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

by Lowell, Nathan

  Ms. Maloney had just finished stowing something in the cooler, and straightened when I entered. “Fresh coffee, Captain!”

  “Thank you, Ms. Maloney. I could smell it out in the passageway. Smells great.”

  She grinned. “Thought you might like it.”

  I grabbed a mug from the rack, filled it at the urn, and stood for a minute, my backside against the counter.

  “You okay, Captain?” Ms. Maloney stood leaning back against the sink, arms folded.

  I gave a sideways nod, and took another sip. “I will be, I think.” I shrugged. “I still feel hollow.”

  She nodded. “I miss her, too.” Her face turned hard. “Jarvis will pay for this.”

  “You think it was him?”

  She gave me a level look. “Once is accident, twice co-incidence...” she said.

  I finished it for her. “Three times is enemy action.”

  She nodded firmly but her face softened. “I can’t believe the chief got involved in this, though. Even seeing the photos he took. Having him lying there on the deck, dead.” She shook her head. “He was one of my bodyguards for so many stanyers.”

  “One...?”

  She shrugged. “There are a couple of them that swap in and out.”

  I arched an eyebrow.

  “Were,” she corrected with a sigh. Her mouth flattened into a thin line. “I can’t even begin to say how betrayed I feel right now.”

  “I’m sure. I’m even nervous about the passengers, but...” I shrugged. “We have a choice. We can live in fear, or not.”

  She snorted a bitter laugh. “I’m pretty fearful right now.”

  I grinned at her and took another sip. “Me, too. The question is really, what do we do about it?”

  “What do you mean, Captain?”

  “How real is the danger? What’s the probability that one of the passengers works for Jarvis, and will kill us in our sleep?”

  “While underway?”

  I nodded.

  “Not very high,” she admitted. “Unless they’ve got a way to get off the ship.”

  “That’s my assessment, too. I think that’s why Herring made his move on the orbital, and not aboard.”

  “That still seems pretty backwards to me, Captain.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe, but he had help and, as far as he knew, we were undefended. The chief never took Ms. Arellone seriously.” I sighed. “It was only luck that his plan didn’t work. It almost did. If he’d been a few centimeters deeper, or I hadn’t turned when I did, he’d have killed me. Where would that have left your standing in probate?”

  She looked alarmed at that. “I don’t know, Captain.”

  “Me, either. I’m just glad he didn’t use a standoff weapon or something simpler like poison in the coffee.” I took another deliberate sip, and saw the look on Ms. Maloney’s face grow alarmed.

  “How would we protect ourselves against that?” she asked finally.

  “I think we die, Ms. Maloney. The alternative is to put ourselves in a cage, and don’t let anybody in.”

  “If it keeps us alive, Captain, isn’t it worth it?”

  I pondered that for a few heartbeats, and sipped the hot, aromatic coffee. “I think, even if the door is locked from the inside? It’s still a prison, Ms. Maloney.” I cast a glance at the chrono, and turned to top up my mug. “But right now, we need to get this ship underway.”

  I left the galley and made my way up to the bridge, settling in the captain’s raised chair. Ms. Arellone sat at the pilot’s console with her screens up and messages ready for transmission.

  “You’ve got time to get a cup of coffee, Ms. Arellone.”

  She looked over her shoulder at me with lopsided grin. “I’m good for now, Skipper.”

  “Well, then make the announcement, Ms. Arellone. Navigation stations, if you please.”

  She looked surprised by the change, but clicked the announcer on, and I could hear her voice echoing up the ladder.

  In a few ticks, the chief trotted up the ladder and took her place at the engineering console, firing up the electronics, and running through some diagnostics before settling on the ship’s status display.

  “We ready, Chief?”

  “We’re ready, Captain.”

  “Request departure clearance, Ms. Arellone.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain. Requesting departure clearance.” Her fingers clicked a couple of keys and we waited. In less than a tick the response came back. “We have clearance to depart, Captain.”

  “Pull the docking clamps, if you would, Chief.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain. Undocking now.” Her fingers moved across her keyboard, and I saw the locking ring status change from green to amber to red. “We are unlocked, Captain. Umbilicals have withdrawn.”

  I turned to make a formal eyeball survey astern, and gave the command. “Take us out, Ms. Arellone.”

  She gave the maneuvering thrusters a tap, and we slipped backward gently. I watched the skin of the orbital retreating into the distance, and felt the confusing illusion that the orbital was backing away from us. I stared at it, knowing she was gone already, that there was nothing of her there besides the physical remains of her body awaiting shipment to her father. In spite of that sure knowledge, I couldn’t help feeling that I was leaving her, and my breath caught in my throat for a heartbeat. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It simply wouldn’t do for the captain to be crying on the bridge. In my head I said, “Good bye,” and turned my chair to look aft, watching for traffic but seeing only sapphire studded smiles.

  Chapter Seventy-Six

  Greenfields System:

  2373-July-13

  By the time we were four days out of Greenfields, the ship had settled into a nice rhythm. Ms. Arellone and I could have covered the bridge with a 12 on 12 off schedule, but the reality was that we really didn’t need to. During the day, we kept the repeater from the bridge running in the galley. Between the four of the crew, somebody was always there to keep an eye on things. I kept the pilot’s console slaved to my tablet, and could run the ship from where ever I happened to be. As Greta had pointed out, I didn’t really need to see out of the ports. I did make it a point to spend some time on the bridge during the afternoon and early evening, and Ms. Arellone usually put in a stint in the mornings. The passengers didn’t seem bothered, or perhaps they just didn’t realize when there wasn’t anybody at the helm.

  Ms. Maloney out-did herself keeping the passengers happy. She dispensed food, drink, and entertainment on demand as well as serving what might have been the best food in the quadrant during meals. I admired her ability to turn out interesting menus day after day from the same basic pantry.

  Chief Stevens was a blessing. Not only did she write the book on engineering—quite literally, since Port Newmar still used her textbook for engineering classes—but she had a patience, a calmness, and a wry sense of humor that I found quite soothing. Of all the things she did for the ship, she did something more important for me.

  She joined me at tai chi.

  The vestibule just inside the lock and outside the cargo hold proper might have provided extra cargo space but it lacked the proper tie-downs for cube storage. As such, the open deck made an excellent space to practice tai chi. The decking gave good footing. The openness left room to move freely. The high overhead made the space feel airy.

  I made good on my promise to myself, and started doing a bit of tai chi after breakfast our first day out of Greenfield. It felt good to be moving again, and I regretted not starting as soon as I had taken over the ship. For a little while each day, I focused on the movements, on my balance, on my body—without thinking about Greta.

  My technique was rocky at first. There were some places in the routine that slipped my grasp, and I had to work to remember them, but when the chief started joining me for a stan or so each morning, my practice improved greatly.

  She smiled over at me while we warmed up with some stretching. “You know, Sifu Newmar thought
you had great potential, Captain.”

  I snorted. “Give me a few more decades, and we’ll see if she’s right.”

  She grinned. “Well, I’d bet you’re the only one in your class with your own company, Captain. That’s rather impressive.”

  I considered that while I changed my movements to twist my torso. The careful movements pulled my injured side but with each passing day, I felt myself healing a little more.

  With a nod, we finished our warm up, and stood side by side for the first routine, a Wu long form. As the slow, even movements spooled out, I lost myself in the grace. Even the often awkward Four Corners movement felt more like a dance as we slid smoothly from movement to movement—our steps in sync, our breathing matched.

  In my mind I felt the warmth of the spring sun streaming through the windows of Sifu Newmar’s studio. When school was in session, sometimes some of the faculty would join her class. More rarely a fellow cadet would join us—usually to round out some other art’s requirement for exploration. Spring was my favorite time at Port Newmar. The cold grip of winter loosened slowly, as if begrudging the inevitable blossoming of the planet’s southern hemisphere. Eventually there came a point where winter ended and spring began. The welcome warmth of the spring sun on our bodies as we practiced our forms promised much.

  As the gardens quickened we moved our practices outside, often working the soil and tending the grounds. In the pale greens of spring, I only spent my allotted time with Sifu Newmar and the gardens. Studies and drills took up most waking moments. At the end of each semester, I had a window of opportunity with few demands on my time. With finals over, and summer cruises not yet begun, I found a halcyon early summer period of as much as ten standard days where I could practice from sun up to sun down if I so desired.

  During the early summer of my junior year, Chief Stevens joined our practice one morning. Sifu Newmar’s students often returned to study with her. It never ceased to amaze me that officers with ships, careers, and even families would interrupt their lives to make the pilgrimage to Port Newmar. Some were old, some young. Chief Stevens was the first one whose name I recognized, but I suspected that I had stood in the garden or studio and sweated beside a veritable who’s who of spacer officers. I recognized Chief Stevens’ name because I had just finished reading her text. In spite of my upbringing around college faculty—or more likely, because of it—I remembered being figuratively clubbed between the eyes with awe when I realized who the woman beside me was. I smiled at the memory of our younger selves as we brought the routine to a close.

  “I was in such awe of you,” I said.

  She chuckled softly. “I remember.”

  “Why did you go back?”

  “To see Margaret?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  She shrugged and rubbed her cheeks with the palms of her hands. “I was between. I needed to get away, to think.” She cast me a calculating glance as she said it.

  “Between? Between what?”

  She laughed. “Husbands, children, jobs. I think, when I met you, I’d just finished the fourth edition of my book, and finalized the divorce from my third husband. My kids were grown, and the company I worked for got sold.” She shrugged. “Seemed like a good time to go back and brush up on my technique—to say nothing of my mental health.” I saw her gaze roll up toward the overhead as she thought about it. “That was the second time, I think.”

  I looked at her in astonishment. “Really? How often have you been back?”

  She shrugged. “Four? Five? I think five.”

  I must have had an incredulous look on my face.

  “What?” she asked. “Think of it as therapy. A few weeks with Margaret Newmar always set me back on my feet smack in the middle of the path.” She waved her hand as if shooing a fly. “Now, we gonna talk all day, or are we gonna do some tai chi?”

  I snorted. “Okay. Wu long again?”

  She shrugged. “Works for me.”

  We worked through another round, and with each movement I found myself immersed more and more in the memories of my time at the academy, particularly the time I spent in the studio. As we made the final bow and straightened, I remembered a comment Sifu Newmar made about another of her visitors. I couldn’t remember which semester but it was winter and we were inside. I had entered for my training session just as one of her ex-students was leaving. He was somebody important. A distinguished gentleman who had a large company with several ships and even sat on the CPJCT Committee on something or other. As he left she sighed and looked after him for a moment, then she shrugged and turned back to me. “He had such potential,” she’d said, and we started a series of Jung short forms, back to back.

  “What are you thinking, Captain?” The chief broke the stillness that surrounded us after a particularly good set.

  “About Sifu Newmar and potential.”

  I heard her breath huff out in a short laugh. “Me, too.” After a pause, she suggested, “One more Wu? Then I’ll be ready for the shower.”

  In response, I took the opening stance, and we slid easily through the movements.

  When we finished, we bowed to each other, and climbed the ladder to the first deck. My legs felt just a bit rubbery which meant I’d done a good level of workout, and I was pleased with how the forms were progressing. At the top of the ladder, the chief gave a little wave as I stopped at the cabin and she continued down the passage.

  I glanced into the galley, and found Ms. Maloney entertaining Ms. McArthur and the female half of the Kilpatricks. She smiled at me over their heads when she saw me looking, and I gave her a wave before ducking into the cabin.

  On my way past the console, my eyes caught the rough-hewn lines of Greta’s sea-bird whelkie. I picked it up and ran a thumb across the surface, feeling the texture of the rough cuts and sharp points. The light glinted off the polished shell heart and I admired it briefly before placing it back by the display. It made me think about the packet I had tucked into the bottom of my grav trunk.

  I hadn’t looked at them in ages.

  Chapter Seventy-Seven

  Diurnia Orbital:

  2373-July-17

  When we got to Diurnia, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Our last word from the TIC in Greenfields said that Herring had disappeared. The single ship that hadn’t responded to the Greenfields recall had jumped before it could be intercepted. Unfortunately but not surprisingly, it didn’t arrive where the flight plan said it would. The TIC wouldn’t release any more information on an active investigation.

  With passengers aboard, we spent little time talking about the situation while underway. The Kilpatricks knew of our situation. Ms. Kilpatrick even offered me condolences on my loss. Still, it was a subject that we didn’t bring up around the dinner table, for which I was extremely grateful.

  After we docked the ship, Ms. Maloney sent a short message to Kirsten Kingsley asking her to join us for lunch aboard the Iris. Without any hard information, and the lack of any newsie gossip, we decided we needed to know more about what was happening on station before we ventured out.

  With the last of the passengers and cargo ashore, we all gathered in the galley for a strategy session.

  “It’s too soon,” Ms. Maloney said. “Jarvis has barely had time to learn that things went pear shaped on him. He can’t have had more than a few days since he heard from Greenfields.”

  Chief Stevens pursed her lips and considered. “Depends on what kind of arrangements he had with his team at Greenfields. There isn’t a DST office there so he had to be working through an intermediary.”

  Ms. Arellone said, “He managed to get Chief Bailey there in time to meet us, and I’d bet he wasn’t there alone either.”

  Ms. Maloney looked at her with a frown. “That’s a good point,” she said. “But getting ahead of us wasn’t that difficult. He had weeks to put his team in place.”

  “Maybe, but how’d he know we’d—” Ms. Arellone stopped herself in mid-sentence. “Of course. The law
suit.”

  “Exactly,” Chief Stevens said. “By filing the lawsuit they knew exactly when and where to find you. They didn’t need to follow, just be where you’re going.”

  “Kirsten will know something,” Ms. Maloney said. “Chief Bailey was an employee of DST, so how they handled his death should give us some insight.”

  “There’s another factor,” I said. “TIC must be working here. If Jarvis is behind this—”

  Ms. Arellone snorted derisively.

  “If Jarvis is behind this,” I repeated, “he’s going to have to keep a low profile for now. It won’t do him any good to stop us only to spend the rest of his life on Zazi.”

  Ms. Arellone looked skeptical, but both Chief Stevens and Ms. Maloney nodded thoughtfully.

  Kirsten Kingsley arrived at 1205 and apologized as she stepped through the lock with Adrian in tow. “We’re trying to arrange a bulk-purchase arrangement with the chandlery. With as many ships as we have operating in the area, even a small discount would add up.” She grimaced and shrugged apologetically. “The meeting ran long and, as you might imagine, the chandlery’s near monopoly gives them a lot of leverage.”

  “I imagine it does,” I replied. “I’m surprised they’ll even consider it.”

  She snorted. “Yeah, well, I’m not sure they are, frankly. I think it’s more a PR move than actual interest in the deal. So far they’ve talked a lot and tied us up in meetings, but we haven’t had much success.”

  Ms. Arellone closed the lock behind them, and I led Ms. Kingsley and her shadow up the ladder to the galley. Ms. Maloney’s soup, salad, and crusty loaf luncheon included a thick chicken stew, the aroma of which wafted out to the top of the ladder.

  I turned to Aiden and asked, “Will you be joining us for lunch?”

  He shook his head. “No, sir, I’m on duty.” He took up a position just inside the galley, and stood at a kind of parade rest beside the door.