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

by Nathan Lowell

  The answer seemed to answer their immediate needs so I excused myself and headed for the cabin to check in with DST. I needed to know if we had any crew on the wait list.

  My inquiry returned in a matter of half a stan with a summons to meet Mr. Maloney for lunch.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Diurnia Orbital:

  2372-September-10

  Mr. Maloney met me for lunch at a place called “Sandy’s Seafood” up on the seven deck. I’d heard of it, but never tried it before. The decor was what I think could be euphemistically called “rustic” with plastic table cloths patterned in red and white checks and large areas of “family seating” where people who didn’t know each other could sit and pretend they were all part of an extended family. I never really understood that part from a patron’s point of view. I did understand that it allowed the restaurant to put more seats per square meter and probably turned those seats over faster as people discovered they really didn’t like sitting next to that crazy guy with the orange hair.

  I was grateful to see that Mr. Maloney had taken a booth in the corner. Kurt was in the next booth where he could keep an eye on the room and the door. I nodded to him and he gave me a small smile and a nod as I approached and took my seat across from Mr. Maloney.

  Mr. Maloney smiled and shook my hand, half rising to greet me, and with ceremony served, we settled down to menu perusal. The waitress–a perky young woman in a red gingham uniform and a name tag that said “Mary”–seemed disappointed that we ordered water, coffee, and two bowls of “Sandy’s Signature Chowder.”

  “Ishmael, I’ve got to hand it to you.” Mr. Maloney smiled at me. “I really felt bad about giving you the Agamemnon. For most people, that’s a punishment berth. What in the world did you do over there?”

  I gave him a run down of the issues with various crew members, standing orders, and the assumptions that many of them were working under. “I really didn’t do that much, except take a look at why the ship wasn’t making money and figure out ways to fix it.”

  He nodded slowly. “Your opinion of Delman?”

  “No comment. He was the skipper for a long time and I don’t want to second guess him.”

  Mr. Maloney snorted. “Do I need to worry about the Tinker?”

  That was a fair question and I considered it, sipping my coffee to buy a little time. “He started with a good, competent crew. If he keeps them, they should help him. Inertia is a powerful force.”

  “What did you do with Wyatt? Your cargo performance has gone through the roof.”

  It was my turn to snort at that. “Check with your front office Cargo Dispatch people.”

  “We don’t have any front office Cargo Dispatch people.”

  “That’s who was picking his cargoes. He didn’t know he could pick his own so he called the office and your clerks would pick for him. For the last five runs we’ve been having a little cargo picking contest. Winner after five runs gets a prize.”

  He perked up at that. “Contest? You and Wyatt?”

  “Mr. Wyatt against Brandon Hill. I picked the third can just so they’d be on an even footing.”

  “Hill? You let Hill pick cargoes?”

  I shrugged. “Kept him out of trouble on the docks, and he’s got a keen eye for value.”

  “He’s an Able Spacer. How could you let a rating pick cargo?”

  I shrugged again. “It worked out. Why not? We could hardly have done any worse having him pick one can out of three than having your desk clerks around the sector picking the whole load.” I eyed him and let that sink in for a few heartbeats. “And he won the bet.”

  Mr. Maloney blinked at me. “He outpicked Wyatt?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, I can’t demote Wyatt any more than putting him on the Agamemnon.” He sighed, and then realized what he’d just implied. He had the grace to look embarrassed. “Oh. Sorry.”

  “Why would you want to demote him? Mr. Hill outpicked him by exactly one credit after five cans and the ship itself has turned more profit in the last eight months than it has the last two stanyers combined.”

  Mr. Maloney frowned but nodded in agreement to cede the point.

  The chowder arrived and we took a few ticks to savor the rich creamy broth with potatoes, onions, and several kinds of fish. It was liberally sprinkled with fresh ground pepper and a spattering of minced chives. It came with a basket of warm biscuits.

  When the initial survey of the soup was completed, I glanced over to him. “So? Thanks for lunch, but I’m guessing there’s more on your mind than catching up on old times?”

  Behind me I heard Kurt snicker quietly from the next booth.

  Mr. Maloney shot him an amused look before turning back to me. “Yes, well. The inquiry about the wait list.”

  “I thought it might be something like that.”

  “Who’ve you lost?” He frowned. “I didn’t see any personnel actions on the files.”

  “Nobody yet.” I shrugged. “We may not. Zack Ricks is going for a job on the Paul Fischer out of Martha’s Haven.”

  Mr. Maloney looked blank for a tick. “I don’t know that one.”

  “Mixed freight hauler. Eighty metric kilotons. Private owner.”

  “They need a spacer?”

  I shook my head. “No. The opening is for a messman. Mr. Ricks qualified and is going for it.”

  Mr. Maloney looked surprised. “He’s going for mess deck duty?”

  “Is there something wrong with mess deck duty?”

  He shrugged. “Not really. Just seems like a step down from Deck Division.”

  I stared at him. I think it wasn’t really with the full respect he might have thought he deserved. “Deck Division needs to eat, just like the rest, and full share is full share.”

  Behind me Kurt coughed. It sounded to me like he was covering a laugh.

  “I suppose.” Mr. Maloney scraped the bottom of his bowl and reached for another biscuit while he considered. “How do you feel about losing him?”

  “He’s a good shipmate. He made a good morale officer and he’ll be missed.”

  “You want me to scotch it for you?”

  “Excuse me? Scotch what?”

  He gave a small shrug and smile. “If I put a word in the captain’s ear on this–what is it? Paul Fischer? He won’t get the berth.”

  I worked to keep my face carefully neutral. “I’ve already written him a recommendation and sent it along to Captain Plested.”

  Mr. Maloney looked confused. “If he was such a good shipmate, why would you do that, Ishmael? Shouldn’t you be trying to keep him?”

  The sigh almost escaped but I think I covered it adequately by sipping my coffee. “No, sir. He earned the berth. I owe it to him to help him get the berth he wants.”

  He arched an eyebrow in my direction. “You realize you’re going to have break in a new crewman if he goes?”

  I shrugged. “Of course. It’s the nature of the business.”

  Mr. Maloney chewed the end of his biscuit and gave me a long look across the table.

  “I assume you have somebody on the wait list, sir?”

  He nodded slowly. “Several somebodies.”

  I could see him running through the list in his mind and I could only imagine what formula was being worked as he weighed what I’d told him against the list of spacers waiting for a berth. I waited him out, drinking my coffee.

  “Stacie Arellone. Spacer Apprentice.”

  Kurt snorted.

  I sipped my coffee once more and met his challenging stare from across the checked table cloth. “She’s the worst of the bunch, huh? You don’t have anybody worse?”

  Mr. Maloney looked slightly offended that I’d commented. “She’s next on the list. Been ashore the longest and can’t seem to find a skipper who’ll take her.”

  I shrugged. “Okay. If Mr. Ricks gets the berth, I’ll let the office know and you can send her over.”

  “You might want to interview her first, Ishmael.�
�� His voice held a note of caution and something sounded suspiciously like amusement.

  “I intend to, Mr. Maloney.”

  “No, you miss my point.” The amusement bubbled up. “You’ll need to get her out of the brig before we can send her over. You might want to interview her before you sign up to be responsible for her.” He was grinning broadly.

  “Brig? What’s she in for?”

  “Knifing a guy in a brawl.”

  “What’s her side of it?”

  He shrugged. “I have no idea. It’s not the only time she’s been in trouble. A real hard case.”

  “She’s being held on station?”

  He nodded. “Short term detention on the oh-eleven deck. I’m not sure how much longer her sentence is. She got 30 days.”

  From behind me, Kurt spoke quietly. “Ten more days.”

  “They’ll let me take her instead of serving out her sentence?”

  Mr. Maloney shrugged. “She wouldn’t have served a day if she had had a ship. Judge wanted her off the orbital and needed a captain to release her to. Failing that?” He shrugged again. “She’s in detention.”

  The sigh escaped before I could stop it.

  Mr. Maloney grinned.

  I didn’t punch him and gave myself high marks for my self control.

  “So? You still want to lose Ricks?”

  I shook my head. “I never wanted to lose Mr. Ricks. What I want is the best for my people. Keeping him or not isn’t the question.”

  He smirked. “Visit Arellone first. Then see what you think.”

  I nodded. “I’ll do that. Thanks for the advice.”

  Mary returned to the table. “Can I interest you gentlemen in dessert today?”

  Mr. Maloney smiled. “I’d love a slice of the apple pie, and a fresh coffee?”

  She nodded and turned to me.

  I shook my head. “No, thank you, Mary. I’ve got to get back to work.”

  I slipped out of the booth and nodded to Mr. Maloney. “Thanks for lunch, boss, and the enlightening conversation.”

  He acknowledged it with an airy wave of his hand while Mary retreated to fetch his dessert. “My pleasure, Ishmael.” He grinned a little evilly. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  I nodded to him and turned to Kurt. “Nice to see you again, Kurt.”

  “You, too, Captain. Congratulations on turning that ship around.”

  “Thanks.” I smiled and headed toward the door.

  Outside in the passageway, I made sure the recommendation for Mr. Ricks had been delivered to the Fischer and then pulled Arellone’s records up out of the DST office files. Her public profile was bad enough. Her private record was much worse. The ID photo showed a young woman with flashing dark eyes and brown hair. It didn’t say much about her. ID photos are notoriously bad.

  I headed for the lift.

  The oh-eleven deck was all security. The doors opened and I stepped into a small anteroom. A security officer sat behind a tall podium. She was looking at me even as the lift doors opened. Her eyes flickered to my collar tabs as I approached and she smiled pleasantly enough.

  “Good afternoon, Captain. Can I help you?”

  I pulled out my ID tab and offered it to her. “Good afternoon, Officer. I’m here about one of the prisoners, Spacer Apprentice Stacie Arellone.”

  She took my tab and slotted it into the terminal on her podium. She consulted with something for a few heartbeats and nodded. “Are you related, Captain? Is she one of your crew?”

  I shook my head. “Not related, and not part of my crew yet. She’s next on the waiting list and I’m expecting an opening.”

  She eyed me over the top of her terminal. “And you’re going to hire her?”

  “I’m not sure. A lot will depend on whether she wants to be hired, and whether I can get her released in time to sail.”

  She tapped a few keys. “You’d have to file a request to get her released on your recognizance, Captain, but she’s served over half her term.” She shrugged. “When do you sail?”

  “Probably within the next two days. It really depends on whether I have a crew.” I smiled. “Is it possible to meet with Ms. Arellone?”

  She pulled a badge out from under the podium that was already embossed with my picture and printed with some officialese culled from my ID tab. She handed it to me. “If you’d clip that to your collar, Captain, and go through that door?” She pointed to my right. “The duty officer there should be able to help you.” She pulled my ID tab from the slot and put it in a drawer in her podium. “We’ll hold this until you’re ready to leave, Captain.”

  I nodded, clipped on the temporary badge, and went through the indicated door.

  Within a few ticks I was seated at a table in an interview room while a security officer fetched Ms. Arellone. I noted the obvious security cameras in the corners of the room and assumed there were other, less obvious ones as well. The table itself was bolted to the deck, but I was amused to note that the chairs were not.

  The door opened and the officer held it for a woman in a neon green jumpsuit with a large black “P” on the front. I recognized the eyes from the ID. Her hair had grown out a bit and her attitude was a hundred percent hardcase.

  I stood as she entered and crossed to the chair on the far side of the table. The security officer closed the door and took up his station on the inside of it without comment.

  Ms. Arellone pulled the chair out from the table and plonked herself down into it, leaning back and sneering at me across the scarred plastic surface.

  I took my own seat and regarded her. The deep brown eyes had some fire left in them and her hair needed clipping. She had no visible piercings but there were holes in her lobes.

  She arched an eyebrow at my scrutiny. “Getting a good look, Captain?”

  “No tattoos, Ms. Arellone?”

  “None visible.”

  I shrugged noncommittally. “So? What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”

  She barked a laugh. “You didn’t see my rap sheet, Captain?”

  “I saw it. I’m asking you, Ms. Arellone.”

  She backed down a little. Not much, but a little. “Then you know. It’s pretty much all true.”

  “What parts aren’t?

  “Courts don’t like little girls who aren’t nice. You wouldn’t understand that, would you. Captain.”

  She bit off the last word as if it were a curse.

  I considered that. “No, you’re probably right. It’s outside my experience. Never having been a girl nor arrested, I couldn’t say. I’ll take your report as evidence.”

  She seemed a little surprised by my response and I saw a flicker in her eyes before the shields closed back down. “So? What do you want from me, Captain? Your cabin boy leave you and you thinkin’ of branchin’ out?”

  “Your record says you’re rated as Able Spacer but were busted back to Apprentice.”

  “Four times, Captain.” She said it almost proudly.

  “One of mine may be going to another ship. I need a replacement. You want a job?”

  She eyed me. “Maloney hate you or something?”

  “My relationship with Mr. Maloney is not on the table, Ms. Arellone. Frankly, I think he’s using you as a threat to keep me from letting my crewman go to another fleet.”

  She was surprised at that and let her guard down almost completely. “Usin’ me as a threat?”

  “If I let my crewman leave, he’s going to assign you to my ship.”

  She laughed derisively. “What’s your ship? Agamemnon?”

  I grinned. “How’d you guess?”

  She stopped laughing suddenly. “You’re kiddin’ me. Agamemnon? What happened to Captain Dorkman?” She pronounced it carefully as two full syllables.

  “Captain Delman went to the Tinker. I was next in line for Captain. Mr. Maloney gave me the berth.”

  “Gads! He must hate you. Who’s leavin’? Chooch finally grow a pair?”

  “You
know my crew?”

  She shrugged. “The ratings are pretty well known on the docks. Penny ante junk mostly. Bar fights, and the odd blackmarket deal.” Her eyes narrowed and she looked at me. “I haven’t heard much from them for the last few months. You keep them confined to the ship or somethin’?”

  I shook my head. “No, Ms. Arellone. We’ve been hauling freight.”

  She snickered. “That’s what we’re calling it these days?”

  “That’s what I’ve always called it, Ms. Arellone. I’m in the business to make money. I’m captain and I get the biggest share. It’s also true that the more money I make, the more money the crew makes.”

  She threw back her head and brayed a raucous horse laugh. “And what princely sum did your crew make on your latest run, Captain Midas?”

  “I believe full share on this last run was in excess of two kilocreds.” I said it quietly and let it lay on the table for her to notice.

  She stopped laughing but didn’t look convinced. “You expect me to believe that?”

  I shook my head. “No. I expect you to distrust it with every fiber of your being. You don’t know me and you have no reason to trust me.”

  She leaned forward and slapped the table with an open palm. “Then why’d ya say it?”

  “You asked. That’s the answer. I have no reason to lie, but you have no reason to know that.” I shrugged and looked at her. “So? If this berth opens up, are you interested? Or should I tell Mr. Maloney he needs to find another threat to hold over my head?”

  She frowned at me. “You’re serious.”

  “Yes, Ms. Arellone. I’m serious. I’ve already sent a letter of recommendation on behalf of my crewman and I intend to follow it up. He wants to get off the Agamemnon. He thinks this is a good move. I want to help him. That’s all there is to it.”

  She leaned back and turned half sideways in her chair. She was regarding me like some kind of foreign life form and I just let her look. After a few ticks, she spoke. “What’s in it for me?”

  I waved a hand. “Well, you would have to give up your palatial apartment here and move into crew berthing.”

  She snickered.

  “You would have to give up that lovely green jump suit as well. Then there’s the endless watches.”