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

by Nathan Lowell

  I shook my head. “Sorry, Mr. Parkins. You’ve apparently mistaken me for someone else.”

  The reporters all laughed as I echoed his words back to him.

  When the laughter died down, I continued. “The Chernyakova was never missing so I couldn’t have found it.”

  “But you’re the man that returned the ship to Breakall, aren’t you?” He seemed peeved that I was puncturing his balloons.

  “That’s correct, Mr. Parkins. Diurnia Salvage and Transport filed a salvage claim on the ship, and I led the prize crew that sailed her back to Breakall.”

  “A ship full of corpses, Captain?”

  The reporters murmured among themselves, and Parkins clearly enjoyed the effect his words had.

  “I’m not really at liberty to discuss that, Mr. Parkins. I’m sure if you query the TIC, they’ll be happy to give you all the public information available.”

  He seemed frustrated, and tried a different approach. “How does it feel to be founding your company on the blood of fellow spacers?”

  Everybody in the room went silent.

  “Excuse me?”

  He gave me a smarmy smile. “Well, Captain, seems to me you couldn’t afford this venture without the prize money you got from salvaging the Chernyakova. They all died and now you’re making the profit. How does that make you feel?”

  I stood and looked at him for a full tick. “You realize that your question is irrational, don’t you, Mr. Parkins?” Before he could answer I turned to Mr. Simpson. “William, you have my permission to tell this group, on the record, exactly how much money I have received to date from the salvage of the Chernyakova. Would you do that please?”

  He frowned but shrugged. “Certainly, Captain.” He made a show of pulling up his tablet and holding it up to his face, squinting dramatically. “According to my records... not one single credit.”

  A confused buzz went around the room, and even Mr. Parkins looked flustered. “That’s impossible!” he objected.

  Mr. Simpson looked up and smiled. “Actually, it’s factual. The auction for the Chernyakova doesn’t close for another dozen stans or so. That auction occurred on Breakall, and it would surprise me greatly if we even find out how much the salvage is worth before the twenty-eighth.”

  Parkins wasn’t quite done. “But you underwrote this deal based on that money coming in, Simpson!”

  Mr. Simpson returned a cold look, and waited for the buzz to calm down. “Now, that, Mr. Parkins is a falsehood uttered in public in front of witnesses. I am under no obligation to justify that remark, and I just might take umbrage if I thought you intended to impugn my character or that of Larks, Simpson, and Greene.”

  Parkins backed down as the room got loud again. I didn’t like the way some of the reporters were looking my way.

  “I will make a statement about the Chernyakova, Mr. Parkins,” I said.

  That got their attention and all the recorders focused on me.

  “The Chernyakova was a tragedy. I think it’s probably a matter of public record that the crew died, leaving the ship unattended but underway and in transit through a heavily trafficked shipping lane. The CPJCT issued a hazard to navigation warning, and my ship was the first that was able to respond. Yes, we filed a salvage claim. Yes, we boarded the vessel and got it back under control. Yes, the TIC investigated. Yes, I led the crew that sailed the ship back to Breakall.”

  I paused, letting that all sink in a bit. The only sound was low hum of the air blowers.

  “I am uncertain as to how much of what happened aboard the vessel is public record so I cannot say much more without permission of the authorities, but I reiterate. The Chernyakova was a tragedy. If we hadn’t intercepted the ship and boarded her, if we had failed to stabilize her course and trajectory, the Chernyakova might have plowed into some other vessel out there in the Deep Dark. Now I can’t say that we actually prevented that, because that’s speculation. We don’t know that it would have hit another ship. It’s a big, dark universe out there. She might have slipped beyond the limits of our navigational channels and disappeared.”

  They were all looking at me, many with long faces, and Parkins still glowered.

  “But because we brought that ship under control and returned it to Breakall, the families and loved ones of that entire crew at least learned what happened to their sisters and brothers and wives and husbands. The ship didn’t just disappear into the Deep Dark, never to be seen or heard from again. Those families and loved ones—as devastated as they are—don’t have to spend the rest of their lives wondering what happened.”

  I paused to get a breath.

  “You asked how it makes me feel, Mr. Parkins? It makes me feel terrible to know the entire crew died. It reinforces my resolve to make sure that nothing like that ever happens to my ship. But I’m also glad that, in the face of this horrible tragedy, I was in the right place at the right time with the right skills to prevent that tragedy from becoming any worse than it already was, because spending your life not knowing, Mr. Parkins? For all those families and loved ones left behind, Mr. Parkins? That would have been much, much worse.”

  I took another deep breath and looked around at the reporters. “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. I appreciate your time and attention. I think I’ve answered enough questions for the moment. I bid you good day.”

  I turned and left the stage, Ms. Arellone got the door open in time for me to walk through it with William Simpson hot on my heels. Ms. Arellone closed the door firmly behind us just as the hubbub started to build.

  Mr. Simpson stood there looking at me with an odd look on his face.

  I shrugged. “Sorry, Mr. Simpson. I probably shouldn’t have said anything, and let them think what they wanted. They’ll have that speech carved up and respliced inside of a stan, and who knows what I’ll wind up saying.”

  His wrinkly face seemed to fold in on a grin. “Who cares, my boy!” He clapped me on the shoulder. “Wentworth will scream when he finds out he’s missed out on this one!” He cackled and nodded. “Oh, yes. This will be fun to watch.”

  Ms. Arellone looked back and forth between the two of us, and cast the occasional glance at the door behind us.

  Mr. Simpson’s good humor eventually dissipated, and he nodded in satisfaction, looking up at me, still grinning. “You still here, Captain? I thought you had a shipping company to run.” He held out a hand.

  I shook it. “Thanks, Mr. Simpson.”

  He waved me off. “Don’t thank me, yet, my boy. I’ve just signed your life into servitude. I’ll give you the same advice my father gave me when I went into business.” He looked at me seriously. “When you work for yourself? The boss is a jerk. Try not to let it bother you.”

  Ms. Arellone frowned at that. She stopped scanning the office long enough to look at Mr. Simpson for a moment.

  “I’ll do my best, sir.”

  “I know you will, Captain. Now git. I’m a stock holder. Go make me rich.”

  I nodded to Ms. Arellone, and we headed for the docks.

  On the way down in the lift I asked, “Do we need to make any stops on the way back, Ms. Arellone?”

  She shook her head. “We own the ship now, right, sar?”

  “Well, technically, the company owns the ship, but I own six ninths of the company. Sort of.”

  She shot me a glance. “What I’m getting at, sar, is that we can start stocking up now, right?”

  “Yes, we’re now clear and legal, and I’m paying docking fees so we best get this boat hauling freight soon.”

  “Think Chief Bailey was serious, sar?”

  “I sincerely hope so, Ms. Arellone. I need somebody to take charge of that engine room and certify the sail coils.”

  The lift opened on the docks, and we made our way around to maintenance. As we approached, I noticed Ms. Kingsley walking toward us with a tall, slender woman in a shipsuit and fresh buzz cut. Kirsten waved and Ms. Arellone waved back.

  “Somebody you’re expecting, S
kipper?”

  “Yes, Ms. Arellone.”

  “Looks like trouble, sar.”

  “Why do you say that, Ms. Arellone?”

  “No dufflebag.”

  “Until we get the console fixed, we can’t really do much.”

  She sighed and shook her head. “Not the point. Would you report without your bag?”

  I paused for a moment. “No, Ms. Arellone.”

  “That’s my point.”

  By then, the two women were within hailing distance. Kirsten fired the first salvo. “I thought I might catch you. I take it the signing went well? I got the notification for transfer of ownership.”

  I smiled. “Well, let’s just say, if that’s the worst we have to deal with, I think we’re off to a good start.”

  Ms. Kingsley gave me an uncertain look, and I noticed that Ms. Arellone eyed the newcomer with a scowl.

  “Captain, this is Cynthia Maitland.” Ms. Kingsley indicated the tall woman I knew as Christine Maloney. “Ms. Maitland, Captain Ishmael Wang.”

  Ms. Maitland stared at me blandly for a moment. “Captain.” Her voice was cool and she tipped her head.

  “Ms. Maitland.”

  To my left, Ms. Arellone sniffed.

  “Shall we get the transfers finalized, Captain?” Ms. Kingsley suggested.

  I keyed the door to the maintenance docks, and Ms. Arellone led the parade through to lock three. She had a hard time keeping all of us in sight at the same time, but she was most interested in the new quarter share.

  Kirsten and I walked side by side with Ms. Maitland ahead of us. “You had a problem at the signing?” Ms. Kingsley asked quietly.

  “One of the investors backed out at the last moment. Left me a bit short.”

  She frowned at me. “But you managed to get it sorted out?”

  “Mr. Simpson did. But I’m now eight and a half million in debt.”

  “Ouch. What period?”

  I sighed. “Ninety days.”

  Kirsten looked at me. “Are you serious?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Find another investor, or hope I can make something over eight million credits with this ship in the next ninety days.”

  She shot me a glance and whistled. I could see Ms. Maitland’s head twitch slightly as she cocked her head in our direction.

  “Good luck,” Ms. Kingsley murmured. “You’re gonna need it.”

  I nodded and we arrived at the lock just as Ms. Arellone keyed it open. She stood aside and let Ms. Maitland precede her into the ship. Ms Kingsley and I walked aboard together, and Ms. Arellone keyed the lock closed.

  Ms. Maitland stood patiently and waited, while Ms. Arellone looked like she might go for a blade. Ms. Kingsley eyed the pile of mattresses, linen, paint, and other supplies. “I love what you’ve done with the place,” she said.

  “You’ll be glad to know we checked out of the Lagrange as of this morning.”

  She laughed. “You’ll be glad you did. You don’t work for us anymore, and they’d have billed you for tonight.”

  Ms. Maitland smiled a bit, but she stood stiffly to one side.

  “Do you have the keys, Captain?” Ms. Kingsley asked.

  “I do,” I told her, “and I need to rent a safety deposit box today.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out the owner’s key, holding it up for her to see. “Shall we?”

  We all paraded up to the bridge, and Ms. Arellone leaned in close to watch while Ms. Maitland observed from the top of the ladder.

  I plugged the owner’s key into the console, brought up the owner’s maintenance screen, and re-keyed the owner data with the new information I had from Mr. Simpson. In less than a quarter stan, the ship’s records showed the new names. Ms. Kingsley pointed out where I should change the account numbers, and ShipNet obediently linked to the station to synchronize bank, personnel, and ship’s data records with those on file with the bank and my home office—which in this case was an account at Presto Personnel Services.

  “That’s it!” Ms. Kingsley smiled at me and held out her hand. “Congratulations, Captain.”

  I thanked her and turned my attention to Ms. Maitland. “You ever signed The Articles before, Ms. Maitland?”

  She shook her head. “No.” After a moment and a sharp look from Ms. Arellone, she added, “Sar.”

  I nodded. “Well, if you’re sailing with me, you’ll need to.”

  She nodded. “Okay, sar.”

  I pulled up The Articles on the bridge console, and scrolled down through them. They were pretty clear, intended to be intelligible to the average sailor, and not hiding anything untoward in the subclauses. I scrolled down to the place for name, date of birth, and place of signing but the last two clauses caught my eye.

  The next to last was a paragraph affirming that the signatory was not under duress, and the last was a statement that all information was true and correct.

  I eyed her in consternation. “Are you under duress, Ms. Maitland?”

  “Duress, Captain?”

  “Yes, Ms. Maitland, are you being forced to sign the articles against your will?”

  She looked startled and Ms. Kingsley muttered, “Captain?” between her teeth.

  “Not strictly speaking, no, Captain. There are some ... unfortunate ... consequences if I do not sign, but those consequences do not extend to my physical well-being.” I could feel my lips twitch as I listened to her carefully worded statement.

  “How about your emotional well-being, Ms. Maitland?”

  “Captain? I don’t believe the state of my emotional health is any of your concern.” She said it gently as if it were not an admonishment.

  “What you believe is of little consequence in this instance, Ms. Maitland. I have asked you a question.”

  She blinked at me, and shot a glance at Ms. Kingsley before replying. “My emotions have been permanently scarred by this already, Captain. Whether I sign or not, those scars will not change. They do not constitute duress in that failing to sign will not relieve the pain.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Ms. Maitland.” I turned to Ms. Arellone .“Ms. Arellone? Would you be so kind as to go make a pot of coffee? I need to have a little chat with these two in confidence.”

  Ms. Arellone narrowed her eyes. “Of course, Captain, but if it’s about her...” she nodded at Ms. Maitland, “I know who she is.”

  Ms. Maitland arched an I-told-you-so eyebrow.

  “Who is she, Ms. Arellone?” I asked.

  “Christine Maloney, sar.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Arellone. Why do you think that?”

  “I recognize her from her photos, sar.”

  “Do you know why she’s aboard?”

  “No, sar.”

  “Ms. Maitland, why are you going by that name?”

  “For security reasons, Captain.”

  “Do you think you need it aboard?”

  “No, sir—sar, but I think it’s useful to keep my whereabouts from the newsies. I’m too visible to disappear for the next year, and Christine Maloney will be embarking on a grand tour of the Western Annex on the SC Stellar Explorer in the next few days.” She shrugged. “Ms. Maloney is in mourning for her late father, and will be incommunicado for the duration of her tour.”

  I glanced at Kirsten who shrugged in return.

  “How legal is the Maitland identity, Ms. Maitland?”

  She looked confused. “I don’t understand the question. Sar.”

  “You need to sign The Articles. One of the articles is that the information you’ve provided is complete and correct. Your Maitland identity is perfectly fine for our purposes aboard, but you’ll need to sign The Articles as Christine Maloney.”

  We all looked at each other, temporarily stymied.

  Kirsten looked at me with a shrug. “I didn’t think of that.”

  “I didn’t either until I just read them. We don’t want to get into a perjury problem with the CPJCT, but I don’t want to expose
Ms. Maloney’s security.”

  Kirsten frowned. “You know, I don’t think it will matter.” Kirsten looked between Ms. Maloney and me. “The only thing that gets filed is that she’s signed The Articles. You’re a private company so your personnel records are not subject to scrutiny. As long as she uses Maitland when she goes ashore, nobody should be the wiser.”

  I looked at Ms. Maloney. “Are you okay with that, Ms. Maloney?”

  She frowned in concentration. “Yes, Captain, I believe that will be satisfactory.”

  “Then, Ms. Maloney, if you’d be so kind as to read these articles, and fill out the block at the end. When you’re ready, thumb them, and we’ll get you settled.”

  I stood and let Ms. Maloney have the chair so she could read in comfort. While she read, I turned to Ms. Kingsley. “All I need now is an engineer. Know of any?”

  She grinned. “Actually, I think I do.”

  The klaxxon made us all jump when it buzzed to signal somebody at the lock.

  “I think that’s him now.”

  “Ms. Arellone, would you go give Chief Bailey my complements, and let him know I’ll be down directly?”

  “Aye, aye, sar.” She skedaddled down the ladder.

  The klaxon sounded again—three short, impatient sounding blats.

  “Yep,” Kirsten said. “That’s him.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Diurnia Orbital:

  2372-December-26

  It took until 1600 to check in our new crew members, and link Chief Bailey’s tablet to the ship’s systems. He brought a full trunk of his personal tools with him, along with a separate trunk of personal effects.

  Ms. Maloney, for her part, maintained her reserve but pitched in readily enough. She took no initiative, waiting for an order to do anything.

  “She’s going to have to do better than that, Skipper!” Ms. Arellone hissed to me as we passed in the passage.

  “She’s still finding her feet, Ms. Arellone. Just because she’s rich, and her father owned a shipping line, doesn’t mean she knows what to do aboard.”

  Ms. Arellone scowled.

  “Would you want her to do something, and make a mistake out of ignorance?”