“Nothing on tankage,” one of them said.
“No spine X-rays?” somebody said. “If there’s a structural lapse, it’ll be where the spine joins either the fore or aft nacelle.”
“Hours on these fusactors seem awful high for the age of the ship.”
“Yeah, and look at that maintenance log. Those generators are due for replacement, not just a realignment.”
“Well, you can’t just look at hours—” The argument took off from there.
By 1400 the lunch crowd had emptied out and the engineering staff had returned to whatever duty they had been neglecting over beers. Chief Michaels lingered, scrolling up and down in the report for a while. I’d listened to it all but didn’t take in many of the details. I just listened to see whether there were any points they agreed on.
Chief Michaels turned to me. “So, Captain. You haven’t said much.”
“In here I’m just Ishmael, Chief. I’m just the driver on this bus.”
“You’re going to helm this beast that Pip here is buying?”
“We’re actually buying it together,” Pip said.
“Well, I figured that much.” Michaels looked at my face instead of my collar. “Ishmael. You’re that guy that made a mint selling your company to DST, aren’t you? Ishmael Wang?”
“Yeah. That’s me.”
Michaels laughed. “That was a shrewd move.” He raised his glass in a toast to me. “But why d’ya want to go back out? I’d have figured that deal would have set you up for life.”
“It did. I can do pretty much anything I want. I want to sail.” I shrugged. “Pip and I met on my first ship. We’ve always worked well together, so why not?”
“Good answer,” Michaels said. He cast a look around the room, just a casual glance before leaning in over his beer and speaking into the nearly empty glass. “So you two are going to bid on the Chernyakova?”
“Was it that obvious?” Pip asked.
Michaels shrugged. “Not so much. There’s lots of Barbells around. Couple even for sale if you know where to look. Seemed the logical choice with the auction coming up in a couple of days.”
I nodded. “The inspection report is all they’ll give us. We’re just doing a bit of due diligence to do what we can to protect our shareholders.”
“Smart. I wouldn’t have thought of it, but I’m just an old engineer.” He grinned at us.
“I didn’t hear anything that might be seriously wrong other than potential for some weakness in the spine,” I said.
“Barbells. That’s always the risk. Really? It’s not that serious; I probably wouldn’t have bothered with X-rays either. The strain is negligible as long as you’ve got a can on there. Anybody who gets underway without one probably won’t dock again in one piece.” He shrugged. “I’d be more concerned with flushing the potable water. It’s been sitting for a while, it’s going to be stale as week-old toast and any contaminants will have had a chance to seep into the system.”
“So, it would probably be safe enough to hop it over to Dree for refitting?” Pip asked.
Michaels’s gaze focused somewhere in the distance for a moment or two before he nodded. “I’d think so. I’d give her a good cleanout and stock up a bit on spares, but one jump with very little strain? Sure. I’d fly it.”
Pip stuck out his hand. “Thanks, Steve. That’s what we needed to know.”
Michaels shook and nodded. “Thanks for all the beer. Good luck with the auction.”
We left him at the table and headed back to the ship. I had a lot to think about before we hit the auction floor.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Breakall Orbital:
2374, August 8
The day of the auction, we got up early and scuffed around the galley. Breakfast mess turned into a desultory affair of eggs, Pip’s latest trial with Frank’s Finest, and what seemed like enough bacon to feed the crew of the Lois.
It wasn’t like I’d slept well the night before at any rate. Something about spending nearly two hundred million credits made me a bit anxious, even more anxious than when I started Icarus. Maybe it wasn’t just the credits. For two days I’d been mulling over what Pip had told me. Going through with the auction meant starting down a road that might cost me everything. It also meant I might find some closure on Greta’s death.
I couldn’t quite come to grips with the idea that I might succeed where the entire might and influence of the Trade Investigation Commission had failed. The concept felt oddly foreign and totally logical at the same time. Pip and I would—theoretically, at least—be able to get out into the Darkside in a way that the overt TIC forces couldn’t. Assuming we didn’t die first. Yet, it still didn’t feel quite right, quite real.
In spite of that, the longer I pondered the situation, the more attractive it felt.
That alone should have been enough to warn me.
“How much is our limit?” Pip asked over the shattered remains of breakfast.
“We’ve got two hundred million in escrow.”
Pip nodded. “We can’t use all that. We’ll be short on the refit.”
“There’s still sixty million in our reserves.”
“Yeah, but we’ll need to pay taxes and fees. There’ll be registration fees and then there’s the cost of stores and spares.”
I picked a piece of bacon that I didn’t really want off the plate and nibbled it. “True, but we’ll get some income from the sale of the cargo. I’ll get a back-end payment for my share of the salvage claim. How much are you thinking?”
“We need that ship but anything over a hundred and eighty is going to leave us shorter than I’d like.”
“You think it’s going to cost that much to get her ready for space?”
“I think it’s going to cost more than you imagine to get it ready for the Darkside.”
“What do we do if it goes over that?” I asked. “One eighty is barely more than scrap value.”
Pip shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“I say we bid it up to our escrow limit,” I said. “Is it too late to add to it?”
Pip blinked at me across the table. “You want to bid more than that?”
“Just a bit. Maybe an extra ten million in case somebody else reaches two hundred million first, so we’ll be able to get in one more bid.”
“Five million,” Pip said. “That’s still going to leave us pretty short on the back end.”
“Without the ship, we got nothing so it doesn’t matter, does it?”
“Won’t matter if we get the ship and can’t fly it either.”
“We can find other backers if it comes to that.”
“Like who?”
“I don’t know, but I bet Alys Giggone might. She wanted more people on the board anyway, remember?”
“True.”
I glanced at the chrono. “We’ve got three stans before the auction starts.”
“Let’s do it,” Pip said, a grin spreading across his face. “I’d say ‘Trust Lois’ but I’m not sure that applies here.”
“Well the auction starts at 1200 so maybe ‘Better deals in the afternoon’ applies.”
He laughed. “I wonder how many people are actually going to bid on this thing?”
“I’m hoping it’s just you and me, but I’ll bet I’m wrong.”
He snorted at that. “Yeah. That’s a bet I’m not taking.”
It didn’t take us long to get the galley cleaned up and into our khakis. We got to the auction office just after 1000 and eventually got through the line to the harried cashier.
“All funds must be deposited in escrow no later than one hour before the auction,” he intoned. “Funds not currently deposited in a Confederated depository can only be added to escrow with a certified check or wire transfer. How much do you want to place in escrow?”
“We want to add to our account,” Pip said.
“What’s your number?”
Pip held up our bidding paddle and she keyed the four-digit n
umber.
“Current balance is three hundred million. How much do you wish to add?”
Pip leaned forward across the counter. “Three hundred million?”
“Yes, sir. Two hundred million deposit on the first and an additional one hundred added on the fifth.”
“Does it say who added those funds?”
She shook her head. “Wire transfer direct from a numbered account in Diurnia in the name of Phoenix Freight. That’s you, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is.”
“So, how much more you want to add?” Her gaze flickered to the line of people behind us in a silent reminder.
“Ten million,” I said and slid our corporate routing numbers across the counter.
She keyed the transaction and pointed to a thumb pad on the counter.
I thumbed the pad and Pip accepted the receipt on his tablet.
“Next?” Business as usual.
We left the office, heading down the passageway to put some distance between us and those who were still negotiating.
“Who do we know with a hundred million to toss around?” I asked. “Waters?”
Pip shook his head. “He’s got access to that kind of funding, but the whole point of this is to keep them out of it.”
“Your father?”
“He might. If not directly, then through the family.” Pip looked at me. “Numbered account from Diurnia to the company escrow account. Who even knows that? Christine Maloney?”
“Unlikely. DST has no interest in us.”
“Well, somebody’s going to want something from us for that much credit,” Pip said. “Nobody spends that kind of dosh without expecting something in return.”
“They’ll have to tell us at some point, wouldn’t you think?” I asked.
“Probably sooner, rather than later and I’d really like to know who’s behind it.”
I heard a familiar voice behind us say, “There you are. I figured I’d find you somewhere nearby.”
I turned to see a bald woman in khakis smiling at us.
“Chief Stevens? I thought you were on your way to Port Newmar,” I said.
“I was, but I got a message from Alys Giggone and changed my plans.” She held out a hand to Pip. “You must be Phillip Carstairs.”
“Oh, yes. Engineering Chief Margaret Stevens, Cargo Master Phillip Carstairs. Pip, Chief Stevens.”
Pip shook her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Chief.”
She laughed. “Well, I’m pleased meet you, too, but I’m more interested in this ship we’re buying.”
I traded glances with Pip before answering. “The auction starts at noon,” I said.
“Yes, and I gather you’ve found the extra funding?” she asked.
“We were just wondering where it came from,” Pip said.
“I only arrived on station last night or I’d have paid you a visit,” she said. “That’s courtesy of your board of directors.”
People had started paying us more attention that I was comfortable with. “Perhaps we could walk a bit,” I said and set out along the passageway.
“Board of directors?” Pip asked.
“Alys found a few more people who wanted to be part of your venture and took the liberty of bringing them in. Phoenix Freight now has thirty-six shares and a total capitalization of three hundred and sixty million credits.”
“She added ten new board members?” I asked, feeling a bit upset that she’d taken that step without even consulting us.
“Oh, no. Only four new board members. I’m one of them, by the way.” She grinned.
“That’s forty million, where’d the rest come from?”
“From me,” she said. “I got the seat on the board and six shares.”
I couldn’t quite grasp what she’d said. “But why?”
“Why what?” she asked.
“Why get involved at all?”
She leaned back and laughed. “Are you kidding? I was peeved that I didn’t have shares in Icarus.” As she patted me on the shoulder, she lowered her voice. “That was brilliant. When I signed on with you, I had no idea that would all fall into place.”
“It was luck,” I said, shaking my head. “Dumb luck.”
She laughed again. “Luck, schmuck. You were in the right place with the right ship to do something nobody else had done in that sector for a century.” She looked up into my face. “Was it luck that Christine Maloney was on that ship?”
“Well, yeah. Actually, I think it was.”
She shook her head. “I’m going with karma. Between the two of you, you did something that neither of you could have done alone. It was a breathtaking accomplishment to anybody who understands the industry.”
She looked at Pip. “You’ve known him a long time, right?”
“Since his first day,” Pip said.
“Tell me? Was he always lucky?”
Pip’s eyes gleamed and he pursed his lips. “Not always, but he had at least his fair share of breaks.”
“That’s what I mean,” she said. “A lot of what happens in the Deep Dark is skill and planning and foresight, but then there’s the luck. No amount of skill will help you if luck runs against you.” She pulled me around to look me square in the eye. “I know you lost somebody to that same luck. She’d be the first to agree with me. You’re a lucky man, Ishmael Wang, and if half the stories I’ve heard about this one are true”—she nodded at Pip—“you two are about to kick karma in the ass.”
“That’s why you invested?” Pip asked.
“Oh, no. I invested because Alys thinks you two will make a lot of credits and I want a share.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. “Why are you here?”
“I invested because I wanted a share, but I’m here because I want to go along for the ride.”
“But, you can’t come with us,” Pip said.
She arched a brow at Pip. “Why ever not?”
“You don’t know where we’re going.”
She chuckled and leaned over to him. “You think you’re the only one who knows what Chernyakova means?”
His eyes looked like goggles on his face and his eyebrows all but disappeared under the fringe of his hair.
“Some of us have been around for a long, long time, my boy. You’d be surprised what I know.” She shrugged. “Besides, you’re going to need a good engineer to put that ship back into fighting trim. I happen to have written the book on it.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Breakall Orbital:
2374, August 8
The auction company held the action on the promenade above the docks. Pip nudged me and pointed to the docking light, which now illuminated the top surface of the Chernyakova. Pip, Chief Stevens, and I stood close together near the station-side bulkhead. I wasn’t too keen on having people behind me under the circumstances.
“Quite the turnout,” Chief Stevens said.
“It’s not every day they auction off a death ship,” Pip said with a grin.
As the hour approached, the crowd grew. Some were bidders, others merely spectators. Orbital security formed a perimeter around a small platform near the armorglass, and at 1200 hours a tall, thin woman in a severe black suit stepped up and faced the crowd. She must have been wired because her voice came from the speakers in the overhead.
“Ladies and gentlemen, it is now 1200 hours on August 8, 2374. The auction for lot five-five-three, the Solar Clipper Chernyakova and its cargo, will begin in accordance with CPJCT rules and regulations on salvage. Vessel is a one-hundred-forty-meter bulk hauler, Barbell class designed by Unwin Yards. This particular vessel was constructed by Chibba Yards of Martha’s Haven in 2369. Vessel is being offered in as-is condition. Interested parties should have received a certified engineering inspection report prior to today’s auction. The manifest for this vessel indicates that the cargo container holds approximately two hundred metric kilotons of cold-stabilized phosphate ester fire-resistant hydraulic fluid.
“According to the r
ules established for this auction, only those bidders who have placed sufficient credits in escrow and received a numbered wand may bid. Bid by raising your wand, and I will acknowledge your bid. If your wand turns red, bidding has exceeded your escrow and you will be out of the auction. Your bid includes all necessary taxes, commissions, and fees, which will be deducted from the settlement. Thank you for your attention.
“Let’s begin. Bidding will start at fifty million credits. Who’ll give me fifty?”
A well-padded man in a business suit near the front lifted his wand, and the auctioneer pointed a control wand at him.
“We have fifty, who’ll make it sixty?”
A woman right in front of the stage raised her paddle.
“Sixty. Do I hear seventy?”
The bidding climbed slowly but Pip held the bidding wand down by his side. “Do you know any of these people?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Nobody looks familiar.”
“Those two represent scrap yards. I think the woman is with Manchester and the man works for some knacker over in Martha’s Haven,” Chief Stevens said. “They’ll drop out as soon as the bidding goes above a hundred twenty-five.”
Pip gave her a long look, but she smiled back at him and gave a small shrug.
A distinguished man with white hair at his temples and a ruddy complexion, seated near us at the back, raised his paddle and said, “One fifty.”
“I have one hundred fifty million in the back. Thank you, sir. Do I hear one sixty?”
No one responded for several heartbeats until somebody on the far side of the crowd raised his wand. “Thank you, sir. I have one sixty. Do I hear one seventy?”
The distinguished man raised his wand.
The auctioneer pointed to him. “I have one seventy. Can I get one eighty?”
I heard Pip inhale and exhale but he didn’t raise his wand.
Somebody near the front bid. “Thank you. I have one eighty. Do I hear one ninety?”
The distinguished man raised his wand.
“Thank you. One ninety. Do I hear two hundred million?”
Pip raised the wand.
The distinguished man cast him a dirty look but raised his wand at two ten.
In Ashes Born (A Seeker's Tale From The Golden Age Of The Solar Clipper Book 1) Page 21
