He looked more than a bit abashed at that. “Yes, well, the news hasn’t spread.” I noticed that his eyes kept being drawn to Ms. Thomas, but he kept bringing them back to front. It was almost as if he was trying not to look at her.
“I see.” I let him off the hook and moved down to Ms. Thomas. “Ms. Thomas? Comments? I thought you were going to keep an eye on them.”
“I did, Captain. When they started talking about what a bad ship the Agamemnon was, I kept Mr. Pall from starting anything more rash. Sticks and stones, Captain.”
I glanced down at Mr. Pall.
He looked at his feet.
“Something else happened?”
“Well, they were bad-mouthing the company, too, Captain, and at one point I thought Mr. Wyatt might take serious offense.”
I looked to Mr. Wyatt.
“DST is no more a corporate vulture than any other freight hauler, Skipper. They had no right–” He cut himself off as I raised an eyebrow.
“Corporate vulture, Ms. Thomas?”
She shrugged. “They had some stronger words–nasty words like unreliable, untrustworthy–that sort of thing.”
I nodded. “I see, Ms. Thomas, but that apparently didn’t start the fight.”
“Well, no, Captain but it was sort of the prelude.”
“And judging from the smell, I’m guessing that the drinks kept flowing during this friendly discussion of the relative merits of ship and company?”
“Yes, Captain. Although I think most of the smell is coming from the spilled drinks. The waiter had just brought the next round when...” Her voice trailed off.
Suddenly, the rest of them looked like perhaps that would be a good time for a hull breach.
“When what, Ms. Thomas?”
“When it started, Captain.”
“I see. And what was the trigger?”
She mumbled something that I couldn’t quite understand.
“Ms. Thomas in all the weeks I’ve known you, I have never heard you mumble.”
That got a short snicker from Mr. Schubert that he quickly squelched.
“He started talking about the captain, Captain.”
“Me?” I was so surprised that I just blurted the word.
“Yes, Captain. We’d had rather a lengthy discussion of the fly-by. How we’d planned to try to graze the planet but were concerned for the safety of the ship and all.”
“And that led to a discussion of me, Ms. Thomas?”
“Yes, Captain.” She forgot herself and focused on my face for a heartbeat before resuming the approved stare-into-nothing required by being at attention. “They seemed to know you from before.”
“I’ve been here many times.”
“They said that, Captain. They made some comments about how you never go out carousing with the crews.”
“And that’s what started it?”
“No, Captain. They also had some unkind words about your parents and their marital status.”
“And that’s what started it?”
She shook her head slightly. “No, Captain. They got going on that fly-by thing again.”
“What about the fly-by, Ms. Thomas?”
“Well, Captain, they thought we should have taken the first course and delivered the priority on time.”
“That’s as may be, Ms. Thomas. Dockside piloting is always easier than doing it with the sails up in the Deep Dark.” I looked at her with a frown. “That wasn’t what started it, was it?”
For the first time she looked uneasy. “No, Captain.”
“Then what did start it, Ms. Thomas?”
She mumbled something.
“You’re mumbling again, Ms. Thomas.”
She mumbled the same thing again. I could just make out a phrase. “He called you...” and then it petered off.
Mr. Wyatt supplied the offending words. “He called you a chicken, Captain.”
I almost laughed aloud. Ms. Thomas stiffened. “Yes, Captain. He called you a chicken and then he started putting his thumbs in his armpits and flapping his elbows making squawky, chicken noises. It was intolerable, Skipper.”
“Then what happened, Ms. Thomas?”
She shrugged. “I slugged him.”
I had the unnerving experience of hearing Mr. Hill’s barked laugh echo down the passage and remembered how well sound carried. To his credit, he choked it off after the single explosion.
“His friends didn’t take kindly to this, I take it?”
She shrugged again. “No, Captain. About half a dozen of them came over the table after me.”
“More like ten,” Mr. Ricks said.
“Was that when you got dragged into the melee, Mr. Ricks?”
He shook his head. “No, Skipper. She was doing pretty well on her own. Chooch and I just kinda hung back and watched the floor show.” He nodded at Mr. Schubert.
“On her own?”
“Well, Mr. Pall tried to help, Skipper.”
I looked at Mr. Pall. “It doesn’t sound like you were that effective, Mr. Pall.”
“No, Skipper. I was never very good in bar fights, but I managed to absorb some of the damage.”
“Mr. Wyatt? You were just standing by?”
“Not at all, Captain, but do you know how hard it is to restrain a heavy worlder?”
“You were trying to restrain Ms. Thomas?”
“Well, at least get her out of the bar and into the passage, Skipper, yes.”
She glared at him. “Yes, and if you’d have given that one dock monkey as much attention as you were giving me, we’d have beaten those...” She remembered herself and went back to attention.
I felt the unreasonable and almost irrepressible urge to laugh. It would have set a bad example and I managed to stifle it. Hearing Mr. Hill’s not quite stifled giggles from the brow did nothing for my self control.
I sighed. “Well, you’re home now and in more or less one piece. We’ll be getting underway soon, and Ms. Thomas, you have the watch in a few stans. You might wanna grab a snack and a few ticks of shut-eye before you relieve me at six.” I glanced at the chrono. It seemed much later, but it was just going on 0200.
“Yes, Captain.”
I stepped back from the line up and said, “Dismissed.”
Mr. Pall led the way off the mess deck, followed closely by Mr. Schubert and Mr. Ricks. Mr. Wyatt helped Ms. Thomas find a couple of sandwiches in the cooler before they followed in the wake.
I sat at the table and held my breath until I heard them get to the top of the ladder. Ms. Thomas was practicing her low alto growl on Mr. Wyatt and even though I couldn’t hear what she said, the effect of that heavy world voice was intoxicating. I could hear their foot falls on the way up the ladder and a moment of silence at the top.
One door opened. One door closed. Other then a short and muffled giggle, I didn’t hear anything else.
I put my head down on the table and laughed quietly to myself for a few heartbeats and then crossed to the coffee pot and drew two mugs. I took them out to the brow and Mr. Hill and I settled in for a few more games of cribbage as we counted down the ticks left to the watch. If there were any other sounds in the ship, they were drowned out by the slapping of the cards and the counting of the points as we played.
Chapter Forty-Six
Jett Orbital:
2372-April-21
Ms. Thomas and Mr. Schubert showed up to relieve the watch right on time. I had pancake batter and several kinds of fruit ready. The oven kept the bacon warm but lent its aroma to the festivities.
“Good morning. What kind of pancakes would you like this morning?”
“Granapple for me, if you have it, Captain.” Ms. Thomas seemed none the worse for wear after her excursions of the night before, not counting the bruising on her forehead, left eye, and along the right side of her jaw. I wasn’t sure what the swollen looking lip was from.
“Just plain batter for me, sar.” Mr. Schubert looked a bit rumpled and his bruised cheek looked rather painful. He appeared in g
ood humor, though. “I like mine with just lots of syrup and butter.”
“Of course. Coming right up.” The nice thing about pancakes is that, with a hot griddle and the right mix, it really takes next to no time to make up fresh cakes. By the time they had retrieved coffee and settled at the table, I had plates of hot food, ready.
Mr. Schubert excused himself to relieve the brow watch and returned with Mr. Hill. I had Mr. Hill’s blueberry pancakes all ready and was still trying to decide what kind I wanted when Chief Gerheart sauntered onto the mess deck to join our merry band. Her eyes widened when she saw Ms. Thomas’s face and she slowed for a step but offered no comment.
“Morning, Chief, what kind of pancakes would you like?”
“Good morning, Captain. If I could have mine plain with some sliced apple on the side?”
“Coming up, Chief.”
She crossed to the pot and pulled a mug of her own before taking a seat. It took me a tick to realize that she’d left a space beside Ms. Thomas instead of taking her usual position immediately to her left.
“How are the girls this morning, Chief?”
“They’re waking up, Skipper. They had a nice sleep and they’re just puttin’ on their makeup now.” She eyed Mr. Schubert’s bruised face and then turned to look at Ms. Thomas.
Ms. Thomas saw the look and grinned. “You missed the party, Chief. Things really started jumping after you left.”
“So it would seem. Did you win, lose, or draw?”
Ms. Thomas shrugged. “I think we have to call it a draw.”
Across the table Mr. Schubert nodded in agreement. “Orbital security showed up before we could get Ms. Thomas and Mr. Wyatt out of the pile up, sar. I think if we’d had five more ticks, we might have claimed a win.”
The chief turned to look at Mr. Schubert when he spoke but then turned back to Ms. Thomas. “For somebody who doesn’t go ashore much, Gwen, you sure know how to have a good time.”
Ms. Thomas chuckled a little.
I slipped a hot plate of griddle cakes onto the table in front of the chief and she turned to on them with a will while I settled into a pile of granapple pancakes of my own. Mr. Schubert made short work of his and excused himself to go to the brow. Mr. Hill left a few ticks behind him, probably headed for a short nap. We had about three stans before the tugs showed up and I intended to follow his example myself.
Around 0630 Mr. Wyatt joined us, looking like two kilometers of corrugated metal. He appeared both a bit sheepish and proud of himself. I found it a most astonishing expression. I’d finished my pancakes and was fighting the urge to make another stack so I took the excuse to get up and cross to the griddle. “What kind of pancakes would you like this morning, Mr. Wyatt?”
He pulled his eyes away from Ms. Thomas who beamed back at him and turned to me with concern splashed across his face. “Oh, I can fix my own pancakes, Skipper.” He started to head toward the griddle but I waved him off.
“Grab some coffee, Avery. Have a seat. I can handle a few pancakes.” He looked uncertain. “I can make it an order if need be, Mr. Wyatt.” I grinned at him.
He smiled back. “Well, thank you, Captain. Any blueberries left?”
“Coming up.”
He crossed to the urns and drew a mug of coffee. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him start to take his usual seat to the left of the chief before he registered that the chief was sitting in the spot he usually claimed as his own, leaving a space for him beside Ms. Thomas. He hesitated for a heartbeat and the chief leaned sideways giving him extra room to take the spot she’d left. It was a clear indication. He gave a little shrug and sat with a little smile in the chief’s direction and a shy nod in Ms. Thomas’s.
The chief leaned forward over her almost empty plate to get a good look at Mr. Wyatt’s face. “You look like you had a little fun last night, too, Avery. Don’t you know officers are supposed to set an example?” She was grinning.
He laughed a little ruefully in return. “Well, Mr. Ricks and Mr. Schubert were observing and it wasn’t until the second crew started to help the first that they stopped laughing long enough to try to help.”
She chuckled. “I’m almost sorry I missed it.”
Mr. Wyatt shook his head but winced. “Don’t be.”
“I said almost.”
I slipped a plate of pancakes in front of Mr. Wyatt and started to clean up the galley a bit while they shared some good-humored table conversation on the relative merits of various bar fights they had known. The chief’s depth of knowledge on the subject surprised me, while Mr. Wyatt seemed to be lacking a ready supply of war stories. I pondered my own limited experience in that regard. Not that I hadn’t occasionally been around when they broke out, but I was usually close enough to the periphery to slip out without much damage.
The clock ticked up to 0700 and I started to secure the griddle and dispose of the left over batter, when Mr. Pall dragged onto the mess deck. His face wasn’t too badly marked if you didn’t count the bloodshot eyes and the pinched hangover look. “Good morning, Mr. Pall. I’ve just secured the griddle but if you’d like some pancakes...?”
He moaned a little. “No, thank you, Captain. I don’t think I can eat just now.” He shuffled to the coffee pot and drew a mug. He settled gingerly onto his usual seat and leaned forward onto the table, his head hanging forward on his neck.
The Chief smiled sympathetically. “Looks like you had fun last night, too, Mr. Pall.”
He snorted and winced. “Bloody pirates.” He tried a tentative sip of his coffee.
I finished securing the galley and, out of respect for Mr. Pall’s condition, didn’t rattle things any more than absolutely necessary. Hangovers were not something I had a lot of experience with either, but I knew how debilitating it was to have people making fun of you by making unnecessary noise while you suffered one. I refilled my mug and took my seat.
“Since we’re all here, are we ready to go?”
“Cans have been locked down since yesterday, Captain. Stores are topped off.”
“Engineering is ready. Fusactors came up nicely and the sail generators are on safety standby. We restocked on cartridges for environmental. I even picked up a couple of extras.” She shrugged. “Won’t hurt and they’ve got a real long shelf life.”
“Astrogation is updated as of yesterday, Captain. I put a tentative plot up but I’ll need to refine for actual pull out time. Should be in Diurnia in about six weeks.”
I turned to Ms. Thomas. “Sounds like we’re ready to go to me, Ms. Thomas.”
She nodded. “I think so, too, Skipper. Ship’s in good order and crew is present or accounted for.”
“All right, then. I’m going to go grab a couple stans of rack time. I should be up at 0900 to get ready for a 1000 pull out. Mr. Wyatt if you’d organize some box lunches?”
“Already on it, Skipper. Boxes are staged in the ready cooler.”
“Thank you, Mr. Wyatt.” I rose to leave the mess deck and the chief followed me, slotting her dishes into the cleaner.
“I need to check on the girls and get stuff secured myself. I’ll be back up to help with the lunches in a bit, Avery.”
“Thanks, Chief. More the merrier.”
I fell into a dreamless sleep almost as soon as my head hit pillow. I had to fight my way back up when my tablet bipped me awake. I took a longer shower than normal, and used a little colder water than I was comfortable with to try to shake some of the cobwebs out. I’d been pushing too hard and needed to get more rest while underway. I chuckled at that thought as I shut off the water and toweled off.
On the mess deck I found the lunch box brigade just finishing a small mountain of lunches. Ms. Thomas smiled and said, “A courier came for you while you were sacked, Skipper.” She nodded to a middling-sized package on the end of the table.
I grabbed a cup of coffee and then went to look at it. The label indicated it was from “Plunkett’s Junkets” and showed an office address up on three-deck. I pulled th
e tab and opened it up. Inside I found a note and a rather large folio.
I scanned the note before looking over at the curious eyes doing their best not to stare. “It’s from the company that owns the Voice.” I held up the note and read it aloud. “Dear Captain Wang. Words alone cannot express my gratitude for your help in rescuing Captain Allison and the passengers and crew of the Sarcastic Voice. Your selfless action and the hospitality offered by your ship and crew can never be repaid, but permit me to offer you these small tokens of our esteem and the assurance that, should there ever be anything we can do to help you, you need only to ask. Sincerely, Jacob J. Plunkett, CEO Plunkett’s Junkets.”
I looked up at beaming faces. Ms. Thomas came over and looked in the package curiously. “What’d they send, Skipper?”
I pulled out the folio and held it up so all could see. The cover read, “A Hundred Stanyers of Cinema, 2270-2370.” Inside were hundreds of entertainment cubes cleverly slotted into pages labeled with decades.
Mr. Wyatt laughed. “That should hold us for a while.”
Ms. Thomas smiled. “That’s a nice touch. How thoughtful!”
I handed her the folio to thumb through and reached down to pick up the loose packaging when I spotted another slip in the bottom of the box. Curious, I pulled it out and stared at it. The shock on my face must have showed because everybody froze in place and looked at me.
Mr. Wyatt asked. “What is it, Skipper?”
I had to blink a couple of times to get time to actually process it. “It’s a receipt for shipment delivery on our last load.”
They looked at each other and then back at me.
I tried to explain. “Plunkett paid the freight on the cans from Welliver.”
Mr. Wyatt focused first. “Plunkett paid? At what rate, Captain?”
I looked up at them. I couldn’t believe it myself and I held the slip in my hands. “Full priority.”
There was stunned silence for a heartbeat.
Ms. Thomas cocked her head in incredulity. “Full priority as in .. what, Skipper?”
“As in the priority rate we contracted for in Welliver. They paid it in full as if we’d made it.” I held up the receipt so they could see it.
Captain's Share (Trader's Tales from the Golden Age of the Solar Clipper) Page 34
