By Darkness Forged (Seeker's Tales from the Golden Age of the Solar Clipper Book 3)

by Nathan Lowell

  “It’s a weakness,” Gaines said. “Answer the question.”

  “Wyatt might have been somewhere on one of the cognitive spectrums. Asperger’s, autism. I’m not sure. He could look at data and tell you what the answer was. Even without the question. Guy was brilliant as a cargo picker. He just never got the chance until I made it his job.”

  Both of Gaines’s eyebrows shot up nearly to his hairline. “Wasn’t that always supposed to be his job?”

  “Yeah. On most ships it would have been but he didn’t come from a culture that promoted that behavior.” I smiled, acknowledging the use of the word culture.

  “You’re getting the hang of it,” he said. “Now the second part of your homework.”

  I braced myself in the chair.

  “It’s not that bad,” he said. “Cultures have values, beliefs. They have things they’ll accept. Behaviors they’ll fight. I want you to think about your various ships. What were the cultures? I suspect they all shared a basic core set of values.”

  “I can do that.”

  “That’s not your homework,” Gaines said. “While you’re thinking about the other ships’ cultures, I want you to think about one question. ‘What will your culture stand for?’”

  “My culture?”

  He nodded, a broad smile pasted on his face. “Remember? All captains bring their own culture?”

  “Yeah,” I said, suddenly sure where this was headed.

  “Well, you’re the captain on the Chernyakova. It’s your culture to mold. What will it be? What will you fight? What will you support? What will you stand against? What will you stand for?”

  A quiet chime sounded.

  “Just in time. That’s all for today. Let me know the next time you’re inbound to Port Newmar and we’ll set up another appointment.” Gaines stood and offered a hand. “Good luck on your next voyage, Captain.”

  Chapter 2

  Newmar System: 2376, January 16

  I sat in the captain’s chair on the bridge and stared out at the Deep Dark beyond the armorglass. I kept running Malloy Gaines’s questions through my mind. How did it make you feel? What will your culture stand for?

  “Captain?” Al asked, looking over at me from the first mate’s station.

  For a moment I wondered if I’d missed something, too wrapped up in my own head to notice something critical on the bridge. “Yes?”

  “Did you say something, Skipper? You made a noise but I couldn’t make it out.”

  I chuckled, more to myself than anything. “No. Just musing over something I heard back at Port Newmar.” I shook my head and made a show of looking around. “How far are we from the safety limit?”

  She consulted a screen on her console. “I make it just about another stan and a half, Captain.” She looked over at me with a sly grin. “You getting spoiled by jumping in and out of the Toe-Holds?”

  “Maybe,” I said. “You have to admit stations on the outer fringes make for easier jumps.”

  She nodded. “I’ll give you that. Not having to follow the CPJCT limits on when we can put up our sails doesn’t hurt either, though, does it.”

  “That’s true enough,” I said. I pulled off my seat belt and stood up, stretching my back and rolling my neck around to loosen up the muscles. I walked forward and stood, staring out.

  How did it make you feel?

  I loved looking out at the stars. The endless night provided endless fascination. Why had I stopped looking out? When had I stopped looking out?

  A reflection in the armorglass caught my eye as Chief Stevens stepped up beside me, her hands clasped behind her back. She stared out into the Dark.

  “Chief.”

  “Skipper.”

  We stood there for several heartbeats without speaking.

  “You all right, Ishmael?” she asked, her voice barely louder than the environmental blowers.

  I glanced back at the bridge crew—Mr. Reed on his astrogation console, Ms. Fortuner at comms, Ms. Torkelson at the helm, and Al tucked away behind the watchstander’s console. None of them seemed to be paying attention to anything but their duties. “Yeah, I think so. Why?”

  She shrugged, shoulders rising and falling so quickly I wasn’t sure she’d done it. “You’ve seemed pretty quiet since we got underway.” She looked over at me. “Something on your mind?”

  That startled a laugh out of me. “When isn’t there?”

  A patient smile graced her lips and she turned back to the Deep Dark outside. “Captains always have things on their minds,” she said. “I just wondered if there was something new.”

  I debated for a couple of heartbeats before speaking. “Gaines gave me new homework.”

  “Your therapist?” she asked. She made it a simple question, no judgment.

  “We see each other rarely so he gives me things to think about while I’m out here.”

  “I remember,” she said. “The snake and his skin.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you reach any conclusion on that one?” She glanced up at me out of the corners of her eyes. “You don’t have to answer that. Sorry.”

  “It’s all right. I did, actually. It was pretty obvious once I tumbled that it was a trick question.”

  “Good.” She rocked on the balls of her feet a little bit, forward and back. “I’m surprised you had time for a visit. We didn’t have much time planetside this trip.”

  “I scheduled it as soon as we jumped in. Gave him a few weeks to find me a slot while I was down there.”

  “What’s the new homework about?” She glanced up again. “If you don’t mind sharing.”

  “Two questions that don’t seem like they should be related but I can’t stop thinking about them.”

  She gave me another side-eyed glance but didn’t speak.

  “The first is ‘How did it make you feel?’ in reference to my time on the Lois McKendrick as a crewman.”

  “Classic Zen,” she said. “Interesting approach.”

  “What?”

  “The question. It’s a classic question from an ancient Buddhist school of meditation. He didn’t ask you to answer it, did he.” It wasn’t a question.

  “No, I’m not supposed to answer it. Just feel it.”

  She grinned. I could see her teeth gleaming in her reflection. “It’s phrased to break your focus, to give your mind a split second of a break from overthinking. To put you in touch with yourself in ways that most of us find difficult. Tai chi does the same thing using the movements as focus.”

  “I haven’t done tai chi since the Iris, I don’t think.”

  “We should take it up. I’m a little rusty myself.”

  “The spine?” I asked.

  “There’s enough room there, I think. I used to do tai chi between the Burleson drives and there’s less room there.”

  We stared out while I thought about it. “You’re a woman of surprising insights,” I said.

  “Nothing surprising,” she said. “I’m old. You live long enough, you pick up stuff.”

  “Even Zen Buddhist practice?” I asked.

  She gave me a crooked smile. “What’s the other question?”

  “What will my culture stand for?”

  “Your culture?” She did that birdlike tilting-of-the-head thing. “Not your civilization?”

  I replayed the conversation in my head. “No. Culture. We were talking about how every ship has its own culture. How the captain bears the brunt of enforcing cultural norms.”

  “Ah,” she said. “Do you believe that?”

  “About captains?”

  “Yes. Is it the captains by themselves or the interactions of the captain with the crew?”

  I had to think about that. “When I was on the Tinker, the change from Rossett to deGrut took a largely dysfunctional ship and turned it into a great place to live and work.”

  She nodded and gave a small shrug. “Maybe she simply amplified the crew gestalt. Taking what was there and focusing it.”

&nb
sp; I shrugged. “Either way, it’s the captain who makes the difference. Whether it’s something they bring to the job or something they do with the crew.”

  “What did Rossett bring to the Tinker?”

  “I’m not sure he’s a good example. He just came out of the cabin when he had to. The first mate, Burnside, was the bad actor. Rossett just enabled the behavior.”

  She looked up at me again, both eyebrows raised.

  “What?” I asked.

  “While you’re contemplating your culture, remember what you just said.” She patted me on the shoulder and returned to her console, focusing on her screens with an enigmatic smile.

  I turned back to my contemplation of the infinite outside the armorglass but her words echoed in my skull. Was I behaving like Rossett? Was I letting Al establish the ship’s culture? Was that a bad thing?

  “Skipper, we’ve reached the safety limit,” Al said.

  “Thank you, Ms. Ross. Chief?” I crossed the bridge and settled back into the captain’s chair.

  “Securing the kickers and powering up the sail generators,” the chief said.

  The low rumble from the large rocket motors aft faded out.

  She tapped a few more keys. “Sails deployed.”

  “Status, Helm?” Al asked.

  Ms. Torkelson checked her console and nodded. “Helm responding. We have steerageway.”

  Al looked at me. “Captain, the auxiliary engines have been secured and the sails deployed. Helm reports steerageway.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Ross. Secure from navigation stations and set the normal watch throughout the ship.”

  “Secure from navigation stations. Set normal watch. Aye, aye, sar.” She lifted her mic and made the shipwide announcement.

  “Log it,” I said.

  “Logged at 1730, 16 January 2376,” Al said.

  I stood up again and headed for the ladder, stepping aside to let the incoming watch section climb up to the bridge. I caught a glimpse of Chief Stevens as I dropped down the ladder. She looked at me with a crooked smile and one eyebrow raised.

  She wasn’t exactly subtle unless she wanted to be, a thought that gave me pause as I ducked into the cabin.

  Chapter 3

  Newmar System: 2376, January 20

  Five days out of Port Newmar, I had just finished up the daily logs when Al knocked on the cabin’s door frame. “Gotta minute, Skipper?”

  I’d started leaving the door open, following Fredi deGrut’s habit of randomly opening and closing the door. I felt a little funny about never keeping the door open, truth be told. The conversations with Mal Gaines and Chief Stevens chafed like a grain of sand in my shoe. I couldn’t quite ignore them, but didn’t stop to address the root problems.

  Somewhere in the back of my mind, a little voice kept trying to get my attention.

  I waved her in. “What’s on your mind, Al?”

  She plopped into one of the two visitor’s chairs and ran a hand over her cropped hair. She stared at me, not quite a challenge but resolute. “I’m going to retire.”

  That bald statement caught me by surprise. “When?”

  She shrugged and looked down at her knees. “Sooner rather than later. Probably not this trip or the next. I won’t leave until you’ve got a replacement lined up.” She looked back up at me. “But I need you to start looking for one.”

  “You have anybody in mind?”

  She shook her head. “I’m kinda out of the loop. Have been for a while. After being beached at Breakall, I lost track of what was happening in the sector. It never seemed important. Since we’ve put the Chernyakova back together?” She shrugged. “We haven’t put down roots anywhere so it’s been hard to get re-established. I’m not sure I want to.”

  “What will you do?” I asked.

  “Art,” she said. “I’ve always been a closet artist. I’ve got sketchbooks going back decades.”

  “You carry them with you?”

  She laughed. “No. I sketch and scan. Digitized, they don’t take up much room. The stuff I picked up at Mel’s reminded me that I’d been ignoring it for a long time.”

  “I understand,” I said. “I should probably retire myself.” I found myself staring at the backs of my hands instead of looking at Al. I had to force myself to look up.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Why retire?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “Why do you think you should?”

  “I’m ...” My voice petered out as I ran out of words.

  “I thought you were doing better,” Al said. “Something happen?”

  “Gaines set me up with new questions. They’re challenging me.”

  Al settled back in the chair and folded her hands over her chest. “You’ve never dodged a challenge as long as I’ve known you.”

  “I’m bored.” The words slipped out before I could think about them.

  Al gave a breathy little chuckle and her eyes sparkled in the overheads. “About time.”

  “What?”

  “I said it’s about time. You’ve got your head up your backside about not getting in the way so you hide here in the cabin. It’s no wonder you’re bored. We’ve talked about this before.”

  I sat back in my chair and stared at the overhead. “What would Alys do?”

  “Alys? Alys Giggone?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” I looked back at Al. “Fredi was an amazing captain but Alys Giggone was my first.”

  “You always remember your first,” Al said with a crooked smile. “What’s your sharpest memory of her?”

  I felt the blush running up my face.

  Al blinked. “You’re blushing?”

  “The Lois had a steam room. We called it a sauna but technically just a steam room. The whole crew used it.”

  Al’s eyes grew wide. “You and Alys Giggone in the steam room?”

  “It’s not like that. Everybody used it. We weren’t naked or anything. Towels and trunks generally. The off-watch sections, day workers, officers and crew. It was just what you did.”

  “So your sharpest memory of Alys Giggone is her wearing nothing but a towel in the steam room?”

  “You have a dirty mind.”

  “It’s your memory,” she said.

  “The memory is that was the first time that I realized that clipper captains are captains even when they’re not in uniform. She was wearing a towel but nobody would have mistaken her for one of the crew, even then.”

  Al settled back in her seat. “Then why were you blushing?”

  “I knew how it would sound.”

  She nodded. “I’ll let this one slide. You were chasing what’s-her-name at the time as I remember.”

  “Alicia Alvarez,” I said. “She signed my letter of application for the academy but I never saw her again after that night.”

  “So did you ever think you’d be a captain?”

  “Never. In the beginning I never considered attending the academy. That was for spacers and I was an imposter.” I took a breath and shrugged. “I guess I still feel like an imposter.”

  “That probably won’t go away,” Al said. “But your history says you’re a spacer. Your training says you’re a spacer. You own this ship and run it. The only time you go planetside is when we dock at Port Newmar.” She shook her head. “If that’s not being a spacer, I’m not sure any of us are.”

  I laughed. “All right. You got me.” I leaned my forearms on my desk and sighed. “How long before you retire?”

  “I want to go now, but I wouldn’t do that to you,” she said. “The chief isn’t going to hang around very long after she finds whatever it is she’s looking for out here.”

  “You don’t think she’s looking for the mega?”

  Al shrugged. “Only indirectly. Whatever she’s tracking isn’t the ship. We’re the wrong vehicle for that kind of search. It might be something connected to the mega, but it’s not the mega itself.”

  “You have any basis?”

  “Hunch,” Al said
, screwing her lips into a grimace. “We were close at Telluride. Why aren’t we going back there now?”

  “Pip got a can heading for Mel’s Place.”

  Al made a rude noise with her lips. “He could have gotten a can heading for Telluride just as easily. Breaking the blockade there has opened that sector up in ways it hasn’t been for two decades.”

  “I’m sure, but Toe-Hold cargoes aren’t exactly up-front in the High Line.” I shrugged. “If I were a gambler, I’d wager Mel’s is just a stopover on the way out to Telluride and we’ll end up there soon.”

  Al frowned for a moment but nodded. “Probably true.”

  “Where do you want to get off?”

  “When you find a new first mate, I’ll get off there. Doesn’t really matter. Anywhere in the Toe-Holds is fine.”

  “Not the High Line?” I asked.

  Al considered me for several long moments. “I’ve got nothing calling me back here. If I’m going to start over, I’d rather do it out there.”

  “Fair enough,” I said. “You think I’ll find a first out there?”

  “Absolutely,” Al said. “Finding somebody who can pass CPJCT muster might be a little harder, but the officer corps out there is generally top notch.”

  The idea struck me as odd. “Why’s that?”

  Al shrugged. “The bad ones die early.”

  Her answer rocked me, but I could see her point. “I guess I didn’t think of it like that.”

  “You’re used to the CPJCT ways of doing things as demonstrated by some very good officers. It works great for them. Without the formalized structures, the Toe-Holds rely more on experience and reputation than credentials. It doesn’t hurt that a large proportion of Toe-Holders send their kids to the academy for their education. Most of them have degrees from one academy or another, even if they graduate, go home, and never darken a CPJCT dock again.” She stood up. “Sorry to spring it on you.”

  “I’d rather know,” I said. “I knew you were thinking about it. I’m glad you made a decision you’re happy with.”

  She opened her mouth as if to speak but closed it again. She gave me a short nod and headed for the door, leaving me sitting there wondering how I could replace her.

  Most of me didn’t want to, but there was a tiny corner that reminded me that it was her choice to make. It was my job to respect it. I debated about telling her that I’d put her up for captain, but decided to let it play out. There was no sense in getting her hopes up and then not getting the invitation.