She shrugged and tucked into the sandwich. “At least as well as the last time, I think.” She finished off the first half and picked up the second. “That last test of the day is a little fuzzy, but I had a candy bar in my pocket.” She grinned and plowed through the other half of sandwich.
“Well, tomorrow won’t be so bad in that regard. When I took my test they had food and drink available most of the day.”
She nodded and kept eating.
I went back to fixing a spiced beefalo casserole that I’d been trying to recreate ever since I’d left the Lois McKendrick. Cookie had this way with it that I suspect had more to do with the spices he used than anything else and I just didn’t have his depth in the spice rack. I checked the time and realized I’d forgotten to start the rice. I spent a couple of ticks trying to catch up.
I looked up when Mr. Wyatt came onto the mess deck and crossed to where Ms. Thomas had finished her sandwiches and was nursing the coffee along. She already looked better. The biscuits went into the oven with just about no time to spare.
Mr. Wyatt heard the oven door close and looked up from where he had his head together with Ms. Thomas’s. “I’m sorry, Skipper. You need a hand?”
I smiled at him. “No, we’re good, Avery. I just want to put together a green salad to go with. Did I see some fresh leaf vegetables in the cooler?”
“Oh, yes, sar. I picked up a bit extra this trip.”
I heard them murmuring together but it wasn’t loud enough for me to eavesdrop even from the other side of the galley so I focused on getting the remaining pieces of dinner together. At 1745 Mr. Wyatt pulled up the keyboard, we changed the watch, and I began filling trays for a buffet dinner so we would be ready at 1800 on the mark.
As the time approached, more of the crew arrived. Mr. Hill and Mr. Schubert discussed something about the flea market, and when Chief Gerheart came in, she went right to where Gwen sat and I could see that between Avery and the chief, Ms. Thomas looked a little more comfortable, a little less gray and weak. At 1800 we called Ms. Arellone from the watch station and I grabbed a plate. The only one missing from dinner was Mr. Pall, and for the first time I realized that, unlike my other ships, we tended to mostly eat together as a crew. I settled at the table as everybody finished helping themselves and wondered if they liked the food, or the company. A sudden pang stabbed me when I thought that, in all likelihood, I’d be gone in just a couple of days.
The assembled company all looked to me to take the first bite and with a start, I stopped woolgathering and took a forkful of beefalo. There was still something missing, although maybe it was just better in memory than reality. The crew followed suit and I caught Chief Gerheart sneaking glances at me.
I gave a little shrug and grinned as I stopped trying to figure it out and just enjoyed the meal. At 1900 everybody had eaten, and the ratings took themselves off to their own amusements. Ms. Arellone’s amusement being restricted to the watch station at the brow, they convened there for an impromptu meeting of the co-op. From the deposits going into the ship’s account, I gathered they were doing very well and it felt good.
Ms. Thomas held court from her seat and the chief kept her company while Avery and I cleaned up the galley and mess deck. It didn’t take long before we were all settled with fresh coffee and nothing much to do. Naturally, they turned on me.
Chief Gerheart opened the conversation with, “So, Captain? What are you going to do when you’re filthy rich?” She’d recovered some of her spark and I liked the attention.
“Well, Mr. Larks suggested that I take the money, buy a nice house on the planet, and retire to the country.”
Ms. Thomas sniffed. “Like that’ll happen.”
Greta looked at her in mock surprise. “You don’t think so, Gwen?”
“Not a chance.” Ms. Thomas grinned at me across the table. “If he went ashore, he’d be bored in a week and want to move to another planet.”
They all chuckled and I joined in. “Probably right,” I admitted. “I’m a little young to retire.”
Gwen paused before following up with the obvious question. “So are you going to go indie?”
I sighed a little and frowned into my cup. “I think I’d like to, but it doesn’t look like it.”
“Why not?” Chief Gerheart looked surprised by my answer.
At almost the same instant, Ms. Thomas asked, “Why?”
They both laughed and I looked back and forth between them. “One at a time.”
The chief opened her hand, palm up as if to offer the floor to Gwen. “You first.”
She chuckled a bit and nodded graciously. “Thank you, Chief.” Turning to me she hitched forward a bit in her seat. “Why would you want to go indie?”
“It never occurred to me to ask that question. I don’t know that I have any good answer other than, ‘It’s what we’re supposed to do.’”
She frowned at me. “Like you were supposed to get married?”
Avery and Greta looked on with a great deal of interest and not as much amusement. The question didn’t have the barb in it that it might have, but seemed more driven by honest curiosity. I nodded a bit self-consciously. “I suppose so, yes. I mean isn’t that the dream? Get enough credits in one pile to have a ship of your own?” I looked from face to face.
Chief Gerheart looked at me like I’d just said something in a foreign language that she didn’t understand. Avery smiled a gentle smile but offered no comment. Ms. Thomas kept the reins of the conversation, though, and pressed on. “Maybe but going indie is a big step, and not one I think I’m ready for myself.” She paused for a moment before adding. “I think I’d be happy just carrying somebody else’s cargo, letting them have the risk, and take my reward from the doing.”
She made a very good argument, I had to admit. I made a good living and I had a good life. My eyes strayed briefly to Chief Gerheart and quickly away. There were liabilities to being captain, but part of that issue revolved around some relatively artificial constraints. I considered that as I looked to Ms. Thomas—soon to be Captain Thomas, if the Maloney legacy bore fruit—and realized that there was no good reason for her to step back from Avery Wyatt. They’d make a dynamic pair with her at the helm and him managing the cargo.
I frowned as my notions—many very firmly reinforced at the academy—began to rub up against the reality of living in the Deep Dark with all that entailed.
“Okay, my turn.” Chief Gerheart took advantage of the lull in the conversation to steer it in her direction. “Why won’t you go indie?”
“I can’t afford it.”
They both blinked at me, turned to each other for a moment and then looked back at me in disbelief.
“You can’t afford it?” The chief had her hand palm down on the table between us and leaned toward me with the intensity of her question.
I shrugged. “I met with Maloney’s financial planner. We had a good talk about how much money it would take to go into business. I can’t afford a ship. I’m not even sure I could afford the insurance on a ship.”
She sat back in her seat and glanced at Gwen before speaking again. “I thought you were coming into a few million credits.”
“That’s the theory. We won’t know for a while exactly how many.”
“And that’s not enough?” The look of incredulity spread across all their faces even though the question came from the chief.
“Apparently not.” I looked around the table. “Ships cost a lot, and as many credits as have been bandied about? It’s not going to be enough for the down-payment on a fast packet.”
Of the three of them. Avery’s frown cut the deepest. He probably knew the most about what was likely to happen and the implications of my not getting a ship of my own were not lost on him. “Did you talk to Larks about it?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said looking down into my coffee cup, my mouth crawling off the side of my face in a grimace. “His solution was ‘buy a yacht and sail around to your heart’s content.’�
�
I could see Gwen turning that idea over in her mind. “A yacht is just a really small packet, Skipper,” she said finally.
“An under powered, really small packet,” I told her. “I’ve looked at the configurations and they have nice interiors but no legs. The problem is that a burleson drive with any power at all needs a lot of juice to fold space.”
Chief Gerheart nodded. “That’s true. Even a small ship needs a big heart to fold very far.” She sighed and ran a hand through her cropped hair. “A big heart needs a big frame. The big frame means bigger sail and keel generators, which means an even bigger frame.”
I nodded glumly. “That’s even before we start talking about crew and cargo space.”
“How do other people do it?” The chief looked around the table, not just at me.
Avery and Gwen just shrugged, and Gwen added, “I don’t know. I’ve never actually known anybody who did.”
“I know a few people who are already indies. Long family history and all,” I offered to the group. “But I have no idea how they manage it. I do know that one of my classmates had a ship waiting for him that his family arranged for when he got out of the academy. They run only fast packets. It’s a specialty of theirs and they must be doing pretty well to be able to swing another ship.”
After a few heartbeats, Chief Gerheart asked, “What about the Jezebel? If DST is unloading her, maybe you can get a deal.”
“I thought of that, but I’m not sure how much of a deal they can give me. It’s a business thing and that’s one heck of an asset to be writing down by that much.”
She frowned. “Higbee 9500? What kinda shape is it in?”
I sighed and shook my head. “Pretty rough. Needs a good cleaning, some repairs and paint. I looked at the engine room and it looked okay, but not great. I told them I want a full inspection on it before I’ll even consider buying it.”
She snorted. “Yeah, I’m sure that’ll be useful.”
I shrugged again. “Best I could think of at the time. I got the impression that Kirsten Kingsley wanted me to commit to taking it right then.”
Gwen tsked and even Avery looked taken aback.
The chief was on a roll, and wouldn’t let it go. “Can I see it?” She seemed seriously interested. “Those Higbee’s are not all that common and it’s an awkward hull because of the cargo bunkers.”
Avery perked up at that. “Why’s that, Chief?”
“Volume. It’s got a single internal hold that runs down the middle of the main deck and a relatively low overhead. They’re rated for 9500 metric tons which keeps them in the under-ten bracket for crews, but the volume of their cargo bunkers means you’re lucky to get anything over three or four in them unless it’s something particularly dense. Lot of captains don’t like them for that. Makes it hard to get a full load.” She focused on me again. “Any chance you can get another look and take me with you next time?”
“I can try. I suspect they’ve been busy today with the service for Maloney down on the surface, but lemme ask.” I popped my tablet out of its holster and sent of a quick request to Kirsten Kingsley by way of DST’s local office.
Gwen and Avery had their heads together and I had to smile. They’d not been an item that long but they fit together so well, it made me happier just to look at them. I realized the chief was smiling fondly at them as well.
“Okay, request sent. We’ll see what the answer is.”
“Good!” Gwen said with feeling. “At least see what’s there. Who knows? Maybe they’ll decide against selling it.” She looked around at us. “As crazy as things have been, as unsettled as they must be over poor Geoff’s passing? Who knows?”
We all made some noises of agreement, but Avery gave me a knowing look and even the chief looked my way as if to say, “And you’re not off the hook either!”
After a few ticks, Gwen crawled off the bench and stretched, arching her back and suddenly looking very fatigued. “Well, I’m going to take advantage of Avery’s sacrifice and go get some sleep.”
He smiled at her as she left the mess deck, her short heavy-worlder legs giving her a gait a bit of a roll.
The chief slapped the table. “Well, I, for one, am going to take advantage of the night off and go see if I can get into some trouble.” She stood gracefully and grinned wickedly. She said it so matter-of-factly that both Avery and I laughed. She stood there for a moment and I thought she was going to say something else, but she just waved and sailed out, clattering up the ladder behind Gwen as she went to her stateroom to change into civvies.
Avery looked at me across the table. “And then there were two. Why didn’t you go with her?”
“Who? Gwen?”
He shot me an exasperated look. “Greta. She all but asked you along.”
I shook my head. “Naw. She’s going to go have some fun. She doesn’t need me tagging along.”
We sat there quietly for a bit and heard her coming back down the ladder and heading for the lock. She called gaily into the mess deck as she passed. “Don’t wait up.”
“We’ll leave a light on for you,” Avery shouted back.
I could hear her silvery laugh echoing back down the passage and in two more ticks the lock opening and closing.
The whole time, Avery Wyatt just sat there considering me with a dour look on his face.
“What?”
He shook his head. “Nothing.” He paused to sip his coffee. “You think she’s gonna get her master’s ticket?”
I nodded, spinning my near empty mug around on the table with my fingertips. “I do. According to Kingsley, she only just barely missed it before. Maloney wrote a letter, she has a new performance report, and there’s the rather dramatic change that’s come over her in the last few months.” I smiled at him. “You’re good for her, Avery.”
He smiled back and his eyes went to the overhead where her stateroom would be on the deck above. “She’s good for me, too, Skipper. I would never have guessed.” A gentle smile filled his face.
I might have enjoyed that conversation more if it hadn’t felt quite so much like salt in the wound, but I was truly happy for him. I also needed to get off the mess deck and find some time to think. “Well, I’m going up to the cabin and work on the reports. Don’t want to hand off the ship with that not caught up.”
He stared at me. “You’re really going?”
I shrugged. “As far as I know, if she gets her ticket, you’ll be making the next trip without me.”
He winced. “I don’t know if I should hope she does, or hope she doesn’t.”
I snickered a little. “Hope she does, Avery. She’s a good woman and deserves a little break. I’ve had more than my share of good breaks and I can weather whatever this storm will bring.”
He laughed a little in response. “It’s hard to feel too sorry for the quadrant’s newest multimillionaire.”
“Well, it hasn’t happened yet,” I pointed out. “But this has been a profitable year. I’m okay.” I stood and headed off the mess deck with a wave.
“Sleep well, Skipper,” he called after me.
I headed for the cabin but at the top of the ladder, the thought of looking at the scarred orbital made me climb the ladder to the bridge. I clambered up and took my seat in the captain’s chair, swiveling it so I could look aft, out into the busy space around the orbital and the smooth darkness beyond.
I sat there for a long, long time.
Chapter Eight
Diurnia Orbital:
2372-December-19
For once, the quarterly ratings exams came around while we were docked. All the ratings showed up for breakfast and Mr. Hill had the only exam out of the three. I made a mental note to prod Ms. Arellone along the trail before remembering that Ms. Arellone and her training wouldn’t be my concern for much longer. That sobered me. I could have wished they’d all moved up the ladder, but Mr. Hill was doing nicely in his cargo specialty, and Mr. Schubert already held his Spec One Shiphandler, we just w
eren’t rated to pay him that.
Mostly, the breakfast conversation was low key and quiet. Mr. Wyatt had been up all night as OOD, and looked a little the worse for wear. I suspected the massive breakfast spread was due as much to his trying to stay awake in the wee hours of the dog watch as to his culinary drive. Ms. Thomas seemed alert and chipper enough, if a bit keyed up. She filled her plate and cleaned it twice before settling back with a satisfied smile. Only her furtive glances at the chrono gave away her nervousness. The chief looked a bit ragged, which surprised me. It wasn’t like her to over-indulge readily enough and tucked away a healthy amount of Avery’s handiwork in her own right.
By 0700 we’d all had enough and scattered to our duties. Ms. Thomas headed for her stateroom to change into a dress uniform, and Mr. Shubert headed for the brow. I sent Mr. Wyatt off to get some sleep and Mr. Pall helped me clear away breakfast. Ms. Arellone disappeared in the direction of the flea market, and if she felt uneasy about running the booth on her own, she didn’t show it. Mr. Hill helped us clear the table and swept the mess deck before heading for crew’s berthing. He stuck his head in a few ticks later, looking sharp. “I’m off to the Union Hall for exams, Skipper.”
Mr. Pall and I both waved and Mr. Pall gave him a thumbs-up. I looked at him curiously as Mr. Hill headed for the lock. His old happy-go-lucky smile was still missing, but something like his old spirit showed in his face.
The cleanup drew our collective attention and we settled into an easy rhythm, splitting the tasks and working methodically through them. I’d been so wrapped up in myself, I hadn’t noticed that Mr. Pall appeared much more lively.
As we finished the cleanup, I leaned back on the counter, drying my hands on a side towel and eyed him. “You’re looking a mite less piqued, Mr. Pall.”
He grinned at me and finished stowing a stack of mixing bowls under the cupboard. “Is that a good thing, Skipper?”
“Yes, Mr. Pall, it is.”
He shrugged. “I’m feeling a bit better, Skipper.” He grabbed a stack of clean plates out of the sanitizer and shoved them into the plate rack. “I credit Ms. Arellone, actually.”
Owner's Share (Trader's Tales from the Golden Age of the Solar Clipper) Page 7
