Quarter Share attftgaotsc-1

by Nathan Lowell

  Over the next few days we kept having meetings figuring our way through all the various problems that could arise. The stickiest issue was the idea of consignment. Beverly brought the idea up about two standays out of Margary. “What if somebody has stuff to sell, but doesn’t want to sit around the booth? If we’re going to be there anyway, could we have an arrangement to sell for them? Maybe take a flat percentage for doing it?”

  Rhon objected, “But we’re doing the work and they’re getting the benefit.”

  We threw different ideas around including reduced fees for working the booth or an hourly stipend. That last idea wasn’t popular because it increased overhead without assuring revenue. We still had a lot to work out.

  It seemed we’d barely got underway when suddenly we were at the St. Cloud jump point. We were still stymied over consignments, but we all agreed that we probably should find some kind of solution. I knew from my brief experience on Margary that we needed some kind of system of coverage so the booth would be available the whole time. It was important that this obligation should carry some benefit to those doing the work. My time selling had been fun, but if we were going to do this as a regular thing, I didn’t want to be stuck doing it all the time and I didn’t think anybody else would want that either.

  We’d no sooner secured from transition stations in the afternoon when my tablet bipped with a request from the captain to meet with her, “at your earliest convenience.” I had been on the ship long enough to learn that the phrase was officer-speak for, “get your butt over here.” Pip had a similar message so we hustled to her cabin.

  When we entered we found the captain, Mr. Maxwell, and Mr. Cotton seated around her small conference table. The captain indicated empty seats. “Sit, gentlemen. It’s time we talked.”

  For my part, I was a bit nervous. I’d been eager to talk over what we had come up with her. I felt like we were on the right course but wanted to hear the captains opinions, based on her background and all. Seeing the First Mate and Cargo Chief made me think I was about to find out what some of her ideas might be. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Pip licking his dry lips and he kept wiping his palms on the sides of his shipsuit.

  We sat tensely and waited.

  The captain started right in. “So, gentlemen, how was the flea market?”

  I glanced at Pip and he nodded so I started first. “Well, Captain. You saw our first day’s efforts and, besides being somewhat unprepared-” Pip snorted quietly, but I ignored him and continued, “we did really well. We traveled in pairs and the people who participated that first day were very satisfied.”

  Pip picked up the story. “I took the second day along with three other crew and we all sold out of our trade goods. Ms. Sham and Ms. Murphy both indicated that they were pleased with the outcomes.”

  The captain nodded. “And the third and fourth day?”

  Pip motioned for me to answer that one. “We didn’t have any more goods to sell and since we weren’t aware of any other crew members who needed the booth, it went empty those days. Instead we used the time to research and purchase items for St. Cloud.”

  Mr. Maxwell spoke quietly, “That included visiting a mushroom processing facility?”

  I tried to keep my voice flat when I replied, “Yes, sar.”

  The captain ignored the comment and continued, “And what have you learned about running the booth?”

  Pip answered her with a rueful grin, “That it’s not as easy as it looks, Captain, and if we’re going to do this regularly, then we need to get better organized.”

  The captain nodded with a small smile. “I see, and I concur. You’ve formed a steering committee to start this process rolling. Is that right?”

  I nodded. “Yes, Captain. I can give you the names…”

  She shook her head. “No, that’s not necessary. I’m more interested in what you’ve decided so far.”

  I took a deep breath and let it out before continuing, “We realize that to be successful we need to be professional and systematic. Part of that is maintaining economic viability. We need to pay our own freight, as it were.”

  Mr. Cotton spoke for the first time, “How do you propose to accomplish that, eh?”

  Pip answered him, “By taking a commission, one percent of sales, capped at ten creds. You can sell as much as you like, but you owe the co-op one percent of what you get up to ten creds then after that you keep it all.”

  “I’m familiar with the concept, Mr. Carstairs, ya.” A small smile played around Mr. Cotton’s mouth.

  Pip blushed. “Of course, sar. Sorry, sar.”

  The captain looked like she was suppressing a grin and addressed the next question to me. “And what have you decided about booth coverage and consignment sales?”

  “Well, Captain, we know we need to split the days up. Our normal port stay is about four days. If we have four people as designated booth managers, we could either assign one of them each day or split the duty so no one gets too tired. We have four people but we need to check watch schedules against the volunteers to make sure we’re distributed properly among the watches.”

  She nodded. “And consignments?”

  Pip stepped in on that one. “We’re deadlocked on that one just now, Captain. We’re thinking an increase in commission, but the notion of we-work-and-they-profit is getting in the way. The problem is that the commission goes to the co-op but the people doing the work aren’t getting anything from it.”

  She nodded. “So you’re not paying the booth managers?”

  Pip and I both shrugged but Pip answered her, “That came up at the last meeting, Captain, but we didn’t come to any definitive answer.”

  “How would your great-grandmother have done it, Captain?” The question just popped out of my mouth before I really considered what I was saying.

  The captain smiled though and answered in a gentle voice, “She would have split the commission between the booth and the managers.”

  It was so obvious. As soon as the words left her mouth I knew it was the right answer, and I suspect Pip was kicking himself as hard as I was.

  Mr. Maxwell broke in at that point, “What will you spend the money on?”

  Pip handled that while I untied my tongue. “We need to cover booth rentals, they won’t always be as straight forward as Margary, I suspect. We also need some booth fixtures to keep from looking like complete rubes.”

  The captain appeared to sneeze quietly at that point and covered her mouth and nose with her hand.

  Mr. Maxwell arched an eyebrow. “Rubes, Mr. Carstairs?”

  “Yes, sar. Most booth vendors have display racks, signage, chairs, and such. The pros have them all set up on a grav-pallet and all they have to do is float it in, lock it down, and begin selling. That first day we wouldn’t have even had a tablecloth if not for the banner-”

  The captain interrupted, “So you’re planning on purchasing all this with the proceeds from the booth?”

  I sighed. “That’s our problem, captain. The creds we can cover. We probably can’t afford a grav-pallet right away but the other stuff is relatively easy to come by except for the mass.”

  “The mass?”

  Pip nodded. “Yes, Captain. All that stuff has mass and somebody needs to book it onto the ship. None of us have a mass allotment high enough to cover it all.”

  Mr. Maxell swiveled his gaze back and forth between us. “How are you going to deal with that?”

  I shrugged. “Well, sar, short term, we’ll make signs on station and leave them there. Boards and markers are cheap and disposable. Chairs we’ll rent as well as the tables. It’ll add to the overhead, but it’ll be worth it. We have a tablecloth now in addition to the banner and clips, so we’re good there.”

  Pip added, “We’re planning on buying a couple of extra duffel bags for transportation when we get to St. Cloud. But we don’t have spare mass for even a couple of cargo totes, let alone a grav-pallet.”

  The captain nodded and pursed h
er lips. “What about renting a grav-pallet as well?”

  Pip nodded. “We looked at that, Captain. They’re expensive compared to the booth rental, but if this works out perhaps we can do that downstream, yes.”

  “Mr. Cotton,” the captain said, “does the ship have a grav-pallet they might rent?”

  “I’m sorry, Captain, no, in port we need every pallet we can find, ya.” He pulled up his tablet and consulted his inventory. “But…we do, have one that is scheduled for scrap, ya. Ach, it was supposed to have remained on Margary, in fact.”

  She nodded thoughtfully, and I had an odd feeling that she had known all along. “What’s the mass on a grav-pallet, Mr. Cotton?”

  “Ya, fifty kilos, Captain.” His response was immediate.

  She turned to the first mate. “Mr. Maxwell, does Lois have sufficient mass in her allotment to cover fifty kilos?”

  “Yes, Captain, she does.” His reply was likewise immediate.

  “Well, then I think we have the grav-pallet problem solved.” She gave us all a little self-satisfied shrug. “I’m very pleased with the progress you gentlemen and your group have made. A captain likes to keep the crew happy-busy, but happy.” She looked around, first at Mr. Maxwell and then Mr. Cotton. “Is there any other business for these two spacers, gentlemen?”

  “No, Captain,” they answered in near unison.

  “Very well.” She turned to us. “Thank you for coming, gentlemen. I appreciate your diligence.”

  We stood and started out but at the door the captain stopped us with a final question. “Oh, what are you calling this enterprise of yours?”

  Pip and I glanced at each other, and I told her. “The McKendrick Mercantile Cooperative, of course. I understand it has a proud tradition, Captain.”

  The captain grinned. “Yes, Mr. Wang, it does indeed. Thank you, again, gentlemen.”

  We beat a hasty retreat from officer country and the whole way back Pip kept shaking his head and making little tsk’ing sounds.

  When we entered the galley, I finally broke down and asked, “What’s the matter?”

  “Split the commission. How stupid can we be?”

  I chuckled. “I don’t know about you, but I have a proud history of being pretty stupid.”

  “Hmm. Maybe it’s contagious and I’m catching it from you, then.”

  Cookie was icing a cake for dinner and looked up at Pip. “No, Mr. Carstairs, you’ve always had a very healthy amount of your own,” he said with a wicked grin. He turned back to his icing. “And if you’re finished lazing about, number one coffee urn is out again.”

  Chapter 27

  Margary System

  2352-January-15

  After evening clean up, I settled on the mess deck with my handbook and a cup of coffee. The quarterly exams were only a few days away and, while I was pretty confident about the food handler test, I had barely looked at ordinary spacer.

  It was huge.

  Everything that didn’t appear on one of the other exams was on the deck division test-ship configurations, basic communications, and standing orders for: watches, helm, and gangway duty. My brain froze and shut down. Sandy found me half a stan later just sitting there staring into my tablet.

  She waved a hand in front of my face. “Ish? Ish? You okay?”

  “Oh yeah, thanks, Sandy. I just realized how much is on this deck exam. It flipped me out for a bit. The test is in ten standays and I’m planning on taking this one and the food handler exam.”

  She chuckled. “You are a glutton for punishment, aren’t ya? Didn’t you take cargo and engineering last cycle?”

  I nodded.

  She looked over my shoulder at the tablet. “This isn’t so bad. I’m finally taking my Astrogation II exam this round. Once you start specializing it gets a lot harder. Look.” She pointed at the port starboard diagram. “If you don’t know that by now, you’re just so much congealed saltwater.”

  I chuckled. “True.”

  “And tell me you haven’t absorbed the watch stander schedule. What watch are we on now?”

  “Evening, but…”

  “See, this isn’t hard. You still have plenty of time. What haven’t you gotten to?”

  “Standing orders. Look at how many there are. How am I supposed to memorize all that?”

  She punched the button and brought up the first set. There were ten of them, but each was just common sense. She’d brought up the gangway watch orders and it started with, “Watch standers will report to duty stations fifteen ticks before the change of watch to assure a smooth transition of duty.”

  “Hmm. This doesn’t look all that hard.”

  “You’ve been hanging around with Pip too much. Maybe you should spend more time with Beverly.”

  I’m pretty sure I blushed.

  She patted me on the shoulder. “Look, you know how to eat an elephant?”

  I nodded. “One bite at a time.”

  “Yup. Dig in. I bet you can finish this one in a couple of days.”

  I flipped back and forth a couple of times and began to realize she was right. The list was long, but the individual items were small. A lot of it I knew already having lived aboard for-gods could it really have been almost five months? “You’re right,” I said. “I don’t know what happened there. My brain just kinda seized up.”

  She looked at me with a frown. “Hmm, you’ve been up since 05:00 and worked all day?”

  I nodded.

  “You’ve got a lot on your plate. I heard you had a meeting with the captain this afternoon. It seems like the co-op is shaping up.”

  I nodded again.

  “Well, let me ask you this. Don’t you think you should get some sleep? It’s almost time for the midwatch.”

  I chuckled. “Which would make it nearly midnight and I’ve got to get up at oh-dark-thirty.”

  She laughed then. “It’s all dark out here, but yeah. I’m off watch myself in a few minutes and I better not find you on the track.”

  “Okay, okay, sheesh.” I laughed and stood. “Thanks, Sandy.”

  “No problem, Ish.” She waved and headed out of the mess. “Sleep well.”

  When I got to the berthing area, Pip and Bev were both already asleep. As I settled into my own bunk, I heard the little snorty-snores through the partition and thought, One bite at a time.

  ***

  For the next couple of days I focused on my exams and let Pip worry about the steering committee. He kept me filled in while we worked the serving line or during clean ups. The group liked the idea of splitting the commissions but were hung up on whether to split all of them or only consignment sales. Eventually they agreed to split them all and to put a ten percent no-cap commission on consignments. That seemed about right to me. Beverly and Rhon wanted more, but Diane and Francis wanted less so it was a good compromise. Personally, I liked the idea of splitting them all. Of course, we’d already decided that booth manager wasn’t subject to the one percent sales commission. It was a way to get more people to volunteer to be booth managers. Adding the commission split between manager and co-op, we developed a nice economic model that gave a little extra to anybody who worked for the common good.

  I got through all the ordinary spacer material in just a couple of days and took a practice test with a seventy-five score. Good, but not enough to pass. I took a break and ran quickly through the food handler again, just to refresh myself and tested at ninety-four. By the end of the second day after transition, I was passing both tests consistently and I messaged Mr. von Ickles to let him know I’d be taking both deck and steward tests.

  Sandy caught me after clean up a couple of nights after that. “How’re you doing? You still have a few days to study. You need help on the deck exam?”

  “I think I’m good. Of course, I won’t know until I take the test next week.”

  “Too true.” She gave me a sympathetic chuckle.

  “How are you doing?” I asked. “You’ve been studying astrogation stuff ever since I
came aboard.”

  She smiled at me. “That’s normal. I had just made third before we got to Neris. After you make full share, you have to pick a specialty and work up through that ranking system.”

  I grimaced but nodded my agreement. “Yeah, I saw that in The Handbook, but there’s nothing that says I have to go beyond full share.”

  “Well, the extra mass is nice, and I suspect you’ll be full share before you know it. Look what happened with Pip.”

  “Very true. Well, if you have a couple minutes, would you drill me on the deck stuff and see if I’m ready?”

  “Sure, I’d be happy to.” She reached over and took my tablet.

  For the next twenty ticks, she asked me questions and I gave her answers. It was fun. She had that same dry wit that Diane had and a take-no-prisoners attitude that reminded me of Beverly. When we were done, she handed the tablet back. “Okay, you just qualified for able spacer. I think you can pass the ordinary test.”

  We laughed and I thought she was joking until I got my tablet back from her and looked to see the testing pool she’d been drilling me from. That made me feel a lot better.

  ***

  On test day, I reported to Mr. von Ickles at the appointed time. He grinned when he saw me. “Do you have your frequent testing card? I can give you a discount.”

  I chuckled. “Sorry, I musta left it in my other shipsuit.”

  “You sure you want to do this?”

  “What’s the worst that can happen?”

  “You might not pass.”

  “And…?”

  “Yeah.” He grinned. “I know, but I have to ask. If you’re ready…”

  Some indeterminate time later, from my perspective, I heard him say, “Time.” I put my stylus down and looked up at him.