The Bright Black Sea (14 page)

I arrived on the landing stage to find Astro and
Orbit eagerly a'waiting our guests. I knelt down, looked them in
their eyes and gave them a stern lecture on behaving themselves –
no barking, no jumping, no licking. They cocked their head to
indicate they understood and tried to lick my nose to assure me
they were on board with the plan. I gave them a stern stare to
impress upon them the importance of keeping their wits about them,
as the
Ghost
arrived to remind them.

The Tiladore group consisted of four people, three
commission officials and their supercargo, the person who'd be
traveling with us to oversee their immigrants and goods in
transit.

I'd objected to that requirement. A sleeping
supercargo in hold no.4 to be animated if necessary would've been
preferable, but Min assured me it'd be a condition they'd insist
on. Animated passengers increase the risk of piracy. In the old
days, when the ship carried passengers and cargo, the passenger
section was sealed off from the rest of the ship by solid
bulkheads. It had its own crew, galley and environmental services
reachable only via its airlock from outside the ship, precautions
long since breached.

The dogs surprised me by actually keeping their wits
about them and staying on their best behavior, though we quickly
left them on the landing stage before they could forget by starting
our tour in the engine room where they're not allowed. I'd
accompanied Miccall on dozens of these tours, potential customers,
new customers and old customers bringing family or friends up to
see the ship. Miccall was in his lyrical glory showing off his
beloved ship and I made a point to learn his lines and stories. As
I showed the Tiladore people around the ship I painted its colorful
history in stories and anecdotes, only changing Miccall's first
person yarns to third person,
Here Captain Miccall
once
...'

Min attended the three officials while I paid special
attention to the supercargo, Miclae Midedow. She was ex-liner cargo
master who started out in tramp service. She'd an eye for detail
and asked a number of technical questions about our equipment and
procedures. Having signed aboard in my enthusiastic youth, I'd
embraced cross training and fifteen years later, I knew her from
bow to stern down to the make and model numbers of the fuel pumps
so she didn't stump me.

I stopped in the ship's office to show Midedow my
plan to stow the SA containers and asked for suggestions. She
offered several, but seemed satisfied we were attending to the
details of the charter.

I'm sure the fit and polish of the engine room,
mechanical rooms and bridge impressed Midedow, the restored
passenger decks clearly impressed the other Tiladore officials. The
captain-owners who'd last fitted her out for a passenger/freight
liner had not spared expenses, nor had Miccall and Hawker when they
set about restoring her. Above the engineering workshops the
utilitarian nature of the ship disappears, the steel bulkheads are
hidden behind warm white panels, divided and trimmed by wide dark
wood strips. Compartments are generously sized and well furnished
and the open expanse of the awning deck never fails to impress both
down-siders and spaceers alike with its sweeping view and size.
Miccall and Vinden treated the ship more like a yacht than a tramp
ship, and it shows.

I offered refreshments from the bistro, but they were
on a schedule so I saw them off with a nod and smile from Miclae
Midedow and another from Owner Min as she followed her guests into
the
Ghost
.

I checked Guild records to confirm that Midedow had
indeed signed on fifty years ago as a pilot in the tramp trade,
moved to liners, spent thirty years working as a cargo master for
the TriStar Interstellar Line before signing on with the Tiladore
Commission as their supercargo a decade ago. Not that she'd struck
me as a pirate, but , what did I know about pirates?

Pirates, though much less common these days, still
operate, mostly by placing an agent aboard – either as crew or an
animated passenger and ship the rest of the gang as sleepers.
During the passage the pirate agent disables or eliminates the
crew, poisoning the air or food, revives his or her cohorts in the
sleeper-pods and it's off to the deep drifts with the ship and
cargo. Three thousand sleeper passengers could easily hide a pirate
band, so I needed to know for sure that the one person onboard who
I didn't know, was as reliable.

02

Min stopped up early in the fourth watch, but didn't
stay long, content with a brief conversation on the landing
stage.

'We were impressed with your tour, Captain. We sign
the contract tomorrow. I was confident an impromptu inspection
wouldn't knock you out of orbit, but hadn't expected your
showmanship.'

'I'm not quite sure that's a compliment, but I've
been Miccall's understudy these last few years, and I've given a
tour or two this past voyage as well. Miccall always made it a
point to have any potential shipper up to see the ship, as shippers
connect a well looked after ship, with a well looked after cargo.
Which is likely true, and certainly in our case.'

'Well your tour cleared any doubts they may've had
about chartering a tramp. I'd like you at the signing tomorrow to
answer any last minute questions.'

'Right. Just give me a time and place.'

'It'll be in my office. I'll pick you up on my way
down. That'll give you time to follow my first order as owner.'

'Which is?'

'Take yourself down to Star Gate Boulevard and buy a
Neb-blasted captain's star for your cap,' and eyeing me critically,
'And a new uniform, and maybe a some other fittings as well. I
believe even tramp ship captains are not above looking like
captains. At least in the tramp ships I own.'

'Aye, aye.' I said, standing to attention. And we
shared a rare, easy smile.

'I'll call before I leave the '
Moon
. And one
more thing. The new owners of the
Silvery Moon
are taking
delivery this coming Firstday. We've a fair amount of personal gear
and provisions that must be removed before . I'm wondering if you
could lend a hand to help us clear the ship this Sixthday. We'll
just transfer everything to the
Lost Star
. I'm sure Barlaz
and Saysa will welcome the provisions – my parents did not stint on
flavors and potables.'

'We'll all appreciate it.'

She nodded, adding, 'We, Vyn, Ten and I, can sign on
and move aboard. Turns out to be perfect timing, with the sale of
the
Silvery Moon
we'd have been homeless. Plus it'll also
give you a chance to meet and work with Vyn and Ten. I'm sure
you'll like them.'

'I'd be delighted.' I assured her. 'When can I tell
the rest of the crew about what's in the works? They were asking
this morning.'

'When the contract is signed. And they'll need be
told of my plans to sail to out of system. Anyone who doesn't want
to go, can sign on just to Sanre-tay if they like, since they're
unlikely to get a berth out of Calissant any time soon.'

'I'm sure they'll go along. Most of the old gang came
out of those systems, anyway.'

'Right. I'll radio you no later than mid-morning
tomorrow. Vyn and Ten are waiting for me, so I'll head out. Until
tomorrow, Captain. Fair orbits.'

'Fair orbits, Owner Min.'

03

Min had the
Ghost
screaming down through the
clouds Fourthday morning, locked onto the Yacht Club beam. It was
another thick day in Primecentra and what little we saw of it was
mostly darker shadows against the grey of the day.

She'd given me the address of an establishment on
Star Gate specializing in outfitting spaceers not far from the
office building housing Min & Co. I knew she wasn't kidding
about upgrading the cap and my kit in general, so I had left my cap
and old uniform behind and dressed in mufti, determined to look
every bit the up and coming tramp ship captain for the signing.

I rode the flier taxi with Min to the roof and
leaving her at the 27th floor, proceeding down, out and a block
over get to Star Gate Boulevard. The wide mall was once again
sparsely populated. The nearest Port Prime gate was blocks away so
there weren't even cheery companions to brighten the dreary
scene.

Lorof & Staff has a narrow, unimpressive front on
Star Gate, several blocks down. However, like many Star Gate
establishments the back rooms stretch on and on, (and on) – a vast,
multi-storied and seemingly endless warden of showrooms filled with
everything a spaceer might need or might dream of needing.
Clothing, gadgets and gear, some beyond the powers of my
imagination to identify, overflowed into the narrow aisles, making
navigation perilous at times. The clothing alone spread over many
floors, from boots to caps, intimates to spacesuits and everything
in between was stocked for sale, at the lowest prices in the known
universe – but only if you could find it – which for me, meant
asking the avatar sales staff for detailed navigational
instructions. The dress uniform department is located in the third
sub-basement, or so I was assured. I was given detailed directions
involving half a dozen landmarks just to find the ramp down by a
harried sales avatar. (
Turn to port by the engine room tool belt
displ
ay and starboard just before you reach the catering
department, and down the ramp, three turns...) Eventually, after
several dead ends and new directions from different sales avatars –
but likely the same harried operator – I arrived at my port of
call.

Lorof & Staff offers uniforms for every sex,
size, rank, employment, environment, style and price. Ship climates
and cultures vary as much as the planets their crews come from, so
the collection is vast. In addition, they seem to anticipate
serving time traveling spaceers as well – offering uniforms in
styles that seemed thousands years out of date to others which I
can only imagine will be in style a thousand years hence. After
wandering about this archipelago of fashion for what seemed like
hours, I settled on a nice understated black captain's uniform and
a stiff new cap complete with a captain's star badge, plus a few
crisp white shirts and couple of pale yellow sweaters just for some
color. (I believe I mentioned that we're a cool climate ship.) It
was a step or two up in quality from what I had been wearing,
though not the equal of Min's. To this I added half a dozen other
items for my wardrobe and some gadgets I stumbled upon while
wandering lost and decided I needed, until, eventually, running out
of hands to carry more, I began my search for the checkout station.
Realizing that I was now up against the time of the meeting, I had
to cut the bargaining short and settled for at least five credits
too much. I changed into my new uniform before I left and hurried
to the meeting.

While we were waiting in her office for our clients
to arrive, Min gave me a funny look. 'What do you reek of?'

'I reek? I don't reek of anything.'

She waved her hand to clear the air. 'What is that? I
know it.'

I put my nose to the sleeve of my new uniform.
'Perhaps you're smelling Lorof & Staff's lingering ambiance. I
can get just the faintest whiff of it. But after spending several
hours in their emporium, I may've grown accustomed to it. You'll
get used to it, it's a very spaceer-ish aroma. Such is the price of
glorious peacock of a captain.'

'Peacock? Couldn't you have at least gotten something
less than five hundred years out of date? Or are your referring to
that canary yellow sweater you've added to your costume?'

I gave her a look of reproach. 'I like this uniform.
You certainly can't complain about the color since all you wear
enough black... And the sweater just adds the right touch of
dash...'

'Old and out of date, and, well, very canary like.
We're meeting clients and you look and smell like something out...
I don't know what...'

'I'm sorry you don't approve. I didn't think you
wanted me dressed up like Brilliant Pax. Next time you'll just have
to come along to pick out my clothes.'

'Next time I will...'

Kardea knocked and announced the Tiladore Planetary
committee, not a minute too soon.

We spent two hours going over the charter contract,
each side making certain the other side knew exactly what was
expected of them. Min had everything on our side well in hand. The
only point I made was insisting Miclae Midedow be the supercargo,
no last minute substitute. If she couldn't sail with us, we'd only
accept a mutually agreed upon substitute. Min gave me a look, but I
explained that for security's sake, I'd have no one aboard my ship
that I didn't have complete confidence in, which, I pointed out,
was in Tiladore Commission's best interest as well. They signed and
we made arrangements to start loading the cargo containing boxes in
ten days, with the passengers boxes a week after for a 1st of
Second Spring sailing date.

Min took me (and my bundle of treasures, also reeking
of Lorof & Staff) out to a Laslion island cuisine restaurant to
celebrate. Afterwards we boarded a flier at the taxi stand for the
hop to the Yacht Club through the misty spring evening.

The fog was a cold, clinging curtain of dampness as
we stepped out from the small access terminal into the night. The
cheery brightness of the terminal was quickly lost in the looming
shapes and shadows of the boats parked in long rows fading into the
night. Except for the strings of terminals, the tarmac was vaguely
lit only by the glow of the Yacht Club building far astern and the
undefined brightness of the towers of Primecentra that filled half
the sky to the north. A lower and vague band of light stretched
around to the south – broken by the dark massifs of warehouses and
hangars that lay beyond the southern edge of the Yacht Club. The
Ghost
was parked on the edge of tarmac, several rows of
parked boats away. A two minute walk. Min had opted for the least
expensive berths. We turned up our collars and snuggled deeper in
our coats, setting out at a brisk pace.