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

by Lowell, Nathan

  I almost choked. “Forty million is a small loss?”

  He grinned at me, his wrinkled face seeming to almost fold in on itself. “Well, not to you!” His raspy laugh came out of the darkness. “Roni and I, we invest in people, not assets. It pays off much better.”

  I looked back at the document and realized I probably should have it vetted by a lawyer. Out of the corner of my eye I saw William Simpson sitting patiently watching the ships that sailed between the stars. There was nothing in the agreement that cost me any money, and no stipulations that appeared complex enough to hide any meaning. Most of it was simple boilerplate language that I recognized.

  I signed it and handed it back.

  Mr. Simpson took it with a smile. “What? You don’t want a lawyer to check it?”

  I shook my head. “It’s a risk, but...” I shrugged.

  He held out his hand. “Congratulations, Captain Wang. We’ll get the articles of incorporation filed today, and settle the purchase agreements with Kirsten and Haverhill. You’ll be required to hold a board of directors meeting sometime in the next year, and I’m sure the other members would like to meet you sooner rather than later, so be thinking about that.”

  “Maybe I’ll take you all out for a dinner cruise.”

  He looked at me curiously. “What’s that, my boy?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing, sir. Just an idea we’ve been banging around. If it comes to anything, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

  “Okay, you do that.” He reviewed the document on his screen and then filed it. “Well, I suspect we’ll be having the formal signing tomorrow or the next day, but go ahead and start assembling your crew, and getting that ship ready for space. You’ll own it by the end of the year.” He paused and turned to me, his eyes glimmering in the dimness. “And if the Chernyakova earns what I think it’ll earn, you’re going to be very glad you’ve got a ship to sail on.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Diurnia Orbital:

  2372-December-25

  “Ms. Arellone? What do we need to do before we can move aboard?”

  We headed down to the docks, but my mind was going in five directions at once.

  “Food, pots and pans, plates, utensils...” She frowned, looking at her reflection in the metal of the lift doors. “Bed linens, stuff for the head.”

  “If we had the linens and hygiene supplies, we could sleep aboard.” I was trying to think of the smallest level necessary. “We’re already eating out, and what we need for us is relatively minor in terms of food and kitchen gear.”

  She shuddered dramatically. “Would you want to sleep on one of those mattresses, Skipper?”

  I frowned. “Good point.”

  We took a roundabout route to the maintenance dock stopping briefly at the chandlery for a coffee grinder, two mugs, some creamer, enough sandwich fixings for a couple of days, and a box of disposable flatware.

  After stashing the groceries in the cooler, and getting the first pot of coffee going, we adjourned to the crew berthing area to see what we needed there.

  Crew berthing was a bit of a misnomer. Small vessels like the Jezebel didn’t have that many crew aboard, as a rule. What they normally carried was passengers and sometimes they would split the fare putting more than one person in a compartment. On the Jezebel crew quarters consisted of the last two compartments toward the aft end of the passage. The compartment on the port side contained a single bunk, desk, and grav trunk storage, along with a small console repeater. The compartment was outfitted for the chief engineer.

  “Are you going to hire that guy who came with Ms. Kingsley?”

  “I think so, Ms. Arellone. I’m not buried in Chief Engineers at the moment, and he seemed a likeable sort.”

  She laughed. “He tried so hard to be an old crotch, but you should have seen him with the machinery, sar. I think he’d be good.”

  For some odd reason, her confirmation felt good.

  We lifted the mattress of the bunk and checked the tag. The tag said it was a standard fifteen centimeter single bunk mattress. It looked more than a bit used and we dragged it out into the passage, leaving the naked bunk rack.

  “That’ll make it easier for you to clean,” I said pointedly to Ms. Arellone.

  She stuck her tongue out at me and laughed.

  “Tsk! You’re demonstrating a very serious lack of proper decorum, Ms. Arellone.”

  “If you fire me, you’ll have to clean this whole thing yourself, Skipper.” She sounded like the idea had merit so I didn’t push it.

  Across the passage the same sized compartment held a pair of over-and-under bunks and two lockers. There was a bit more floor space but no desk. We wrestled the mattresses off the bunks and out into the passage. Frankly, they smelled but the tags matched.

  We appraised the two spaces.

  “You know, sar, I think if we had a couple of gallons of paint, these would be really rather pleasant.”

  “What color, Ms. Arellone?”

  “White overheads and something soothing? A pale blue on the bulkheads and fixtures, maybe?”

  “You wanna paint the racks the same color as the bulkheads?”

  She contemplated the crew’s quarters and then looked across at the engineer’s.”

  “We could wait and ask Chief Bailey what colors he likes, sar, but for me, I think there’s a certain sense in keeping the colors neutral and matched. Besides, it’ll be a lot easier to paint.”

  “You’ll have a long time to live with the results, Ms. Arellone. You sure you want to keep it simple?”

  She shrugged. “Paint’s cheap, Skipper, and I’d just as soon keep it simple until we get the rest of the crew aboard.”

  “Makes sense to me. Let’s get the dead mattresses out of here and look at the cabin. I’m pretty sure that’s not the same size.”

  We grabbed the end of the stack and dragged the mattresses down the length of the passage, tossing them down the ladder to the main deck for disposal. Ms. Arellone giggled a little looking back down the passage. There was a clean streak down the center where the padding had scoured a path through the loose dirt.

  I snorted. “I wonder how we keep this all clean underway.”

  “Same way we did on the Agamemnon, sar. There’s just not as many of us to do the work.”

  “True, and—on the upside—not so much of it to do.”

  We went into the cabin, and it was much as I remembered it. Having a better perspective on the other compartments on the upper deck, I realized it was almost twice as large. The bunk was, in fact, larger, and the mattress tab read “Standard Full Mattress” rather than “Standard Bunk”.

  Ms. Arellone arched an eyebrow. “Rank hath it’s privilege, eh, Skipper? Suppose that’s for entertaining the passengers on long, lonely voyages?” She chuckled evilly at my discomfort, but the thought was more valid than I wanted to think about.

  “I suspect it’s to keep from crowding the captain’s larger ego, Ms. Arellone.”

  She looked at me, but then burst into laughter.

  We grabbed the mattress and pulled it off the rack, dragging it out, and tossing it down the ladder on top of the others.

  “That really wasn’t in that bad a shape, Skipper.”

  “I know, but your insight into its probable provenance is enough to make me think that a new one is a good investment in peace of mind.”

  She giggled a bit at that as we returned to the cabin. “This needs paint, too, Skipper. You going with your dark colors in here?”

  I tried to picture it and shook my head. “Too small and no port to look out of.” I thought about it for a few heartbeats and said, “I rather like your idea of a pale blue with white overhead.”

  We stepped back out into the passage and looked down the length. “Do we keep the same color scheme out here, do you think, Ms. Arellone?”

  She sighed. “That seems like an awful lot of blue, sar. Let’s wait to decide that. It won’t make any difference to us in the short-term
, and painting this is something we could do underway.”

  I arched an eyebrow at her.

  She saw it, and shrugged. “I’m guessing these trips might get long, Skipper.”

  I snorted and led the way into the galley. The smell of the coffee hadn’t made it out into the passage, but grabbed my nose as soon as I stepped onto the mess deck. In a matter of ticks we had fresh coffee in clean, china mugs. I sipped gratefully, feeling myself center again as I stood on the mess deck with mug in hand.

  “Too bad we couldn’t wallpaper here, Skipper.”

  Ms. Arellone was gazing around at the bulkheads but she saw my look. “Really. I’m thinking if I were a passenger, seeing another solid colored bulkhead for what? A month and a half?” She shrugged. “Something with a little pattern would be good.”

  I looked around. It really was more of an “eat-in galley” than a galley and mess deck. Even more than the Agamemnon had been, the compact food prep and clean up area took up only one corner with some storage and pantry along one bulkhead.

  “Interesting idea, Ms. Arellone.” I tried to picture it in my mind’s eye. “Perhaps a solid color above and a chair-rail effect?”

  She shrugged. “Possible. You’re going to put a repeater down here, Skipper? Like the one we had on the Agamemnon?”

  “I intend to.” I nodded to the open space beside the door back into the passage. “Right there, I think.”

  “You know, Skipper, we don’t really need a full console?”

  “No?”

  “No, sar. Just one of those video displays like back at the Lagrange. It doesn’t need to be that big, but if we had one of those, then anybody with a tablet could link to it. If the tablet’s on the shipnet, then we’re as good a console, almost.”

  “Excellent idea, Ms. Arellone.”

  “Thanks, Skipper.” She beamed at the attention, and I felt old. I should have thought of it myself.

  I drank a bit more of the coffee, and roused myself. “Okay, Ms. Arellone, we need to get crew quarters ready for new linens. We’ll have one more night at Lagrange, and tomorrow night we sleep aboard.”

  She heaved a sigh. “I knew it was too good to last. Can we at least knock off early, and get one more good night’s sleep?”

  “Let’s see how the afternoon goes, shall we?” I went to the chiller, and pulled out our packages of bread and sandwich fillers, laying them out on the counter and breaking into them.

  “How soon before you own the ship, Skipper?”

  “Didn’t I tell you?”

  She shook her head.

  “Either tomorrow or the next day. Mr. Simpson wasn’t sure.”

  “Day after tomorrow the Chernyakova auction ends.”

  “Really, Ms. Arellone? I’d lost track.”

  She laughed at my bland tone, and helped me make a couple of sandwiches. We laid them out on paper towels and used the disposable flatware.

  “We need to get real dishes, Skipper.”

  I could feel the pressure of ownership already building. Getting the ship was one thing, but outfitting it, keeping it supplied, and paying the crew would all fall to me. I had enough money saved to get by for a few weeks, and the capitalization would cover more. I found myself worrying that there wouldn’t be enough, even with the Chernyakova prize money.

  “I know, Ms. Arellone, I know.”

  I also knew that, while we might knock off early aboard the ship, I’d be working into the night to develop the budgets and plans required to take the ship from maintenance to service in the least amount of time.

  After we finished our makeshift lunch, we drained our cups, and broke out the cleaning gear. Working together, we got the three crew spaces cleaned and ready for painting. It took most of the afternoon, but it left enough time to clean the two shared heads as well, clearing the way for us to move in. While Ms. Arellone stowed her cleaning gear and made a fast pass through the galley, shutting down the coffee urn and wiping down the counter, I did a quick cleaning in the private head in the captain’s cabin.

  We secured the ship at about 1600, and stopped at the chandlery to place our order. It took almost a full stan to pick paint and painting supplies, select mattresses, pillows, and linens for each. I probably would have forgotten, but Ms. Arellone reminded me to get the supplies we needed to stock the heads with the proper hygiene products, towels, and toilet tissue. I couldn’t help but marvel that the higher I got on the ladder, the more I became concerned with the details.

  I began to feel a bit overwhelmed but tried to allay my fears by considering that once we completed the initial set up, all we needed to deal with was restock and resupply. We would have weeks between ports to deal with that problem instead of merely a few too-short days.

  Considering how much we had accomplished in only a week, I thought that perhaps I wasn’t doing too badly. I made a mental note to figure out some way to stop making mental notes and start making real notes. That way I might be able to delegate a few of them, and even remember what they were.

  We left the chandlery finally, having made arrangements for delivery of the materials and supplies, and headed back to the hotel for a shower and change of clothes before dinner.

  When we returned to the hotel, Ms. Arellone hemmed and hawed a bit.

  “Something on your mind, Ms. Arellone?”

  “Sorta, Skipper.”

  “Spit it out, Ms. Arellone. After spending a day in the glamorous pursuit of a clean toilet, there’s little need to stand on ceremony at this point in the game.”

  She giggled a little. “Good point, sar.” She paused and considered. “Would it be okay if I went out for a bit?”

  I blinked at her. “Why wouldn’t it, Ms. Arellone.”

  She sighed and plunked down on the sofa across from me. “After all the stink I made about security, I haven’t wanted to leave you alone. But I could really use a little time ashore myself, especially if we’re moving back aboard ship tomorrow.”

  “I understand, Ms. Arellone. Please. Go have some fun.”

  “You’re not planning on going out again, are you, Skipper?” Her question was a bit tentative, as if she might be afraid of my answer.

  “No, Ms. Arellone. I’m in for the evening. I want to work up some budgets before I get too far down the rabbit hole. Knowing where I need to spend it will help me prioritize what we can do.”

  “Makes sense, sar.”

  “I hope so, Ms. Arellone.”

  “So, you’re sure it’s okay, sar?”

  “Yes, I’m sure, Ms. Arellone. I promise not to leave, or even open the door, while you’re gone.”

  She grinned in sudden relief. “Thank you, Captain.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Arellone. You’ve been a great deal of help the last few days, and I appreciate it. Now go have fun. Just remember we’re getting underway early in the morning so don’t stay out too late.”

  “Aye, aye, sar.” With that she flounced out, and I settled in to deal with numbers.

  After a couple of stans of head down number crunching, I had a working budget for payroll, and some ball park numbers for daily operating expenses while underway. I also had a splitting head ache, and all the physical labor of the day began to catch up with me.

  I saved the files, made sure I had backups, and stood up with a groan as stiffened muscles complained about being asked to move. I smiled and considered the benefits of a hotel bath complete with jacuzzi jets for dealing with complaining muscles, and was soon neck-deep in hot, swirling water.

  When the water had cooled, and the porcelain of the tub got just a tad too hard, I crawled out, wrapped myself in the hotel terrycloth, and sought the sumptuous comfort of the king sized bed.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Diurnia Orbital:

  2372-December-26

  By the time we broke for lunch, Ms. Arellone had finished painting the crew quarters and the engineer’s stateroom. I had finished painting the captain’s cabin. While I knew we weren’t making that much real dif
ference in the ship, it was progress we could see.

  We had just settled on the mess deck with a couple of sandwiches and some fresh coffee when my tablet bipped me. I found a message from William Simpson inviting me to the signing ceremony at 1400. The last few lines left me with a cold feeling in the pit of my stomach. “Civilian attire. There will be press. Prepare a statement for them.”

  Ms. Arellone saw the expression on my face. “What is it, Skipper? Did the deal fall through?”

  I shook my head. “No, no. It’s just that the signing is at 1400, and I have to give a statement to the press.”

  “About what?”

  I shrugged and took another bite of sandwich. “Probably something about what a thrill it is to form the company and all that. I’m not sure. I don’t expect there’ll be a lot of people there. It’s not exactly front page stuff is it? Just a minor blurb in the ‘New and Not Terribly Notable’ column of the business section?”

  She took a large bite from her sandwich and shrugged. I could see her eyes looking me over. At first I thought she was looking at my face, and I self-consciously dabbed my mouth thinking I’d left a gob of mustard or something. Eventually she swallowed the bite and grinned. “We mighta picked a better day to paint.”

  I saw the speckles of blue and white on the backs of my hands and up to my wrists. The shipsuit seemed to have taken the worst of it but Ms. Arellone kept looking at my head and face. “How bad is it?” I asked.

  She twisted to one side to get a better look at the side of my head. “It’s a good look for you, sar.” Her mouth twitched into a mocking half-smile. “You might wanna try to wash that off before it sets up any more.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh myself. “You’re enjoying this way too much, Ms. Arellone. Has it occurred to you that you’ll need to come with me?” I craned my neck up to look down at the top of her head. “I bet that’ll be hard to get out of your hair.”

  She stopped chewing suddenly and her eyes flipped up as if she were trying to see her own head. “What?” she mumbled around a mouthful of sandwich.

  “Oh, nothing. I’m sure you’ll find a way to cover it up.”