Owner's Share (Trader's Tales from the Golden Age of the Solar Clipper)

by Lowell, Nathan

  She looked up the ladder, examined the overhead, and then looked back down into the recess in the deck. “And that is a lift, sar?” She sounded skeptical.

  “So, it seems, Ms. Arellone.” I stood up and stepped back from the foot of the ladder. “Try it. I have, several times.”

  She crouched down and reached in turning the handle the wrong way at first, and then the other way with a click. Just as it had every other time, the ladder retracted into the deck. Ms. Arellone stood and stepped back—watching the process, as transfixed by it as I had been.

  When it was flush against the deck, she frowned in concentration and looked around, first back at the lock and then into the cargo hold. “That’s why it looked odd, sar. The ladder was in the way.”

  “Yes, Ms. Arellone.”

  “How did we miss that, sar?”

  “Now you know what I was doing. Going through the schematics, trying to see if we missed anything else.”

  She laughed. “How did you find it, skipper?”

  “Well, I’d like to claim superior knowledge, advanced wisdom, and virtue of my position, Ms. Arellone.”

  “The delivery guys showed you, sar?”

  I grimaced in chagrin.

  Her laughter echoed quite delightfully around the open cargo bay.

  “Come on, Ms. Arellone. I’ll show you how to change a water filter.”

  “You do know how, don’t you, Captain?” She grinned at me evilly as we walked back to engineering.

  “I’ll have you know I served for several months in the Environmental Section on the Lois McKendrick, Ms. Arellone.”

  “I’m sure, Captain, but do you know how to change one of these filters?” The grin widened maddeningly to show teeth.

  “I’m certain we’ll figure it out, Ms. Arellone.”

  She groaned and reached for her tablet.

  “What are you doing, Ms. Arellone?”

  “Looking up the water filtration system so we can find the filters, sar.”

  “Oh, those I looked up already.”

  “What do we need to figure out, then, Captain?”

  I shrugged and gave her a wry smile. “Whether or not these need a wrench.” I held up the package of filter cartridges.

  She laughed for a very long time after that, which I found really quite delightful. I didn’t think Ms. Arellone actually laughed all that much in her life.

  In the end, the filters mounted very much like the ones in the Lois did. The filter housings used a fast-release latch which facilitated the removal of the old and replacing of the new. As I suspected the old filters were pretty gummy, and I felt better about the results of our clean-up knowing we’d be swabbing down with clean hot water.

  The chrono had clicked past 1600 by the time we got the filters in, and the water turned back on. We broke out enough of the cleaning supplies to clean the galley sink and wash down the table and chairs so we could sit without sticking.

  To celebrate we each cracked open a bottle of fresh water, cold from the chiller, and settled at the table to plan.

  “Tomorrow we can start—well, continue—cleaning, Ms. Arellone, but that ladder thing has me worried that there are more little surprises. I can’t image what they might be, but that we missed that one concerns me.”

  She looked at me sourly. “Does that mean you’re going to stick me with the cleaning, sar?”

  I grinned at her, and took a deliberate swallow from my bottle before replying. “No, Ms. Arellone. It’ll go faster with two of us, and we’re only going get this place liveable again for now. Making it pretty will have to wait until we get more help.”

  “And then what, sar?”

  “And then we move in, and see where we are on the money front.”

  “In a few more days, you’ll be hearing how rich you are from the Chernyakova, sar.”

  I shrugged. “I’m more interested in what Mr. Simpson has going on with my capital. If we’re going buy this ship, then I need to look for crew. If not, then I need to look for a ship to lease.”

  She frowned at me. “Now, I’m confused, sar. I thought this was the ship.”

  “I think it is, Ms. Arellone, but I’m thinking about what happens if we don’t get this ship. What can we do instead to get the company going?”

  “You’d lease one, Skipper?”

  “That’s what Mr. Simpson suggested.” I shrugged, and took another pull from the water bottle.

  Ms. Arellone gave the mess deck a slow scan. “It would be a shame to spend a lot of time and effort on this one, if we have to go with another.”

  “It would, but this is still our best shot. Anything we do now means we won’t have to do it later, and we’ll be that much closer to getting underway.”

  “True, sar. What are you thinking about for crew?”

  “We’ll need an engineering first officer. I’m not certified on these drives and, frankly, I’m better on the bridge than the engine room. I’d love to find somebody with experience with this design, but it’s so rare, the odds aren’t good.”

  “What about Chief Gerheart, skipper?”

  “I’m afraid that boat has sailed, Ms. Arellone, and I’d hate to poach crew from Captain Thomas. She’s already had to replace two people.”

  She didn’t look convinced but shrugged her acceptance. “Who else?”

  “I’m thinking one more deck rating, somebody for helm watch.”

  “Is that required for a ship this size, Skipper?”

  I shook my head. “No, but we’ve got a quarter share coming with us, and I’m thinking I’d just as soon keep a helm watch going for safety sake. It’s probably over kill, but I’d rather have it and not need it, than need it and not have it.”

  She frowned at me. “A quarter share, Skipper?”

  I sighed. “Yes, Ms. Arellone. It’s the big thing that DST wants in return for selling this ship to me for scrap. They get to put a crew member aboard for a stanyer.”

  She started to say something else but I shook my head. “For now, I’d really rather not talk about it. When we get the ship underway, we can revisit it, but—for planning purposes—there will be you, me, an engineer, a quarter share, and one more deck hand.”

  “Who’s going to do cargo?”

  “Me.”

  “And you’re going to cook, too?”

  “I suspect we’ll have to take turns in port, but I can do most of it while we’re underway. A fast packet is a bit different from the heavy freighters.”

  “Okay, skipper. So, what’s our plan?” She looked dubious, but seemed willing to give it a shot.

  “I need to find out more about the ship. We have the full engineering schematics on the tablets, but these screens are impossibly small for what I have in mind.”

  “Too bad we don’t have a big monitor like we did on the Agamemnon, sar.”

  “That will be one of the first things I get, but I can’t really see getting one before I’ve got an engineer to install it—or before it’s my ship to install it on. We could use the consoles on the bridge, or in the cabin, but until we get those spaces cleaned up I don’t really want to spend much time there. What we need is a huge screen like we’ve got back at the hotel.”

  As soon as I said it I realized we were sitting in the wrong place.

  Ms. Arellone grinned at me. “Race ya to the lock.”

  By 1700 we were trying to figure out how to interface a tablet with the huge entertainment screen on the wall. The display was easily three meters wide and two tall. All we needed to do was figure out how to get a signal from the tablet to the screen. While Ms. Arellone explored the tablet, I dug into the programming interface on the video display, and soon discovered the settings we needed. I linked my tablet to the large screen, and settled on the sofa to watch the show.

  The engineering data visualizations had progressed a lot since my early days on the Lois, and they hadn’t been bad then. With the monster display, and the tablet interface, we were able to show the ship, her systems, her s
tructure, zoom in and out, and spin it around to look from different views. Once we got it on the big screen the fine details—like the ladder hydraulics—were obvious. We explored under the decks and behind the bulkheads. We traced the air, water, data, and electrical systems. We found the panels that controlled the environmental zones.

  There were several things we found that we couldn’t quite decide about. One of them looked like the passenger cabins had some extra insulation in the outer ship’s bulkheads. I couldn’t make up my mind whether they were radiation shields or physical puncture shields. Neither made much sense.

  One thing that we found rather intriguing was that the partitions between the cabins looked like they could be moved. Ms. Arellone spotted a line of dimples in a cross structure while we were tracing the water lines for the various head installations, and when we rotated the view and zoomed in, the schematic revealed a clever pin and lock arrangement. Obviously the partitions weren’t structural, but it certainly opened up some possibilities in terms of configuration.

  Ms. Arellone proved to have a knack for spotting the things that didn’t line up, or which weren’t quite what they might be. She didn’t always know why the line was wrong, or the space was odd, but between us, we learned a lot about the ship.

  Every new view revealed something else to follow-up on. Each new discovery triggered discussion about the implications for future traffic. I don’t know how much of it Ms. Arellone actually followed, but she did an excellent job of getting me to explain things. In the explanation, I learned a lot about the ship, and how I might want to use her.

  At 0130 we finally ran out of steam. We sat on the sofas, staring at the schematic. Ms. Arellone fiddled with the display using my tablet, rotating it randomly this way and that.

  “There’s a whole lot of possibilities here, Skipper,” she said after we’d stared silently at the screen for almost two full ticks. “What about passengers, sar?”

  “What about them, Ms. Arellone?”

  “Well, we’ve been talking about freight but we have these cabins, and I guess I’ve sort of assumed we’d carry passengers.”

  “I think we’ll need to, Ms. Arellone. What about them?”

  “Sar, who’s going to take care of them? I mean you said you were going to cook for the crew, but can you run the ship and cook for passengers, and deal with all that? Don’t passenger ships usually have stewards?”

  “Thank you, Ms. Arellone. I’d completely overlooked that. I assumed I’d just get my steward endorsement, but that’s not going to work is it?”

  “I think you’re going to need somebody to take care of the passengers. A cook would be good, Skipper. Not that you’re not a great cook, but somebody who can be in the galley all day, everyday, like Mr. Wyatt did when we were underway. Kinda like a host or something.”

  “You’re right on the mark, Ms. Arellone. I wonder if we need to add another rating. That still leaves the problem of how we’re going to stand out in the crowd. We know what we can do with ship, but I don’t see anything different from what any other ship can do.”

  “I think you’re right, Skipper.” She stared for a few heartbeats .“So we’ll just have to differentiate on service.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “We’ll just have to offer some special service or experience, sar.”

  “Any idea what, Ms. Arellone?”

  She shook her head. “Dinner cruises, maybe, sar.”

  I frowned to try to focus a bit better. “Dinner cruises, Ms. Arellone?”

  “Yes, sar. Short cruises around the system, get underway, serve a gourmet meal in space, get them home in time for breakfast.” She paused. “Or something.”

  I sat there staring at her. My tired brain took in the notion, but I couldn’t figure out the logistics of how something like that might work.

  She waved her hand at me. “Don’t look at me like that, sar. That was just an idea. Something that nobody else does. I didn’t mean it as something we should do. Just trying to think of stuff we could do that nobody else is doing.”

  “I understand, Ms. Arellone, but I think my brain just reached saturation and needs to sleep. See if I can process it.”

  She frowned at me and nodded slowly. “You know, sar. That’s an excellent idea.” She rose unceremoniously, and headed for her end of the suite, leaving the lights on and the video displaying. The door closed with a soft whump, and about four heartbeats later I heard what sounded like a body falling on a bed.

  I chuckled to myself, shut off the video, and claimed my tablet before heading for my bed and sinking into the darkness I found there.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Diurnia Orbital:

  2372-December-24

  Because of the long evening, we got a late start. It worked out for the best because it gave me an opportunity to detour us to Light City. It took almost ten ticks to buy a two kilo brick of Moscow Morning because of the number of people in line to get their morning fix.

  We got back to the ship around 0945, quite late by my standards, and the galley became our first order of business. Simple detergent and hot water, along with the liberal application of elbow grease and the occasional scouring pad, stripped the galley of most of the dirt, grease, and accumulated neglect. Some stains required a bleaching cleanser, and the coffee urn got a white vinegar treatment, leaving a strong pickle smell in the galley, and a mess deck that was not a health hazard.

  It took the rest of the morning to get the galley cleaned because of the intricacy of the area. Stove tops, ovens, sinks, chillers, counters, and cupboards all needed attention. It took a while, but because previous crew stripped the ship of anything not nailed down, we didn’t have to move things to clean under them, nor did we need to clean pots, pans, dishes, or flatware. We had none aboard.

  At around noon, with the galley and mess deck looking as clean and bright as it would short of a fresh coat of paint and new deck-coat, I discovered the error of my ways in purchasing the brick of coffee.

  “No cups, Captain,” Ms. Arellone pointed out with a certain level of glee in her voice.

  I stood there with the brick of coffee in my hand, still sealed, and stared glumly at the gleaming urn, piped and wired to the counter. I sighed. “No cups, Ms. Arellone,” I confirmed. “Also no grinder, no filter, and—” I turned to look at her, “Do you take your coffee black, Ms. Arellone?”

  She shook her head with a grin.

  “I didn’t think so.” I sighed again. “No creamer, no flatware.”

  She waved her hand at the empty cabinets. “Nothing really, Skipper.”

  I put the bag of beans on the counter next to the coffee maker, and leaned against the counter to think. “I knew we’d need to get a few things before we could move aboard, but somehow I expected there’d be at least basic gear.”

  “I know, Skipper. I’ve been just looking at the end of my nose, and not quite thinking it ahead.” She yawned. “And last night’s cram session didn’t help my ability to focus. I feel like I want a nap.”

  I ran a hand over my scalp, and tried to think logically. “We have…what? Two more days before the Chernyakova auction ends?”

  “Something like that, Skipper.” Ms. Arellone emptied and rinsed our cleaning buckets in the kitchen’s utility sink, and spoke without looking at me. “How long will it be before we know anything on this end?”

  “I don’t really know, Ms. Arellone. I would think it would take a day or so for message traffic to reach us here, and maybe as much as four or five days for the credit transfers? I have no idea, but I bet Mr. Simpson does.”

  “Well, what do we do now, Skipper?”

  “After lunch, we keep cleaning—” The groan of the lock opening echoed through the galley.

  Frowning at each other we hustled out to the ladder and scampered down to the main deck in time to see Kirsten Kingsley leading a small parade through the passenger lock. She looked up and smiled as we clattered down the ladder toward her.

 
“Captain! Ms. Arellone!” She called.

  Adrian was the last through the lock, and he took up station looking back through the opening. Ms. Arellone crossed to the lock controls and keyed it closed, giving him a wry smile. “That’ll keep the threat level down, huh?”

  Kirsten almost choked, trying not to laugh, and turned to face me instead. Beside her, on her left, a rather imposing man in an impeccably tailored brown suit scanned the vestibule, his eye catching on every ding, dent, and broken console. Eventually his survey came around to me and stopped. On her right, a bowlegged old fellow in a badly stained shipsuit stumped along a couple of steps behind.

  “Haverhill, this is the Captain Wang I told you about,” Kirsten turned to the tall man on her left. “Captain Ishmael Wang, this is Haverhill Kimball. Haverhill handles all the procurement and dispersal from the breaker’s yard here.”

  I held out my hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Kimball.”

  He looked at my hand before taking it, and giving it a rather limp and moist shake. “Captain.”

  She turned to the older man on her right. “Montague Bailey, this is Captain Ishmael Wang. Captain Wang, Chief Engineer Montague Bailey.”

  Chief Bailey nodded at me without really looking at me. His eyes kept straying to the broken console on the bulkhead.

  “Nice to meet you, Chief.”

  “Sar.” He nodded again, and his head twitched a couple of times like he was trying not to look to the left, but he couldn’t help himself.

  I arched an eyebrow at Kirsten who smirked but otherwise offered no explanation for Chief Bailey.

  “I’m happy to see you, Ms. Kingsley. I was just thinking about the engineering reports.”

  She nodded. “That’s why we’re here.” She turned to Mr. Kimball. “Haverhill...?”

  He nodded pleasantly enough to Kirsten, and frowned at me. “I’ve seen the reports and talked to Kirsten about the ship. She tells me you’re willing to buy it for scrap value, Captain. Mind telling me why?”