“I need a ship. I’m just starting out, and can’t afford much of one. When I heard about the Jezebel, I thought it might be just the vessel I was looking for.” I swung an arm indicating the scarred and dented cargo deck. “It’s in pretty rough shape, as you can see, and when I first saw it, the scrubbers were on the verge of failing.”
“I also read the reports, Captain. Did you have anything to do with drawing those up?”
I shook my head. “Not me, sir. I just got a copy yesterday. Those were apparently done before Ms. Arellone and I came aboard as caretakers.”
“And what have you done as caretakers, Captain?”
“We’ve gone over the ship making a punch list of issues that need addressing. Yesterday we changed the water filters so we’d have water to clean with. Today we started scraping down the galley so we can use that as a base of operations while we’re aboard.”
“Have you found any discrepancies between the engineering reports and your punch list?”
I shook my head. “Mostly they don’t intersect. The engineering report looked at the big things—sails, power, gravity—that stuff. Ms. Arellone and I went through and identified missing light panels, broken switches, bad hinges, and the like.” I shrugged. “I’m not rated to run these fusactors and generators, so I haven’t tried them. Being docked we haven’t tested the auxiliaries.”
He nodded slowly, and I got the impression that I passed some test that I had not been aware that I was taking.
“What’d you find on your punch list, Captain?” he asked.
“Anything not nailed down is missing. The ship’s spares closet is almost bare. There are no tools. No cooking gear in the galley other than the built-in appliances. Everything is filthy and almost every piece of gear has had hard use.”
“What’s your assessment of the vessel’s spaceworthiness, Captain?”
“I wouldn’t want to take it out. Just restocking the spares closet will be expensive. I understand the sail generator coils are out of whack and I’d guess the major systems all need a good flush out and restart.”
“And in spite of that you’re willing to buy it at scrap value?”
I shrugged. “It’s either buy this one and fix her up as we go along or lease something. I’d be hard pressed to raise the capital needed to buy a new one, but with a bit of sweat equity, a few replacement parts, and some judicial investment, I think I can make this ship spaceworthy. If I lease, I pay a lot of credits, haul freight, and accumulate rental receipts. At the end of the lease, I wave good-bye to the ship. It would be easier in terms of starting up, I could focus on the business and not the ship, but there are some advantages in capitalization.” I paused and ran a hand over my head. “I don’t know. Call me sentimental but I’ve grown kinda fond of the old girl.”
“She’s not that old, Captain.”
“Ten stanyers, Mr. Kimball. Hardly a new ship.” I shrugged. “And Higbee retired this design.”
Chief Bailey cackled briefly at that but subsided when we all looked at him. “Retired. Good one, Skipper.” he mumbled and went back to carefully not looking at the broken console. He gave every impression of a man who wanted to fix it so bad he twitched.
Mr. Kimball turned to Kirsten. “You wanna tell me what’s really going on?”
“I can’t, Haverhill. I told you. Company business related to Geoff’s passing.”
“Something’s not right here. Isn’t Ames on his way back from Breakall?”
“Yes, but he won’t arrive for at least a couple more weeks, and I’m trying to get stuff picked up, and the ends tied off so we can move forward with the new CEO.”
“Yes, that’s odd by itself, and you know it.”
“I know it looks odd, but I have the backing of the board.”
He made squinted at her. “If I ask Roni, what will she tell me?”
“Probably something rude.”
He barked a laugh at that. “Yes, you’re probably right, but what about this?”
“She’d tell you the same thing. Company business.”
“Why are you cutting Ames out of the loop?”
“Because Ames has a conflict of interest we need to work around to keep it from becoming a problem.”
“So that’s why you’re not selling Captain Wang the ship directly? You and Roni want to use the breaker’s yard as a fig leaf?”
She shrugged. “We can sell direct if we need to.”
“But you’d rather not?”
“We’d rather not.”
He frowned at me. “This ship’s in better shape than that report says, isn’t it, Captain.”
He wasn’t asking. “The engineering report is correct as far as I can tell, Mr. Kimball. The valuation at the end...” I shrugged. “I don’t know because I’m not privy to the methods they used to come up with it.”
He narrowed his eyes at me and nodded. “You’re a careful cuss, I’ll give you that. You mind if Monty here takes a look around?”
I shook my head. “Not at all. I’d welcome his opinion actually.”
Chief Bailey perked up visibly, but eyed me from under his bushy white brows.
“Go see what you can see, Monty.” Mr. Kimball said.
I nodded at Ms. Arellone, and she fell in beside the bandy-legged Chief Engineer.
“I don’t need no banged baby-sitter,” he grumbled shooting her a look that was more petulant than personal.
“Oh, Chief, I’m not going to baby-sit you,” she said with a grin. “I want to watch and learn.”
He barked a single high pitched laugh. “Suck up,” he muttered, but there was an edge of humor in his tone. “Come on, then, spacer. Maybe I can teach ya how to brown nose better’n that before the day’s out.” He chuffed out a sigh and I thought he said, “Kids.” under his breath. He stumped toward the back of the cargo bay, a stormy frown on his face and he even spared a glare at me on the way by. As he passed, I was certain he muttered, “Kids!” again.
“What do you think he’s going to find, Haverhill?” Kirsten asked.
“I think he’s going to find a perfectly operational ship with a coat of dirt on it.”
“Assuming he does?”
“Kirsten, I’m not sure what kind of in-fighting is going on over there, but I’ve got a duty here to recover as much as I can from hulks like these. If you sell me a perfectly good ship at scrap rates, I’m gonna get as much for it as I can.”
She bit her lip. “I understand, Haverhill.”
He relented a bit. “I’ll not screw you over by telling you one thing and doing another. DST has been a good customer and even occasional partner, but if I play this kinda game, my credibility is at risk, and that causes a problem for every single transaction we enter going forward.”
She nodded, and I had to give the big man my grudging respect. He had good instincts about what was going on, and he was being upfront about it.
Kirsten looked at me and shrugged, but didn’t say anything.
“I’d offer you coffee while we wait, but ...” I shrugged. “No cups.”
They all laughed at that.
I felt as much as heard the fusactors spooling up. They were cold, and bringing them online would take hours from a cold start, but apparently Chief Bailey was giving the ship a thorough look-see. The vibration lasted for only a few ticks before I felt it subside and fade out. The blowers stopped and started a couple of times over the next few ticks, and we all stood there waiting to see what new manifestation would strike.
After a few ticks where nothing obvious happened I heard the air tight door on the upper deck clank closed, and the sound of footsteps and muffled voices coming toward the bow over our heads. They apparently went up to the bridge, and I heard a few odd clanks in the silence before they clattered down off the bridge and rejoined us on the main deck.
“Well?” Mr. Kimball looked at the gnarled engineer.
Chief Bailey shook his head in disgust. “Banging inspectors! Everythin’ in those reports, ya. Bad. Cra
zy boogers missed the fusactors. They need a good flush and refurb. Sails are out of phase, but only needs new coils. Everything’s filthy. Even the mattresses are stained. Fiber’s sound but they’ve connected obsolete gear on modern lines. You got no scrap here, ’ceptin’ maybe the metal itself. What’d they quote ya?”
“Forty.”
He puckered like he wanted to spit on the deck but refrained and swallowed. “You’d be lucky to get thirty for it in scrap.”
Kirsten looked alarmed. “Is it that bad?”
Chief Baily scratched the side of his face with square fingers and muttered, scowling at the deck. “Sorry, Ms. Kingsley, but ya. ’S that bad, and bangers who left a ship in this condition should be put out a lock to walk home.”
Mr. Kimball turned to Kirsten. “How badly do you want this fig leaf?”
She glanced up at him. “What’s your deal?”
“I’ll give ya thirty, and he buys it for forty. I make my book, you get whatever the devil it is you want him to have it for, and we never had this conversation.”
Kirsten looked at me with the question on her face, Mr. Kimball turned to look at me as well.
“Forty sounds acceptable, but lemme check with Mr. Simpson as to the state of my capitalization, and I’ll let you know as soon as I’ve secured funding.”
“You know you’re basically buying scrap metal?” Mr. Kimball asked.
“I’m pretty sure I know what I’m buying, Mr. Kimball.”
Chief Bailey muttered, “Kids.”
“Okay, then,” Kirsten said, looking around. “Ishmael, if you’d get a hold of Willie? I think he’s got what you need already lined up. Thank you, Haverhill. I appreciate your help.”
He rubbed a hand along his jaw line. “I’m not sure what game you’re playing, Kirsten, but as long as I’m making my book, I’ll to play along.”
“I owe you, Haverhill,” she said, before turning to the lock and punching the key to open it up. “Go make me safe, Adrian. We’re due in the office in half an hour.”
He led the way off the ship followed by Kirsten and Haverhill Kimball. Chief Bailey stumped slowly toward the lock, his head swiveling back and forth, taking in the dirt and the broken parts. He had a thoughtful looking frown, and dragged his feet enough to let the others get well ahead before turning to me, and spearing me with a baleful stare.
“You serious about running this banging bucket a bolts?”
“Yes, Chief, I am. If I can line up the credits, I’m gonna take her sailing.”
He cackled softly. “Good. You need an engineer?”
I blinked. “I will, yes. I’m not certified on this.”
He nodded and took a last look around. “When the time comes? Call Kirsten and tell her you wanna talk to her Gramps. I heard he’s thinking of comin’ out of retirement. Old fool.”
“Thanks, Chief. I appreciate the lead.”
He just looked at me, his head nodding a bit unevenly. Then he snorted and held out his hand. We shook and he nodded again.
From the dock, Kirsten yelled back into the ship. “Gramps? You comin’?”
He shot me a grin and a wink and muttered, “Kids!” before turning, stumping down the ramp, and falling in behind the group.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Diurnia Orbital:
2372-December-25
When I met William Simpson, I had no idea what to ask, or how to go about it. After the obligatory greetings, we took seats in the comfy chairs and gazed out into the dark. We sat so long, I almost wondered if he’d fallen asleep, but eventually he broke our silence.
“How have you done so far, Ishmael?”
“Not too bad, sir. I’m not sure how she’s done it but Kirsten has managed to get the price of the ship down to forty. Now I need to get the money to buy it.”
“Excellent. And crew? Have you come up with a crew yet?”
“I think so. One of the Able Spacers followed me from the Agamemnon and I’ll have Christine Maloney. I’m thinking I need one more quarter share for helm watch and an engineer, of course. I may have found him.”
“And how will you differentiate yourself? Any luck there?”
“No, sir. We’ll have to base it on service, because everybody with a small ship is competing on price and speed. We just don’t know what that service will be.”
He nodded in the dimness. “It’ll come, my boy. Be diligent.”
We lapsed into silence again for a few heartbeats before he turned to me. “So, you probably need some money now, eh?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, we’ve got some paperwork to file to incorporate. Now that the name’s registered we can incorporate as soon as you’ve convened your board of directors.” He paused. “How much capitalization do you need?”
I shrugged. “As much as I can get, I think.”
He laughed at that. “Hardly, my boy. Too much is worse than too little. You’d wind up owing too many people, serving too many masters.” He paused. “How much will the ship cost to redeem from the breaker’s yard?”
“Forty million.” I couldn’t believe I was actually even saying that let alone spending it.
“And you’re sure you won’t take your share of the prize money and retire to grow roses or something?”
“Yes, sir.”
“We don’t know how much that is yet, my boy.”
“I know, sir, but I want to be out there.”
“Just checking.” He smiled at me. “You know you’re crazy?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. In that case, let’s sign some papers, and you can go buy your ship.”
I must have gaped at him but he didn’t seem to notice. He reached down beside his chair, and pulled up a legal tablet. A flick of the thumb switch brought up the document he was looking for, the backlight on the screen making his wrinkled face glow. He flipped through three or four pages of text, scanning each page rapidly as he did so. At the end he nodded to himself and reset the document to the beginning. He handed the table to me.
“Read that carefully. It’s not long. If you agree to the terms, then sign it and we’ll take care of the rest. In a nutshell, your company will have nine shares, five stock holders. Privately held, preferred stock, each share is worth ten million credits with a dividend rate set at five percent of face value. The first dividend is due five stanyers from the anniversary of incorporation.”
He spooled it off like it meant nothing. Perhaps to him it did. I took the tablet and began reading. I recognized some of the language from my academy days, and from the many contracts I had used and been subject to myself over the stanyers. A page or so of preliminaries, agreements binding me to the laws governing business practice, statement of company name, a short statement of intended business activities, and a page listing the board of directors. The documents listed me as chairman of the board with five shares. It listed Dr. William Simpson as treasurer. There were three other names I didn’t recognize—Avram Schroeder as secretary, and Enid Clearwater and Roger Wentworth as members at large, each with one share. The document further went on to stipulate a face value of ten million credits on issuance, and a dividend rate of five percent due in five stanyers, just as Mr. Simpson had sketched out.
I read that section twice.
“Mr. Simpson, I’m not following this valuation section. I have five of the nine shares that are each worth ten million.”
“Yes?”
“I don’t have fifty million, sir. How does this work?”
“No, you have the whole company now. This document carves it up into nine pieces, five of them you will keep, and you will sell four of them for ten million each, providing your company with the funds it needs to prosper. In five standard years you’ll begin paying us dividends of five percent per stanyer, or more likely, you’ll buy the shares back from us.”
“But who are these people, sir? I mean, I recognize your name, but who are the rest?”
“Avram is an old friend of Roni’s. Very o
ld money. He and Roni trade projects. She was very taken with you, by the way, my boy, and under different circumstances she’d have probably financed it all. She thinks you’re going places.”
“You mean besides Jett and Dree?”
He laughed his raspy laugh. “Yes, yes. Quite so. Anyway, since she can’t invest under the circumstances, Avram is her proxy. Enid Clearwater is one of my clients. Roger is one of Barbara Greene’s. We try to share the opportunities where we can.”
“Mr. Simpson, it’s been a long time since I was in finance class. The four of you are giving me forty million credits to start my company.”
“Not giving—no. It’s an investment. We believe we’ll make that forty million back with interest.”
“But what about collateral, and risk, and all that?”
“Oh, it’s a risk, but ...” he shrugged. “Personally, I think it’s a good risk. I’ve met you. I’ve seen what you’ve done. Roni has watched you since you got out of the academy, and she’s frankly quite impressed, my boy.”
“But...” I didn’t know where I was going. The whole situation seemed too good to be true, and I was leery of anything that seemed that good. “When I talked with Mr. Larks, he said I should take the money from my settlement and retire.”
“He would. We made him senior partner to protect us from the idiots.”
“I don’t follow.”
“If you were the type who was inclined to take his advice, you’d never have met Roni or me. This deal would have died on the vine. Dick invests in assets. He advises his clients to invest in assets. He’s a hard-core, cold-blooded, bottom-line guy, and as such he’s the perfect filter. People who only pay attention to assets usually miss the big opportunities.”
“And you think this is a big opportunity? Me?”
“Oh, yes, my boy. I certainly do.”
“Can I ask why, sir?”
“You can ask, but the answer isn’t really anything I can point to. It’s part history, part chemistry, part something that I can’t put a name on. You have it. Both Roni and I see it. We’re wrong occasionally, but we’re right more often than we’re wrong, and it only takes a few really large wins to offset a lot of small losses.”
Owner's Share (Trader's Tales from the Golden Age of the Solar Clipper) Page 21
