“Thanks, Skipper,” Ms. Arellone said with a smirk.
I stopped in the galley on the way. The chief had managed to get the mounting brackets loaded up, and found a power outlet, but the console still wasn’t mounted on the bulkhead. I nodded to him as I refilled my mug, and headed to the cabin to work on my logbook, and left the door open so I could keep track of the fun.
A few ticks later, Ms. Maloney came down to the mess deck, and rustled about in the galley for a few moments. I heard her speak to the chief. I couldn’t hear what she said, but he responded. “Oh, that’d be good, yes, t’would. I could use a little time away before we head out.”
I was about halfway into my log entry for the day when I heard the lock open and close. Shortly after, Ms. Maloney stood in the open doorway.
“Yes, Ms. Maloney?”
“He’s gone ashore, Captain. I’ve put the pot of soup on to warm for you for later, and there’s some of the bread left as well.”
“Thank you, Ms. Maloney. Very thoughtful.”
She paused for a moment. “Thank you, Captain,” she said, before heading down the passage toward her compartment.
A few ticks later, the two of them, decked out in civvies, came striding back down the passage, and stopped at the cabin door.
“We’re off, sar. Don’t wait up!” Ms. Arellone said.
“I’ll leave a light on at the lock, Ms. Arellone.”
Ms. Maloney gave me an enigmatic smile, and inclined her head before they clattered down the ladder.
As the lock opened and closed, I wondered briefly if I were being irresponsible by letting Ms. Maloney go out without her bodyguard. Then I considered the formidable talent Ms. Arellone possessed—and her very interesting collection of cutlery. I chuckled, and went back to the log.
I looked forward to a quiet evening alone on my own ship. It was an odd feeling.
Chapter Forty-Four
Welliver Orbital:
2373-January-14
Morning brought several responses to the job posting, and a smiling pair of ratings on the mess deck when I went in search of sustenance at 0530. I found my coffee, a breakfast of fruit-dressed waffles well in hand, and a bulkhead mounted console still on the deck where the chief had left it.
“Good morning! You two look like last night might have been successful,” I told them.
Ms. Arellone smirked behind her mug, and winked at Ms. Maloney. “We had a bit of fun, sar.”
I looked back and forth between the two of them before asking, “Do I want to know?”
Ms. Maloney flipped a completed waffle out of the iron, and paused before refilling it from a pitcher of batter. After a heartbeat of consideration she shrugged and said, “Probably not, Captain.” She shot Ms. Arellone a lopsided grin, and resumed her efforts with the waffle maker.
I looked to Ms. Arellone, who giggled a little and shrugged.
The mysterious process of crew bonding consists of equal parts luck, selection, chemistry, and—as nearly as I could tell—magic. Coming up through the ranks, I could remember several instances in my own experience that helped me create lasting bonds with my shipmates—instances which I hoped my captain had not known. In that light, I nodded, smiled, and let the matter drop.
The console on the deck was a different matter, and it bothered me. I left it for the moment to address the more immediate problem of adding a member to our little family.
Quick scans of public records showed a couple of them were obvious discipline problems, one wasn’t even a quarter share, let alone the half share that I’d asked for in my post. The culled list left three likely candidates, and I messaged each to arrange interviews over the morning.
Immediate tasks complete, I followed the delightful aromas back to the mess deck.
Over plates of delicately crisp waffles and sweet fruit, I briefed the ratings on my plans.
“I’ve asked each of them to report on the hour at 0800, 0900, and 1000 hours. We won’t have a lot of time to evaluate each before the next one is due, and I’d like you two to help me.”
Ms. Maloney nodded, and Ms. Arellone offered an enthusiastic, “How can we help, Skipper?”
“I’ll interview them here in the galley. Ms. Arellone, if you’d greet them at the lock, and escort them up here? Then I’d like you to get yourself a cup of coffee and sit at that end of the table and observe.”
“Aye, aye, sar. Can do,” she said.
“Ms. Maloney, I’d like you to serve our candidates, if you’d be so kind? Draw each a mug of coffee and bring it to the table? Then putter at the stove or something. I’d like your impressions as well.”
She gave me a puzzled frown, but nodded. “Aye, aye, sar.”
“At the end of the interview, I’ll give you a nod, Ms. Arellone, and when I do, please take your mug and slot it in the washer for cleaning, and stand ready to escort the candidate out.”
“Aye, aye, sar.”
“Thank you, both.” I nodded to each of them in turn.
“Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?” Ms. Maloney asked.
“I’m less interested in skills than attitudes, Ms. Maloney. I’m looking for somebody who’ll fit in more than anything.”
They shared a look, and nodded agreeably.
“Speaking of fitting in,” I nodded at the empty seat where the chief usually sat. “Either of you seen our chief engineer this morning?”
I got a chorus of “No, sar” back.
“I heard the lock, and a certain amount of what could have been giggling just after midnight,” I said. “I assume it was the chief who came in around 0130.”
“Giggling, sar?” Ms. Arellone asked, peering down into her coffee mug.
“Yes, Ms. Arellone. Giggling. The kind of giggling that made me think that two of my crew were up to some kind of mischief and had, just perhaps, imbibed a bit.”
“I don’t remember any giggling, do you, Ms. Arellone?” Ms. Maloney asked with obviously feigned innocence.
Ms. Arellone considered briefly, her eyes searching the ceiling as she pondered. “I can’t say that I do, Ms. Maloney,” she replied after a few heartbeats. “Are you certain it was us, Captain?”
I held up a hand in defense. “I make no accusations. I merely report what I heard.”
They grinned again, and I swiveled my chair to look at the tangle of work on the deck. I was about to buss my dirties when I heard a compartment door close, and some shambling footfalls in the passage.
The chief looked pretty bad. His normal stumping gait was reduced to some half-hearted and tentative steps. His eyes looked like they might start bleeding from the sockets at any moment. He gave every sign that he might suffer from an extreme hang over.
“Good morning, Chief,” I called cheerily. It was cruel, I suppose, but the wince that my voice elicited told me my suspicions were probably correct.
“Morning.” Our normally voluble engineer seemed somewhat impaired, and I was only marginally sympathetic.
Ms. Maloney, on the other hand, pressed her lips together in a tight line, and watched as the chief shambled to the coffee pot, drew a mug, sipped it once, topped off the cup once more, and shambled out of the mess deck without another word. I heard a compartment door open and close before relative silence descended again.
“Well,” I said, “shall we get on with the morning?” I set the example by rising and bussing my dishes before topping off my mug. While the ratings followed suit, and began securing the galley, I addressed the console units.
In a matter of about five ticks, I’d finished the bulkhead mounting, connected the big screen, powered it up, and linked the unit into ShipNet. A handy power node and a mastic-mounted charging holster for the wireless keyboard made for a tidy installation. I tucked the keyboard in to charge while I collected the loose litter of packing materials.
At 0730, while I finished up, the klaxon blared, and I turned to Ms. Arellone. “Either our candidate is exceptionally early, or that’s the chandl
ery order, Ms. Arellone. Would you see which?”
“Aye, aye, sar.” She scampered down the ladder, and I heard the lock open. A tick or so later, she stuck her head in and asked, “Where do you want these linens stashed, Skipper?”
“Just put them in compartment two for now, Ms. Arellone.”
“Aye, aye, sar.”
She disappeared back into the passage, and I heard her say, “Just down here.”
I unholstered the keyboard, and synced the console to display the bridge readouts. They showed us docked. It wasn’t terribly useful, but tested what needed testing.
When I heard the lock open and close again, I went out to find Ms. Arellone sweeping the lock area. “You know, Skipper, we never have cleaned up the entry, other than replacing the console over there.” She nodded her head in the direction of the unit in question.
“Something to do on the way to Ten Volt, I suppose, Ms. Arellone.”
She grinned and nodded. “There’s always something, isn’t there, Skipper?”
“Seems like it, Ms. Arellone.” I looked around once more, and had to agree with her assessment. It looked pretty bad. If we were going to take on paying customers, that needed to change. “Our first lucky contestant is Able Spacer Joseph Branch, Ms. Arellone.”
She kept sweeping, but nodded and said, “Aye, aye, sar. Joseph Branch.”
I returned to the galley to find Ms. Maloney beginning to peel and chop vegetables. “Ms. Maloney, can I ask you a question about your bodyguard?”
“Of course, Captain.” She didn’t stop working, but nodded to me in acknowledgment.
“Is he really an engineer?”
She gave a rueful grimace but nodded again. “He is, Captain, but I’m not certain just how good an engineer he is. His last engineering berth was over ten stanyers ago when he was on the Achilles.”
“Thank you, Ms. Maloney. I appreciate the information.”
“Is there a problem, Captain?”
“I don’t know, Ms. Maloney,” I said, eying the console on the bulkhead. “Perhaps.”
The chrono clicked over to 0750, and I took a couple of ticks to freshen up before Able Spacer Branch’s arrival.
The klaxon sounded at precisely 0800, and shortly thereafter Mr. Branch followed Ms. Arellone onto the mess deck. I stood to greet him and offered a seat across the table. Ms. Arellone and Ms. Maloney played their parts, and Mr. Branch thanked Ms. Maloney politely before returning his attention to me. He was a nice enough looking young man. His shipsuit wasn’t new, but appeared clean and free of Irish pennants. His buzz cut had been decorated with lightning bolts shaved in the sides of his head, and the edge of a tattoo peaked in and out of view at his collar line as he moved.
We had a short discussion of his previous experience, his expectations, what his next rating exam might be, and items of general interest for captains and helm watches. By 0820, I had what I needed from an interview. I gave Ms. Arellone the high sign, and stood to shake hands with Mr. Branch. Ms. Arellone bussed her dirty mug, and I saw Mr. Branch take a final sip from his while he watched her. He placed it back down on the table.
“Thank you, Mr. Branch. We’re getting underway this afternoon. Would that be a problem?”
“No, Captain. I’m packed and ready to ship out.”
“Thank you, Mr. Branch. We’ll send notifications by noon. Ms. Arellone will show you out.”
He nodded, and followed Ms. Arellone off the mess deck and down the ladder. In a tick I heard the lock open and close again. Ms. Arellone returned.
I stood and, taking his cup along with mine, crossed to the dishwasher. “Thoughts?”
They looked at each other and shrugged. Ms. Arellone said, “Cute butt. Kinda bland. The decoration...?” she made a little zigzaggy motion with her finger along the sides of her head. “Pure cheddar.”
“He left his mug,” Ms. Maloney said nodding at the table.
Ms. Arellone looked at the empty table. “Where?”
Ms. Maloney grinned. “The captain put it in the rack.”
Ms. Arellone frowned in consternation. “I didn’t notice.”
“Next up is Ordinary Spacer Percival Herring,” I told Ms. Arellone.
“Oh, gods, it’s not!” Ms. Arellone exclaimed. “What mother saddles her kid with a name like that?”
I eyed her with a wry expression. “I don’t know, Ms. Arellone. I’m partial to unusual names, myself.”
She blanched. “I’m sorry, Captain! I, um, didn’t even think...that is, you’re Captain Wang and not...”
“It’s okay, Ms. Arellone.” I grinned at her. “My name is strange, and only the fact that I spent my formative years in a university setting where most people had stranger names than Ishmael Horatio Wang kept me from permanent scarring.”
They both laughed, and Ms. Arellone headed back down to the lock.
At 0855 the klaxon announced the next contestant in our Pick-a-Spacer competition, and Ms. Arellone brought up a wiry, little guy in a pale gray jumpsuit. The suit itself had seen better days, threadbare about the elbows and knees, and frayed a bit at the back of the cuffs. The man in the suit seemed barely old enough to have worn it out. He stood just over a meter and a half tall and was one of the few people I’d seen who was shorter than Ms. Arellone. His most striking feature was his hair. Even cropped in a spacer buzz that needed a trim, the coppery, red color showed clearly.
I smiled, offered him a seat, and sat across from him.
Ms. Maloney brought him his coffee, and he turned quickly, almost startled, when she leaned forward to place it on the table. He offered her a friendly smile, and held out his hand. “Hi, Ms....” he looked at her name badge... “Maitland. Perc Herring. Nice to meet you and thanks!”
She smiled back, and shook his hand. “Catharine Maitland. Nice to meet you, too, Perc.” She released his hand, and went back to the galley.
We shared a brief bout of badinage wherein Spacer Herring held up his end of the conversation and answered each of my questions politely and succinctly—even modestly. Our Mr. Herring actually held able spacer rank, a fact which showed on his record, but which he did not mention until asked.
He seemed surprised. “Well, Captain, the posting was for ordinary spacer. That’s what you asked for, so that’s what I gave you, sar.”
I had to admit he made sense. When the chrono clicked to 0920, I gave Ms. Arellone a cue, and she bussed her mug as I stood and thanked him for coming. He shook my offered hand firmly, and, followed Ms. Arellone’s lead by taking his nearly full cup and racking it before following her out of the galley.
Ms. Maloney gave me a look that was halfway between surprised and intrigued. “Interesting test, Captain,” she murmured as Ms. Arellone banged back up the ladder.
Mirth lit her face as she burst into the galley. “He may be a keeper, Skipper.”
“Why do you say so, Ms. Arellone.”
“Skipper? You have to ask?” She looked back and forth between Ms. Maloney and I. “Did you see the color of his hair?”
I snorted. “Indeed I did, Ms. Arellone. I don’t remember seeing red that precise shade before. You think we should hire him because he’s a redhead?”
“Sar? We’d have our own Red Herring!”
I groaned. “Did you just come up with that, Ms. Arellone?”
She shook her head, barely containing her mirth. “No, Skipper. He did.”
“He did?”
She nodded emphatically. “He said he hoped he’d get the job because every ship needs a little red herring. Then he winked, and wished me a safe voyage regardless of who you chose.”
It was an odd comment but one guaranteed to keep his name on our lips a few more ticks after his interview ended. I couldn’t help but wonder if he had recognized Ms. Maloney.
“So, other than the opportunity for dreadful puns, Ms. Arellone? Your opinion?”
She shrugged. “He made me laugh, and he knew his way around.”
I turned to Ms. Maloney. “And you?”
“Personable, bright, and energetic,” she said listing off three obvious positive characteristics. “But why is he ashore? And why the ‘poor me’ shipsuit?”
“Both very good questions, Ms. Maloney. Thank you.”
She nodded, and I turned back to Ms. Arellone. “The next candidate is Able Spacer Winona Davis.”
We didn’t have as long to wait as we might have expected. The klaxon rang at 0945 and Ms. Arellone had to scamper down to the lock.
She returned with a depressingly proper candidate who stepped into the mess deck and braced to attention. “Sar, Able Spacer Winona Davis reporting, sar.”
She was impeccable. From the polished toes of her boots to the carefully buzzed hair, she radiated power and authority. I offering her a seat, and she took it crisply, nodding a polite acknowledgment when Ms. Maloney brought her coffee.
I slouched in my chair, and we had a conversation that consisted of me asking questions and her responding crisply with proper and tersely exact answers. By 1005 I felt exhausted and gave Ms. Arellone the nod, standing and thanking Ms. Davis for coming. Ms. Davis stood and shook my hand, ignoring Ms. Arellone, and resuming a stance that was half attention and half ready to move. We stood like that for a few heartbeats while Ms. Arellone waited at the door to the galley. Call me slow on the uptake but the pause got awkward before I thought to say, “Dismissed, Ms. Davis.”
Ms. Arellone returned to the galley shaking her head slowly.
“Thoughts, Ms. Arellone?” I asked.
She grimaced. “Well she was certainly the most proper, even impressive.”
“She was impressive, Ms. Arellone. Even showed up quite properly at a quarter til the hour.”
Ms. Arellone nodded, but the frown never left her face.
“Ms. Maloney?” I asked.
“Ms. Davis apparently knows the book, Captain.”
“She does that, Ms. Maloney, and demonstrated it quite effectively for us.” I knew which one I thought would fit best, but I looked at them and asked, “Which one do we hire?”
They shared a glance and I found Ms. Maloney staring at the untouched mug still resting where she’d put it on the table.
Owner's Share (Trader's Tales from the Golden Age of the Solar Clipper) Page 39
