“How’d you get the Agamemnon?”
“Luck of the draw. I’m not sure what happened to my predecessor. Rumor was he gave up the berth and went to run a warehouse operation planetside on Breakall. I was on the Jeremiah at the time. One of the Saltzman cousins had just made first and was ready to move up, so they were happy to let me go. Guess I wasn’t quite as ready as I thought.”
“Still, you stayed here, in spite of Captain Delman’s evaluations.”
“It was an easy berth, if rather boring.” He paused before going on. “You bet on me not knowing if I could pick cargoes?”
“Well, yeah. I had no idea if you could pick or not. In those first few days aboard, things were all up in the air for all of us. I don’t know why Captain Delman ran the ship the way he did. I’m not going even try to second guess him. I had some very specific ideas about what I wanted to do when I came aboard and I just went about trying to get everything lined up to do them.”
He looked at me curiously. “What was your main objective, Skipper? Improve the ship’s reputation?”
I shook my head. “You can’t improve reputation by focusing on reputation, Avery. You always earn it by your actions.” I stopped to think for a couple of heartbeats. “I almost didn’t take the berth because of the Agamemnon’s reputation on the docks, but once I was here, my main goal was pretty simple. Make money.”
He cocked his head to one side. “Isn’t that rather cold, Skipper? Make money?”
“Maybe.” I shrugged. “But it’s why we’re out here. It’s why the ship exists. We’re all out here because we make money. If we didn’t make a living at it, we couldn’t do it.”
“So, why the bet, Skipper?”
“I confess that was a spur of the moment opportunity. Mr. Hill had some rather pointed comments to make about the ship’s performance and I put him in the position of having to put up or shut up.”
“You expected him to win, then?”
I shook my head. “Remember that first task I set you? The menus?”
He looked surprised but nodded. “Yeah. Why?”
“Avery, I’m pretty good with data, but I doubt that even I could have come up with that menu that fast or accurately. I had no idea if Mr. Hill could pick either, but I know I can. I’ve done it before and while I’m no expert at it, I’m not completely lost. By giving you both something to focus on, I figured I’d learn a lot about the both of you.”
Mr. Wyatt smirked. “And make money along the way.”
I shrugged again. “Well, I got to pick one can, so I was pretty sure we’d make some. That priority to Jett was probably a mistake.” I grimaced. “I got greedy, but I learned a lesson.” I looked over at him. “But I didn’t really have anything to lose in making the bet, did I?”
He considered that. “I guess not, Skipper.” He wasn’t finished. I could see it in his face. “Then why all this?” He waved his hand at the mess deck. “You spent money to replace the table, added the screen. The co-op?”
“The table was cheap, Avery, and I needed to make a statement. We’re all in the same boat–literally, as it happens. We’re all one crew. Those two tiny tables were a problem because there wasn’t room for all of us. Compared to the value I got for it, that table was a bargain.” I looked over at the screen. “I didn’t buy that. I would have, but the chief had it in parts storage. I’m not sure why, or how, but it’s a nice unit and it has made a big difference.”
He finished his clean-up and folded the side towel into the rack.
“Avery? Why don’t you take the day off?”
He looked startled. “Really?”
“Why not? Take Gwen out to dinner or something. I can handle it and you haven’t really had a full day off in months.”
He looked around the galley and eyed the chrono on the bulkhead. “Let me fix lunch. Gwen won’t be up until then anyway. If you’d handle dinner and breakfast mess, Skipper, that would give us a nice night out. We can’t stay out too late. She’s got the day watch in the morning, but I wouldn’t mind sleeping in.”
I grinned at him. “You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Wyatt, but you win.”
He laughed. “Well, then, I need to make a run down to the oh-one deck and see about our replenishment order. They’re supposed to have good fish here and I’d like to stock up on some while we have a chance.”
“I’ll go with you. I want to see about getting some cushions for that bench in the cabin.” I slotted my cup into the cleaner. “Meet you at the lock in five ticks?”
“Sounds good, Skipper.”
I scampered up to the cabin and did a rough measurement of the bench. I could have asked the chief for a tape measure but I figured that the unit was probably standard and the chandlery would have something that was, likewise, standard. I took the chance to visit the head and on my way back through, paused at the door from the sleeping cabin to survey. I squinted my eyes and tried to imagine what Fredi would do with the space. Fredi was always at home in the cabin on the Tinker. When she took over from Rossett, the cabin took on a new life. It was still very businesslike when it needed to be, but it was also her home, in a very real sense. We spent many afternoons and evenings having informal gatherings of her command staff in the cabin. I really missed those.
The ticks were ticking, so I gave up on the reverie and went to meet Mr. Wyatt at the lock.
We separated at the chandlery. He headed for the replenishment office and I headed back to fittings and furnishings. As I suspected, they had a variety of standard seat cushions and pillows with clever velcro tags on them. In a ship underway, it wasn’t a terribly good idea to have things just laying around loose. On the other hand, low mass items like pillows and cushions didn’t need a lot of persuasion to keep them in place. I suspected that if the ship took enough of a hit that the velcro wouldn’t hold them in place, then we’d have much more serious problems than flying foam in a closed compartment.
I arranged with the staff to get the cushions upholstered in a rich blue fabric and have them delivered to the ship before we sailed. As I finished up, Mr. Wyatt joined me and motioned me over to the mess deck section. They had the twin to our mess deck table set up in the showroom.
“Look at the benches, Captain.”
The long benches down each side of the table gave a lot of flexibility in seating by allowing people to sit as close or as far from each other as space and disposition allowed. I remembered similar designs in picnic tables at the parks on Neris and Port Newmar. What they didn’t have was a back, or padding on the seats. For the stan or so we spent sitting there during mess, it wasn’t an issue, but sitting for an extended time–like during a movie–was sometimes less than comfortable. The benches on display had a pad that ran the full length of each bench and seemed to be held on with spring clips. They weren’t very thick, but Mr. Wyatt and I both gave them the butt test and the high density foam added just enough padding to take the hardness off the bench.
We grinned at each other and went in search of chandlery staff to get a set added to our replenishment order.
The staff member was happy to take our order and even offered several options for covers. We chose a nice green color with darker piping on the seams and a smooth, vinyl fabric that could be wiped down with a sponge.
Mr. Wyatt was grinning like a kid in a candy store as we headed out of the store through the furnishing department. We were almost out when a display beside the door caught my eye and I detoured to it without even thinking.
Mr. Wyatt observed me with a quizzical expression on his face as I stopped and looked at the conversational grouping consisting of a pair of two-seat sofas with a steel trimmed, inlaid wood table between. It took me back to Neris, to the apartment I’d grown up in with my mother. It was scaled down a bit. Ours had been full sized couches. These were a lot shorter, but they were nearly the same style. I sat on one and my body just relaxed into it. I had to stop myself from putting my feet on the edge of the table, something that others hadn’t done
judging from the faint scuff marks I saw there.
“Do you think this would look good in the cabin, Mr. Wyatt?”
He eyed it dubiously. “I don’t know, Skipper. Where would you put it?”
I considered the question but realized I already knew the answer. “Pull the conference table and put it there. The only time I’ve ever used that table was when we had the crew of the Voice aboard. We use the mess deck for crew meetings.” I shrugged. “And if we need to meet there, then this would be a lot more comfortable than those plastic chairs.”
He took a seat across from me. I grinned when I saw him fight the urge to put his feet up as well. He looked around in appraisal and ran a hand across the seat beside him. “Nice.” He looked over to me with a shrug. “Can we afford it?”
An info sheet was taped to the table and I leaned over to read the specs. I winced a little at the price but remembered that I’d be saving in rent by not paying for the crew quarters on Diurnia. “Let’s go find that helpful staff fellow and see what we can do.”
In the end, even with the disposition of the old fixtures, the hit to my wallet was less than I had paid for rent. Mr. Wyatt seemed surprised. “You’re not charging the ship, Skipper? It’s a fixture, after all.”
I considered it. “No, Avery. If I charge the ship, then it comes out of the profits, which has an effect on crew shares. I’ll pay for this myself.” I grinned. “I rather expect I’ll get my use out of it.”
He looked dubious but wisely didn’t argue.
Chapter Fifty-One
Dree Orbital:
2372-July-24
It really doesn’t pay to get too complacent. I’d learned that lesson when I was young and I relearned it every so often.
My new furniture had been delivered and after a few bad moments, the shipfitters had removed the old conference table and installed the new. Placement was critical because, once locked down, they couldn’t be moved without significant application of cutting tools. In the end, I’d arranged it so that the sofas were perpendicular to the port, letting me lounge sideways, and stare out the wide port to my heart’s content. It wasn’t actually long enough to stretch out on, but it was certainly more comfortable than any other seat on the ship. The cushions for the bench had been delivered as well, and I spent a pleasant half stan laying them out and sticking them down before stretching out on them to see how they worked.
Ms. Thomas relieved the watch at 1800 and I spent a quiet evening at the local pub on Dree, enjoying the quiet ambiance, some shore food, and a single gin and tonic. While I was there, several shoals of spacers wafted in and out and I remembered old times and past occasions. In the end, it got too lonely for me, so I paid the tab and headed back to the ship. It felt strange, in a way. I’d always had shipmates to go ashore with, but I’d long known that the captain didn’t go ashore with the crew. Sometimes, for a special event like a getting underway party, or some other occasion, but it wasn’t one of those “Let’s go grab a drink” relationships. I knew then why one often saw captains dining with captains and made a note to see who was in port when I got back to Diurnia.
In the meantime, I headed back to the ship and my bunk. I didn’t go back on duty until 1800 and I looked forward to the last good chance for sleep before we got underway again.
Too bad I didn’t get it.
At 0500 Ms. Thomas woke me. “Skipper?”
She stood in the door to the sleeping cabin. She hadn’t turned on a light, but the reflected light from the orbital’s outer skin lit the room behind her. I could see her outlined in the doorway.
“Yes, Ms. Thomas?” I blinked and tried to focus.
“Orbital Security is here. They’d like to speak with you about Mr. Pall.”
“Give them a cup of coffee, Ms. Thomas. I’ll be right down.”
She disappeared from my door and I made a beeline for the head. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good news. My groggy brain caught up with the watch rotation and I realized that Mr. Pall was supposed to be relieving the watch in the next stan.
In less than five ticks I met them on the mess deck. The two Orbital Security officers were not sipping coffee but were standing, shifting their respective centers of gravity and looking around the mess deck. They turned when I entered and the taller of the two shook my hand. “I’m Officer Laura Church. This is my partner Officer Martha Holloway.”
“Captain Ishmael Wang, Officers. You have one of mine?”
“We think so, Captain.” Church nodded to Holloway who held up a tablet with the picture of a rather badly bruise face. “Is he yours?”
“It could be. Mr. William Pall, second mate.” I stepped back from the image.
“We found him under a ladder in one of the stairwells about three stans ago. No ID. Civvies pretty much destroyed. He went right into the can when we got him to medical. They popped the lid a little while ago. No serious injuries, not counting the broken leg.” They looked at each other. “And he seems to be a bit delusional, Captain.”
“Pirates?”
They looked startled. “How did you know?”
“It’s Mr. Pall.”
“He was unconscious when we got him. He’s still pretty loopy from the initial treatment. When they popped the lid, he was able to give his name and ship and we came over to check out his story.”
“Is he any any criminal trouble, Officers?”
They shook their heads. “We just wanted to make sure he was who he said he was. You can go see him. He won’t be leaving Medical for awhile.”
“Ms. Thomas, it looks like you’ll have the watch for a little longer.”
“No problem, Skipper. I can sleep later.”
“Save me some breakfast, Mr. Wyatt. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
The officers escorted me to Medical. We went up to the main medical station on the five-deck, the one reserved for serious cases that the first aid station down on oh-one couldn’t handle. I braced myself.
Two medicos intercepted us as we entered and the officers excused themselves. “Good luck, Captain. We’ve got to finish the reports on this, so we’ll leave you here.”
“Thank you, Officer Church, Officer Holloway.”
They nodded and left and the medicos took over. They introduced themselves but I missed the names.
“He’s pretty rough looking, Captain. Looks like he took quite a beating and then rolled down a ladder.”
“Is he conscious?”
The looked at each other. “So, so, Captain. He’s pretty heavily sedated but he comes to now and again and mumbles something about pirates before going back out.”
“That’s not that unusual for Mr. Pall.”
They looked at each other again before stepping back and ushering me into a curtained cubicle with an autodoc pod in it. The bottom half was closed, covering him from the hips down, but his bare chest looked–not too surprisingly–like he’d been rolled down a flight of stairs. His face wasn’t much better. One eye was swollen almost shut and his upper lip was about twice normal size. He appeared to be asleep.
I nodded. “Yes. That’s him. William Pall. Second mate on the Agamemnon.”
They nodded and one made an entry on a tablet. “Will you be in port long, Captain?”
“We were going to leave tomorrow. You tell me.”
They looked at each other again. I was beginning to wonder if there were some kind of medical mind meld in action but the shorter one answered. “He won’t be able to travel for at least two days. Probably three. By then he’ll be able to move around on his own, the swelling should be gone, and some of the bruising will look pretty spectacular but not dangerous.”
The other one added, “His left leg will be in a cast from mid thigh to toe. He won’t be walking on it for at least three weeks, even with the quick-knit.”
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Will he be fit for duty?”
They looked at each other one more time before the taller one answered. “Light duty. Anything he ca
n do sitting down.”
“Well, his job involves a lot of sitting so that shouldn’t be a problem.” Another thought occurred to me. “Medications? Anything that will impair his judgement?”
They shrugged in unison. “For the next couple of days, I wouldn’t let him operate any heavy equipment, Captain, but after that, nothing worse than an over the counter analgesic.”
“Agamemnon is at dock twelve. We can delay a couple of days until you get him back to us. Let us know if he needs anything.”
On the way back to the ship, I wondered what effect the cast would have on his ability to get up and down the ladders.
It was just past 0600 when I got back aboard and I was pleased to see Mr. Ricks on the brow. “Good morning, Mr. Ricks. Looks like you’ll be standing watch with somebody else for a bit.”
“How is he, Skipper?”
I gave a little shrug. “He was out cold when I saw him. He looks pretty bad, but the medics say he’ll be back with us in two or three days.”
“So we’ll wait for him, sar?”
“It’ll probably be faster than trying to hire a new second mate, Mr. Ricks.”
“Would you do that, Skipper?”
“If he were going to be laid up for an extended period, we’d have to, Mr. Ricks. As it is, I think we’ll be okay to give him a couple of days to get back aboard.”
I went on into the mess deck where Mr. Wyatt had breakfast underway. I grabbed coffee and food as I gave the assembled company the same news.
As I settled at the table, I turned to Chief Gerheart and Mr. Wyatt. “Can you two flip a coin? Loser gets to be the second section OD for a couple of days?”
They looked at each other and spoke in unison. “I’ll do it.”
We all laughed. The chief said, “Engineering is ready to go. I don’t really have that much to do at the moment, Avery. It’s no hardship.”
He shrugged. “Okay, Chief, but I don’t mind.”
“Thank you, both. Mr. Wyatt may get his chance at OD once we get underway.”
He looked concerned at that. “Skipper?”
Captain's Share (Trader's Tales from the Golden Age of the Solar Clipper) Page 38
