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

by Nathan Lowell

  “We’re getting closer,” he said.

  I looked at him. “We are.”

  He nodded. “Very well.”

  He opened a door and ushered me inside. “If you’d wait in there a moment, Captain.”

  I stepped in and looked around. A full-length mirror showed a rather drab individual and a stool where he might sit. I did and wondered how long I’d have to wait.

  Almost immediately, the door popped open and a hand thrust a pair of blue trousers at me. I took them and changed into them. They weren’t denim but some kind of woven material with a bit of a shimmer to it and stirrup straps at the bottom. I hung my denims on the hook and tucked my boots under the stool in time for the hand to thrust in a shirt. I slipped out of the dark green pullover and into the pale blue shirt. This one had no ruffles but a straight button-up front. The fabric skimmed my skin.

  “Come out, Captain,” Marc said.

  I padded out in my stocking feet and he held a coat in deep burgundy for me to slip into. The jacket settled onto my shoulders like it’d missed me. I held up an arm and saw that the fabric carried the faint pattern of the flowers in the original image he’d shown me, just not picked out in a contrasting color.

  “What do you think, Captain?” Marc asked, spinning a mirror around to reflect my image.

  The smooth front shirt and the woven leggings gave my body enough definition without looking odd. The coat felt perfect and the rich burgundy with the tunic tab collar caught the upright collar of the shirt at exactly the right place. I reached down to catch the bottom button on the coat and realized that the offset buttons ran all the way up the right side, like some of the old cadet uniforms I’d seen in the academy archives. The cuffs and lapels sported leather panels dyed to match the fabric perfectly.

  I took a step back when I realized I’d seen this coat—or one very much like it—before. “I think I like it,” I said and glanced at the chief. “What do you think?”

  She smiled and nodded. “Should do.”

  “I’ve seen one like this before,” I said. “A couple of decades ago and a long way away.”

  Marc’s eyes widened. “Really?”

  “Yes. I tried on a coat not too different from this. The tailor asked me if the coat fit the man I wanted to be.”

  Marc gasped. “No, you must be mistaken,” he said a hand reaching for his lips. “Do you remember the tailor’s name?”

  “Bresheu,” I said. “Large man, light on his feet. Had a huge space on an orbital flea market. Somewhere in Dunsany Roads. Maybe St. Cloud. Strangest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  Marc’s complexion had gone pale. “Impossible.”

  “Why?” I asked, looking at his reflection in the mirror.

  “He’s my grandfather.” Marc shook his head. “These days he has a salon in a High Liner orbital at St. Cloud. I haven’t seen him in stanyers.”

  “Why impossible?” the chief asked.

  “The odds that somebody who met him during his flea market period would show up here?” Marc shook his head again. “I can’t contemplate.” He placed a hand on my shoulder. “And you remember.”

  I grinned at him. “Of course I remember. The experience isn’t one I’d forget. Kids everywhere. Clothes I’d never seen before.” I looked back at myself in the mirror and smoothed a hand down over the rich fabric. “This is an amazing jacket and one I wish I’d purchased when I could.”

  “I was one of those kids,” Marc said. “I learned the trade at my grandfather’s knee.”

  “What brought you out here?” I asked.

  “When Grandfather got the lease on his salon, I decided I wanted to do something more than fetch and carry for him.” He looked around the inside of his modest shop. “He gave me some of his patterns—including that coat—and I came out to the Toe-Holds to make my fortune.” He glanced down and chuckled. “It seemed so exciting at the time.”

  “Now?” the chief asked.

  He looked at her. “Now, it’s a living. I visited several places before coming here. When this shop opened up, I took the lease and it’s paid nicely.”

  “What would you do, if you could do anything?” she asked.

  He smiled and glanced around again. “The same as I’m doing now.”

  “Sounds like you’ve found a niche for yourself,” I said.

  He picked an imaginary piece of lint from the shoulder of my jacket and caught my eye in the glass. “And you, Captain? Have you found a niche?”

  I gazed at the outfit in the mirror. “I need some boots. Something comfortable.”

  “They should be ready,” he said, disappearing back through the drape at the back of the store. He emerged a moment later with a pair of boots that matched the coat, down to the faint pattern in the soft fabric. He handed them to me. “Try these, Captain.”

  I slipped them on, pulling the old-fashioned laces snug and letting my fingers remember how to tie them. A wide strap with a brass buckle belted around the top, just above my ankle. I stroked my fingers over the toe, feeling the odd, fuzzy texture. “What is this material?” I asked.

  “Suede,” Marc said. “We get our supply from Bar None. Finest leather in Toe-Hold space. What do you think?”

  I stood and looked into the mirror again. The boots grounded the outfit. With the stirrups on the trousers, the pants tucked tightly into the tops of the boots. The straps gave some structure, while the buckles made a pleasant statement without being loud. “It still seems a bit unfinished,” I said.

  “Try this,” Marc said, handing me a peaked cap.

  I placed it squarely on my head as if heading for parade ground inspection. It’s not like I wasn’t familiar with hats, but I seldom wore them after leaving the academy. There seemed little reason. A wide woven rim formed a pillbox shape with a narrow visor. I saw the same flowery pattern in the rim as in the jacket. I couldn’t tell if it was more pronounced there or simply more visible. The cap fit comfortably around my cranium.

  Marc smiled. “Fleet training,” he said. “Try a little less parade ground.” He placed his hands at his ears, pushing one up and pulling the other down.

  I followed his instructions and placed the cap at something of a jaunty angle. Just a few degrees off square brought the cap to life. Where before it looked like the cap on a bottle of cheap burgundy, with the slight angle it stood out on its own.

  “What do you think?” I asked, looking at the chief and turning to give her the full view.

  She smiled. “What I think has less bearing than what you think.”

  I looked back into the mirror. “It feels a little pretentious,” I said.

  The chief stood beside me in the mirror. “You’re in a different place now,” she said.

  I looked at her reflection. “You mean physically?”

  She gave me a wink. “However you want.”

  Marc caught my eye in the glass. “What do you think?” he asked. “Is this the man you wish to be?”

  “Your grandfather asked me something similar.” I stared at the outfit for a few heartbeats, finding myself settling into the image. The tunic cut of the coat reached to my hips while the blue trousers set off and enhanced the deep—almost black—burgundy. It felt more like a costume than clothing, but something about it spoke to me. “I’ll take it.”

  Marc beamed and the chief’s ever-present smile widened.

  “Excellent,” Marc said. “That’s one. What else?”

  I looked at him in the mirror and saw the surprise in my own face. “One?”

  Marc shrugged. “Of course. You can’t wear the same thing every day. You’ll need at least two, perhaps three. Maybe more.”

  I looked at the chief.

  She nodded. “This isn’t my only outfit,” she said, looking down at her clothing. “That’s nice but perhaps a couple of mix-and-match outfits you can feel more comfortable in?”

  “Something less ostentatious?” I asked.

  “Exactly,” the chief said.

  We spent th
e next stan rounding up some comfy denim, another pair of boots, and several jewel-toned pullovers. Altogether I spent a small fortune on clothing, but I also left Marc’s with a silly smile on my face and wearing my new coat. The rest would be delivered to the ship.

  As we strolled along Main Street heading back toward the ship, the chief asked, “So? How does it feel?”

  I thought about it for a few heartbeats, glancing down at the new finery. “Odd.”

  “In what way?”

  “Like an imposter.” I shrugged and didn’t meet her gaze.

  “In a good way?” she asked.

  “Maybe.”

  “If you didn’t like it, why did you buy it?”

  I gave her question almost a full tick of consideration as we strolled through the tall atrium. “It’s not that I don’t like it. I really do,” I said. “It’s just that I’ve thought about this jacket ever since I didn’t buy it back when I was on the Lois.”

  She glanced at me and patted my arm. “Now you have it.”

  “I do, but now I wonder why I made such a big deal of it in my mind all this time.”

  “What was it he asked you? Something about being the man who would wear it?”

  “He wanted to know if I thought the clothes represented the man I wanted to be.”

  We left the atrium and entered the docking gallery. “What do you think?” she asked.

  I looked at my blurry reflection in the armorglass docking port as we walked by. “I used to think so,” I said.

  “What changed?”

  I chuckled. “That’s the question, isn’t it?”

  “Do you have an answer?” She raised an eyebrow in my direction.

  I started to run a hand over my scalp and nearly bumped the silly hat off. “Maybe something like ‘be careful what you wish for.’”

  We stopped outside the lock.

  “Give it a chance, Captain. It’s a great look for you. It’ll stand you in good stead here and, I suspect, even once we get back to the High Line.”

  “It still feels more like a costume, a mask,” I said. “Not who I am but somebody I’m pretending to be.”

  Her lips curved into a lopsided smile. “I think that’s my point,” she said. “That’s what clothes are. A mask to hide behind. Even our uniforms are masks we put on to convince our crews that they should do what we say. Even your jeans and pullovers. Masks to tell people you’re not important. ‘Nothing to see here.’ The challenge is to be honest about it.” She keyed the lock and stepped into the ship when it opened, leaving me standing there looking after her.

  Chapter 25

  Dark Knight Station: 2375, May 17

  For all my trepidation over the fancy dress nature of my new clothes, the crew seemed to find them quite appropriate. Ms. Torkelson had the brow watch when I went aboard. Her eyes widened in surprise. “Good afternoon, Captain.”

  I stepped onto the scale and waited. Ms. Torkleson’s jaw had dropped a centimeter as she stared. “Good afternoon, Ms. Torkelson. If you’d adjust my mass allotment?”

  Her mouth snapped closed and she started tapping on the watch stander’s console. “Oh. Sorry, Captain. Yes. My apologies, sar.”

  “A bit of a shock?” I asked.

  She glanced up from her display and nodded. “Yes, Captain. I wouldn’t have—that is, I never expected ...” Her voice petered out. “Nice outfit, sar.”

  “Too much?” I asked.

  Her eyes widened. “No. Definitely not, sar.” She shrugged. “I’m so used to seeing you in uniform, seeing you in normal clothes surprised me.”

  I looked down. “These are normal clothes?”

  She blinked several times. “Well, yeah.” Color washed across her face. “All right, not normal normal, sar, but compared to what people wear here? That’s very normal. Makes you look all captain-y.”

  “Captain-y?”

  The chief stuck her head out of the passageway. “Captain, if you’re done tormenting the crew ...?”

  “Of course. Is my mass updated, Ms. Torkelson?”

  She slapped a final key. “Yes, sar.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Torkelson.” I followed a chuckling Chief Stevens into the ship.

  “You never seemed like the insecure type, Captain,” she said.

  “Insecure?”

  She stopped, blocking the passageway. “You’re having a little trouble getting back on your feet. Understandable. You just bought clothing that you’re not exactly sure about, in spite of the fact that you’ve wanted this coat—or one like it—for longer than you’ve known me. Torkelson back there was practically swallowing her tongue because she’s never seen you like this. I dare say only Pip might have—or perhaps Al—so get used to having people run into bulkheads, trip on the deck plates, or otherwise look at you with new eyes.”

  “I’m not going to wear this stuff aboard,” I said.

  She chuckled. “Only on and off the ship. Trust me. That’ll be enough.”

  She spun on her heel and continued on down the passageway, leaving me to follow at my own pace.

  One thing I felt pretty sure of was that I really did need to get my act together. Al and the chief felt like they needed to adjust my halo for me. I had enough respect for both of them to think maybe they had a point.

  I walked past the entry to the mess deck and looked to see all eyes focused on me. I nodded and hurried up the ladder to officer country. Al, Thomas Reed, and Ms. Fortuner waited for me at the top of the ladder. Their studied nonchalance tipped me off. “Ms. Torkelson?” I asked.

  Al scratched her chin. “Excellent watchstander. Great hand on the helm. What about her, Captain?”

  “Fast hand with the notifications?” I asked.

  “She’s a rare eye for the things that might be of interest to the Officer of the Deck,” Al said.

  “I see,” I said and tried to get past the assembled bodies at the top of the ladder. “If you’d excuse me? I’ll just stow this in the cabin?”

  Reed stepped aside just as Fortuner stepped in front of the door. She seemed to catch herself and then stepped away. “Sorry, Skipper,” she said.

  I flipped the latch on the cabin and entered, closing the door against the wide-eyed stares from my officers. I hadn’t thought new clothes would have resulted in such a response. Maybe the chief had a point.

  I stripped out of the new finery and slipped into a set of undress khakis. I had no plans to go ashore any time soon. I wasn’t sure I dared.

  I’d no sooner settled into my chair when Pip knocked and stuck his head in. “Got a tick?”

  “Sure.”

  He slipped in and latched the door behind him. “I finished the reconciliation.”

  “And the bad news?” I asked.

  “Between the current astrogation updates from Inge and the mapping, I’ve still got a couple of hundred unidentified locations.”

  “And no real confirmation that some of the mapped jump points don’t actually contain this ship.”

  Pip grimaced and frowned but nodded. “Unfortunately, true.”

  “So we need to find somebody else who knows where the Mega might be,” I said.

  “Or give it up as a bad job,” Pip said scowling at his toes.

  “Where would that leave us?”

  “Well, we still have a darn fine ship with very long legs. We still have cargoes to haul and a crew that wants to ship with us.”

  “What about TIC?” I asked.

  “TIC has no real investment in this. They’d like to know what that ship is or at least who’s controlling it, but if we can’t find out, then they’ve got to find somebody who can.” He shrugged. “Shouldn’t affect us either way unless they pull out whatever assets they have aboard.”

  “So, what now?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Keep hauling freight.”

  “What about Patterson?” I asked.

  “Patterson? What about him?”

  “He was the reason I was coming out here.”

  “Oh.�
� He shrugged. “We can probably find him, if you’ve a mind to.”

  I closed my eyes and shook my head trying to find a thread I could follow. “What’s with the can?” I asked.

  “They took it this morning. We’ve got a new cargo coming in this evening. Can of ore going to Ice Rock.”

  “Wouldn’t it make more sense to take the finished metal?”

  “It would if Dark Knight had the capacity to refine it or Ice Rock didn’t,” he said.

  I shook my head to see if it made any more sense. “What?”

  “Dark Knight has a huge mining fleet. Their smelters get backed up, so they sell the ore at a discount to places like Ice Rock where the hard-rock mining operations aren’t as productive any more.”

  “Why don’t they build more smelters?” I asked.

  “I suspect it has something to do with the way ore comes in. It’s not like the place has one mining operation that coordinates ore-hauling.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s Toe-Hold space,” Pip said, a bit of exasperation in his voice. “Dark Knight Station doesn’t have any say about what happens out there in the belts. They maintain claims records so people aren’t out there killing each other over the rocks, but that’s about it.”

  I closed my eyes and pressed my fingertips against the lids. “So, everybody just voluntarily goes along with the scheme?”

  “For the most part. It’s easier to go along and get rich than it is to buck the system and go broke.”

  I opened my eyes to stare at him. “Everybody gets rich?”

  He frowned at me. “Have you gotten stupid since you made captain?”

  “No, I’ve always been stupid. Particularly about cultures and societies I know so little about as Toe-Hold space.”

  He rubbed his forehead with the fingers on his right hand. “Sorry,” he said. “I forget.” He looked up at me. “They have an enforcement arm. Small interceptors and some rescue craft. If you don’t respect filed claims, you have a hard time trying to sell the ore and buying fuel or food. Most miners work hard, play hard, and earn a living—which is what most of them want. Many of them settle down, have families, and everything else. Sometimes they make enough to start a mining operation on their own. Mostly they work for hire for the larger mining consortia, just like ships’ crews do. Parents bring their kids into the field, if they want. There’s plenty of work aboard the station to employ almost anybody who wants to work. Those that can’t get a stipend that everybody pays into.”