by Dan Thompson
He grumbled through a curse. “I failed?”
“No,” she replied. “You passed, barely.”
His face lit up as his elation whooped out of his mouth. “I passed? Wow, I can’t believe I finally made it.” His smile spread all across his face, but her expression did not soften in the least. “So, what’s so bad about me passing?”
“You only got a 74, and a couple of your answers were so wrong, they looked worse than guesswork. So you’re going to get your rating, but no one is ever going to hire you with a score like this.”
He laughed again. “I don’t care. I can hire a navigator.”
Her brow creased even deeper. “Then why take the exam?”
“It’s required for a captain’s license. Guild regulations and all that.”
“You’re trying to get licensed?”
He nodded.
She shrugged. “I’m sorry. Obviously you’re older than you look.”
He thought to correct her, to tell her that he was exactly as young as he looked, but he did not want to have that conversation yet again. Instead, he held out his hand. “At my age, I’ll try to take that as a compliment.”
She took it. “Well, then congratulations, I suppose. The rating will be posted to the local registry by tomorrow. You realize, of course, we don’t give the exams for the captain’s license.”
“I know. I’ll be heading for the Captain’s Guild port office in the morning.”
“Then good luck, Mr. Fletcher. If you need help hiring that navigator, you can come back and see me.”
He released her hand. “I may do just that,” he said and headed back out into the port. This was his last day as a crewman. By this time tomorrow, he would be Captain Fletcher.
Elsa strolled up behind the fisherman, intent on being quiet without looking sneaky. He hauled back the rod with his left hand and threw the line out into the sea. She could see the floater bobbing in the waves beyond the dock, and he started reeling in the line. He looked older than she remembered, his hair thinner, but she had kept track of him all these years. There was no real doubt in her mind.
“I wasn’t aware fishing had become a spectator sport,” he said.
“What makes you think I was watching you? It’s a lovely ocean.”
He glanced back at her and shrugged. “No one sneaks up on the ocean.” He reeled in the line some more, tugging at it unevenly.
She closed the distance and leaned against the railing. “Well, the ocean isn’t suspicious.”
“And I am?”
“You’re still alive after all these years, so you must be.”
He hauled the line of the water. He checked the lure and threw it back out into the ocean. “Fishing’s not as dangerous as you might think.”
“No, but fishing doesn’t pile up warrants and burn through three identities in fifteen years.”
He froze for a moment, but then began reeling in the line again. “You must have me confused with someone else, Miss. My record is clean.”
“Relax. I’m not here to hurt you, Mr. Carrillo. I’m here to hire you.”
“Sorry, the only Carrillo I know drowned out on Taschin.”
She chuckled. “And I went down in a flyer on Cenita, yet here we are.”
He looked at her again, lingering on her face. Her appearance had changed drastically in recent weeks. Her once shoulder-length raven locks were now gone. Stiff blonde hair rose up to a tinted flattop. It was far from her favorite look, but it was stylish among some of the younger set. But for her old shipmate to recognize her, he would have to see past the surgery to her original nose and obliterated cheekbones.
“The Reilly,” she prompted him.
He nodded. “You were a gunner. Elise Wat-something?”
“Close enough, Stefan. But these days I’m Patrice Parker.”
He nodded. “Sure, Patti. What’s the job?”
She shook her head. “Not Patti. Patrice.”
He chuckled and started pulling in the line again, this time in earnest. “Got it, Patrice. The job?”
She nodded. “A little con, a little mutiny, and a six-figure payoff.”
“Sounds nice. What’s my cut?”
She smiled. “That is your cut.”
He finished reeling in the line and set down the rod. “I’m in.”
Taking the captain’s license exam turned into a spectacle. The first administrator thought Michael was joking and refused to let him through, so he had to ask for the branch manager. The administrator refused, and it was only their argument that roused the manager’s curiosity.
The manager was at least willing to review his ratings in the port registry, but he was slow to believe them. Fortunately, most of Michael’s official ratings exams had been taken here at Taschin, so they were easy to confirm with the port’s records. His Basic Crewman and Drives-1 ratings had been done in the Solarian Union when he had turned 12, but his Drives-2 taken here on Taschin backed that up with a firm reality.
Once satisfied, the manager sat him at a table in the corner. “My apologies, Mr. Fletcher. It’s simply a matter of your age.”
“It is what it is, and so are my ratings. They meet the minimums for a license, and the only Guild regulations on age are that I be a legal adult in my nation of citizenship. Here in the Confederacy, that’s 18.”
He smiled and handed over the exam on a tablet. “Then I wish you the best of luck. You have two hours.”
After the mathematical contortions of the navigation exam, the captain’s exam was anticlimactic. The first third was crew regulations and ship safety standards. Then came ship-to-ship stuff like maneuvers, rights of way, and orbital approaches. Most of these came to him with ease after all his years growing up on the Hammerhead and the Sophie. More than anything, he was surprised at all the critical information that the test did not cover: evacuation procedures, traffic coordination in the absence of station authority, salvage regulations, and so on. He wondered how the Guild could let captains operate outside of the core systems without testing them on those things.
The final section was much denser, covering everything from trade contracts to survey rights. Ironically, this was where Michael felt most confident. While Malcolm had often cultivated the appearance of a troublemaker, he had known the law inside and out. It was not that he was necessarily a law-abiding citizen, but rather that he knew the spirit of the law, the letter of the law, and most importantly, the application of the law. “I’m not breaking the law,” he had once said. “I’m going through the cracks that are already there.” So through practice more devious than studious, Malcolm had passed that knowledge on to Michael.
He got to the end and saw that a small crowd had gathered. In addition to the manager and the original administrator, three other clerks were milling around. On the far side of the room, a couple of captains lingered near the break room.
He still had fifteen minutes, so he went back and reviewed his answers. He changed one answer, and then changed it back, adding an explanatory note. “Ships of less than fifty thousand tons and with crew and passengers of less than twenty are exempted from this rule.” He remembered Malcolm having an argument with a yachtsman over that particular rule.
He handed it back with a few minutes to spare, and as the manager scanned through the scorecard, the crowd closed in. One of the captains even perched nearby to read over the manager’s shoulder. Her uniform identified her ship as the Lucky Elephant. She frowned at one point toward the end but was otherwise impassive.
Finally the manager looked up from the pad to face Michael. “I must say that if we hadn’t gone through so much trouble to confirm your profile, Mr. Fletcher, I would think you were a ringer sent in to play a joke on me. Most captains pass this with a 90 or better, but you missed only one question.”
Michael’s shoulders sagged. “What did I miss?”
The manager paged back. “The maximum performance penalty on scheduled cargo is 10 percent, not 8 percent.”
T
he captain from the Lucky Elephant shook her head. “That’s wrong.”
“I know,” the manager replied.
“No,” the captain insisted. “Your test is wrong. The penalty does max out at 8 percent.”
Michael nodded. “That’s right,” he said. “The Guild pushed that through two years ago.”
“True, but it hasn’t gone into effect yet.”
Michael started to smile. This one he had gotten from the XO back on his uncle’s ship, the Heavy Heinrich. “It has in the Confederacy. At the start of this year on the standard calendar, so it’s been active policy for over a month.”
The other captain stepped forward. He was from the Silk Road. “The kid’s right. I just got in from Cenita, and it was in my updated cargo terms. It’s 8 percent.”
The Lucky Elephant captain nodded. “And it’s been shifting over slowly in the League of Catai while their senate chews on it. The Solarian Union is the only big player still dragging its feet on this.”
The manager looked back and forth between the two captains and nodded. “Very well then. Based on that, I am going to award you a perfect score. Congratulations, Mr. Fletcher. Or rather, congratulations, Captain Fletcher.”
There was a general cheer and handshakes all around. He made a point to thank the two captains who had spoken up for him. “You must be Malcolm’s boy,” the Silk Road captain replied.
“You knew him?”
The captain shrugged. “Somewhat. He was a bit of a bastard, you know, but a smart bastard. I didn’t owe him any favors, but captain to captain, we have to look out for each other.”
“Well, thanks anyway. I’m Michael, by the way.”
“Randolph Forrester,” he replied. “But my friends call me Wolf. So when are you going up?”
“Up?”
The captain nodded upward. “To the Guild offices on the station. They don’t do the membership stuff in the ground offices. Too close to the dirt and all that.”
“Sure,” Michael nodded. “I’ve got a few things to double check, but probably the next day or two.”
“So you’re all set?”
He was not sure what he could need beyond his license, but he was too happy in that moment to worry about it. “Ready as ever.”
Wolf clasped him by the shoulders. “Well done then. Next time I see you, you’re buying.”
He made his way out to the lobby and was met once again by that first administrator. He held the door open for Michael. “Best wishes, sir.”
“Thank you,” he replied and walked out into the morning sun.
Sir.
That was going to take some getting used to.
Michael leaned against the bar and sipped at the Ersut vodka. He was not much of a vodka drinker, but this local label was infused with tonja root. He had not smoked any since returning to Taschin, but he decided that getting his license deserved a little celebration, even if it was alone.
Certainly, there were other patrons in the Lucky Black, mostly crew from various freighters in port, but none that he recognized. He remembered the bartender from Malcolm’s wake, but that was all.
The muted buzz of the tonja root had started its slow creep down his back when he felt a hand take hold of his arm. “Mikey?”
He knew who it was before he even turned. There was only one person who still called him that. “Annie?”
She was dressed in casual civilian garb, but she still made it look alluring. That was probably what had made her Malcolm’s favorite portside girl. She could always manage sexy without being too fancy. She looked him up and down and smiled. “You grew.”
He laughed, the sound taking on a strange quality in his head. “I guess I did.”
She tapped a ring against the bar railing and said, “I’ll have what he’s having, but bring it over to the booth.” And with that, she guided him by the elbow into a quiet corner. As soon as her own drink arrived, she raised her glass. “Welcome home, or welcome to whatever this place counts for.”
He met her glass and took another sip. “Thanks, Annie.”
“So when did you get in?”
He had been dreading this question before he even saw her. “Couple of months back.”
“And you rushed right over to see us?”
He took another sip. “No, I guess I didn’t.”
She glared at him for a moment. “I suppose you don’t owe me an explanation, but I imagine Malcolm would be swatting you on the head by now.”
He nodded. “I’m sorry, Annie. I know I should have called when I got in, but I was waiting, you see. I wanted … it’s silly, but I wanted to wait until I had my captain’s license.”
“No, I get it,” she replied. “Come back in as the big man, sweep Josie off her feet, and live happily ever after. Something like that?”
“Well, maybe not happily ever after, but yeah.” Josie had never told him explicitly, but he knew that she was as much of a sex worker as Annie was. He had no illusions of flying off into the sunset with her—at least he told himself he had no such illusions—but he wanted to match the glamour that her other paying clients must have been showing her.
“So when are you going to do it? She’s been asking about you.”
“Really? What did she say?”
She shook her head. “You’ll have to ask her yourself, but I suppose we’re going to have to wait a while on that.”
He started to let himself smile. “Not as long as you might think. I passed the exam this morning.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No, perfect score. I’m flying up to the station tomorrow to do the Guild paperwork, and then I’ll be official.”
All the harshness in her tone melted away. “Then hell, Mikey, let’s call Josie and make a day of it!”
It was tempting, but he waved her down. “No, I want to do this right. Get me a fresh uniform with the captain’s star, take her to dinner in the Guild Hall, get a nice room … that kind of thing. Taking her with me now isn’t exactly sweeping her off her feet.”
Annie took another sip. “Okay, we’ll do it your way.”
“And you won’t tell her?”
“On one condition.”
He nodded.
“Tell me how it went with your uncle.”
He sighed. “On the whole, it went well, and I got what I really needed. But to tell you the truth, I’m lucky to be alive.” He finished his drink and raised the empty glass toward the bartender. “I’m going to need another one to go through this whole thing again. It’s not so much what happened on the Heavy Heinrich. It’s what happened after I jumped ship.”
“Jumped ship?”
The waitress dropped off another glass.
Michael shrugged. “It’s a long story.”
Annie leaned back. “I’ve got time.”
Chapter 3
“Most things aren’t as easy as you’d expect, but some are too easy. Watch out for those.” – Malcolm Fletcher
STEFAN SCRUTINIZED HIS NEW identity at length. “I’ve never been to my supposed home world,” he complained.
Elsa shrugged. “It’s on the other side of the Catai, so I doubt the kid has either. Stick with the tourist guide, and you’ll be fine.”
“And I’m a little rusty on a couple of these ratings. I’m not sure I could even recertify on them if I had to.”
“It doesn’t matter. You’re an experienced hand, and you can think on your feet. You’ll figure out what you need once you’re on board. I have confidence in you.”
“Yeah, but what if he wants to quiz me on some of this shit. It’s been a long time since I realigned a polarizer.”
She laughed. “Oh, Stefan, you worry too much. He’s a kid—”
“Yeah, a sharp kid,” he interrupted. “You underestimated him once already.”
“I know, and I’m betting he’s smart enough to get his license and even finagle his way into the Guild, but he’ll still be a green kid trying to hire on an entire crew. Most spacers won’t take the
risk. All you have to do is look interested. The ratings and references should do the rest.”
“And if he checks the references?”
“They’re real enough,” she assured him. “I have it on good authority that the proper owner of this identity is serving time in the Shiantic Ribbon for some petty offense, though they haven’t bothered to tell the Confederacy that. All I had to do to prep it for you was add a few recent details and then slip your picture into the registry’s records. From what I’ve seen of your birth profile, you should be used to that kind of thing.”
He glared at her. “Not everyone reacts well to surgery or gene therapy.”
“I see. So if you couldn’t get a new look …”
“I changed the old one. How long ago did you put the new picture into the ID? It takes time to circulate.”
“I did it before I interrupted your fishing, and I had it inserted into the main repositories at both Latera and Ballison. By now, it’s already updated throughout the sector.”
He straightened the papers and closed the folder. “And what about your team? Will they be ready?”
“As soon as you send us the route, I’ll have them standing by.”
“All right. I suppose all I have to do now is bump into him.”
The Guild administrator was waiting for him outside the Guild Hall up on the station. “Captain Fletcher,” she said with a hand held out. “I’m Janet Bower.”
Michael took her hand. “Good morning. Were you expecting me?”
She shrugged. “They called me yesterday about your exam, so I’ve been looking out for your name on the upward shuttles.”
“Do you always do that?”
She nodded. “Usually. We only get a couple of new captains a month out here on Taschin, so it’s rare enough. Plus, you caused a bit of a stir.”
Michael grimaced. “I didn’t mean to be a problem.”
“Oh no, not a problem, but you caught our attention with that perfect score.” She motioned toward the doors. “Come on in.”
He followed her inside, past the lobby and into the restaurant. She took a seat at the bar and ordered an apple mint spritzer. He took the seat next to her and settled for a water. A few patrons were scattered around at the tables. He had been hoping for more, because as soon as he was officially in the Guild, he planned to buy a round for everyone there. He might have to come back closer to the station’s dinner time.
