In Ashes Born (A Seeker's Tale From The Golden Age Of The Solar Clipper Book 1)

by Nathan Lowell

  “Where’s the beer?” I asked.

  “Courier picking it up in half a stan. Where can we put it?”

  “Roll it into one of the coolers in the galley.”

  “What’d you talk about with Roland?”

  “What a pain in the butt you are.”

  “I’m wounded.”

  I chuckled.

  He glanced behind us. “You’re bringing both trunks? I thought we drank all the beer out of that one.”

  “We did. I just can’t think of what I would want to fill a trunk with here in Breakall.”

  “I see. Not coffee?” He gave me a sly smile.

  “Chandlery has buckets of the stuff. Besides, the best roaster is on Diurnia.”

  “Probably for the best, then.”

  “Did you sell that can yet?” I asked.

  “I listed it with a broker here on station. They traded us an empty can for it while they find a buyer. It’ll cost us a percentage but they know the market here better than I do. Station services will swap the cans out this afternoon sometime.”

  “Good enough.”

  A small crowd waited for us at the Chernyakova’s lock. As we approached, somebody said, “There he is.” All the faces turned toward us and everybody started talking at once.

  “What the—?” I asked.

  Pip snickered. “Your fan club caught up with you.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Breakall Orbital:

  2374, August 9

  The crowd slowed us down but allowed us through to the lock, which left me with the conundrum of how to get the lock open without letting them all in or crushing somebody in the mechanism.

  I locked my grav-trunks down in front of the lock itself. Pip took the cue and parked his beside mine. Some members of the crowd appeared to be members of the press. A couple had hover-cams above their heads; several held up recorders.

  I held up a hand. “Hold on. Hold on. I can’t understand any of you.”

  About half the noise fell away but a couple of people near the back continued shouting questions. “This will go much better if you’d put a clamp on it for a couple of ticks,” I said.

  As the noise finally abated I heard Pip snickering.

  “Thank you,” I said. “Raise a hand if you’re a member of the press. Yes, you can raise the one with the recorder in it.”

  About a third of the crowd seemed to have one or more appendages in the air.

  “All right. If members of the press would slide off to my left?” I made a shooing motion. “That will let me figure out what these other people want and make more room for you to ask questions and maybe get answers.” I glanced at Pip, who took the hint and waved people off to one side.

  I turned to a trim, young woman in a shipsuit standing closest to me. “Yes? Can I help you?”

  “We heard you’re hiring.”

  “Well, the company is hiring, yes.” I looked up and saw more shipsuits in the remaining group. “How many are here about a job? Raise a hand?”

  A little more than half, some in civvies, raised hands.

  “We posted openings on StationNet this morning. Are you all here from that?”

  Most of them nodded.

  “All right, then. If you’re here for a job, please move to my right, would you? We’re a bit short-handed, but if you can hang on for a minute, we’ll get some specifics taken care of.”

  They milled about a bit until I said, “Being able to follow simple directions is one of the qualifications we’re looking for.”

  Some of them laughed but all of them moved aside, leaving maybe a half dozen people in civvies and station coveralls.

  “And what can I do for you?” I asked the nearest one, a skinny man with a terrifyingly brilliant smile stretching his face.

  “Oh, I just came down to see if we could get a tour.”

  “A tour?”

  Several people nodded and a couple more pressed closer.

  “Why would you want a tour? It’s a freighter.”

  The smiling man nodded. “Well, yes, Cap’n, but this boat’s been parked here over two stanyers. Most of us have walked by it a couple times a day the whole time. Even when they tried to hide it.”

  Pip chuckled.

  “As much trouble as this ship’s seen, I thought I’d like to come and pay my respects to the old girl before she leaves,” he said.

  “How many of you want a tour?” I asked.

  All the remaining people along with half the press and two-thirds of the potential crew raised their hands.

  I leaned toward Pip. “Ideas?”

  “We can’t very well give tours right now,” he said. “We’re too short-handed.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Schedule one? Maybe tomorrow?” He scanned the waiting crewmen. “A couple of them look likely and probably more are qualified. If we can hire a couple who have Barbell experience, that would help manage foot traffic.”

  I looked at the three groups, all waiting patiently and politely. “All right,” I said, raising my voice so everybody could hear me. “Tour people? We weren’t exactly expecting company today, and it’s the maid’s day off.” That got some chuckles. “If you’ll come back tomorrow at what?” I looked at Pip. “1400?”

  He shrugged and nodded. “That should let us take care of the worst liabilities.”

  “So, tomorrow afternoon, 1400. We’ll give you a walk through the ship. There’s not much to see, but if you’re set on it, I’m game.”

  The smiling man said, “Really?”

  “Sure. If you want, why not?”

  That seemed to satisfy them and they wandered off, leaving a gap between the press and the potential crew. I addressed the crew first.

  “How many have served on a Barbell before?”

  Almost all the hands went up and my breath went out in a whoosh. “I’ll admit, that was unexpected,” I said. “Deck and engineering? Hands up?”

  Many of them stayed up but a few dropped.

  “Cargo handlers?”

  All the hands went down and several of the people laughed.

  “Now I know who the real Barbell people are.”

  More people laughed.

  “That wasn’t a joke.”

  More laughed.

  “You’re losing ground, skipper,” somebody shouted.

  “All right. Here’s the deal. We’re flying this ship to the yards in Dree as soon as we can make her spaceworthy. We’ll need a couple of stewards and some watchstanders for deck and engineering to get us there. No share because we’re flying on a yard permit but I’ll pay scale plus twenty-five. It’s a one-voyage contract for now. We’ll know more when we get her into the yard and see what she needs. Until we do, that’s all I know.”

  Nobody seemed to object and nobody walked away.

  “Very well. Let me answer a few questions for the press here, and Mr. Carstairs will take names and particulars. Then we’ll see where we are.”

  Pip nodded and pulled out his tablet, setting up shop on the top of his grav-trunk and organizing the spacers in a line along the side of the dock where they weren’t blocking traffic.

  I turned to the press and took a couple of steps away to give Pip some room.

  “All right. Recorders on. Cams running?” I asked.

  Lots of hands went up and the gabble of questions started.

  “Wait. Wait. This is too cold and noisy to work that way. One at a time.” I pointed at the man in the front with a handful of recording equipment. “One question. Go.”

  “Are you the same Ishmael Wang that led the salvage team?”

  “That’s the best you got?” I asked him.

  He blinked.

  “Yes, I am.” I pointed to the next person behind him. “Yes? One question.”

  The first guy stepped in and asked, “Why did you want this ship?”

  I looked at him without speaking for a moment. “Standard is not your native language?” I asked.

  He seemed a bit surpri
sed by the question and answered, “Well, of course, it is, but—”

  “The phrase ‘one question’ is foreign to you?”

  “Well, no. I asked one question,” he said. “But—”

  “Yes, you did but now you’re trying to ask another question and I’m trying to hear this gentleman’s one question. You keep interrupting. Would you like me to answer another question?”

  “Well, why do you think I’m trying to ask it?”

  “All right. I’ll answer that question,” I said. “Because you’re incapable of understanding simple rules or waiting your turn like everybody else. So, that will be the last question I will answer for you. Good day, sir.”

  He started a bluster storm, but his colleagues soon elbowed him aside.

  “So we’re clear on the rules,” I said. “You get one question. I’ll answer it if I can. If you ask me the same question somebody else asks, you’ll have to get the answer from them. When we get through, we can go around again. Depending on time, maybe a third round if anybody’s still standing. You’re all welcome to come back tomorrow for the tour at 1400.”

  I pointed to the person in front with a hover-cam over her head. “One question.”

  “With as much of this tragedy as you’ve seen up close, Captain, why did you agree to come back to the Chernyakova?”

  I bit my lip for a moment, trying to think of how to phrase an answer that might sound reasonable. I gave up and went with the truth. “I don’t really know. Part of it was the tragedy itself. It was stupid. The whole crew paid the ultimate price for somebody’s unfortunate decision. I thought I might be able make some piece of that right again by fixing the ship and making it safe again. I’m not sure that makes any sense, but that’s what I have.”

  She opened her mouth but saw the warning look and smiled, stepping aside for the next person.

  “What was the other part?” the next reporter asked.

  “He made me.” I jerked a thumb at Pip.

  Pip said, “I heard that.”

  The reporters laughed.

  “Sorry, that was flip, but the truth is bringing that ship in from out there was horrible. It was frightening and I was scared almost every moment for the weeks it took to get her in and safely docked. He made me recognize that and invited me to come along with him to deal with it. Not very heroic, but it’s the truth.”

  The reporter grinned like I’d given him a pocket full of gold but nodded and stepped aside.

  “One question,” I said to the next one in line.

  “After you sold Icarus to DST, why come back at all?”

  “After Icarus, I found myself in the position of being able to do anything I wanted to instead of whatever I needed to. I took a few weeks off and visited with some old friends. I tried to think of what I wanted to do. I couldn’t think of anything I’d rather do than sail.” I nodded to the next one. “One question.”

  “Have you recovered from losing your engineer?”

  “No,” I said. “But I’m healing.” I pointed to the next reporter. “One question.”

  So it went for the better part of a stan. I got all the way through the crowd of reporters once and almost through a second time when I realized that the crowd was bigger than when I started. I looked up at the reporter. “Wait a second. You weren’t part of the original group.”

  “No, Captain, I wasn’t.”

  I sighed. “All right. One question and then I’m done. I’ve got a ship to run.”

  “And crew to hire,” Pip said from his vantage point by the lock.

  “Any regrets about outbidding Malachai Vagrant?”

  “Not yet,” I said. “It hasn’t been a whole day yet and I still need to finish checking out the ship. Once I find out how much it’ll cost to put her right, I may have a few.” I stepped back and said, “Sorry, that’s really all I have time for. If you have any other questions or want follow up, contact Phoenix Freight via StationNet and we’ll do our best to accommodate you.”

  “We’re still welcome on the tour tomorrow?” one reporter yelled.

  “Yes. 1400. We’ll figure something out.”

  Pip shook his head at me. “You’re going to regret that.”

  “Probably,” I said. “Who do we have here?”

  “Captain, these poor sods think they’d like to sail with us to Dree.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said.

  They all laughed, some with real humor and some more from duty than amusement.

  “I wasn’t expecting a mass hiring,” I said. “I don’t know why I wasn’t, but there we have it. Mr. Carstairs has all your particulars?”

  They all nodded and Pip nodded with them. “I’ve got everybody’s name and contact information, along with a statement on credentials, Captain.”

  “Very well. If you’d give us until 1500 to find our feet here, we’ll start calling people back a few at a time and give you all a chance to get into the ship and see what we’re up against. Engineering crew will meet with our chief engineer. I’ll meet with deck and stewards. Any questions?”

  A hand went up in the back. “I have one, skipper.”

  “Sound off,” I said.

  “I know this is a one-off with a yard stay, but will you be willing to hire us on after?”

  “If at all possible, yes. I’m a little fussy about who I risk my life with in the long term, but anybody who’s willing to risk theirs to help get this old girl into Dree has at least a vote of thanks from me.” I shrugged. “And we’ll need a full crew on the other end, won’t we?”

  They seemed to take that in stride and a few even looked a bit more relaxed.

  “Anything else?”

  “Skipper?” Pip said and nodded me away from the lineup.

  We stepped back toward the lock.

  “Two stewards. A spec two and a messmate. Both seem competent. They’re the only two in the whole lot.”

  “Only ones competent or the only stewards?”

  “Stewards.”

  “Whew. You had me worried for a second. You’re thinking we need somebody to make coffee?”

  “It would make the interviews go much smoother if we can get the mess deck cleared away,” he said.

  “You’d hire them?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Names?”

  “Franklin and Sharps.”

  “Sounds like a law firm.”

  Pip laughed.

  I went back to the line of expectant faces. “Franklin. Sharps. If you two could lounge around with us for a bit, the rest of you we’ll see this afternoon.”

  A man and a woman came forward though the dispersing crewmen.

  “Captain, this is Spec Two Melanie Sharps and Messman Alan Franklin.”

  I shook hands with each. “You two know each other?”

  They both said “No, sar” at nearly the same moment.

  “I’ve been operating out of Diurnia for the last bit and I’ve never met either of you myself. How do you happen to be here looking for a berth, Ms. Sharps.”

  “You and I were both with DST, Captain. I was with Captain Avery on the Linda Loren before he retired.”

  “Tanker life didn’t agree with you?”

  “We’ll just say I wasn’t fond of his replacement and didn’t cotton to being a bunk bunny, sar. My contract expired while we were here on Breakall.” She shrugged.

  “You make biscuits?” I asked.

  “Doesn’t everybody?” she grinned.

  “How’s your coffee?”

  “I hear you like Djartmo Arabasti.”

  I looked at Pip who studied his tablet as if it were actually turned on.

  “Mr. Franklin?” I asked.

  “I got bumped here in June, sar. UFH mixed cargo hauler needed a slot for an able spacer and the cascade bumped me off the ladder.”

  “A full-share messman got bumped?”

  “I was only a food handler at the time, sar. I passed the messman exam while I was waiting.”

  “Been there, Mr. Fr
anklin. That why you want to get to Dree? Confederated ports have better slots?”

  “I just want to get back out, sar. Mess deck isn’t glamorous but it pays the same and you eat good.”

  “Fair enough. Here’s the deal. We got a mess in there and we need it made right. You’re the only two stewards who came down to call on us today and I like initiative. Even when I’m on the wrong end of it.”

  They shared a glance.

  I nearly laughed at the worry they shared. “How about you come in and look it over. Decide how badly you want the jobs?”

  “Sounds fair, sar,” Sharps said.

  “Yes, sar,” Franklin said.

  “Come on then.” I keyed the lock and pulled my grav-trunks into the ship. They followed me with Pip bringing up the rear. I waited until he’d closed the lock behind us before heading deeper into the ship.

  “First impressions, Ms. Sharps?” I asked as we stepped onto the shambles of a mess deck.

  She scanned the area, her mouth slightly open and her gaze darting everywhere. “How bad was it when you brought her in, sar?”

  “It’s been cleaned up a bit,” I said.

  She looked me in the eye. “Whole ship like this?”

  “Some was better. Some worse.”

  “Mercy Maude,” she said.

  I crossed the mess deck and stepped into the galley with Franklin and Sharps close behind.

  “This isn’t so bad,” Franklin said.

  Sharps gave him a look that was all too familiar.

  “What do you think, Ms. Sharps?”

  “There may be a galley under all this cruft, sar.”

  “I think there might be, given a bit of elbow grease and a bucket of disinfectant,” I said.

  I saw the moment she shifted from shock to planning. The aimless gaze clicked into inventory mode as she looked at sinks and stove tops, skated across the work spaces, and checked off the coolers and cabinets.

  “Mr. Franklin?” I asked.

  “Looks like a lot of work, sar.”

  “You up to it?”

  “Nothing else on my calendar today, Captain.”

  “Neither of you has mentioned the smell,” I said.

  They glanced at each other again. Ms. Sharps asked, “Was that a question, sar?”

  “You’ll get used to it,” I said.