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

by Nathan Lowell

  “Packaged cereal, dry toast, and tea, sar.”

  “Sounds grim.”

  He shrugged non-committally.

  “What would you like for breakfast, Mr. Ricks?”

  He answered me instantly. “Pancakes, sausage, and maybe a bit of applesauce on the side.”

  “Sausage? Not bacon?”

  “Bacon would do, sar.”

  “But you like sausage, Mr. Ricks?”

  “With pancakes, yes, Captain. I do. And you did ask.”

  “Indeed I did and I think your breakfast sounds better than what I’m likely to find in there. Thank you for your feedback, Mr. Ricks. Carry on.”

  I headed into the ship and up to the cabin. The glow from the station’s skin outside was more than enough light for me to change out of my khakis and into a shipsuit. Day two, and high time we began to turn the ship around.

  First things first, and food was a key. My old boss on the Lois McKendrick used to say something like, “It’s the only restaurant they have in the Deep Dark, but they should still want to eat here.” Padding into the darkened galley reminded me of him.

  The ready cooler had nothing resembling sausage, or even bacon, in it. I took a few ticks to look up the inventory and found both bacon and sausage in the deep freeze. I remembered to put on a pair of work gloves before moving the colder-than-ice packages. In all honesty, they were a pair of oven mitts because I didn’t find any gloves handy. I started a list of things I wanted Mr. Wyatt to buy.

  I left the case of bacon in the chiller to thaw and took the case of sausage to the galley. I was a little uneasy about what I might find in the case, but whoever had purchased this had done the right thing and gotten portion-controlled, individually wrapped servings. I pulled out enough sausage for ten people and took the case back to the ready cooler to join the bacon.

  When I got to the galley I went to draw a cup of coffee, and discovered an empty pot. It was clean enough, just empty. A few ticks of rummaging in the lockers turned up a can of ground coffee, and my buckets of Sarabanda Dark. What it didn’t turn up was a coffee grinder. I added that to the list for Wyatt. The can of coffee smelled relatively fresh, and in an emergency one sometimes has to sacrifice. The pot dribbled nicely in a matter of a tick or two and I turned to the sausage. I tossed the packages into the microwave set to defrost. I didn’t think it would work completely, but it would move enough molecules that I could probably get the packaging material off it. A hot griddle would fix the rest.

  Pancakes turned out to be a bit of a challenge. I found no flour, no baking power, no baking soda. I turned up plenty of salt but couldn’t find any fresh eggs.

  I checked the dry goods inventory and found a box of pancake mix. It wasn’t perfect but it would do for the moment. I added flour and the other missing ingredients to the list.

  I had to give Wyatt credit for a painstakingly accurate inventory. Whatever flaws he may have had–and I was convinced they weren’t anything at all like people imagined–his record keeping was impeccable. That thought reminded me to update the stock levels for the amount I’d drawn down.

  The range was a commercial model that had six burners and even a steel griddle plate. Not large, but big enough for my purposes. While it heated up, I slopped the pancake batter together roughly and smiled as I heard Cookie’s voice in my head. “It’s called batter, young Ishmael, so beat it. Just not into submission!” A few turns with a wisk sufficed to give the correct lumpy consistency to the mix. I was going to add a dash of cinnamon with a bit of sugar, but there was no cinnamon. I put the sugar in anyway, and started a list of spices and herbs.

  By then the microwave had beeped and the sausages sizzled nicely when they hit the griddle. The red light on the coffee urn was also on so I grabbed a cup before I started ladling out the batter.

  At 0530, Mr. Pall trudged into the galley. “Captain? What are you doing?”

  “Good morning, Mr. Pall. I’m cooking breakfast. Anything to report?”

  He blinked blearily. “No, long quiet night.” He crossed to the pot and drew a mug of his own. “Breakfast, Captain?”

  “Yes, meal usually consumed early in the diurnal cycle. Etomologically speaking comes from the phrase ‘breaking the fast’–since one doesn’t, as a rule, eat while asleep.”

  “Yes, Captain, but why are you fixing it? Did pirates kidnap Mr. Wyatt?”

  “I don’t know, Mr. Pall. I just got here a short time ago and I haven’t checked his stateroom. When I came aboard I saw that we needed to have breakfast going in short order and Mr. Ricks said he would like to have pancakes and sausage. I thought it sounded pretty good so...” I waved my spatula at the now covered grill and shrugged.

  “You sure it’s not pirates?” He sounded disappointed.

  “Not entirely, no, Mr. Pall. An absence of evidence does not represent evidence of absence but in the face of inadequate evidence, I would suspect that the simplest solution may be the most likely.”

  “Yes, Captain, I think I agree.”

  “Think you agree, Mr. Pall?”

  “Well, just because nobody’s seen pirates, doesn’t mean they’re not out there.”

  “Logically sound, Mr. Pall, and a perfect example.”

  I glanced up at the chrono just as it ticked over to 0545. “Mr. Pall, are you ready to relieve the watch?”

  “Yea, I think so, Captain. Are you going to take Third Section or should I wake Greta?”

  “I relieve you, Mr. Pall. Please log it at 0545 for me? I have my hands full here.”

  “Of course, Captain. Anything I can do to help?”

  “Syrup and orange juice. I haven’t found either yet, but I’m pretty sure there’s a can of syrup in the dry goods locker and a crate of frozen concentrate in the number three freezer. If you’d rummage those up, we’ll be able to serve breakfast at 0600, I think.”

  “Sure thing, Skipper.” He headed into the stores area and I threw him the oven mitts.

  “Don’t touch the frozen goods without those on. You’ll burn yourself.”

  He caught them both before they hit the deck and blinked at them before nodding and slipping them on. “Thanks. I wouldn’t have thought of it.”

  “I burned myself before. Not fun but a hard lesson I’ve never forgotten.”

  He nodded and disappeared into stores. I thought he was humming a sea chantey, but I couldn’t hear well enough to be sure. He was singing something to himself.

  Before he came back, Avery burst onto the mess deck. “Captain! What are you doing?”

  “Just cooking up a batch of pirate repellant. Have you seen any?”

  “Seen any what?”

  “Pirates, Mr. Wyatt. Have you seen any?”

  “No, Captain.”

  “Must be working then. How many pancakes can you eat?”

  “Three, Captain.”

  “Coffee’s ready and Mr. Pall is looking for the orange juice.”

  “Number three freezer.”

  “That’s where he’s looking.”

  “You sure you don’t want me to fix breakfast, Captain?”

  “It’s okay, Avery. I’ve got stuff for you to do today and I’ve got this under control. You haven’t called cargo dispatch yet, have you?”

  “No, Captain, I was going to call this morning.”

  “Good. Don’t. I’ll handle that, while you’re out shopping.”

  “Shopping, Captain?”

  “Yes, I’ve found some things I need you to get for ship’s stores. We have supply budget left I assume?”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “Good. I’ve got a list started. I think you can get it all at the chandlery down on oh-one.”

  Pall returned with a case of concentrate balanced carefully across the oven mitts.

  I nodded to the counter. “Drop it there while you find the syrup.”

  Wyatt took a sip of coffee and put the cup on the table. “I know where it is. I can show you, William.”

  They went back and I could
hear them rummaging around. I grinned into my griddle and pulled a few more pancakes off onto a warming pan.

  An able spacer I didn’t recognize stumbled onto the mess deck.

  I turned to face him. “You must be Mr. Hill.”

  “I am. And who would you be when you’re at home?”

  “Don’t get out much, do you, Mr. Hill?”

  “Wha–?”

  “I’ll be your OD this morning, Mr. Hill.” I nodded at the chronometer. “And if you haven’t relieved, Mr. Ricks already, you’re late relieving the brow. Oh, and you can call me Captain. It’s not my name but use it until you’ve mastered the knack.”

  The expression on his face moved from puzzlement to perplexitude but he was obviously not tracking.

  I sighed. “Coffee, Mr. Hill. Get some. Now. In that pot. The one with the little red light. Relieve Mr. Ricks at the brow. Do it now, Mr. Hill. We’ll sort your chain of command once ship’s business is in hand.”

  To his credit, he did it with only a muttered, “Aye, sar.”

  Wyatt and Pall returned from stores, Pall holding a plastic retort of syrup triumphantly.

  “Excellent. Avery, if you’d get a jug of concentrate mixed up and William if you’d put that case back into the ready freezer? It’ll stay frozen and handy there.”

  Between the two of them, they managed to get the box open without burning or cutting themselves.

  At 0600 I slid a big platter of sausages and another of pancakes onto the sideboard. “Ladies and Gentlemen, breakfast is served.”

  Ms. Thomas burst into the galley.“What’s going on in here? What’s that smell?” Her voice echoed off the overhead.

  I lifted my nose and sniffed delicately. “I believe that’s sausage you’re referring to, Ms. Thomas. Not quite as redolent or identifiable as bacon but a pork product of some provenance none the less.”

  It was Mr. Pall who asked, “Captain, do you always talk like that?”

  “I’m asked that question a lot. Apparently I do.”

  Mr. Ricks came into the galley and just shook his heat. “I don’t believe it, sar. Pancakes and sausage?”

  “Well, it sounded good to me, Mr. Ricks. Sorry about the applesauce. Grab a plate and dig in. Do you happen to know if Mr. Schubert is aboard?”

  “He hasn’t come back yet, Captain.”

  “Should we be alarmed?” I looked around the room.

  Ms. Thomas said, “The authorities usually contact us, if there’s a problem.”

  “Then we’ll assume that he’s a big boy and able to take care of himself until we have evidence to the contrary.” I stuck my head around the corner. “Breakfast, Mr. Hill. Come and get it.”

  Greta Gerheart joined us eventually, and I realized that we had the whole crew, less one. The two ratings sat at one table, while Avery, Wyatt, Thomas, and I sat at another. Because she was late, Greta sat with the ratings, giving them each a small smile. They appeared to welcome her with grins.

  While we ate, I added to my shopping list including root crops, dry goods, and a case of fresh eggs.

  I also added some notes about changes I needed in the ship.

  Chapter Twenty

  Diurnia Orbital:

  2372-January-10

  Breakfast cleanup was minimal. The midwatch headed for their bunks while the off-watch wandered off, and the chief went down to Engineering. I settled with Mr. Wyatt at one of the tables to go over my requirements. He accepted the list without question and headed for the chandlery.

  That left me to deal with Mr. Hill.

  I ambled out to the brow and Mr. Hill looked up from his reading. The screen in front of him didn’t have anything in particular. It looked like a novel.

  “A little light reading, Mr. Hill.”

  “I’m allowed. Sar.”

  “Yes, you certainly are, Mr. Hill. Anything to report?”

  “No. Sar.” His voice carried the sneer that his face showed clearly.

  “Do we have a problem, Mr. Hill?”

  “No. Sar. We do not have a problem.” He put special emphasis on the ‘we.’

  “Very well, then, Mr. Hill, do you have a problem?”

  “No. Sar. I do not have a problem.”

  “Are you certain, Mr. Hill?”

  “Quite. Sar.”

  “Excellent, Mr. Hill. I think we’ll get along famously.”

  I turned to go and behind me he spoke again.

  “It won’t work you know, sar.”

  I didn’t turn back to him, just spoke over my shoulder. “What’s that, Mr. Hill?”

  “You comin’ in here all buddy-buddy, makin’ nice. It won’t work.” The pause was deliberate. “Sar.”

  I did turn to him then. “Mr. Hill, I’m not sure what you’re implying but let me assure you that the only agenda I have on this ship is to make it into an effective and efficient money-making machine. I’ll need everybody’s help to make that happen. So as for making it work, as you so charmingly put it, let me assure you, it will work.”

  “You think a little pancake breakfast is gonna turn it around?”

  “Mr. Hill, that should be ‘you think a little pancake breakfast is gonna turn it around, sar?’”

  “What?”

  “Try again, Mr. Hill. Use ’sar’ or ’Captain’.”

  “Sar?”

  “Much better, Mr. Hill. Now as to your question, no, I don’t think a little pancake breakfast is going to turn it around. I think we have a lot of work ahead and I believe your role in that effort will be key.”

  He sniggered.

  “What, Mr. Hill? You don’t feel like you’re a member of this crew?”

  “Oh, yeah. I’m a member, sar. Lowest of the low, but a member.”

  “Actually, I believe that Ordinary Spacer Ricks holds that distinction on this ship, Mr. Hill, but what’s your point?”

  “Well, sar, you don’t see any of us calling the shots do you? And as for being a money-making machine, Wyatt couldn’t pick his nose let alone a decent cargo.”

  “That’s Mr. Wyatt, Mr. Hill, and do you think you could pick cargo any better?”

  “Sar, a blind lemur could pick cargoes better than Mr. Wyatt.”

  “Would you care to make a little wager, Mr. Hill?”

  “What?”

  “Almost … try again, Mr. Hill.”

  “Sar?”

  “I knew you could do it. I asked if you wanted to bet that you could out pick Mr. Wyatt on cargoes.”

  “What’s the bet?” He remembered after a short pause. “Sar.”

  “Hm. Good question. What kind of stakes do you think, Mr. Hill?”

  “You’re serious?” I waited and he added, “Sar.”

  “Very, Mr. Hill.”

  He looked at me for a long time. I’m not sure what calculus he was trying to solve in his mind. “Okay, sar, if I win, I get to sit at the captain’s table at mess.”

  I didn’t see that one coming. “The captain’s table, Mr. Hill?”

  “There are two tables in the galley, Captain. Don’t tell me you don’t realize...”

  He sat me back on my heels with that. “To tell you the truth, Mr. Hill, breakfast was only my second meal aboard. I didn’t realize, but that’s not a good bet for you. Pick something better.”

  “That’s what I want, Captain.”

  “I’ll grant you that anyway. Once we get underway, you can sit at the captain’s table, as you call it, at every meal, Mr. Hill. Pick something else.”

  “You’re joking.” I waited. “Sar.”

  “No, Mr. Hill, I’m not joking. You can sit at the same table that I do as soon as we get underway.”

  He got a sly, calculating look that I didn’t like, but he thought a little longer. “A hot tub, Captain.”

  “A hot tub, Mr. Hill? I rather like the sound of that myself. Where would we put it?”

  “In the workout room, sar. I bet if we rearrange it, we could put one in there.”

  “One moment, Mr. Hill. I’d like to see
if it looks feasible to me.”

  I sauntered down the length of the ship and into the workout room behind the crew’s quarters. Just looking at it, I thought there might be sufficient space there. I returned to where Mr. Hill watched me amble down the length of the ship and back. “I will accept that wager, pending Chief Gerheart’s assessment on the plumbing and heating.”

  “Trying to weasel already, Captain?”

  “Not at all, Mr. Hill. I intend to wager in good faith and I want to make sure that I can actually pay off, should I lose. If there’s a problem with putting the hot tub in that space from an engineering perspective, I’ll need to ask you for something else but I’ll ask Chief Gerheart’s opinion on feasibility before we actually bind the wager. Is that satisfactory, Mr. Hill?”

  “I don’t know, Captain. Sounds like you’re hedgin’ before we even start.”

  “Come, come, Mr. Hill, I’m just trying to be reasonable. I can’t make you king of the universe or give you a million credits either. I just want to make sure that what I agree to I can actually deliver.”

  “And what do you want if I lose?” I waited until he added it. “Sar.”

  “If you lose, you sit for a specialty rating, Mr. Hill.”

  “Any particular one, Captain?”

  “No. Any division, any specialty. Within six months of the end of the contest you will sit for the test in that rating.”

  “I don’t have to pass it, sar?”

  I shook my head. “No, Mr. Hill. You just have to sit for the exam.”

  He thought about it. I’ll give him credit. He looked at me for a long tick before saying, “That’s not good enough, Captain. Pick something better.”

  “That’s what I want, Mr. Hill.”

  He reached over to the console and flipped the screen to a half completed lesson on cargo handling. “I’ll grant you the test, Captain. Just let me take it on the next cycle.” He grinned at me. “Pick something else.”

  “Very well, Mr. Hill. If I win, then you become Mr. Wyatt’s apprentice for as long as you’re both aboard.”

  “What does that mean, Captain?”

  “It means Mr. Wyatt will teach you how to pick cargoes better, and you’ll help him with stores.”

  He thought about it, staring at the half finished lesson on his screen. “Very well, Captain. I think I can agree to those terms. You don’t want to add a condition that I have to remain aboard for some period of time?”