and then put the glass down and leaned on the table.

“Well, crew, tomorrow we’ve got about ten pallets of equipment coming first thing in the morning.”

Ms. Maloney looked a bit shocked, and I think Ms. Arellone thought I exaggerated. The chief knew how many spares he needed, and he knew I underestimated.

“The good news is that most of it will just slide back into the stores locker in engineering, and the rest is equipment for the galley. I need to do some serious menu planning when we get back tonight, but we should be stocked by tomorrow night.”

Ms. Arellone grinned. “About time, Skipper.”

“Given that it hasn’t been even half a day since I signed the papers, I’m pleased with the progress, and I thank you all for helping to make that happen.” I picked up my beer, gave them another toast, and then sipped.

“If the chief’s estimates on repairs are correct, we’ll be leaving the maintenance docks the day after. We’ll take her out for a spin around the local system to check sails, kickers, and the rest of the running gear. We’ll stay out a whole day, and come back to the orbital the day after. By then I want to grab a cargo and head for Jett. We probably won’t get too much cargo, but just enough for us to stretch our legs, and shake out the ship a bit.”

The burgers and fries arrived then, and we dug in. Even Ms. Maloney ate with a certain gusto, and I immediately felt bad that I’d unintentionally lumped her in with a stereotype. I vowed to do better.

After we’d given the food it’s proper due for a few ticks, I looked around the table. Ms. Arellone was looking for threats, the chief was elbow deep in his plate, methodically working through like he hadn’t eaten in a week, and Ms. Maloney maintained her reserve as best she could while licking the salt off her fingers.

“Our next order of business is brainstorming,” I announced into the relative quiet, and took another bite of burger.

Ms. Arellone groaned. “How do we differentiate ourselves, sar? Again?”

I nodded and swallowed a bite. “’Fraid so, Ms. Arellone.”

The chief looked up at her and then over to me. “Differentiate, Skipper?”

“Yes, Chief. There’s hundreds of ship, dozens of them fast packets. How do we stand out in the fleet? What’ll we do that’s different?”

He chuckled, and went back at his food, occasionally looking up at me, or Ms. Arellone, or Ms. Maloney.

“Your thoughts, Ms. Maitland?”

She looked at me oddly for a moment, one eyebrow arched. She deliberately reached into her plate and fished out a fry. When she’d finished, she pursed her lips and shook her head. “I’m sorry, Captain, but being a quarter share, I’m not even sure what my duties are, let alone what the ship might do.” She leaned over the table, took another small bite of her burger, and followed it with a sip of beer.

Ms. Arellone looked like she might like to take offense on my behalf at the non-answer, and even the chief was grinning into his plate.

“You know, Ms. Maitland, you make an interesting point. We’ll address your training soon enough, but given your newcomer status in our midst, you can offer a unique insight.”

“How so, Captain?”

“You have no preconceived notions about what we might do with a small, fast ship. One of the things that I’ve found helpful over the course of my career is that I didn’t start as a spacer. I don’t have generations of prior practice to tell me what anything is. I have to figure it out as I go.” I nibbled on the end of a french fry. “You’re in a similar situation as a quarter share crewman, Ms. Maitland. What do you think we could use the ship for to make money? What’s our edge over the rest of the people who’d like to see us fail so they can take our cargoes?”

She frowned just slightly, and glanced at the chief to see what he was making of all this. If he was aware of anything other than the rapidly dwindling pile on his plate, he didn’t show it.

“I don’t know, Captain.” She gave a little shrug, and almost as if against her will, offered, “I guess I assumed that there was always more cargo than carrier.”

The chief cackled a bit without looking up.

“Yes, and no, Ms. Maitland. We need a little bit of edge in terms of which cargo to take. The
Iris
can’t take a lot of anything, compared to the larger mixed freight or bulk haulers. Think jewel box rather than boxcar. What we have is legs, or at least that’s the theory, and one we’ll test in the next couple of weeks. While a larger ship is still crawling up out of the gravity well, we’ll be bending space. Before a tractor can make it to the burleson limit on the outbound leg, we can be at Jett.”

She looked startled at that. “Really, Captain?”

“That’s the theory. There are a lot of variables in the formula, and a lot of them are unknowns. A fast packet can get from here to there and back before the bigger ships can even get to there. I need to think of how to position our fledgling transportation empire best to take advantage of that strength, and I want you all to think about that with me.”

“Captain? Why would we do that?”

“Your pay depends on how much the ship makes. The more the ship makes, the better off you are. Also, the more the ship makes, the better we can make life aboard. Given the amount of time we spend packed in the can, even small improvements in the bottom line can make big improvements in life aboard.”

Ms. Arellone muttered, “I’m gonna miss the hot tub.”

“Me, too, Ms. Arellone.”

The chief looked up at that. “Hot tub?”

Ms. Arellone nodded. “Yes, Chief. The skipper here had a bet with a couple of the crew on the
Agamemnon
about who could pick cargo the best.”

The chief grinned at me. “You devil! How’d it work out?”

“Pretty well, Chief. It’s a long story, but the punchline is, the guy who won wanted a hot tub aboard. We found room for one, and had it installed.”

He laughed and shook his head. “How the devil did you pay for that one, Cap? The banging company don’t usually go in for frills and I’m assumin’ we’re talkin’ about that
Agamemnon
?”

“I paid for it myself. The improvements in share value offset the cost several times over.”

Ms. Maloney’s expression went from carefully bland to thoughtful, although she kept her attention on her plate.

I looked around the plates at the table, and realized that not only were the plates empty but the beer was gone. “Anyone want dessert?”

A general collection of no’s resulted in my thumbing the tab, and we adjourned to the chandlery to outfit our ratings. As we walked along the promenade, Chief Bailey asked, “You mind if I head back to the ship, Skipper?”

“I figured you might, Chief. Or go shopping or something. Just be ready for breakfast at 0600.”

He grinned at me. “You cookin’?”

“Not tomorrow, but I probably will after that.”His head cocked to one side, and disbelief washed across his face. “You’re a banging cook, too?”

“I know which end of a spatula to hold.”

He chortled, and shook his head. “Well, I never...Cap, you’re a never endin’ source of amusement, you are, indeed.”

“Wait’ll you taste my cooking, Chief. You might decide you’d rather be the cook.”

He chortled some more. “Unlikely, Cap, un-banging-likely.”

On our way past the lift, the chief waved good bye, and headed back to the ship while the rest of us headed for the chandlery.

Our first stop was ship suits. Ms. Maloney seemed slightly amused at the prospect, but Ms. Arellone appeared more uneasy.

“Skipper,” she asked. “What is it you’re thinking here?” She eyed the racks of multicolored shipsuits, and then looked down at her somewhat stained and worn one. “You want us to pick suits?”

“DST had their own suits for ratings, Ms. Arellone. Icarus needs to as well.”

“But it’s just the two of us, Skipper. Can’t we just go with what we got?”

“Ms. Maitland doesn’t even have a change of skivvies, Ms. Arellone. We provide them so the mass doesn’t come out of your allotment.”

“Well, yes, sar, but...you want us to pick them?” She looked at Ms. Maloney, and then around the racks. “Out of all these?”

“That’s the idea, Ms. Arellone.”

Ms. Maloney seemed amused at Ms. Arellone’s predicament.

“Do you have any color preference, Ms. Maitland?” I asked.

“None, Captain.” She turned a bland face to me.

“That makes it easier.” I nodded to her. “Ms. Arellone? Might I suggest something in a deep blue? Maybe black?”

She frowned back at me. “Are you mad, Skipper? Do you have any idea what they’d look like once they fade a bit?” She shuddered dramatically. “And black would show every piece of lint and dust on the ship!”

“I’d hope there wouldn’t be that much, Ms. Arellone.”

She shot me the look of exasperation again. “Situational awareness, Skipper. I need to shop.”

“Understood, Ms. Arellone. Please consult with Ms. Maitland on your selections.”

I stepped back a half step, and turned so that my back was to the outer bulkhead of the store. I had a clear line of sight, and noted the other shoppers mostly clustered around the various counters. A clerk hovered nearby, but didn’t seem too inclined to help. I marked the nearest exits, and looked left and right to see what opportunities existed.

The idea that anything would happen in the brightly lighted and carefully monitored store seemed ludicrous, but so many people seemed to think it was a problem. I couldn’t help but compare it to Mr. Pall’s obsession with pirates before he was attacked. The memory of that attack made me survey the surroundings more carefully.

In less time than I thought possible, the two women waved at me, and I crossed to where they stood in an ocean of blues. They held matching suits in a pale blue-gray with a dark blue trim. The trim was tastefully done, unlike some with piping on every seam and decorative stitching everywhere.

“What do you think, Skipper? The color’s not so saturated, but still had a nice hue. You think a guy would wear this?”

“A guy, Ms. Arellone?”

“Yes, sar, if you hire a guy, you won’t want to replace everybody’s shipsuit.”

“Good thinking, Ms. Arellone.” I took one of them, held it up to my chest, and looked in the mirror at the end of the rack. “Looks good to me.”

“Thanks, Skipper.”

“Let’s get these on order, and we can pick up another tablet while they’re being printed.”

I summoned the lurking clerk, and explained what we wanted. He grabbed the stock numbers and sizes, and headed for the back.

We made our way to the electronics department, and purchased an officer class tablet for Ms. Maloney. The clerk was the same one we’d had before, but if he remembered me, he gave no sign. The captain’s stars were all he looked at.

We went back to the garment section, and found that they’d printed only one of each suit—Arellone and Maitland. “I guess we didn’t make it clear, I need five of each,” I told the clerk. “And can I get ten sets of ship tees, boxers, and socks in each of these two sizes?”

He nodded. “Of course, Captain.”

I looked at the two women. “Anything else? Ms. Maitland? Ms. Arellone?”

“Bras, Captain.” Ms. Maloney said with just the hint of a smirk.

“Thank you, Ms. Maitland. If you’d provide the clerk with the proper measurements...?”

They did so and I told him, “Ten each.”

“This will be quite a bundle, Captain, and the printing will take a while.”

“We’ll take these with us.” I pointed to the two suits. “And I’ve got a big order being delivered to the ship in the morning. Can you add the clothing to that?”

He pulled up a computer screen and found the replenishment orders. “Of course, Captain. Will there be anything else?”

“No, thank you. You’ve been a great deal of help.”

I bundled the two shipsuits up, and tucked them under my arm.

“Ms. Arellone? If you’d take us back to the ship?”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

As we walked back to the ship, I couldn’t help but notice the thoughtful expression on Ms. Maloney’s face.

Chapter Twenty-Nine
Diurnia Orbital:
2372-December-27

My first morning aboard I didn’t want to get up. I understand that for a lot of people, a nice lie in is delightful. I have always been one of those wake-up-get-up people, and low digits like five don’t bother me. That first morning was different. I couldn’t put my finger on the cause, but the bed was a contributing factor. When I ordered the mattresses and linens for the crew quarters, I didn’t “cheap out” on them. The mattresses were top shelf, and the linens had the same high thread count that the Lagrange Point used. It wouldn’t have surprised me if they came from the same manufacturer. A part of me counted the credits, but another part of me argued the incremental value of high quality bedding would be an excellent investment in the long run. For the first time in stanyers, I woke in a bed that was both comfortable and my own. I looked forward to waking in it many times.

Unfortunately, between the thought that perhaps “many times” would be limited to as few as ninety, and the fact that my bladder didn’t care how comfy the sheets were, I had to get up.

I padded to the head, took care of business, and stripped out of my boxers and tee. Whoever had dragged my mattress up and made it for me had also stocked my head with towels and other supplies, so I was in and out of the shower in nothing flat. Remembering my earlier experience, I was rather tentative about taking the towel off the bar, but felt a bit better when the fittings stayed on the bulkhead.