I stood up, and smiled around the bridge. “Thank you, people. We should do this more often.”
I was a little nervous that I’d stumble on the way back down the ladder, but I didn’t, in spite of the weakness in my knees and a rather pronounced lightheadedness as the reality of what had just happened sank in. As I approached the cabin, I became a bit more concerned that I might lose my dinner as the enormity of that reality chased along behind.
Then I opened the cabin door and that huge port showed the rich, sparkled darkness of the Deep Dark strewn ahead of us. I stepped into the cabin and closed the door behind me so I’d have something to lean on as I drank it in. For what must have been five or six full ticks I was washed with thoughts and fears, emotions and endorphins. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to describe it, that ineffable feeling that I, myself–not in the ship, or part of the ship, but me–I flew outward, racing into the Deep Dark.
No, I don’t think I could ever really describe it, but I was sure I’d never–as long as I lived–forget it.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Diurnia System:
2372-January-12
My tablet bipped me awake at 0500. I grabbed a quick shower and threw on a fresh shipsuit before heading down to the galley. I found Mr. Wyatt already up and about, with that heavenly aroma of fresh brewing coffee filling the mess deck and what looked like ten kilograms of flour spread around the work surface. He looked up at me with a sheepish shrug. “The biscuits are winning this morning, Skipper.”
“I see that, Avery. How many were you planning on making?”
“I tripled the recipe so we’d have some for biscuits and gravy tomorrow morning. It didn’t work out too well.”
I crossed to the urns and snagged a fresh cup before trying to diagnose the problem. “Looks to me like you tripled the dry but only doubled the buttermilk.”
He frowned down at the mess. “How can you tell?”
“It’s just a guess. But you’ve got a lot more dry than batter there. I’ve done it myself often enough. Pile it up, make a little hollow in the middle and pour some more in. Mix it on the board and repeat until you get a good dough.”
“Won’t that make them tough, if I knead them too much, Skipper?”
“You’ve been reading again, Avery?”
He shrugged. “Seemed like a good idea, Skipper.”
“You got the choice of tossing it and starting over or making them a little tough. Nobody here will complain–or probably notice. At the moment, there’s not enough liquid in it to activate the gluten. You’re not really kneading it yet. Just getting it to the point where you can.”
I watched him considering it and I crossed to the work counter to get a better look.
“You might wanna consider a tad more shortening next time. Recipes seem to keep it to a minimum and I don’t know it’s the recipe or the shipboard air conditions, but Cookie always used about a third more shortening and maybe a bit more of the baking soda.”
“Skipper? Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure. I reserve the right not to answer, but you can ask anything you like.”
“You know a lot about the galley for a Deck officer.”
“I started as an attendant in the Steward Division, Avery. Lois McKendrick out of New Farnouk. Operated over in Dunsany Roads before I went to the academy.”
“You were a rating, Skipper?” He sounded surprised.
“You didn’t look me up?”
“Look you up, Captain?”
“I do have a fleet record. You can see it. Not all of it of course, but my pertinent details are listed.”
“Oh.” He looked a little crestfallen. “I didn’t think of it.”
“Don’t feel bad. I’ve reviewed all your jackets, but I haven’t looked at public records yet, either. We’ve been rather busy.”
He chuckled at that and proceeded to scrape the floury pile up and work it into something approaching biscuit dough. I itched to get my hands in it, too, but I needed to let him find his own way there.
“So you were a steward? How did you wind up in Deck Division, Skipper?”
I sat on the bench and sipped my coffee. “Well, actually, I was a Systems Two when I left the Lois.”
He goggled at me, freezing with his hands in the dough. “How many ratings do you hold?”
I shrugged. “Technically, none right now, but when I went to Port Newmar I was full share in all four divisions, in one capacity or another.”
He resumed his biscuit recovery operation and continued to glance at me occasionally. “That’s not that common, Skipper.”
“Well, maybe, but I’m not spacer-born, so I had to make up for lost time.”
“You’re a land rat, Captain?”
“Born on a planet—Diurnia, as it happens—and neither of my parents were spacers. My mother was an ancient lit professor at the University of Neris. She got killed and I took a berth on the Lois McKendrick. The rest is twenty stanyers of mistakes and the occasional good meal.”
I glanced over to the chronometer on the bulkhead as it clicked over to 0530.
“I’ve got a few ticks here before I have to get up to the bridge. Can I give you a hand, Avery?”
He nodded at the ready cooler. “If you could mix a pitcher of egg mix for omelets, Skipper? Eggs are in the cooler.”
It was a matter of moments to crack two dozen and get them whisked up with a little cold water, salt and pepper. I snapped an airtight lid on it and left it on the side board. “You want me to heat a pan?”
“No, sar, but if you’d like to pull out the filling–”
Ms. Thomas’s voice cut across the mess deck. “What happened in here?”
Avery and I both snapped around, taken aback by the volume and alarmed by the content.
Ms. Thomas was just inside the mess deck and staring like there was something truly terrifying and horrible about to engulf her. She seemed to be staring at the table.
“What, Ms. Thomas?”
“Captain, the–the tables!” She seemed almost in despair.
“Yes, I had them pulled and replaced with this just before we got underway. Why?”
“But–?”
“But what, Ms. Thomas?”
“Where will officers sit?”
“I don’t understand, Ms. Thomas. At the table, of course.” Actually I was afraid I did understand but I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt.
She paused for a moment, still staring at the table, but processing. She looked at me after a moment. “Oh, well. Then where will the enlisted sit?”
“At the table, Ms. Thomas.” I forestalled her next question. “Yes, at the same time. There’s plenty of room.”
“But that’s impossible, Captain. We can’t encourage that level of familiarity between officers and crew!”
“Ms. Thomas? Before you get too far down that unfortunate path, let me remind you that you’re standing outside of crew quarters where, unless I’m very much mistaken at least one of said crew should be getting ready to join me on the bridge and to whom your commentary is going to be clearly audible.”
“The crew is perfectly aware of my feelings on fraternization, Captain.”
Mr. Hill stepped around Ms. Thomas on his way to the coffee pot. He nodded respectfully to Ms. Thomas. “Indeed we are, sar.” He seemed completely unfazed by the encounter and continued to the urns. He nodded to me and then Mr. Wyatt. “Morning, Skipper. Howdy, Mr. Wyatt.”
I sighed and scrubbed my face with my hands. “Cabin, Ms. Thomas. Mr. Hill, at the appropriate time would you report to the bridge to relieve Mr. Ricks and relay my compliments to Mr. Pall and my apologies for delay in relieving the watch?”
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
I turned back to Ms. Thomas. “Cabin, if you please, Ms. Thomas.”
She went and I followed. She paused at the top of the ladder to let me lead the way into the cabin and I forestalled our normal dispute over the door by holding it for her as she entered a
nd closing it myself.
“Captain, I must protest.”
“Sit, Gwen.” I pointed to the chair at the desk and I took mine on the other side.
She looked shocked at the familiarity. “I’d prefer to stand, Captain.”
“Sit, Gwen. We need to talk and it’s gotta be fast because I’ve got to relieve Mr. Pall.”
She gathered into herself and took the chair.
“Okay, Gwen, what’s the problem? Crew cooties? You can’t eat at the same table? What?”
“Captain, it’s not right that ratings and officers share the same facilities.”
“Says who?”
“It’s–It’s–It’s just not done, Captain.” She was off balance but still truculent.
“What’s got you so spooked?”
“Captain?”
“Look. Gwen, you’re my first mate. I really rely on your knowledge of the ship to keep things moving smoothly. Getting underway yesterday proved to me that you have the skills and knowledge I need and that we can work together. We’re still getting used to each other at the moment. We’re on the first day of what might be a six week blind date from hell. We need to take some of the masks off and get down to the real parts before we make any more blunders. What’s going on?”
“I don’t understand, Captain.”
“What’s with the fraternization crap? And what’s with the cabin door? I have never given you any cause to fear any kind of impropriety and you’re strong enough to break me in half. Are you afraid I’m gonna call rape or something?”
“No, Captain. I’m just–”
I waited for her.
She shifted uncomfortably in the chair. “I don’t get along well with men.”
I shrugged. “Okay, that’s not a problem with me. My mother preferred women, too.”
“No, Captain.” She flushed bright red. “It’s not that I prefer women. Quite the opposite. I just–don’t get along with men.”
The light was dawning for me. “But you’d like to and it’s not really working out well?”
“Yes, Captain.”
“So you don’t, what? Trust yourself alone with men?”
She looked startled. “Well, not exactly that, but–” She was really looking embarrassed. “Why add temptation I can avoid?” She was looking at her hands where they writhed in her lap.
“Okay, well, I’m not available. Don’t be tempted and stop giving me grief about the door. I’ll leave it open if it’s ship’s business but closed if we need to have a private discussion that I’d rather not share with the whole crew, okay?”
She took a deep breath and looked up at me. “Okay, Captain.”
“Now what’s with the table?”
“Well, that just struck me odd, Captain. I’ve never been on a ship where officers dined with ratings.”
“They had two tables on the Hector?”
She shrugged and nodded. “Yes, Skipper, they did.”
“Small ships have different rules, Ms. Thomas. Organizationally, these ships are a mess. We’re desperately top heavy. They’re just big enough to need a specific officer corps and not big enough to warrant sufficient ratings. That’s why Mr. Wyatt is acting like a commissary man and I’ve been cooking meals.”
“I can see that, Captain.”
“We, as officers, need to acknowledge the value and contribution of the ratings. None of us gets home alive if we don’t all pull together. That larger table is part of it. It represents something significant–as your reaction to it underscores.”
She looked down at her hands but nodded. “I can see that, too, Captain.”
“And besides. It’s just a more efficient use of the space. Having another large surface where we can all work may come in useful for some of the other projects I have in mind, and the way it’s situated in the galley, it’s a place for crew to come in and hang out, help out with the cooking, kibitz with the cook. It’s just friendlier.”
She took a deep breath and then let it out slowly and shifted in the chair again. She didn’t say anything.
That was when I noticed that her feet did not reach the floor. “Oh, dear.”
“Captain?”
“I’m sorry, Gwen. I’ve been insensitive again. It’s not the table, is it?”
“Not really, Captain. No. It’s the bench.”
“How did you sit at the smaller tables?”
“The seats had a little bar down below where I could hook my heels.” She looked embarrassed.
“If I can fix that problem, will you be ok with this new arrangement?”
She looked startled at that. “How can you fix it, Captain? Stretch my legs?”
I grinned. “No, Gwen, I’m gonna raise the deck.” The chrono on my desk clicked over to 0555. I nodded to it. “But I really need to relieve the watch now. Can you tough out breakfast and trust me to get it resolved before lunch?”
“Sure, Captain. But I’m really curious how raising the deck will help, and how you’re going to accomplish that.”
“You’ll find out.” I reached across the desk and offered my hand. “Call me Ishmael.”
She had to stand up to be able to reach across to me, but she did and when she shook, there were no strength games involved. “Thank you. Ishmael.”
“Git. I have a watch to relieve.”
She really did have a lovely smile.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Diurnia System:
2372-January-12
I scampered up the ladder a tick before the top of the hour. “My apologies, Mr. Pall.”
“No problem, Skipper. Ship is on course and on target. No incidents or actions. Standing orders are unchanged since you haven’t changed them. You may relieve the watch, Captain.”
“I have the watch, Mr. Pall. Logged on 2372 January 12 at 0601 per standing order.”
“Thanks, Skipper.”
“My pleasure, Mr. Pall.”
“Mr. Wyatt will be bringing up a tray shortly, Captain.”
“Ah, thank you, Mr. Pall. I trusted there was a procedure in place.”
He smiled and dropped down the ladder.
“Good morning, Mr. Hill. Anything on the helm?”
“Full sails and fair sailing, Skipper.”
“Excellent. I assume they’ll bring us both trays?”
“If history is any predictor of the future, Captain, I believe they will.” He grinned over his shoulder at me.
“Not long standing policy and practice then, Mr. Hill?”
He snorted. “At the risk of impertinence, Captain, have you seen the standing orders?”
I looked at him and I’m sure a certain level of embarrassment must have been evident on my face.
He gave a little shrug but said no more.
“Thank you, Mr. Hill. I’ll–ah–take that under advisement.”
“You’re welcome, Captain.”
I dug into the overnights and found no immediate red flags. I took the opportunity to initial them and send them to archives, clearing at least that much of my bureaucratic backlog. With a glance at the back of Mr. Hill’s head, I pulled up the current standing orders file and began reviewing it.
Mr. Wyatt slipped in about 0620 with a couple of trays. “I took the liberty of throwing a little of this and that into an omelet for you, Skipper. Hope it’s ok.”
“Food. Warm. Good, Mr. Wyatt.” I smiled up at him from the station. “At this point, I’m grateful for all small blessings.”
“And for you, Mr. Hill. Same menu as the captain. Can’t get any better’n that.”
Mr. Hill laughed a little. “Thank you, Mr. Wyatt. I’ll eat pretty much anything.”
“I’ll be back for the trays after we get the galley secured, Skipper.”
“First things first, Mr. Wyatt. You’re doing great. Don’t stop now.”
“Thank you, Captain.” He headed back to the mess deck and I started to eat while I continued reading the standing orders.
The eggs and biscuits were gone long befo
re I got to the end of my perusal, but I kept plowing. Any error in standing orders could spell catastrophe and Mr. Hill had me dead to rights. I hadn’t really paid much attention to them.
After nearly a stan and a half, I finished the last paragraph. They didn’t seem too bad. There were a couple of raggedy bits that I would have changed–should change eventually–but nothing I found objectionable.
“You have some critique of the standing orders, Mr. Hill?” I’d been quiet for a long time.
“The section on meals and coverage of the watch seems a bit on the sparse side to me, sar.”
I didn’t remember that section, but I’d read through a lot of material in rather a short order. I scanned the index again and didn’t see a listing. What he was saying was suddenly crystal clear. “A bit on the spare side does appear to be a bit of an understatement, Mr. Hill.”
“Well, yes, Captain. Probably so.”
“Thank you for pointing it out, Mr. Hill.”
“Quite welcome, Captain. I expect you’ve had a few things to worry about since coming aboard.”
“I have, indeed, Mr. Hill. And, speaking of things to worry about, how are you feeling today?”
He smiled. “I’m okay, Skipper. I had it coming. I just didn’t think they’d pay off so soon. I’m sore in a few places and my skin is turning technicolor, but there’s nothing serious. Sorry, about that.” He actually sounded it.
“Apology accepted, Mr. Hill. We all have debts that need to be paid one way or another.” That brought up an unexpected thought of Jen and a pang of regret for what my being in space was doing to her. I brushed it aside. “Are there any other ‘sparse’ sections of the standing orders that you’re aware of, Mr. Hill?”
“I’m hardly an expert, Skipper.”
“Entertain me, Mr. Hill.”
He did. On several different topics. He ran down after two solid ticks.
I kept a list as he went and then compared it to the existing standing orders. I found one mismatch, but when I dug into it a bit deeper I found that he had been right on practically every point.
“Mr. Hill, have you ever considered the Academy?”
That startled him. “Of course not, Captain. I’m an Able Spacer!”
Captain's Share (Trader's Tales from the Golden Age of the Solar Clipper) Page 19
