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

by Nathan Lowell

  It didn’t help that those three high priority cans still sat on the dock. The delivery date had shifted as we worked our way slowly down the gravity well. It was still too close for us to make, but it was tantalizing to watch.

  It was almost 2200 when Mr. Pall caught me on the deserted mess deck, leaning against the counter with a fresh cup of coffee and staring at the screen. “You’re up late, Skipper.” He nodded at the coffee mug. “You planning on pulling an all-nighter?”

  I smiled. “No, Mr. Pall. I’ve never had any trouble sleeping, coffee or no. I just felt the need for something warm. I’ll probably hit the rack soon.”

  He crossed the mess deck and nodded at the screen. “They keep changing the delivery date, Skipper.” He joined me, drawing a cup and leaning on the counter beside me. The current date was April 3, 2372.

  “I noticed that, Mr. Pall. How far do you think they’ll go?”

  I felt him shrug beside me. “Till they get a carrier or until the point is passed on the other end, I guess, Skipper.”

  I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. “What’s your best guess of run time from here to Jett, Mr. Pall?”

  “Best guess, Skipper? Forty days, seven stans and the odd tick for maneuvering–pull out to clamp down.” He paused to blow on his coffee. “Approximately. Captain.”

  “Pretty accurate guess, Mr. Pall.”

  He shrugged. “You know how long watches can get sometimes, Captain.”

  “I do, indeed, Mr. Pall.” I looked at the screen some more. “Any variability in that estimate due to astronomical changes?”

  He blew across the top of his mug again as he thought. “Not enough to matter. Call it 40 days in round numbers and we might slide a day off it, but not much more.”

  “And when would we have to leave to be able to take it?”

  “We could meet the deadline if we left tomorrow, Skipper. Not being docked yet is probably going to be an obstacle.”

  “You have a penchant for understatement I had not expected, Mr. Pall.”

  “Thank you, Captain. I try.”

  “You’re doing well, Mr. Pall.”

  “Thank you, Captain.”

  We stood there for a few more ticks.

  “Would you do it, Skipper?”

  “Void the bet, Mr. Pall?”

  “Take the cargo, Skipper.”

  “At the moment, it’s all hypothetical, Mr. Pall.”

  “We’re the only tractor due in the next week, Skipper.”

  I turned my head to look at him.

  He glanced up at me with a shrug. “Picked up the shipping status updates off the inner beacons, Skipper. Just happened to notice.”

  “Is that normal? DST has a lot of tractors and we’re hardly the only ones operating here, Mr. Pall.”

  “Honestly, Skipper? I don’t know. We’ve always been in a kind of cocoon here. Captain Delman never seemed to be too interested in what’s going on around us.” He shrugged. “I don’t have any baseline. Shipping status shows five tractors outbound–four for Diurnia, one for Breakall.”

  “Wonder why one of them didn’t take it.” I said it aloud but I didn’t really expect an answer.

  “Three were already underway when it posted last week. And the other two had booked cargoes. We’re just in the right place at the right time.”

  “But I’d have to void the bet and we’d have to take a double jump over to Jett.”

  Mr. Pall nodded.

  We stood there for a few more heartbeats. I have no idea what Mr. Pall was thinking but my brain did in a great deal of wheel spinning with precious little traction. Getting home late to Jen was high on my list of Bad Ideas because it set a precedent that I didn’t really want to set. Booking the cans over the top of my agreement with Mr. Hill was likewise a bad idea. I’d be with this crew, with any luck, a lot longer than the benefits of this one trade might yield. Balanced against that was my obligation to the company to maximize profits where possible. That’s what they paid me for and why they gave skippers as much leeway as they did. The run out to Welliver was going to be the most profitable this ship had seen in a decade. Expenses were going to be reduced by at least ten percent, if not a lot more, because of the reduced run time. Revenues should be a lot better because we’d picked three really good cans off the dock on Diurnia. The balance sheet on this one was going to total out at a very nice number for the crew share value.

  Any direction I went had a serious downside and short of flipping a coin, I couldn’t see any rational way of choosing.

  To make the whole matter worse, it was all hypothetical. At the moment, we couldn’t commit to the cargo. We were still too far out and the deadline would pass before we could be expected to deliver the goods. The information that Mr. Pall had given me didn’t really contribute to my peace of mind, nor did the lack of good alternatives for single cans. This cargo was the plum. I wondered if it would stay on the tree long enough for me to have to decide whether or not to pick it for real.

  I sighed and headed for the cabin. I wasn’t sure I could sleep, but I had to try. I shouldn’t have worried. My tablet bipped me awake with barely enough time to grab a quick shower and fresh shipsuit before relieving Mr. Pall on the bridge.

  Mr. Hill was there ahead of me and he handed me the cup of coffee that I would have gotten if there’d been time. “Thank you, Mr. Hill. I owe ya one.”

  He grinned, but offered no comment and we proceeded to relieve the watch.

  It was around 0610 when Mr. Wyatt came up to the bridge with our breakfasts. Mr. Hill gave him a Look and Mr. Wyatt nodded once as he slid the tray onto the console.

  Mr. Hill looked very nonchalant as he took fork to food and began to eat. “Has the date changed, Mr. Wyatt?”

  “Yes, it has, Mr. Hill.”

  I chuckled. “Okay, gentlemen, just a moment.” I crossed to the system console and brought up the current lists on that display so I could leave it running while maintaining my own screen. The date had changed. They’d added a week to the deadline and raised the priority. The new date was April 10th.

  Behind me at the helm, I heard Mr. Hill laugh. “They’re getting desperate.”

  I was running numbers in my head and the sums didn’t add up. “It’s close, but we still can’t take it.” I turned to look at them. “I talked to Mr. Pall last night. He says if we left today, we could do it, but we can’t leave today. We’re still five days out and we’ll need at least three days to turn the ship around.” To make this deadline we’d need to leave on the second day in port and that’s not enough time to top off tanks.”

  The two of them looked deflated and I began to smell a rat.

  “Why? You two gentlemen shouldn’t be all that interested in this string of cans. We need three individual cans for the bet.”

  They looked at each other and Mr. Hill shrugged in my direction while looking at Mr. Wyatt as if to say, “You’re the officer. You tell him.”

  Mr. Wyatt took a short breath and turned to me. “We’ve been chatting, Skipper. There is a way we can do this and keep the competition going, if you’re willing to take the double jump.”

  I crossed to my seat at the watch station and sat down. Even I was smart enough to recognize a double-team when I saw it. “Go on, Mr. Wyatt. You’ve got my attention.”

  He smiled. “It’s easy, Captain. According to the rules of the bet, we each have to pick one can.”

  “Go on, Mr. Wyatt.”

  “So? We each pick one can.”

  “Yes, but which cans, Mr. Wyatt? We’ve been watching for good cargoes all the way in. I’m going to have to lock a can in the next couple of days, but I don’t see anything really good except that string.”

  They were both grinning at me then. Mr. Wyatt pointed to the screen. “No, Captain. You don’t understand. We each pick one of those cans.”

  “But there’s no competitive advantage to that, Mr. Wyatt! Why would you want to do that? Neither of you will get ahead that way.”

&nb
sp; Mr. Hill delivered my wake up call. “No, Skipper, but the ship will.”

  The solution was stupidly simple when presented that way. I still had some personal issues and the cargo was still hypothetical. We didn’t have time to get in, unload, reload, and get out with enough time left. I had to admit the envelope of possibilities was certainly expanding.

  “You’d be willing, the two of you?” I knew better than to ask that. They’d just set me up as neatly as any skipper was ever sandbagged by his crew.

  They both shrugged and nodded. Mr. Wyatt added, “Why, not?”

  “Well, that’s one problem solved, Mr. Wyatt.” I looked between the two of them. “It’s still hypothetical until that date gets to be April 11th or later, and I need to check with Chief Gerheart to find out if the ship is up to it before I can commit to it.”

  They both agreed and Mr. Wyatt removed himself from the bridge. Mr. Hill settled into his watch and I did the same. Breakfast was stone cold, but I didn’t really taste it. The cargo list kept blinking on the console across the bridge while I ran the overnight logs and tried not to think of just how mad my wife would be when I got home a month late.

  There was still the issue of whether the ship could handle the double. In my ponderations, I had overlooked one significant aspect. The Agamemnon had no kickers. Once we jumped between systems into the Deep Dark, we’d be down to maneuvering thrusters only. With no wind for the sails it would be like sailing into the doldrums with only oars to row with. I knew it was theoretically possible. The cargo waiting at the dock seemed to require it. Only the chief could tell me if we had the legs to get through a double jump. In theory, we only needed to be outside the burleson limit and oriented correctly in space. In practice, I knew we could spend a long, long time in the Deep Dark if we were sloppy.

  I’d like to say the rest of the watch was routine, but it really wasn’t. Routine is something that disappears. You do routine and three ticks later you wonder if you did it. Routine is not trying to clear overnight logs while watching a blinking red date on the screen across the bridge and wondering if it would flicker to something else while you were looking away. Self-discipline is a great thing. Mine got a workout for the rest of the watch, but it appeared to need more exercise because I couldn’t stop watching. Finally I got up and shut the screen off.

  Mr. Hill looked up when I moved and smiled when I shut it down. “Thank you, Captain.”

  “My pleasure, Mr. Hill.”

  After that, the watch was routine.

  Mr. Pall relieved the watch promptly at 1145 and I took him aside while Mr. Hill headed for chow.

  “Mr. Pall, I need two days.”

  He grinned. “Feel daring, do you, Skipper?”

  “I’m feeling like I’m earning my princely wage on this trip, Mr. Pall. No lie.” A thought suddenly occurred to me. “Have you ever actually jumped out into the Deep Dark and back?”

  He grinned wider. “No, Captain, I never have. I’ve been on ships that did, but I’ve never tried to do it myself. In theory, it’s no different, but ...” He shrugged and grinned even more broadly.

  “What do you need to jump us back, Mr. Pall? If we get out there, can you plot us home?”

  “I think you and I are the two most experienced astrogators on the ship, Skipper, and just between you, me and that stone deaf lamp post over there, Ms. Thomas ain’t no slouch in her own right.”

  “Well, everything I know about it says jump out, do an alignment, and jump in. What’s your understanding, Mr. Pall?”

  “Skipper, if we know where we are and we know where we wanna be, folding space to get there only requires a heading and enough steerageway to move us through the fold.”

  “With no star, there’s no wind. No wind, no sails, Mr. Pall.”

  “Long as we don’t stop, Skipper. We should be able to scoot through on momentum.”

  “That word will bite us if we’re not careful, Mr. Pall.”

  “Which one, Skipper? Stop?”

  No, Mr. Pall. Should.”

  He shrugged and kept grinning.

  “Can you get me two days, Billy?”

  “Lemme re-run some numbers this watch, Skipper. I’ll tell you when you relieve me.”

  “That’s good enough for me. Don’t risk the ship, but five percent is plenty of cushion.”

  “Lemme see what I can do, Skipper.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Pall.”

  “Yo ho ho, Skipper.”

  I clattered down the ladder and headed for the cabin. I needed another few ticks to think about this. If Mr. Pall could shave two days, we had a chance of making that contract even with the current deadline. The sole remaining issue was whether or not it was viable from an engineering standpoint.

  When I got to the mess deck, the crew had already gathered. They were in a festive mood and obviously the notion that we might be making the double was well received. The problem was that I really need to talk to the chief about our jump capacity and I wanted to be subtle. I was pondering how exactly I would handle it. Perhaps after lunch mess, I’d follow her down to Engineering where we could talk.

  I also wanted to talk to Ms. Thomas about her experience jumping into the Deep Dark and back. I was focusing so much on my problem, and the lovely bit of braised chicken that Mr. Wyatt had done for luncheon, that I almost missed my cue.

  Ms. Thomas leaned over to the chief. She lowered her voice to tone that was quiet for her although certainly loud enough to be heard in the passage outside, if not the bridge. “So, Chief? What about the drives, can they handle a double?”

  The chief smiled up at her, the little girl voice on her lips. “Oh, pshaw, Ms. Thomas. Those bad boys are good for three or four big bends. Easy peasy.” As she lowered her face to her plate again, she cast a brief look in my direction and I caught a distinct wink.

  That wasn’t so startling as it once might have been. I was getting used to her ways and it was exactly what I needed to know. I’d still chat her up about it later, but my unease over the ship’s readiness was greatly reduced. At some point I’d have to sit down with folks and hash it all out in the open, but I really did like to have my water fowl all lined up before I started quacking.

  There was something about Ms. Thomas, though. When she spoke, it reminded me of something. I tried to remember it, and couldn’t. I had the feeling that it was something Mr. Pall had said, but that didn’t seem right, either.

  I sighed quietly to myself and finished off the last of the chicken on my plate. Mr. Wyatt had ice cream with syrup for afters. After that, I’d need a nap. It was shaping up to be a long evening.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Welliver System:

  2372-February-22

  By 1730 I was up, re-dressed, and even had time for a fast shower. I ran down to the mess deck and found Mr. Wyatt, as usual, bustling about and Mr. Hill waiting at the coffee urns. “What’s for dinner, Mr. Wyatt?”

  He smiled over to me but didn’t stop moving. “Something called a ’beefy bean bake’ on tap for tonight, Skipper. New recipe.”

  I took a good nose full. “Smells good, Mr. Wyatt.”

  “Have you talked to the chief, Skipper?”

  “I have, Mr. Wyatt, and she assures me we don’t have any technical issues.” I turned to rest my rump on the counter edge beside Mr. Hill. The screen displayed the cargo list. Still. I noticed that a few more priority cans were showing up the closer we got. Nothing like that string of three at the top, but at least an alternative. “We still have a pesky timing issue, though.”

  He made a nonspecific noise of agreement and stuck his head into the oven to check on dinner.

  I nodded to Mr. Hill. “Shall we head up to the penthouse, Mr. Hill?”

  He grinned. “Yes, let’s do, Captain.”

  We scampered up the ladders and found Mr. Ricks and Mr. Pall grinning at us as we popped up into the bridge.

  “Let’s relieve the watch and then you can show me, Mr. Pall.”

  “Aye, aye, C
aptain.”

  There was no sense to being coy around the crew at this point. It was an open secret with Mr. Ricks and Mr. Hill was no dummy. I had no doubt that most of the people assembling for breakfast would know what was happening before dinner mess was over.

  “I’d calculated using the same five percent out and ten percent in we used for the jump here, but when I recalculate with the fiver on the inbound leg to Jett, we save three days, Captain.” Mr. Pall brought up the calculator and I plunked into the seat to look it over.

  It was a much more complicated plot with a jump to nowhere, a quick spin about the place, and then a jump to somewhere. Nowhere was a misnomer, of course. It was actually almost the midpoint between Welliver and Jett and about a burleson unit under Diurnia in the galactic down direction. Because there was no mass out there to speak of, safety margins weren’t a meaningful construct because we were jumping in the flat of the weft of space-time. There simply was no gravity well to worry about.

  “Any idea what’s out there, Mr. Pall?”

  “High Tortuga, Skipper.”

  “High Tortuga, Mr. Pall?”

  “Oh, aye, Captain. It’s where all the pirate captains meet to trade their booty and drink their rum between raids.”

  Mr. Ricks was still with us on the bridge and grinning broadly, and Mr. Hill snorted once in what could have been a very credibly muffled laugh.

  “Thank you for that bit of space lore, Mr. Pall. I had no idea.”

  “Yo ho ho, Skipper.” He turned to Mr. Ricks. “I’m feeling peckish, Mr. Ricks. Shall we dine?”

  “Thank you, Mr. Pall. I think that sounds splendid.”

  They took their Chauncy and Edward routine down the ladder, presumably to the galley where they’d no doubt regale the crew with tales of great Ulysses.

  “Mr. Hill? Has the crew gotten a bit–I’m not sure of the word? Space happy?”

  “How do you mean, Skipper?” Mr. Hill was still focused on getting his watch in order and that reminded me that I needed to do the same. I brought up the logs before answering.

  “Everybody seems a bit different from when I came aboard. Less tense.”