by Peter Grant
"Not bad at all," he praised as the next container settled into place and the robotic cargo-handling systems attached hold-downs to its locking points. "For only your second month as a cargo shuttle crewman, you're doing real well."
Steve flushed with pleasure. "Thanks."
He'd completed his spacer apprenticeship only two months before, passed the final theoretical and practical examinations, and been formally promoted to the rank of Spacer Third Class. The Bosun had immediately given permission for him to study piloting theory in his very limited free time, using the ship's computer and hypno-study facilities. He'd also given him a secondary assignment as a trainee small craft crew member, over and above his basic shipboard duties. He now flew with Tomkins and the other pilots at every opportunity to build experience.
"While you finish off the last few, I'm going to use the fresher, since we won't be able to do that while wearing spacesuits. You should do the same when you finish. No point in using a spacesuit's sanitary facilities if we don't have to - that saves us having to clean and purify 'em again once we're back on board."
"OK." Steve locked the beams onto the next container as the Bosun's Mate went through the door leading to the cargo shuttle's crew quarters, where the toilet was located.
"How many ships call at Parana?" he asked the dispatcher as he lifted the container and turned it towards the cargo shuttle's doors.
"A scheduled freighter arrives here every six weeks, plus we get a special shipment like this, containing motors and vehicle components, about every three months. The regular ship is a small tramp freighter that's set up a circuit linking four minor planets, including us, to the freight hub at Vesta. They left here only a week ago. They were real grumpy - they'd just been ruled ineligible for a fat contract at Vesta. We were happy, though, 'cause if they'd got it, we would have had to do without them for a few months. That would have sucked rocks! It's tough for a recently-settled planet like this, with an economy that's still finding its feet, to get regular shipping service."
"What do you mean, 'ruled ineligible'?" Steve asked idly as he settled the container into place on the growing stack in the cargo compartment.
"Vesta's one of the planets hosting a Sector Headquarters of the Lancastrian Commonwealth Fleet. Seems they're going to be supporting a United Planets mission to Radetski. They're looking to charter a couple of freighters for a few round trips. Trouble is, they want Lancastrian-registered ships built to T-9 series standards. Rahina - that's our regular freighter - was neither, so they lost out."
Steve felt a sudden frisson of excitement. Cabot was Lancastrian-registered, and he'd learned during his training that she was a T-9 design. Might this be an opportunity for the ship?
He mentioned it to the Bosun when they returned to Cabot, and was rewarded by a very narrow look. "You sure about that? They specifically wanted a T-9 design?"
"That's what the dispatcher said, Bosun. Is that important?"
"Yes, it is. You see, the T-9's are optimized to handle hospital pods, not just any old personnel accommodation. You've seen our empty administrative compartments, the second reactor compartment beneath our spine, our outsized environmental systems - much bigger than we need for our crew alone - and the extra connections to the ship's systems in our eight largest holds amidships. We don't need any of those things during normal operations, but they allow Cabot to be rapidly converted into a hospital ship to support Fleet operations."
Steve frowned. "Must have cost a lot to include all those facilities we never use."
"It did, but the Commonwealth paid for them. It does that in ships built to Fleet auxiliary specifications, plus a bit more as a subsidy. In return, the owners allow the extra facilities to be built in, and make their ships available to the Fleet for charter or emergency mobilization. The program's called STUFT - Ships Taken Up From Trade. It pre-equips merchant vessels for quick conversion to cargo and personnel transports, depot ships, and other Fleet auxiliary functions. A couple of dozen freighters like Cabot were built to T-9 specifications for use as hospital ships. All of 'em trade across the settled galaxy, so if Vesta Sector is looking for two, they may not have gotten both of them yet - and the Fleet pays very good rates for short-term charters. Come with me. The First Mate needs to hear about this."
Jennifer Scarlatti, the First Mate, was in her office, scanning the bill of lading for the containers loaded from the planet below. She looked up as the Bosun knocked.
"Yes, Bosun Cardle?"
"Spacer Maxwell learned something planetside that I think will interest you, Ma'am. I brought him here to tell you about it."
"Oh? Come in, both of you, and sit down. What did you find out, Maxwell?"
Steve told her what the dispatcher had said. Her eyes gleamed as the Bosun confirmed, "I asked Maxwell whether he was sure about that, Ma'am, and he said the dispatcher specifically mentioned the T-9 requirement."
"Well done, Spacer! This may mean money in our pockets - and in yours, through our incentive scheme." Steve blinked in surprise, and she smiled. "Had you forgotten about that?"
"Er... yes, Ma'am, I guess I had."
"Let me refresh your memory. If any crew member informs us about any opportunity for a cargo or charter that we wouldn't have learned about through normal channels, and we successfully bid for it, they get two and a half per cent of the pre-tax profit from that contract."
"I see. Thanks, Ma'am." I wonder how profitable the Fleet's charter rates are?, Steve pondered to himself.
She stood. "I'll take this straight to Captain Volschenk. It'll be his decision whether we divert to Vesta to learn more, but it's quite close and not far off our course. Given how few T-9's were built, and the odds against many of them showing up at Vesta in the short term, I think there's a good chance we might arrive there in time to get one of those charters."
Steve asked, "Ma'am, we've got freight on board consigned to three different planets. If the Fleet charters us, what happens to it?"
"The Fleet will offload it at Vesta, and contract with other ships and carriers to get it to its destinations. That's a standard condition of the STUFT program. We'll have to hand over the balance of what the shippers paid, less a proportionate share for taking it as far as Vesta, but we'll make more than that from the charter. The Fleet pays any additional costs involved."
"I get it. Thanks again, Ma'am."
"Thank you, Spacer. I have a feeling the skipper will jump at this."
Sure enough, as Cabot headed out from Parana towards the system boundary, Captain Volschenk addressed the ship's company over the broadcast system.
"Attention all hands. Captain speaking. We're diverting to Vesta to investigate a possible charter opportunity with the Fleet. It's only three days travel from here, and the detour will only add two days to our travel time to our next planet of call if we don't get the charter, so I think the diversion is justifiable. If we get it, we'll transship our cargo at Vesta. The Fleet normally offers a time charter, paying all running costs plus a flat daily rate, so most likely all of us will continue aboard. If anyone believes they'll suffer losses through the interruption of their private trading activities, the Fleet will compensate them provided the loss can be proved."
The crew was abuzz with speculation during supper that night. Most looked forward to a change of pace, and those who were former Fleet personnel regaled the others with stories of their service. Some, however, were less happy.
"Dammit, I've got a couple of thousand credits tied up in special dyes for a customer on San Carlos," Akin groused. "I'd have made twice that much in profit on the deal, but I've got no market for 'em anywhere else. If we get this charter, I'll lose a bundle!"
"You know the ship's articles," Dew reminded him. "We've got normal merchant spacers' private trading privileges, but the needs of the ship always come first. If she can make more money by changing her route and going somewhere else, we got nothing coming. Every freighter I've ever known has a clause like that covering crew trading pri
vileges."
Tomkins swallowed a mouthful of food. "You won't do so badly," he pointed out. "The Fleet will compensate you for what you've got in 'em, if you can document it."
"Yeah, I know," Akin moaned, "but they won't shell out for my lost profits, will they?"
From the next table Murrin added, "Yeah. They pay big bucks to the big boys, but small fry like us take it in the shorts every time!" Steve frowned. The burly spacer was surly and abrasive most of the time, but since hearing of the diversion to Vesta he'd been worse than usual.
Tomkins shook his head. "At least you won't be out of pocket, Akin. Be grateful for that!"
"You got anything in trade goods, Steve?" Dew asked as she loaded her fork with more food.
"No. As an apprentice I wasn't eligible to trade privately. I've only been a qualified spacer for two months, so I haven't learned enough about how it's done to feel comfortable risking my own money yet. I'll start soon, though."
Tomkins looked around the table. "Remember, if we're chartered by the Fleet, they don't allow private trading. You'll have to either sell your goods at Vesta, or offload 'em and put 'em in storage until we get back. Don't take a chance and try to trade privately wherever they send us. The Fleet has no sense of humor at all about that!"
A rumble of understanding and agreement answered him.
After supper, as they walked back to their berthing compartment, Steve commented to Tomkins, "Akin's going to spend the next few days worrying about how much money he may lose. You taught me early and often how easy it is to make a stupid mistake when you're distracted, and how there's no room for error in hard vacuum. From that perspective, I'm surprised they allow private trading at all!"
Tomkins shrugged. "You're right, of course, but look at it from the other side. A merchant spacer's job is pretty damn tough. He's away from home for months and years at a time, doing hard work that demands intense concentration on safety, in an environment that'll kill him if he's careless for even a split-second. It happens too often for comfort. No-one's died aboard Cabot yet, but that's only due to strict discipline and supervision - not to mention a healthy slice of luck!
"Thanks to those risks, a ship has to offer more than just a decent salary and living conditions to keep her crew. Spacers have to be tech-savvy and hard-working - it goes with the territory - so there are plenty of other places that'll offer them the same or better salary and benefits, but with a whole lot less danger involved. If they want to risk even greater danger, but with a chance at a much bigger reward, asteroid miners can strike it rich enough to retire with a single discovery. It seems to happen several times a year. That's a powerful draw-card for trained spacers.
"Given all that, back when space freighters were getting to be big business, owners had to find a way to keep good people aboard. Some of 'em came up with the idea of letting spacers trade on their own account in small quantities of goods. They made a store-room available on board for crew cargo, and allowed 'em to keep any profits they made. They attracted a lot of good spacers that way, and other ships were forced to adopt the same policy to keep their own crews. It became common practice. We're not allowed to ship high volumes, but all sorts of high-value, low-bulk items are in demand across the settled galaxy. A canny spacer can make two or three times his salary in a good year."
Steve whistled admiringly. "Do you make that much?"
"Not yet, although I'm getting there. To be honest, not many do that well. I'm still learning how to read the markets, to find out what's in demand and where, and be ready to supply it. The Bosun is probably the best spacer trader I've ever come across. I'm paying him a percentage of my profits in exchange for his teaching me to be a better trader, and I suggest you do the same."
"I will," Steve agreed. "What about customs problems? I'm pretty sure some of the trades I heard about on Earth's Cargo Terminal were illegal."
"Yeah, it can be a hassle. To avoid that, most of us trade only outside a planet's customs envelope. If we never take our stuff planetside, or beyond the free trade zones on space stations, we can't be charged with an offense. Some idiots try to smuggle stuff, or trade in stolen property or contraband, but we don't tolerate that aboard Cabot. It's too big a risk for us, because some planets' laws hold ships responsible for crimes committed by members of their crews. Cabot could end up seized and condemned by a local court, leaving all of us rotting in jail somewhere in the ass-end of the settled galaxy! That's why our articles state we'll hand over to the authorities any crew member caught smuggling, along with any evidence we find. That's the only way to keep our yardarm clear."
"I get it." Steve shook his head. "I guess some people will do anything for a fast credit."
"Just don't be one of them - but I reckon you've got more sense than that."
Chapter 9: June 5th, 2837 GSC
Steve's three-month tour of duty in the Engineering Department began on the day the ship made her final hyper-jump to the Vesta system. All crew members rotated through the various departments of the ship while she was under way. That gave everyone an opportunity to learn new skills, and prepare themselves for higher rank and greater responsibilities. Once in orbit, of course, most of Cabot's spacers reverted to cargo handling.
Max Tassin, the Engineer Officer, looked up from his displays as the intercom system hummed to life. "Bridge to all departments, fifteen minutes to hyper-jump. Secure all loose objects."
"That's us," he observed. "Maxwell, do the rounds in the capacitor ring. You're new here, so just check for loose objects - don't touch anything else. Ignaz, do the same in the drive room. I'll check here in the control room."
"Aye aye, Sir." The spacers acknowledged his order in unison.
Steve spun the wheel controlling the dogs that secured the pressure-tight hatch to the capacitor compartment on the starboard side of the ship. He opened it, and stepped over the coaming into the gloom.
Sensors detected his presence and automatically brightened the compartment's lights, revealing a serried double rank of huge black capacitors bracketed to the hull's frames, each joined to a heavy wiring harness that connected to a control panel before him. The capacitors ran down below the deck and up above Steve's head, disappearing into the gloom around the curve of Cabot's hull. Steve knew the capacitor duct ran in an unbroken ring all the way around the inside of the ship's hull. He could feel the warmth radiating from the capacitors after their just-completed charging cycle. He was still new enough in space to be awed by the knowledge that each cell weighed over half a ton. The capacitor ring, with its twelve hundred cells plus their mounting brackets, wiring harness and controllers, was bigger and weighed more than any other component of the ship's drive system.
He glanced at the local control panel, noting that it was set for automatic operation under the command of either the master panel in the engineering control room or the auxiliary panel on the bridge, then looked around, making sure that no objects were lying about unsecured. Satisfied, he left the compartment and dogged the hatch shut behind him.
"Capacitor ring control compartment is secure, Sir," he reported to the Engineer Officer.
"Thank you," Tassin responded. He ran calculations on the master control panel while they waited in companionable silence for the other spacer to return.
"Gravitic drive compartment secure, Sir," Ignaz reported as he re-entered the control room.
"Thank you." Tassin entered a final command. "I've just transmitted the power setting for the final hyper-jump to the Navigation panel on the bridge. Now we wait."
"How are the power settings calculated, Sir?" Steve asked.
"It depends how far we're going to jump. In interstellar space we go for maximum range, which is about ten light years in each hyper-jump for a merchant ship like Cabot. We don't worry about ultra-precise accuracy, because we can correct our heading between jumps. When we approach a star we have to be much more careful, because we don't want to get dangerously close to the star itself, or to planets or asteroids." He grinn
ed as he saw both spacers wince in unison, as if by reflex. "Yeah, there's no future in that! The Navigator brings us to within one light year of our destination on our second-to-last jump, then calculates the course and distance for our final, short hyper-jump much more precisely.
"The power setting determines how many volt-amps will be drawn from our capacitor ring and dumped into our gravitic drive to energize the jump. It varies depending on the level of charge in the ring, the ship's mass, including our cargo, and the distance to be covered. We calculate it here on the master engineering console, and the Navigator makes the same calculation independently on the bridge. The astrogation computers do it a third time as a control. If all three figures don't agree, it's an indication that something's wrong. In that case, we'll recalculate and double-check everything."
Steve nodded. "Does the power setting cause the clicking sound we hear from the capacitor ring before each jump, Sir?"
"Yes. It's quite noisy, isn't it? The ship's structure transmits it through the hull, even as far forward as the bridge. You'll hear it much more loudly before this jump, as we're so close to it. It's caused by the computers setting the circuit breakers to draw power from the capacitors. The breakers - and the entire capacitor wiring harness, for that matter - have to withstand millions of volt-amps passing through them, so they're not exactly delicate, fragile things. They make a noise as they're set."
"We don't need all the capacitors for a single jump, do we, Sir?" Ignaz asked.
"No, we never use more than eighty per cent of the ring's charge under normal circumstances, so the computer locks at least a fifth of our capacitors out of each jump. If we need full power after coming out of the jump - to avoid an asteroid or another ship, for example - the unused cells provide an emergency power reserve while the reactor spools up. For a short jump like this one, we'll use less than half of them. The spare cells also give us reserve capacity, so that if a capacitor fails for any reason, we can lock it out of the ring until we can replace it."
