I don’t know what I really expected. The schematic showed the cabin carved out of a crescent of the curved bow by a single straight bulkhead. What the schematic didn’t show was the port. I stepped into the cabin and looked straight out to the skin of the orbital. The view was shocking. I walked deeper into the cabin and almost up to the armor glass. A low bench ran around the curve of bulkhead under the armor glass with a few tatty-looking throw pillows on it. The armor glass itself was a full meter and a half tall, curved back following the smooth arc of the hull, and ran about five meters across the bow right above the lock. There couldn’t have been more than two meters between the outside of the cabin’s armor glass and the skin of the orbital. I was close enough to see pits and scratches in the surface of the outside of the lock. I wondered what the view would be like out in the Deep Dark.
I had to shake myself to break the spell of the port. I looked left and right. The cabin wasn’t large in terms of floor space, but it had all the fixtures I thought a cabin should have, including a small conference table, a desk, several repeater screens, a separate sleeping room with its own head and two grav trunk lockdowns–one in the sleeping room and one on the other side of the cabin, tucked under a bump in the outer bulkhead that probably held a shield generator node.
Compared to the staterooms I’d been living in, it was practically a palace.
I slipped my grav trunk into the secondary lockdown to get it out of the way and pondered my next step. A loud voice in the passage outside reminded me.
I opened the door, stepped out of the cabin, and looked down the ladder. Ms. Thomas stood below, talking to somebody out of sight farther down the passageway. “Ms. Thomas, if you have a moment, would you join me in the cabin?”
“I’m kinda busy at the moment, Captain.”
I blinked and looked down at her.
She turned back to the conversation already in progress and resumed her discussion of what sounded like the menu for the noon meal. I realized I needed to get a better feel for the state of the ship, so I dropped down the ladder for a closer look at what could be important enough to ignore a summons to the cabin.
A weedy looking officer wearing cargo pips on his collar stood at the open passage into what looked like a combination galley and mess deck. He seemed slightly taken aback to be confronted so summarily, but I smiled and held out a hand. “You must be Mr. Wyatt. I’m the new guy.”
He took my hand in a half hearted shake and blinked rapidly several times. “Yes, hullo.” His eyes finally flickered to the stars on my collar and back to my face. “Captain.”
“Ishmael Wang, off the William Tinker.”
“Yes, Captain. I’ve some of your coffee here. The messman was quite insistent that I take them. The buckets.”
“Oh, I hope he wasn’t an inconvenience.”
“Oh, no, Captain. Quite polite. Just determined.”
“My apologies for the zeal of my former crew. They were anxious to get off on the best foot possible with Captain Delman as well.”
He nodded absently, looking slightly lost, back and forth between the first mate and me.
Ms. Thomas gave me a rather sharp look as if in rebuke for interrupting her conversation, and continued her talk with Wyatt. “I was really hoping we could get some of those sausages from Maurice for lunch. Are you certain you tried, Avery?”
“Yes, Gwen, I did. Maurice sold out yesterday. You know he only makes a few at a time. They’re very popular.”
“How are we coming on the resupply of the larder? We’ll need enough to get us through to Jett.”
I wasn’t sure if I needed to interrupt this cafe klatsch or not. On the one hand, a discussion of one crewman’s preference on the lunch menu was hardly worth my time, on the other a discussion of having sufficient ships stores to make the next port perhaps should be. Avery Wyatt was supposed to be good with stores. Looking at him, I wondered if he could find a noodle in a pasta factory.
The two of them ran down after only a few more ticks and Wyatt walked back into the galley, while Thomas headed toward the brow.
“Ms. Thomas? The cabin, if you please.”
“I was just going to check on Schubert, Captain.”
“I appreciate that, Ms. Thomas, but please, join me in the cabin. Now. Mr. Schubert can wait, unless you’re aware of some emergency that has not been made public in the ship...?”
“Oh, no, Captain. I was just going to check to make sure he hasn’t gone back to sleep.”
“He wasn’t asleep before, Ms. Thomas. The cabin, if you please.”
I started up the ladder and was halfway up before I realized that Ms. Thomas wasn’t behind me.
“Ms. Thomas?”
She looked up at me, then out to the brow and then actually paused. I presumed she paused to decide which direction to go.
“The cabin, Ms. Thomas. It’s this way.”
She flushed with a scowl, turned toward the foot of the ladder and started up. I continued on into the cabin and she came after me.
“Please, close the door, Ms. Thomas.”
“I don’t think that’s wise, Captain.”
“Why is that, Ms. Thomas.”
“Because it would be unseemly for a male and female to be closeted without chaperone, Captain.”
“And is my virtue at risk, Ms. Thomas? Do you have designs upon me already?”
She flushed again. “No! Certainly not, Captain, that’s preposterous.”
“Then please accept my heartfelt assurances that I never screw with crew and that your virtue is safe from me, Ms. Thomas. Have I made that clear?”
“Well, yes, Captain but–“
“Ms. Thomas, shut up.”
“What?”
“I said shut up.”
For a wonder, she did.
“Close the cabin door, Ms. Thomas. I’m not in the habit of discussing personnel matters in the open passageway.”
“But–”
“Ms. Thomas. I gave you an order. I suggest you follow it.”
She turned and closed the cabin door.
“Thank you, Ms. Thomas.”
I took a seat behind the desk. She started to sit across from me.
“You will stand at attention, Ms. Thomas. I need to make some things clear to you before we go any further.”
“But –”
I looked at her. I didn’t say anything. She subsided, but she was not braced at attention.
“Are you not familiar with the form of ‘attention’ Ms. Thomas? I can get Mr. Schubert up to demonstrate it for you, if you wish.”
“No, Captain. That won’t be necessary.” She glowered, but she braced.
“Thank you, Ms. Thomas.” I sat there and looked at her for several long ticks. To her credit, only her eyes moved and just ever so slightly. She didn’t actually break her gaze from the point just across the cabin.
“Now, let’s get some things clear, Ms. Thomas. I am your boss. When I ask you nicely to do something, please consider that a direct, immediate, and imperative order. When you receive such an order, I expect you to carry it out immediately, without discussion, and without question unless the order is unclear, or unless you believe the order is illegal, or unless you believe the order puts the ship or her crew in danger. Do I make myself clear, Ms. Thomas?”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Good. Sometimes those orders will not be verbal. For example, this morning on the lock–”
“Oh, I’m sorry about that, Captain, Schub–”
“Shut up, Ms. Thomas. The ship is not in danger, no crew is at risk. You are at attention. You are talking when you should be listening.”
She stood silently.
“Thank you, Ms. Thomas. As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, this morning on the lock I gave you one of these non-verbal orders. I saw you see me shake my head. That head shake was to tell you not to berate Mr. Schubert in front of the owner of the line. I had a very good reason for that order, Ms. Thomas. I saw you when y
ou decided to ignore that order and berate Mr. Schubert anyway. Do you have any explanation of why you did that, Ms. Thomas?”
“Sar, Schubert is a miscreant and a troublemaker. He goes out of his way to cause problems on the ship. He regularly falls asleep on watch. He is repeatedly derelict in his duty. He needed to be reprimanded, Captain.”
“Thank you, Ms. Thomas. I appreciate your input on this matter. What was the purpose of this reprimand?”
“To teach him a lesson, Captain. He cannot skylark and not have there be consequences.”
“And what consequences would those be, Ms. Thomas?”
For the first time she seemed confused. “I don’t understand the question, Captain.”
“What consequences did your reprimand visit upon Able Spacer Schubert.”
She blinked several times before answering. “Well, the reprimand itself, Captain.”
“You’re referring to the actual tongue-lashing?”
“Well , yes, sar. That had to have been unpleasant, Captain.” She seemed quite proud of herself.
“Well, let me commend you on your creativity, choice of imagery, and actual language usage, Ms. Thomas, and I do freely admit it was unpleasant.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
“You miss my point, Ms. Thomas. It was unpleasant for every one except Mr. Schubert–and possibly you. Let me assure you that I found it exceptionally unpleasant and that Mr. Maloney found it a good representation of why this ship is considered the worst in the fleet.”
She stood there silently. Her mouth tried to open but she never found the handle.
“Because you were unaware of my petty insistence that my orders be followed, I will grant you a pass on the incident on the lock. Further because you and I had not yet had this little discussion to establish the ground rules on our professional relationship, I will ignore the three flagrant cases of insubordination you were guilty of in the passageway below. And since this is a friendly discussion of the way we will be working together, I’ll over look all the times I have had to repeat simple orders here in the cabin before you were willing to actually follow them. When this discussion is over, that amnesty will be at an end. You are my first mate, the good right hand of any captain, and I need to know that my right hand will do what I expect. When I need it to clench, I expect it to clench. When I need it to open, it must open. When I need it to hold, by the gods it will hold. Do I make myself clear, Ms. Thomas?”
“Yes, Captain.”
“And are you willing to do it, Ms. Thomas? Are you willing to be my good right hand?”
“Yes, Captain.”
“If you think I am making unreasonable or unreasoned demands upon you, I want you to tell me now, Ms. Thomas.”
“No, Captain, I do not think you’re making unreasonable demands.”
“And are you able to do it, Ms. Thomas?”
I gave her a lot of credit at that point because she didn’t just sound off. She tried a couple of times before she found an answer. “Captain, I don’t know. I think so and I think I’d like to try my best to do it.”
“I think so, too, Ms. Thomas. And I believe you can do it.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
“Okay, now that we’ve had our little talk, why don’t you go prop that door open and have a seat. We have a lot of work to do in a short time and we best get at it. The painters will be here shortly and I’ll want a tour of the ship while they’re busy in here.”
Chapter Sixteen
Diurnia Orbital:
2372-January-09
Once I got her attention, Ms. Thomas demonstrated a thorough knowledge of the ship and her systems. The ship itself wasn’t terribly complicated. The hull was a basic egg shape, twenty meters in diameter and slightly elongated on its axis of travel. The aft end was chopped off square and that’s where we linked up with our cargo containers–up to three of them at a time. The bow held a standard ten-meter universal docking ring just like every other clipper in the universe. We had sail and keel, some small maneuvering thrusters, a burleson drive, and enough fusactors to drive it all for a few stanyers. While the painters worked on the cabin, we crawled from keel to bridge and Ms. Thomas gave me the run down on each system.
At 1200 we adjourned to the eat-in galley. The compact space held two rather utilitarian four-seat table units bolted to the deck and a serviceable looking galley with range top, two ovens, grill, chiller, and the requisite sinks and storage. Just looking at it, I thought maybe the galley would be sufficient to feed two or three times the crew we were rated for. I looked at the coffee mess and was pleased to see that it was small, but commercial grade, with a pair of thermal carafes and a spigot for boiling water.
The crew who were aboard and awake joined us for lunch. I counted noses and realized that it was most of the crew. The enormity of what I’d done sank in as all five of us settled down to lunch. I was a bit taken aback to see Wyatt had opened a can of soup and put out a loaf of bread alongside some sad-looking cold cuts. Judging from the crew response, it appeared to be a normal lunch mess. I sighed and made a note on my tablet. Wyatt might know stores and how to purchase, but it didn’t look like he knew how to eat at all.
The newcomer to the lunch party was a cute young woman who looked to be maybe thirty with nicely cropped sandy brown hair, a peaches and cream complexion, and the collar pips of chief engineer. It seemed that Gretchen Gerheart was not what I expected, either. She smiled pleasantly when introduced and apologized for not being awake when I’d come aboard.
“I’m sorry for not being here when you arrived, Captain. I got the messages when I woke but I had the overnight watch and racked out before the messages came in.”
She seemed pleasant and competent enough. The engineering spaces that I’d toured seemed clean and well maintained. I wondered, idly, what she’d done to warrant assignment to the Agamemnon.
Mr. Schubert grabbed a sandwich, a cup of soup, and a drink and returned to the brow. I had to admit, the ship was set up very nicely for short-handed operation. With the mess deck just inside the lock, the call buzzer would be clearly audible from the galley–and probably anywhere else on the ship.
Crew berthing lay across the corridor and the three ratings shared a rather spacious single room where the bunks rose in a single line up the bulkhead. The high clearance made the three-up arrangement of sleeping quarters actually more spacious than those I’d used on the Lois and which the crew of the Tinker were used to. Hanging all three bunks on a single wall left a relatively large floor area and room for much larger gear lockers than normal. Aft of crew quarters there was even a small workout room with a single treadmill, a weight machine, and a stationary bike. I began to wonder where the stories about tractors being cramped came from.
The foreman of the paint crew showed up at the door to the galley before I could really get a handle on either Wyatt or Gerheart, but on the surface they seemed personable and used to Ms. Thomas’ volume.
“’Scuse me, folks, but if the captain would care to see if there’s any place we missed?”
I grabbed a swig of soup and rose to follow him up to the cabin. They’d done a very nice job on the painting and the yellow color worked nicely to brighten the space without being overpowering. I’d picked a pair of low saturation yellows and liked the way the two tones played.
“Excellent, Mr. Jameson. My compliments to you and your crew for excellent work on short notice.”
He beamed. “Our pleasure, Captain. We’ll be out of here in a few ticks. The paint should be mostly dry in a stan. You’ll be able to work in here then, but I’d refrain from hanging pictures or anything for at least two.”
“So noted. Thank you, Mr. Jameson.”
He nodded and signaled his paint gang. I got out of their way and headed back down to the galley.
When I got there, my soup was cold and the bread on my sandwich already drying out. I ate anyway. It hadn’t been much of a meal to begin with, and I had bigger fish to fry.
&
nbsp; I turned to the chief engineer. “What’s our status in Engineering, Ms. Gerheart?”
“Status, Captain?”
“Fuels, spare parts, environmental controls...? Are we ready to get underway?”
“Oh, I think so, Captain.” She smiled and shrugged. “The fusactors are fueled and ready. Maneuvering mass is topped off. We’ve got 80% in the tanks and they should be topped by the end of the watch. We’ve got enough air filters for a year and full spares.”
She delivered the report it in a kind of whispery, sing-song soprano into her soup mug. It made it hard to hear her and harder still to take her report as credible. I had no reason to doubt her, but made a mental note to double check her report.
“Thank you, Chief. Are there any equipment outages, maintenance issues?”
“No, Captain. The scrubbers are up to snuff. Number one is due in two days, number two in nine. Gray and dark water processing is clear. Particulates and gasses are within parameter. All equipment is operating nominally, and within service lifetime ratings.”
She never looked up once or raised her voice beyond the sing-song. I began to appreciate why she might be aboard.
“That sounds good, Ms. Gerheart. Thanks. Mr. Wyatt? Stores?”
“Stores, Captain?”
“Yes, Mr. Wyatt. Stores. You know? Food supplies, operational materials?”
“Oh, yes, Captain. We’ve got a full pantry and I think operational stores are up to regulation levels.”
“You’re the designated supply officer, Mr. Wyatt?”
He looked confused. “I’m not sure we have one, Captain. I just order what the captain tells me to.”
“Ms. Thomas? Is there no supply officer in our little chain of command?”
“Sorry, Captain. Not that I know of. Captain Delman kept track of that. Avery here just ordered whatever the skipper said.”
I began to see a pattern. “Training officer?”
Captain's Share (Trader's Tales from the Golden Age of the Solar Clipper) Page 10
