The golden stars of captain gleamed in her palm.
“Those are yours!” I blurted it before I thought.
“Actually, they were my father’s. He gave them to me when he retired. I carried them for stanyers before I was able to wear them. They should stay out here in the Deep Dark. He’d have liked that.”
She caught me by surprise and I couldn’t speak.
She glanced into my compartment once more but didn’t say anything. Down the passage Apones maneuvered her grav trunks out of the cabin and she turned at the movement. “God speed, Captain Wang. And safe voyage.” She smiled up at me one last time and some whim or other darted across her face. She reached up and pulled my face down to hers and kissed me on the forehead.
Then she was gone–just flitted off down the passage, a hawk in sparrow’s feathers–looking almost grandmotherly with her gray hair already growing out of the ‘spacer crop’ and into something less formal. Apones ducked his head in my direction once but said nothing before turning to scurry after her with the grav trunks in tow.
Chapter Eleven
Diurnia Orbital:
2372-January-08
Around 1430 I went down to the galley and found John Vorhees lining up the evening meal. He was a methodical sort and liked to make sure he had all the stores he needed before he began the the cooking. It worked well for him and he’d trained his messmates to handle a lot of the routine work with minimal supervision.
“Congratulations, Mr. Wang.” He said it as soon as I stepped into the galley.
“Thank you, Mr. Vorhees.”
“Will you take it, sar?”
“I’m going to sleep on it. See what my wife has to say, I think.”
“Yes, sar. Of course, sar.” He grinned.
I could sense I had a bit of an issue with credibility.
“Is there something I can help you with, sar?”
“Yes, John. It seems the new skipper is a tea drinker...”
“Oh, yes, sar. I know. Mr. Wyatt from the Agamemnon sent over a few of his favorites and I’ve put a kettle on the stove. If it catches on, we’ll reconfigure the hot water tap out at the urns.”
“Think it will?”
Vorhees shrugged. “I like a cuppa now and again myself, sar. Some of the other crew may find it to their liking.”
“Would you send Mr. Veck up to the cabin with the appropriate fixings around 1500, Mr. Vorhees?”
“Already on it, sar.” He nodded to a tray with two cups, an open tea pot, and a small plate of what looked like sugar cookies.
“Very handsome, Mr. Vorhees. Very handsome, indeed.”
“You taught me well, sar.” He was serious.
“Carry on, Mr. Vorhees.”
“Aye, sar.”
I started back out to the mess deck but stopped in the door. “Wyatt sent over tea? From the Agamemnon?”
“Oh, yes, sar.”
“Out of the goodness of his heart? Or did he want something in trade?”
“Oh, well, sar. It wasn’t like that at all, sar.”
“What was it like then, Mr. Vorhees?”
“Once the announcement was made and formal and all, I sent Veck over to the Agamemnon to see what the captain liked in terms of food and such, sar. I wanted to make the new guy feel welcome, you understand, sar.”
I tried to stifle a grin. “Go on, Mr. Vorhees.”
“Mr. Wyatt is their cargo man and does most of the cooking because he knows stores and buying and selling. Sar.”
“Yes, it’s a small crew, Mr. Vorhees. I suspect there’s a certain amount of doubling up required.”
“Indeed, sar, indeed.”
“Go on, Mr. Vorhees. You sent Veck over to find out what the skipper likes?”
“Oh, yes, sar. Mr. Wyatt was quite helpful and gave Veck a nice list of recipes that the new captain favors, and even sent over a few boxes of tea in return.” Vorhees winced.
“In return, Mr. Vorhees.? In return for what?”
“Well, Veck might have had a bucket of Sarabanda Dark with him when he went over, sar.”
“Might have had a bucket?”
“Yes, sar.” He paused for a couple of heartbeats. “Or two.”
“You sent two buckets of my favorite coffee to the Agamemnon–just to be neighborly–while you found out what the new skipper liked to eat and drink?”
“Exactly, sar. Neighborly. I couldn’t have said it better myself, sar.”
“You didn’t send a list of my favorite meals over as well, did you?”
“Oh, no, sar. That would be impertinent.”
“Thank the gods for that.”
“They don’t have a cook who could make them, so what would be the point, sar?”
“You raise a valid point, John, and one I wouldn’t have considered.”
“Thank you, sar.” He smiled at me. At me. Not the at the first mate. At me. “You taught me well, sar. Safe voyage and thank you.”
“Thank you, John. Safe voyage.”
I managed not to bump into the door frame leaving the galley. I was touched beyond measure by the gesture.
I went out to the lock to check on Clemming and found Belnus holding down the chair. “All quiet, Mr. Belnus?”
“So far, sar. It’s early yet and the first ones off on liberty haven’t really had a chance to get into much trouble yet. The rest haven’t had a chance to go.”
I chuckled. “The only real entertainment on brow watch is watching them stumble home.”
“So true, sar.”
The chrono over the lock read 1445. “Is Captain Delman aboard?”
“Yes, sar. He came through just a few ticks ago, while I was relieving Clemming.”
“Is he wandering around loose?” I must have sounded alarmed.
“Oh, no, sar. Clemming took him up to the cabin.”
“Very well, Mr. Belnus. Carry on.”
“Aye, sar. Commencing to carry on.” He chuckled and settled down to the watch station and pulled up what looked like the ship handler course.
I headed up to the cabin and knocked on the door. I knew it wasn’t going to be Fredi’s voice. I knew Philip Delman would respond, but it still took me aback just a bit to actually hear the baritone, “Come.”
I slipped in and closed the door behind me. “It feels almost fatuous to say ‘congratulations’ or ‘welcome aboard’ under the circumstance, Captain, but congratulations and welcome aboard.”
I found him standing in the middle of the cabin. An open grav trunk all but blocked the door to the sleeping quarters and he’d put a single picture on the desk. All I saw was the back. He chuckled sympathetically. “Yes, thanks. I know what you mean.” He scanned the cabin in a slow turn. “I’m just trying to figure out what color.”
“What color, Captain?”
He held out his hand. “We’re either going to be working together for the next while or you’ll be going over to my old berth to figure out what color to paint that cabin. Whichever way it works out, call me Phil.” He smiled.
I shook his hand. “Ishmael, then, Phil. Tea should be right along. “
The knock on the door came right on cue. Phil replied with, “Come.”
The door swung open and Vecks walked in doing a credible job managing the two-handed tray I’d seen in the galley. “Mr. Vorhees’ compliments, Captain, and a fresh pot of Lapsang.”
“Captain, this is Mess Attendant Neil Vecks. He assists Mr. Vorhees in the galley.”
“Thank you, Mr. Wang. You may put that right on the table here, Mr. Vecks. And thank Mr. Vorhees for me.
Vecks slipped the tray onto the boardroom table. “Aye, aye, Captain. Is there anything else I can do for you, Captain?”
The captain actually stopped to think about it for a moment before shaking is head, “No, thank you, Mr. Vecks.”
Vecks grinned, nodded his head once, and slipped out, closing the door behind him.
We turned to the tea. It did make a nice break from coffee. I wasn’t much of
a tea drinker but the smoky, resiny flavor of the Lapsang was one I recognized from long ago and far away.
We settled back into the chairs and Phil opened the conversation.“So? What do you want to know, Ishmael?”
“Anything you think I should know that will help me decide to take the Agamemnon or not.”
“Well, I assume you mean the reputation the ship has?”
I gave a sideways kind of nod. “It’s got a bit of odor among the crews.”
He sipped his tea and thought for a moment. “The ship has had its problems. As crews go, well, let’s just say it’s small. I’ve been their captain for going on six stanyers, and the only constant has been the first mate. She was there when I joined the crew and I suspect she’ll be there when you leave.”
“That’s a long time in grade. She hasn’t been invited to sit for Captain?”
“She has, actually. Twice that I know of.”
“Anything you can share?”
He stared into his mug for a moment. “I never heard anything from the panels. I have my suspicions but I’ll let you draw your own conclusions after you’ve met her. Next time we’re in port together, look me up, buy me a beer and we can talk.”
“Fair enough. You sound like you think I’m going to take it.”
“I do.”
“Should I?”
“I’d be lying if I said yes. But I’d probably be lying if I said no. Truth is, Ishmael, I haven’t a clue what you should do. I’d be pleased if you’d stay on here and help me get settled with my new crew. You’ve been aboard here longer than I was on the Agamemnon. You probably know more about this ship and crew than Fredi does.”
I shook my head. “No, I doubt that.”
“Regardless, I don’t know what you should do and I don’t know what you need to know to help decide. I’ll spare you the embarrassment of having to tell me that my old ship is known as the worst ship in the DST fleet. At least some of that is my fault, because as you likely already know, it’s always the captain’s fault.”
“True, but your first mate has rather a sharp reputation on the docks and your crew, for all its small size, gets in as much hot water with the authorities as any two other ships in the fleet.”
He sighed. “Yes. Sad but true. As I said, I’ll leave you to draw your own conclusions regarding the first mate. She has a sharp reputation as you put it, and I won’t argue that it’s not deserved. Maybe you’ll have a different experience, so I’ll not color it any more than your own preconceptions already have. As for the crew...”
He sighed and sipped his tea.
“When you put the three biggest troublemakers in the fleet into the same hull, I’m not sure what you should expect except that they’ll get worse.”
“Put ’em ashore?”
“Ah, they’re just clever enough not to step over the line. They’re maddening in that regard. They’re barely competent to stand watch. The first mate mostly deals with them, dragging them in for masts every few weeks. The second mate is in charge of bailing them out of the local brig when needed. My preference would have been to toss the lot of them onto the nearest dock and leave.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I tried. They’re never bad enough to fire without a Union grievance being filed. The legal boffins assured me that the grievance would likely be upheld. I don’t see it myself, but the legal group is a conservative lot and putting up with the shenanigans is easier than defending a grievance.”
“Easy for them. They’re not out in the Deep Dark, locked in tin can with them.”
He toasted me with his mug. “You understand very well.”
“What’s their rationale?”
“Prejudicial circumstances.”
“Say what?”
“That’s the legal term. ‘Invalid termination due to prejudicial circumstances.’”
“What does that mean?”
“It means they think we don’t like them.”
“But you don’t like them. They’re troublemakers.”
“And that, my dear Ishmael, is exactly the problem. They’ve got us dead on. We don’t like them. And they know we don’t like them. And they continue to make sure that we continue not to like them.”
I groaned. “And so long as it goes on, you can’t fire them, because it’s not grounds for firing them. And you can’t defend against a charge of prejudicial circumstances even if you had a valid reason.”
“Exactly right. Welcome to my nightmare. Are you certain you want to take it on?” He smiled sardonically.
“Actually, I was never certain I wanted to take it on. I have…some personal issues coloring my decision as well.”
He glanced at my wedding band. “Wife not happy with your becoming a captain?”
“Actually, she doesn’t know yet. I just found out this morning.”
“You’ve had a busy day, Ishmael.”
“So have you, Philip.” I took a deep breath and decided to take a chance. “No, she’s not happy with my being a spacer. Period.”
“Really? What’s the problem?”
“She’s station staff here. She thought once we got married, I’d settle down. I thought I had settled down by staying with the Tinker all this time. Milk runs and home for a long weekend every other month.”
“You married a stationer?”
“Yes.”
“How long have you been married?”
“Seven stanyers.”
“Kids?”
I shook my head.
He stared at me for a long moment. “Ishmael, you’re a spacer. At the risk of putting our professional relationship at risk, I have to ask. What were you thinking?”
I took a deep breath and blew it out before answering. “Well, I’m not a spacer.”
He barked a laugh. “You’re dressed like a spacer. You ship out on a ship. You’ve been to the academy on Port Newmar. You’ve sat for bloody captain and made it on the first go. Ishmael, my lad, I hate to be the one to tell you. You most definitely are a spacer.”
I laughed. “Okay, you’ve got me there. What I mean is that I wasn’t born to it. My mother was an ancient lit professor at a university over in Dunsany Roads. When she died, the company there wanted to deport me, but I signed on a freighter instead. That was twenty stanyers ago now, and I know a lot more about being a spacer than I did then, but I didn’t grow up a spacer.”
“Still, you married the station?”
“I was young. You have to understand that to groundlings, getting married is growing up. If you’re not married, you’re not grown up. It’s how I was raised. Grow up, get married, get a job, have a life.”
“Then what?”
“Die, I guess.”
Philip snorted. “Well, life has long been recognized as a terminal condition. You were hot to grow up and so you married this stationer and she’s been somewhat less than accepting of your life choices for the last seven stanyers?”
“A fair summary.”
He lifted his mug in toast again. “In that case, Ishmael my lad, you’re not going to have any problems with Agamemnon. If you can manage that situation, nothing about my lads and ladies over there should phase you.”
“I’m not sure I am managing it.” I don’t know why I admitted it. Something in his glib response.
He turned to face me directly then. He spoke softly but quickly. If his responses were glib and flip before, nothing that he said next carried the least bit of humor. “Then you’re smarter than you seem and you seem pretty smart to me. My opinion is that you’re probably not managing it except through massive application of avoidance behavior and that’s gonna bite you in the ass eventually. That experience will serve you in good stead if you decide to take the Agamemnon. I know because that’s exactly what I’ve been doing for the last five stanyers. It’s not pretty. It’s not clean. It makes you feel more than a little soiled about the soul at times, but it’ll get you through when the alternatives don’t come or are less palatable. I can only imag
ine you’ve faced that situation once or twice already when dealing with your more personal problems at home. I can’t advise you on this, Ishmael my lad. My only answer was to get the hell out and here I am. I’m not proud, and I’m not sure, but I’m by the gods now captain of this ship and I can maybe, just maybe, begin to turn my own life around.”
His delivery left me breathless and rang in my head like truth in the night. He’d shown me a side that I hadn’t expected, although I should have, and in doing so he held up a mirror. I didn’t like what I saw in it and I put my face into my mug of tea to escape the view.
When I surfaced again, I looked over. He was spinning his mug on the table in front of him, facing it but staring into the middle distance.
“Thank you, Captain.” I meant it.
He chuckled uneasily. “I’m not usually so forward on the first date, Ishmael.”
I snorted back a laugh of my own. “I appreciate the candor, and I’m sorry I’m not going to be here to work with you. I think you’d be a hell of a skipper to work for.”
He looked over at me then. Some of his earlier good humor had resurfaced. “I’m sorry, too, Ishmael. You’d be a good man to have as first mate. So? How’s this second who’s moving into your stateroom?”
“Vonda Behr.”
He interrupted me. “A woman?”
“Yeah. Very competent. Terrific astrogator. Has the crew eating out of her hand.”
He looked skeptical.
“You have a problem with women officers? I thought you liked Fredi?” I was a little confused by his attitude.
He took a deep breath and let it out.“Sorry. When you meet Gwen, you’ll understand. I’m just feeling a little gun-shy at the moment.”
I shook my head. “Vonda is good people. Fredi wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“I can accept that.” He grinned a little sheepishly. “I do have my own small crosses to bear, you see.”
“For what it’s worth, Skipper? I think you’re gonna do fine.”
He smiled at me. I was surprised by how much I appreciated it. “Thanks, Ishmael. I think you will, too.”
The conversation petered out. After that, there didn’t seem to be a lot to say.
Captain's Share (Trader's Tales from the Golden Age of the Solar Clipper) Page 7
