Captain's Share (Trader's Tales from the Golden Age of the Solar Clipper)

by Nathan Lowell

  Eventually he spoke. “So what color are you gonna pick, Ishmael?”

  “Color?”

  “For the cabin on the Agamemnon.”

  “I think, a pale green. Something with a bit of yellow in it. You?”

  “Blue. Pale blue on those three bulkheads and a rich navy accent wall over there.”

  I looked around, trying to envision it. “That should be nice.”

  He looked up. “Yeah. I think blue.”

  “He does that to every captain? The paint the cabin thing?”

  “I don’t know. Actually, when we were negotiating for me to take the Agamemnon, I think I suggested it to him. We were dickering over percentages and he was at a point where he wasn’t gonna budge and I wanted the last chip on the table. So I agreed to whatever the offer was, but he had to paint the cabin. He took it.”

  I snickered. “What color did you pick?”

  “White.”

  “Why white?”

  “I thought it would make it look bigger.”

  “Did it?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. I never saw it before it was painted.”

  “What color is it now?”

  He smirked. “Still white. It’s due for a fresh coat, but damned if I’d pay for it.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Diurnia Orbital:

  2372-January-08

  Kazyanenko relieved me sharply at 1745 and I took her up to meet the captain. They hit it off well, he was already relaxing a little and his jovial manner matched well with Kaz’s irreverent streak. I excused myself and grabbed my kit from my stateroom. By 1800 I was heading down the passage on the oh-seven deck where station crew had quarters.

  Whatever other issues we had, and for all that my leave takings were often cold, I had to admit that my homecomings were always hot. I walked into the apartment to find the small kitchen table set for a candle light dinner for two. Something smelled wonderful, but nothing was served. It looked like a prepared stage, but the the actors had not yet arrived.

  I walked through into the bedroom. She was there and my heart caught in my throat. She had a way of looking at me that stopped me. Just froze me in my tracks. It wasn’t a pose or a particular facial expression. It was more like what command presence is when done right. Only it was more like command presence in reverse. And in spades. It was more than “I love you” and greater than “I want you” and I have no idea how she did it or where it came from because when ever she used that particular look, I stopped thinking.

  My welcome was brutally satisfying, totally exhausting, and short. Less than half a stan later we lay tumbled together in what had been a reasonably well-made bed but had degenerated into a pile of linens draped in a loose array I could relate to on a personal level. The operative words being “draped” and “loose.”

  She lay across my chest, not quite purring. Her flesh, pink and warm from the exertion, stuck to me as she made small shifts in her weight.

  “Oh, hi, hon. Welcome home.” Her voice had a husky quality to it that had gotten more pronounced as we got older. Or maybe it was my ears.

  “Thanks. Miss me?”

  “Oh, a bit.” She sat up, totally unconscious of her nakedness and sat cross legged beside me. “So, you found a ship?”

  “Yes. It was pretty grim in places. And exhausting.”

  “You seem pretty well rested.” She patted my thigh playfully.

  “I had a chance to sleep again on the way back.”

  “Dinner’s keeping warm. You hungry?”

  “Yes, it’s been a long time since lunch and a busy day at that.”

  “When do you have to go back?”

  “We need to talk about that. Let’s get some dinner and I’ll tell you about the Tinker’s new captain.”

  She started crawling for the edge of the bed and I took my time watching her crawl. Seven stanyers and she could still make me forget to swallow. “You’ll need to pull those eyeballs back and find some pants if you’re going to eat.” She said it with a giggle as she stood up and pulled on a cotton shift. It fell only to the top of her thighs and I wasn’t sure if it was a nighty, a dress, or just a tee-shirt.

  I didn’t really care at that moment.

  She went to the kitchen and I pulled on a pair of jeans, threw on a tee shirt, and followed. By the time I got there she had dinner out of the oven and onto plates. A meaty stew with lots of root vegetables in a broth so thick a spoon would stand in it. She had a pretty fair hand in the kitchen and this simple meal with a crusty loaf and a glass of wine was probably one of my favorite meals of all time.

  The warm afterglow didn’t hurt either. She looked good tousled.

  We got about half way through the dinner demolition before either of us spoke. “New captain on the Tinker? What happened to Fredi?”

  “She retired.”

  “That was sudden.”

  “Apparently she’d been thinking about it for a long time. Just decided it was time. The company moved another skipper over to take her slot.”

  “Who’d they move?”

  “Delman off the Agamemnon.”

  “Oh, wow. That must have come as a surprise?”

  “He was due for rotation and none of the skippers who were senior to him wanted to move.”

  “Who will they get to take the Agamemnon?”

  “That’s what we need to talk about.” Dread curled heavy fingers around my gut and squeezed.

  “What? You’re not being transferred to that tub are you?” Her knowledge of the ships and crews never ceased to amaze me, but then, she worked in one of the bars that catered to that clientèle. She probably knew more about the Agamemnon than Philip Delman.

  “Not if I don’t want to. They offered the ship to me. I have first refusal.”

  She looked confused. “How can they do that? You’re not a captain.”

  I didn’t answer right away.

  “Ishmael? You’re not a captain. Are you?”

  I nodded staring at my food.

  “You’re a captain?”

  I looked at her trying to decide what kind of mood she was in. “Yes. I’m a captain.”

  “When did this happen?” She stared at me in wide-eyed amazement. I couldn’t tell if it was happy amazement or despairing amazement.

  “Well, I got the news this morning after we docked, but I sat for the exam while we were tied up in Breakall dealing with the TIC people.”

  “TIC? You were working with the TIC?”

  “Well, yeah. The crew on the ship we found. They were all dead. It was horrible. We lost a few days heading into Breakall and another five or six there. That’s why we’re a couple weeks late getting back.”

  “The company sent a message around to dependents to let us know you were going to be late because of the incident, but I didn’t realize it was so serious.”

  “It was one for the books. I hope I’ll ever see anything like that again.”

  She paused before asking for confirmation one more time. “But you’re a captain?”

  I nodded. “I sat for it in Breakall, and by the time we got back, the license was waiting for me at the dock. I talked to Maloney this morning before the change of command and he offered me the Agamemnon, if I wanted it.”

  “What’d he give you? Standard plus bonus?”

  She really did shock me sometimes. “Yeah. Fifteen.”

  She gave a low whistle. “And what color have you decided?”

  I must have been gawking. I wasn’t speaking–that much I’m sure of.

  “Don’t look so surprised. That’s been Maloney’s closer for–sheesh–at least three or four stanyers now.”

  “I don’t get out much.”

  She giggled. “True. And you don’t have to listen to them argue about this or that shade of blue or green. Gods, you’d think they were trying to match their gowns at a wedding or something.”

  I laughed at the image. And at the response that I was so clearly not expecting to get.

&n
bsp; “So, you think I should take it?”

  “Ishmael, my dear, stupid husband, whether I think you should or not is really not the issue. You’re going to take it. You’ve been working for this as long as I’ve known you.” She paused to chase a bit of stew around her bowl with a crust of bread. “I’d much rather see you take it and be captain than to see you continue to be first mate anywhere. You’re still going to be gone, but at least you’ll get paid better and you’ll be doing something that’s actually worthy of your skills and talents.”

  I considered asking where she’d put my wife, but I decided that flip and glib were two places I should avoid in the short term. “I’m…surprised you feel this way.”

  She popped the last of the bread into her mouth and washed it down with a swallow of wine. “Don’t be. I had a lot of time to think while you were out there. It won’t be long and I’m going to be 40. That’s a milestone for women, in case you hadn’t gathered, and I’ve decided that I’m in charge of my happiness. I intend to pursue it.”

  “What will you do?”

  She shrugged. “I really don’t know. I’ve been getting used to the idea over the last week or two and thinking how silly it was for me to be upset by you going away. I’m a big girl. I can deal with it.” A sly smile crept across her face. “And when you’re here, my dear, you are very much here.” She waggled her eyebrows at me.

  She caught me unaware and I barked a laugh.

  “I’ve been talking to some of the other girls at work. They have husbands around all the time, and you know what? Half of them wish they’d ship out. Seems like there’s a lesson there.”

  “Well, I’ve gotta say, you’ve caught me completely flat-footed, hon. I never expected this.”

  She shrugged a shoulder and the cotton fabric slipped across her skin. “I wasn’t really thinking it through. I’m sorry for being such a pain.”

  “It’s all right.” I was in shock. My brain had not engaged but my mouth was definitely moving. It was not all right, but I was reminded again just how much I loved her. I could forgive her for the past if it meant we could move on.

  “Besides, I’m gonna be a captain’s wife. I can visit you aboard when you’re in port.” She waggled her eyebrows again. “I never did it in a space ship before.”

  I laughed outright. “You know what? Neither have I?”

  It was her turn to look surprised. “Never?”

  I shook my head. “Never. There was never an opportunity while I was single and never a temptation after.”

  “Aww. You’re so sweet.” She started clearing away the dishes. “Never?”

  I shook my head. “Never.” I got up and helped her clear away. When we were done, I gathered her in my arms and leaned back against the counter, holding her and rocking.

  “So, when do you have to go back?”

  “I need to tell Maloney in the morning around 0800. He’ll probably want me to take command immediately.”

  She nodded against my chest. “Do you know when you’ll be getting underway?”

  “No, but he needs to paint the cabin, and I don’t know what their sailing schedule is yet.”

  “Won’t take him long. I bet he has it painted by noon. What color will you tell him?”

  “I was thinking green, a pale green. Something with a little yellow to it.”

  She laughed. “Ishmael Wang, color expert.”

  “Why? What color should I paint it?”

  Her answer was instantaneous. “Yellow.”

  “Yellow? Why yellow?”

  “Not bright yellow, ya lug. Something pale and pastel. Light enough to make the walls push out a little bit and with just a hint of color to remind you that the Deep Dark isn’t the only thing out there.”

  “Pastel yellow? Isn’t that a little...I hesitate to use the term but...girly?”

  She pulled her head back so she could look up at me. “Dear? You were the one who was just telling me pale green with just a touch of yellow. You forfeited your right to claim that yellow is girly.”

  I laughed. “Yellow.”

  “Your call. But if it’s ugly, I won’t visit you.” She grinned and grabbed my hand. “Now shut up and come with me. I have a little chore for you to do.”

  She led me back to the bedroom where she nonchalantly pulled all the loose covers off the bed and threw them onto the floor and stripped the tee shirt off to add to the pile. She crawled onto the mattress and looked over her shoulder at me to give me that look. “You gonna stand there or are you gonna come give me a hand?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Diurnia Orbital:

  2372-January-09

  Jen needed to sleep in. She had the afternoon and evening shift at The Miller Moth. I woke at 0530 and couldn’t get back to sleep. I smiled to myself, slipped out of bed and into the shower to sluice off some of the evidence of the previous evening’s festivities. I had a feeling the silly grin wouldn’t wash off and I didn’t try.

  It was a matter of a few ticks to do the needful. When I padded back to the bedroom, Jen made a sleepy kind of mumble of inquiry.

  “It’s 0530. I’m going to get breakfast before heading over to the ship. Sleep.”

  “Okay.” She said that quite clearly and was snoring delicately by the time I’d put on my khakis.

  One of my favorite places to eat on Diurnia Orbital was a diner on the oh-two deck called Over Easy. They served breakfast around the clock, the eggs were fresh, the coffee rich, and the bacon was done just right. It would be unfair to use the phrase ’greasy spoon’ to describe the place because it was nothing if not immaculate, but it had a slightly worn, not quite perfect appearance to it–like your favorite pair of jeans, the ones that had a hole in the pocket and a bleach stain down the left leg. They didn’t really look great, but they just fit. That was Over Easy and I ate there at least once every time I was on the orbital.

  I slipped through the door just after 0600 and the place crawled with people. For a breakfast joint, this was peak time, and Over Easy had a large and dedicated following of cargo agents, tug jockeys, can loaders, and office workers. I spied an open stool at the counter and slipped onto it with a nod to the kid behind the counter. His tag said “Phil” and the coffee pot in his hand looked good. I nodded once and he poured.

  “Ya know what ya want?” He had a friendly smile, and a slash of freckles across his face. Over Easy was one of the few places on the orbital where women were never on the service staff. I’d never asked about it, but it struck me anew every time I came in.

  “Three eggs, over easy, wheat toast, four rashers, and a pile of Frank’s finest.”

  He nodded, scribbled something on a pad and clipped it to the metal ring hanging in the pass thru to the kitchen. When he finished, he turned back to me, topped off the one sip I’d gotten from the mug and moved on down the line–topping up, clearing off, and wiping down as he went.

  From my angle at the end, I couldn’t see into the kitchen, but I could hear the cook rattling about back there and the hiss and sizzle of a hot metal grill. The sound had a magic all its own and added an understorey to the morning hubbub in the café. I sipped the coffee and scanned the crowd. The waiters circulated fluidly among the tables and patrons. The women in the crowd, mostly sitting in the booths and at the tables, obviously enjoyed the view as the waiters moved among them. For the first time in all the stanyers I’d been eating there, I noticed that there were a lot of women. Maybe there was method in the madness after all.

  A plate landed on the counter in front of me at the same time I heard the familiar “Thanks, Frank” from Phil. I turned to admire the masterpiece.

  For me, any day that starts–or finishes for that matter–with a plate of bacon and eggs is a good one. It’s a taste from my childhood and one I never tire of. I’ve had many bad plates and more good ones, but Frank’s were something special. I don’t know if it was something he did to the eggs, the pepper he put on the bacon, or what, but I never found another place that served up
bacon and eggs that reminded me of home so strongly.

  I only discovered the potatoes after a dozen trips to the counter. The guy next to me that day got a plate that had a mound of slightly toasted, heavily spiced, and onion-laced potatoes instead of the normal hash browns or home fries. Looking at them made me drool. He told me they were called “Frank’s Finest” and you had to order them special or you only got potatoes.

  I’d been ordering them ever since and only wished I knew the recipe. I suspected that even knowing it, wouldn’t have helped much. Without the hot grill, the mixture of drippings, and Frank’s touch with a spatula, any recipe would be forever incomplete.

  I savored the meal giving each scrumptious morsel the attention it deserved and lingering over my coffee–for about four ticks. And then I was down to bare plate, empty mug and the faint sense that I wanted to go around one more time. I signaled Robert, he brought me the tab, and I headed up to the Tinker.

  When I walked thru the lock, Pinkus was on the brow and looked up with surprise. “Mr. Wang! I didn’t expect to see you on your day off.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Pinkus. I just needed to pick up a few things.”

  He eyed the chrono over the lock. “Yes, sar. And congratulations, sar. We’ll miss you.”

  “Miss me, Mr. Pinkus?”

  “Yes, sar. You’re going to take over the Agamemnon, aren’t you, sar?”

  “I haven’t actually accepted that post yet, Mr. Pinkus.”

  “Oh, I know, sar, but you will. And we’ll miss you.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Pinkus. I’m glad I can be such an island of certainty in this universe of chaos.”

  “We appreciate it, sar.”

  “Is Ms. Behr in the office?”

  “Actually I believe she’s on the bridge, sar. Astrogation updates.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Pinkus.”

  I headed into the ship as he said, “You’re welcome, sar. And, sar?”

  I stopped and turned back to him. “Yes, Mr. Pinkus?”

  “Could you hold off until 0730 to tell the skipper?”

  “0730, Mr. Pinkus?”

  “Yes, sar. I’ve got 0730 in the pool. There’s a hundred credits riding on it.”