To Fire Called (A Seeker's Tale From The Golden Age Of The Solar Clipper Book 2)

by Nathan Lowell

  We stood there for what must have been several ticks until the display drew us on past the entry, where I reveled in the beauty and vision presented behind the armorglass. Even the glass itself contributing to the feeling of life protected.

  We got to the end and stopped. I looked back along the curved glass and almost hated to keep going.

  “Wow,” Pip said.

  “Yeah.”

  “She sailed with you for a stanyer?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you walked away from her?”

  I looked at him and considered. Had I? Finally, I shook my head. “No. She’s an amazing, brilliant, talented, powerful woman.”

  “But?” he asked.

  “But not for me.”

  “You’re sure?”

  I looked at the display again, running my hand down the smooth, cold glass. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

  We started walking again. The lift wasn’t far. We’d be back on the ship soon.

  “We should get something to eat before we go back,” Pip said.

  “Sharps will have something stocked in the ready cooler.”

  “Yeah, I know, but I need something else.”

  “What? Beer?” I asked.

  He laughed. “No, my system has had enough excitement for one day.”

  I checked the chrono mounted in the bulkhead above the lift doors. “2300? How did it get so late?”

  “We spent a lot more time at Aubergine’s than you think.”

  “How can he get away with that?”

  Pip shrugged. “It’s common practice in a lot of shops. Get you in. Get you to lose track of time. You’re more likely to buy something.”

  “It’s not illegal?”

  “Nope.” He shrugged. “Simon pushes the envelope but as long as nobody complains, he’ll keep doing it.”

  “What if we complain?”

  Pip looked at me. “Who would you complain to?”

  “TIC?”

  “CPJCT jurisdiction. As long as he’s not breaking any laws, they can’t do anything.”

  “It’s not illegal?” I asked again.

  “Nope.”

  I pressed the call button and stepped back from the doors. “Doesn’t seem right.”

  “It’s not right, but we’re not talking right or wrong here. We’re talking the law.”

  “We’ve had this conversation before, haven’t we?” I asked.

  “Yes, but I think the last time you were the one telling me.”

  The lift arrived and the doors opened on an empty car. We stepped in and I punched oh-two.

  “I think you’re right,” I said. “That sounds like something I’d say.”

  “It does.” Pip nodded his head. “You know what else is something you said?”

  I laughed. “I’ve said a lot of things. Which one did you have in mind?”

  He folded his hands behind his back and stared at the door. “Why does it have two nuts?”

  Only the doors opening to an influx of rowdy spacers on the oh-two deck saved him from being strangled.

  Chapter 12

  Jett Orbital: 2375, April 5

  I found it difficult to sit in the cabin while the ship was docked. I had no place else to go, but wandering the ship felt a bit desperate. I could appreciate why Leon Rossett had taken to writing romance novels on the side. I had no real desire to go ashore, so I found myself sitting on the darkened bridge with a cup of coffee in the holder, looking aft at the traffic around the orbital. I told myself I was thinking. I might have been.

  The orbital’s cargo lumpers had taken our can. Without it, the thin straw that made up the backbone shone starkly bright in the lights from the orbital and contrasted against the darkness beyond. Knowing it wasn’t actually white, regardless of what my eyes told me, made me smile.

  While I watched, a team of jet jockeys wrestled a new can into place, practically at my feet. That would be the one going into the Deep Dark. The logistics of the operation felt fuzzy in my mind. Getting the can out was the easy part.

  Getting a can back, not so much, and without a can, we wouldn’t be going anywhere.

  Pip came up the ladder and started when he saw me sitting in the captain’s chair. “Ishmael. Eris take it, I didn’t expect to see anybody up here.”

  “They’re bringing in the can now.”

  “Yeah. I wanted to watch them latch it down.”

  “You worried they’ll get it wrong?”

  He shook his head. “First time I’ve ever taken on a cargo I couldn’t lift on my own.”

  “The chief says she thinks we can jump seven BUs with a full load.”

  “That’s almost as far as the Son,” Pip said.

  “Real long legs for a Barbell.”

  Pip brought out his tablet and flipped to a schematic of the ship. Each latch around the forward and aft nacelles showed red. As we watched, the latches turned green one by one until the whole can flashed green when the crew locked the final one into position.

  “All we have to do now is deliver it,” Pip said.

  “One more day of liberty and we’ll pull out at 0800 on the seventh,” I said.

  “Can Reed handle the navigation?”

  “If not, then I’m sure Al can help him out.”

  A heavy step on the ladder made us both turn. “Al can help who out with what?” Al asked.

  “Grand central station, up here,” I said.

  “Mr. Reed with navigation,” Pip said.

  “We got charts?” she asked.

  “Pip thinks so,” I said.

  “Don’t you?” he asked.

  “I don’t know what to look for. If we don’t, we’ve got a huge problem.” I looked out at the can locked to the ship. “I don’t think they’d appreciate it if we back out of the deal now.”

  Al shook her head and the steel bits in her eyebrows, nose, and lips flashed in the reflected light of the orbital at the bow. “Boys, boys. There’s an easy way to find out.” She crossed to the navigation console and fired it up. She threw a leg over the back of the seat and settled down to the keyboard. I crossed to look over her shoulder as she keyed in a few commands. “Mel’s?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” Pip said.

  She nodded, typed in a short string, and pulled the overlay out to show a wider range. A red spot blinked on the chart. “There it is.” She shrugged. “We’ve got the charts. Might need an update but we can get that from Mel’s.”

  “How long to get there?” I asked, still feeling gun-shy over missing a deadline.

  “Six weeks, probably,” Al said, cranking in some tools and taking a couple of rough measurements. “Yeah. About that. Most of it in Jett trying to get out.”

  I felt somewhat better getting confirmation from Al. “All right then.”

  “What are you going to do now, Skipper?” Al asked.

  I shook my head. “Honestly? I don’t know. Reports are caught up and if I ever see another one I may just toss my console.”

  “You know that one has come in while you’ve been moping up here, don’t you?” Pip asked.

  “Moping?” I asked.

  He grinned at Al. “What would you call it, Al? Sitting up here alone on the empty bridge staring out at the Deep Dark?”

  Al smirked at Pip. “I’d call it trying to find a little peace and quiet,” she said.

  “Yes, I know another one has come in,” I said. I looked at Al. “What do we need to do before we leave?”

  “Crew-wise, we’re good. One more day of liberty will even out the sections in terms of work and play.”

  “I hear a but,” I said.

  “One of the officers has me worried,” Al said, glancing at Pip.

  “You’re worried about Pip?” I asked. That was when I noticed they were both looking at me.

  “Not exactly, Skipper,” Al said. “Perhaps we could take this discussion to the cabin? Away from big ears?” She glared at Pip.

  “I’m the CEO, I should be in on this,” he said.
/>   “He’s the captain and it’s ship’s business,” Al said, crossing her arms so her muscles flexed.

  Pip heaved a dramatic sigh. “I thought you liked me.”

  Al made a rude noise and started down the ladder. I followed, leaving Pip standing there, looking down at us, a very puzzled expression on his face.

  Al stepped back and let me lead into the office. I closed the door behind her after she entered. “I know what you’re going to say, Al,” I said, taking my seat behind the desk and waving her into one of the visitor chairs.

  She dropped into the seat and leaned back, crossing her legs. “You do?”

  “I think so. You’re having trouble with an officer and you’re bringing it to me.”

  “And?”

  “And so the officer you’re having trouble with has to be me.”

  She blinked a couple of times, but a smile threatened to break out around her teeth. “Egotistical much?” she asked.

  I laughed. “Probably, but not in this case. I’ve watched you over the last few months. You manage people. You’re a genius at it. You need me to intercede with another officer as much as I need a third leg. Or a fourth one.”

  “What if it’s the chief?” she asked.

  “You’re just testing me now.”

  “It’s you.”

  “Spell it out for me, if you would.”

  “You hide in the cabin. You don’t seem to take any joy in doing anything. You will—very occasionally—retreat to the bridge in the dark. You’re giving every sign of a deeply depressed person.”

  “That caught my attention,” I said.

  “I know you know about it. I’m worried that you’re not doing anything about it.”

  “What should I do?” I asked, feeling the anger building at the back of my head. “It’s not like there are a lot of therapists on call out here.”

  She did smile at me then—the kind of smile I didn’t see on her face very often. “You’re the captain. If I ever saw anybody born to be captain, you’re it.”

  “What about Alys Giggone?”

  “Don’t toy with me,” she said, but the smile never left her face. “Look around.”

  The words tripped me up and I found myself unable to process. “Look around? Around where?”

  “This compartment would be a good start,” she said. “The ship in a wider context might be a good second choice.”

  She really was beginning to get under my skin. “Here? What am I supposed to look at in here? This is the cabin. There’s nothing here.” It was all I could do not to snap at her. I could feel the pressure building in my neck.

  She didn’t answer, just widened her eyes at me.

  “What? What am I supposed to be seeing?”

  “You saw the cabin on the Lois,” she said.

  “Of course.”

  “Who lived there?” she asked.

  “What kind of question is that?” My tone held more bite than I expected.

  She arched an eyebrow and didn’t back down. “Just answer it.”

  “Alys Giggone.”

  “Who lived in the cabin on the Tinker?”

  “Leon Rossett.”

  “After him?”

  “Frederica deGrut.”

  “Who lived in the cabin on the Agamemnon?”

  “Philip Delman. Where is this going?”

  “Who lived in it after Delman?”

  “I did.”

  “There we go.” She sat back again although I’d never noticed her leaning toward me.

  I looked down at my hands where they lay pressed to my console, palms flat against the metal, fingertips white against the strain. We sat like that for what might have been a long time.

  “Look around,” she said, her voice quiet, coaxing.

  I did. Blank walls. Default gray, out-of-the-box-panels, installed weeks ago in the yard. I looked up at the empty spot above my desk where my master’s license should have been. I hadn’t even done that.

  “When was the last time you took a tour of the ship?” she asked.

  I didn’t have to think back very hard. “The day the crew came aboard.”

  “That strike you as a good thing?”

  I looked up from my hands. Was it? I wasn’t sure any more. “You and the other officers don’t need me poking my head in every ten ticks.”

  “I wouldn’t argue. When did you ever do that?”

  “When the crew was coming aboard and getting settled. I was underfoot. It made me realize that I needed to take a step back. I needed to give you and Tom and Kim room.”

  “Tell me about Fredi,” she said.

  Just the woman’s name soothed the jangles down my back. “Amazing woman. Spectacular captain. She used to get on my case about being married to the station. I should have listened to her sooner.” I shrugged.

  “She lived in the cabin on the Tinker.”

  “She’d invite me for coffee or tea whenever I got back to the ship. Sometimes she’d kick my ass. Sometimes she’d pat me on the back. Sometimes both. Figuratively.”

  Al smiled. “She lived in the cabin on the Tinker,” she said again.

  I nodded. There was a knob in my throat I couldn’t seem to speak around.

  “Tractors get such a bum rap,” she said. “That armorglass wrapped around the bow. What color was your cabin on the Agamemnon?”

  “Blue. Two shades. I yanked the conference table out. Useless space. Put in two couches and a coffee table. Plenty of room for staff meetings. There weren’t that many of us.”

  “You’re the captain, Ishmael. You’re allowed to live here.”

  I looked around the cabin again. It was easier than looking at her.

  “What do you miss the most?” she asked.

  The images came unbidden. Sleep-dazed eyes and bed-tousled hair, the smiling lips still swollen from the night before. “That port on the Agamemnon,” I said.

  Al didn’t call me on the fib. I knew she knew. I’d never been a good liar. We sat there, silent, for perhaps two ticks before she spoke again. “We need you, Ishmael.”

  I sighed and looked across the desk at her.

  “The crew needs to know you care,” she said. She made a show of looking around the stark walls before turning back to me. “If you don’t care for yourself, why should we believe you care for us?” She paused and smiled again. “My shrink used to say ‘fake it till you make it’ when I was dealing with depression. She told me to just go through the motions even if I didn’t believe it would help.”

  “Did it? Help?”

  “Just recognizing you’re in the hole helps more than you might expect. It opens the possibility that it wasn’t always like that and didn’t always have to be that way.”

  The pressure in my head began subsiding as I considered her words. “Do you still fake it?” I asked.

  She gave a small shrug. “Not as much now. Sometimes. I don’t expect it will ever go away entirely, but I can forget about it for weeks, sometimes months, at a time. I think I’m getting better.” She stood and knocked a knuckle against the surface of my console before heading for the door.

  As she swung it open and stepped out into the passage, I finally found my voice. “Al?”

  She looked back over her shoulder.

  “Thank you.”

  “Just doin’ my job, Skipper.” She pulled the door closed until the latch clicked, leaving me sitting there contemplating the box that held me.

  Chapter 13

  Jett Orbital: 2375, April 5

  The Barbell’s cabin wasn’t that much bigger than a tractor’s. The easiest way to lighten it up would be with paint. It’s how I’d dealt with every other cabin. Before I visited the chandlery to get paint chips and order a paint crew, I had one other stop to make.

  I ducked into the head and sluiced off a couple layers of misery under the shower before slipping into a pair of jeans, a polo, and my comfiest boots. I slung a jacket over my shoulders, slotting tablet and ident into the pockets as I left. I sto
pped at the door and looked back into the compartment. On one level I thought Al had been overreacting to the situation. On another, I knew she’d been exactly right. For nearly two decades, I’d lived to be in space. Longer, really. Ever since I shook the dust off my boots at Neris and launched myself into the unknown.

  The Chernyakova’s cabin felt like a prison. Rationally, I knew it wasn’t. Rationally, when I was able to think about it rationally, I knew it was a symbol. It belonged to the ship and the crew. Looking in at the sterile, gray walls, I knew I’d let them down.

  Inside, where rational thought carried no power, I knew I was fooling myself. Prettying the place up wasn’t going to make a single bit of difference. It made me remember Mal Gains’s question about a snake missing its shed skin. The question distracted me long enough to close the door and head for the brow. We’d be getting underway again soon. I hoped I’d have enough time to fix at least some of the damage.

  I got off the lift on the eight-deck and made my way around to Christine’s. I admired the pieces in the display cases but hurried to enter before I changed my mind. A young woman wearing a smock top over jeans and sandals met me at the door with a smile. “Welcome to Christine’s.”

  “Thank you.” The main entry felt small, almost intimate, with a few pieces on display in niches around the room. “I’m sorry to ask this but, you don’t use aerosols here, do you?”

  She put her fingertips to her lips and stifled a small laugh. “We’re not Aubergine’s, sir. No. We don’t drug you to get your credits.”

  “I didn’t think so. It didn’t seem like Ms. Maloney’s style.”

  The young woman tilted her head and frowned. “You know her?”

  “Yes. I haven’t seen her for some months, but yes. I’m a little surprised that she’s kept the gallery open.”

  “Why wouldn’t she?”

  “Taking over the family business can be taxing.”

  She put her fingers to her lips and laughed again. “Perhaps you don’t know her as well as you think.”

  I stood there in the soft light, surrounded by beautiful pieces, and nodded. “And perhaps I’m not thinking as clearly as I thought.”

  She looked alarmed. “I assure you, sir—”

  I shook my head. “No, no. It’s something I brought with me. Not anything I’ve picked up here.”