“More twisted, Captain?”
“Well, that has such negative connotations, Mr. Hill, I hesitate to use that term exactly.”
“Not in this context, Captain. Although I take your point.”
“Your thoughts, Mr. Hill?”
“Well, Skipper, every ship I’ve ever been on, the crew’s been a reflection of the captain.”
“I was afraid you’d say that, Mr. Hill.”
“You’re welcome, Captain.”
Just then Mr. Wyatt came up onto the bridge with our dinners. He sported an eye patch over his left eye, and had a very credible cutlass fashioned from aluminum foil thrust through a belt he’d strapped to the outside of his shipsuit. He delivered the trays without comment as was his habit and sailed back down into the ship.
Mr. Hill watched him come and go, and offered no additional comment until we were alone again. “Any time, Captain.”
We managed to get the watch established and dinner eaten. Mr. Hill began to fidget in his seat before 1900.
“Problem, Mr. Hill?”
“Well, Skipper, unless I completely misunderstood, Mr. Pall just said we could deliver these cans on time.”
“That he did, Mr. Pall.”
“And we have no engineering issues, do we, sar?”
“It looks like a very viable route, if a bit nerve-wracking, Mr. Hill.”
He turned to look at me. “Then why haven’t you booked the cans yet, Skipper?”
“Call it a hunch, Mr. Hill.”
“A hunch, sar?”
“Yes, Mr. Hill. A hunch.”
He gave me the arched eyebrow, but subsided to his watch without additional comment.
I did have a hunch and we were still five days out. A lot could happen in five days, including having the cargo canceled, if it wasn’t booked. As we ran the watch up to midnight, I kept thinking about the delay in getting home. In the end, I realized that I’d made up my mind some time back. This was a fat prize and it was my job to grab it. Given the chance, I would.
Toward the end of the watch I noticed Mr. Hill kept glancing in my direction.
“Something wrong, Mr. Hill?”
“No, Captain. Just...”
“Mr. Hill?”
“You’re smiling, Captain.”
“Is that unusual, Mr. Hill?”
“That smile, Skipper? Yes. It’s a bit–” He paused, looking for the word. –frightening, Captain.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hill. I’ll take that under advisement.”
“You’re welcome, Captain.” He sounded amused as he settled back to his watch.
For three more days I waited. After the frenetic activity leading up to it, this waiting game seemed at once anticlimactic and agonizing. Each time I entered the mess deck, all heads turned to see if this were the moment. Even Chief Gerheart almost let her camouflage slip.
Mr. Hill and I had just come off morning watch on the twenty-fifth, and lunch mess was well underway, when all activity at the table, save my own, ceased. I glanced up to see them all staring at the screen.
In all honesty, I was a bit nervous about looking. One of two things had happened. I tried to be as nonchalant as I could as I turned to look. I was deliberate in my movements and returned to my plate and the succulent chop that waited me there. I took another small morsel and savored it almost as much as I savored–in a odd and twisted way–keeping my dining companions on edge.
I swallowed and, pretending not to see them all staring at me, took a languid sip of coffee. I dabbed my lips with napkin before speaking.
“If you’d book that at your earliest convenience, Mr. Wyatt?”
“Of course, Captain.” He excused himself and headed for his cabin.
Nothing happened on the screen, but we were still running on data from the inner beacons and would need to wait a full stan for updates.
Ms. Thomas looked at me across the table. “Did you know it was going to go up, Captain?”
I shook my head. “No, Ms. Thomas. Just a hunch. We are the only tractor in the system that can take that load and have it delivered in a reasonable amount of time. The shipper is undoubtedly aware of it. That last shift in date was a signal, I think. When we didn’t jump on it, they were left with three courses of action–extend it again, pull the cargo, or raise the priority.”
Mr. Schubert’s eyes went round. “Pull the cargo, Skipper? You took a chance that we’d miss it altogether?”
I shrugged. “They had a lot riding on it and what are they going to do with it here if it needs to be in Jett?” I glanced up at the screen again. “It wasn’t much of an increase, just enough of a wiggle to get us to bite on it. It worked.”
Chief Gerheart raised her mug in toast and the rest of the crew followed. She didn’t say anything out loud but her eyes congratulated me.
I made a little mock bow to the table at large and we settled down to a very credible gran-apple cobbler that Mr. Wyatt had prepared from scratch. It seemed we’d finally run out of frozen pies.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Welliver Orbital:
2372-February-28
Rendezvous with the tug and docking was almost anticlimactic after the build up on the run in. We clamped on just before 1800 and I asked the crew to stay aboard until we got a solid handle on how long we’d stay. I knew they’d be disappointed so I’d asked Mr. Wyatt to do a little special arranging on the dinner menu while we were still a day out.
After docking, I went to the cabin and cleared the requisite paperwork to expedite unloading and reloading. That involved some relatively light lifting to clear local Customs, but since DST had a long standing relationship in Welliver, that amounted to dropping them a line to let them know we were in port.
Something after 1810, I joined them on the mess deck. I had to give them all a great deal of credit. There wasn’t any where near the level of gray cloud I would have expected. Ms. Thomas, who had the duty anyway, held court on her corner of the table with great zeal while Mr. Wyatt looked like he was trying to think of what he should do next. We were so used to seeing him bustling about the galley that to see him at the table with a cup in front of him and nothing else going on was a bit odd. Even Mr. Ricks and Mr. Hill looked to be in good spirits.
When I stepped onto the mess deck, the general hubbub died down and all heads turned my way. “Thank you, all. I’ll declare liberty as soon as we’ve had a chance to see where we stand in terms of resupply. This is going to be as short a stay as we can make it, because the deadline on the priority is already very close and I want to try to make sure everybody gets the same chance ashore. It’s not going to work out that way, probably, but I’d like to be as fair as I can.”
Ms. Thomas smiled at me. “What’s for dinner, Skipper? Mr. Wyatt won’t tell us.”
Right on cue, I heard the visitor call buzzer from the main lock. “I think that’s dinner now. I called ahead for take out.”
When I arrived Mr. Schubert had just cracked open the lock. Outside two delivery people in white uniforms stood beside a grav pallet of goodies. I followed Mr. Schubert out and the shorter of the two turned to me. “Ishmael? You made captain since we met last!”
“Hello, Jimmy. I did indeed, and it’s great to see you.” We shook hand. I hadn’t seen him in months, of course, but Jimmy Chin was one of the first people I met on Welliver. He ran three different restaurants on the orbital and the man knew food. “Thank you for doing this for us.”
“No, thank you, Ishmael. You tip good and you like to eat. Two things any restaurateur appreciates.” He grinned broadly. “Besides, this looks like a good racket! I may put this up as a regular service.” He made a shooing motion with his hands, chasing us back into the ship. “Now, this dock is cold, the food is hot, and I bet you have hungry crew who want to celebrate! Go! Go!”
Mr. Schubert led the strange parade into the ship and Jimmy followed with his assistant sliding the grav pallet along behind. I followed them in and keyed the lock closed. Mr. Schubert had sto
pped at the duty station and Jimmy was looking around.
“First time on a ship, Jimmy?”
“Ah, no, but first time on a freighter! This is very...” Words failed him.
“Drab?” I supplied.
“No. Utilitarian. Something like that, Ishmael. Very useful.”
I nodded at Mr. Schubert. “I think if you latch the lock for now, Mr. Schubert, we’ll be able to hear if anybody rings the bell. Show Mr. Chin to the mess deck, if you would?”
The parade continued onto the mess deck and was greeted with curious looks. Jimmy knew his business though. His assistant slid the pallet up to the end of the table and popped the latch. Several bottles of wine and beer made appearance and everybody except the duty watch got a glass of beverage. I shrugged an apology to Ms. Thomas and Mr. Schubert. She toasted me with her mug. He just waved it off.
The food should have made up for any disparity in privilege as container after container appeared from the thermal carrier on the pallet. Piping hot, and redolent with spices and scents from far away, Jimmy Chen made the best Chinese food in the Western Annex as far as I was concerned. Purists can argue over whether this or that cuisine is authentic, but I judged by flavor and I always ate at Jimmy Chin’s Chop Shop whenever I got to Welliver. In a matter of heartbeats Jimmy and his assistant had laid the table and part of the counter with tray after tray of goodness. With a flourish they stood back from setting up and the crew applauded.
Jimmy took a bow while his assistant closed up the now empty crate and pulled the grav pallet back toward the lock. I walked them back to the brow to let them off the ship.
“Thanks, Jimmy. I owe you one.”
“Oh, yes, you do, Captain Wang!” He grinned and held out the tab.
I took it from him, added a sizable tip, thumbed it, and passed it back. “You know I mean more than the credits, you old reprobate. I appreciate this.”
He shrugged and grinned. “You know we do take out on the station all the time, but this is a first even for Jimmy Chin.” He watched the lock open up with some interest. “But I think this won’t be the last.”
“Well, I better get back in there before the chicken wings are gone.” I shook his hand. “Thanks again, Jimmy.”
He turned to wave from the dock and I slapped the latch to button up.
The food was a hit and the subsequent party was riotous. Luckily, we were surrounded by vacuum or the neighbors might have complained. It took us a couple of stans to chew through a large portion of Jimmy’s fare and I could see Mr. Wyatt making mental notes as he contributed his share to the task of demolishing the mountain of food. Even Ms. Thomas sat back with a satisfied smile and a few morsels left on her plate when it was over.
As the feast ran down to the odd chuckle and desultory plate chasing, the conversation turned to the ship.
“Any word from the Orbital Cargo Master, Mr. Wyatt?”
“They’ll be up in the morning to pull the cans, Skipper. They said around 0930 if that’s convenient. The new shipment’s being brought over from the marshalling yard and should be here by afternoon.”
“How are we on tankage, Chief?”
She gave a little girl sideways nod. “We’re down some, but not as much as normal, Captain. Flow meters say we should top out in another twenty-five stans or so. We should be ready to fly in two days.”
“Mr. Pall? Is that enough time to get us to Jett before the deadline?”
“With a day to spare, Skipper.”
I looked around the table. They all looked full and satisfied, eager even. “It’s a short stay, but are you game to fly on?”
They took a moment to look around at each other, assessing themselves and their peers. It didn’t take long before they all looked back at me, assent written on each face. I did a little math in my head, figured it was probably wrong, but made a decision anyway.
“Okay, then ladies and gentlemen, with that bit of planning and meager forethought, I’m going to declare liberty for the top of the stan.” I glanced at the chronometer and realized it was already almost 2100. “If you’d make the announcement, Ms. Thomas?”
She grinned and leaned forward to look down the length of the table. “Liberty. 2100.” Then she sat back with a grin. With the general level of mirth present, that set everybody off into a new gale of giggles.
Nobody appeared in any hurry to wander off. There was still wine and beer and the temporary permission to consume it. I had my limit so crossed to the urns to grab a fresh cup of coffee. I still had work of my own to do before the day was over. It felt good to stand and shake down the feast a bit so I took what was becoming a favored position and leaned my rump against the counter and looked over at the screen. It still showed the open cargo list and it was on live feed from the orbital. Our shipment was, of course, no longer in evidence, but the remaining cargoes were still updating.
I pondered the jump through the Deep Dark and remembered that I wanted to talk to Ms. Thomas about it. “So, Ms. Thomas? Have you ever pulled a double on a tractor before?”
The general level of conversation fell off, as it was wont to do when one of us raised a general question, and several heads turned to face Ms. Thomas.
She was still toying with a last spring roll and took a few heartbeats to notice that people were looking at her. She gave a little laugh and pawed down at the front of her shipsuit. “What? Did I spill?”
“No, Ms. Thomas, I asked if you’d ever done a double jump with a tractor before.”
She continued to brush at her jumpsuit and looked around at the now nearly silent table. Her head came up and as she looked around she saw me standing behind her. “Oh, sorry, Skipper. You were talking to me. What was that again?” She turned around on the bench to face me.
“Have you ever jumped a tractor into the dark before, Ms. Thomas?”
“Oh, certainly, Captain. Dozens of times as third on the Hector.”
“Any special techniques, Ms. Thomas?”
“Just ride the inertia, Skipper. The sails give us a lot of momentum and when we drop them to slip through the hole most of it goes with us. Unless we hit something pretty solid coming out the other side, fifty thousand metric tons moving even bit carries a huge inertial load.” She shrugged. “Just ride it till we get the fix. Use the thrusters to adjust the heading so we go through the next jump in good order and we’re back in sunlight and ready to pop the sails up again.”
Mr. Pall nodded from across the table. “Doesn’t sound to tough, but that’s a lot of v to delta. How much thruster will we need?”
She turned her head to look at him. “How much thruster?”
He nodded. “Yes, that’s gotta be a long burn to get that course shifted.”
She shrugged. “It could take awhile if you’re doing much in the way of line change, but a double is really just drawing a line from here to there, jumping to the middle, making sure we know where we are, and then continuing on. If it’s more than a few points in any direction, that would be pretty surprising.”
I could see the crew absorbing the information. I know it made me feel better to have it confirmed by somebody who’d done it. “Good to know, Ms. Thomas.”
She turned to face me again. “Skipper?”
“Good to know, Ms. Thomas. Thanks.”
She smiled and nodded. “My pleasure, Captain.”
I focused on Mr. Wyatt next. “Any idea what’s so all-fired important in those cans, Mr. Wyatt?”
He chuckled a little. “You’re not going to believe this. The reason for the priority, and the reason it’s so high, is that the shipper is under contract to a big glass works over on Jett. The contract is one of those that specifies quantity and delivery schedules and carries a very high penalty for failure to deliver to either quantity or schedule. If these cans don’t make it, then the quarry operators here stand to lose a lot of money.”
“Glass works? We’re going to carry three cans of sand?”
He shook his head. “No, Skipper. Only one
can is sand. One is a particularly fine clay they use for making rocket nozzle linings.” He paused–waiting for the straight line.
Mr. Hill supplied it. “What’s in the third can, Mr. Wyatt?”
His timing was impeccable. “Kitty litter.”
The ambient mirth in the room ignited and burned for several ticks.
When the humor subsided a bit, I pressed him on it. “Seriously? Kitty litter, Mr. Wyatt?”
He nodded, still smiling broadly. “Strictly speaking, Fuller’s earth. A kind of crystallized clay that’s a general absorbent. It’s used a lot in industry. Apparently they have a good source here and it’s part of the contract.” He shrugged. “Quarry ran into some mechanical trouble and got behind on their production. This shipment should have left a month ago. Another few days and they’re out of luck.”
“If they’re willing to pay this kind of premium, I’m betting they’d be out of business as well. Those penalty clauses can be nasty.”
“Whatever the reason, Skipper, we stand to make a large pile of credits on this load of dirt. Long as they stay liquid long enough to pay the freight.” Mr. Wyatt shrugged expressively. “I don’t care if it’s fifteen metric kilotons of used kitty litter. It’ll be back there in the can and won’t bother us one bit.”
Mr. Ricks piped up. “I would not want to meet that cat.”
Mr. Wyatt looked over his shoulder. “What cat?”
Mr. Ricks grinned. “The one that needs fifteen metric kilotons of litter.”
The ambient mirth had reached critical levels once more and ignited anew. I left them there and, chuckling, took my coffee to the cabin. I still had ship’s business to attend to, and then the difficult duty of telling my wife I’d be late to dinner.
By about six weeks.
I sighed and paused at the top of the ladder. I could hear Ms. Thomas clearly over the general hubbub, even from officer country and over the general thrumming of the ship. That woman had some pipes.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Welliver Orbital:
2372-March-02
In the end we got caught in Welliver an extra day, not for tankage, but for food. Mr. Wyatt was almost beside himself over the delay. It was one of those can’t-be-helped situations. We placed our replenishment order while we were still a few days out, and it was on schedule for delivery the morning of the first. Unfortunately, the carrier delivering to the ship got tangled up with a cargo hander and both units were slagged in the resulting fire. Luckily nobody was hurt and the losses were covered by insurance–except for the time we lost getting a new replenishment order filled and moved in from the warehouse.
Captain's Share (Trader's Tales from the Golden Age of the Solar Clipper) Page 25
