by Dan Thompson
IT HAD BEEN ONE OF THE BEST nights of Michael’s life. It was not merely the sex, though that had been fabulous. It had been the whole package, from his orders to his tiny crew, to the dinner, and of course to a very eager lover in Josie. Even the brief interaction he had had with Richard Mosley was part of it. The last time he had been on Taschin, he was a boy grieving for his father. Now only a year later, people were treating him like a grown man, and he was starting to feel like one himself.
He looked at Josie lying next to him in bed. Her hair was disheveled, and her skin showed a number of red marks that could have only been results of his various grips during their long night of passion. The sheet draped across her hip, providing only the barest of modesty as she slept. The sunbeam coming down from the skylight was creeping across the bed, so he knew it was time to be getting up.
He took a shower and came out in a robe. Josie was awake, propped up on the pillows with the sheet pulled up to her chest. “Good morning, Captain.”
He laughed and sat down on the bed beside her. “So, it is always going to be ‘Captain’ now?”
She blushed with a smile. “No, but I always wanted to say it.”
“All right, then. You can call me Captain whenever you want.”
She nodded. “So, Captain, where did you learn that thing you did in the hot tub last night? I mean, where did you even get the leverage?”
He chuckled. That had been one of his more adventurous moments, but the truth of the matter was he had learned it from a girl he had met on Folsom station. Looking back, Michael realized she was probably as much of a professional as Josie was and that Jimmy Anders had hired her as part of a plot to lure him away from the Heavy Heinrich. That was more of an explanation than he wanted to give in the morning light, so he simply shook his head. “Captains have their secrets.”
“Very well, Captain. How long before you have to ship out?”
He thought about it. He already had two crew, and if Richard Mosley could fill the second navigation or environmental spot—especially if he was a viable first officer—then it might be much sooner than he had imagined. “Maybe as soon as a week. I don’t know. I still have a lot to do.”
“And when do you think you’ll come through again?”
He shook his head. “I haven’t even picked a route yet, but I’ll tell you this much. It won’t be as long as a year.”
“All right, but you call me when you get in, and I mean that very day. None of this two months crap.”
“Absolutely,” he replied, but then started thinking about such a return visit. “Josie, when I do come back, how is this supposed to work? I mean, last night was fantastic, but do I need to—”
“No!” She shook her head. “No, Michael, or at least … not today. As for the future, I don’t know either. I never asked Annie what her deal with Malcolm was.” She looked away. “I don’t even know if that’s what you’re looking for.”
“Well, Josie, I was thinking …”
She put two fingers against his mouth, silencing him. “Don’t say it. You don’t know what you want either.”
He shrugged. “Fair enough, but I will call you when I get back.”
“Yes, and I expect a repeat performance of the hot tub, even if we have to do it in my own bathroom.”
He glanced over at the hot tub, thinking. “You know, if that towel rod in your bathroom is strong enough, I think I might be able to manage.”
She flashed a wicked grin. “That’s my captain, the problem solver. Now, somewhere between here and the door, we have clothing. I think it’s time to begin the search.”
He looked back at the debris of their entrance, mostly his uniform, but one of her shoes was next to the wet bar. “Regrettably yes, but at least we’ll get some memories out of it.”
Richard Mosley was waiting for him when Michael finally got back to the Sophie around four. He was outside talking to Carlos, both of them looking at some detail on the undercarriage.
He waved to them. “Sorry I’m so late.”
Richard laughed. “Frankly, sir, I’d have been disappointed in you if you’d been much earlier. She looked like something special.”
Carlos raised an eyebrow. “This was the girl from the other day? Damn, I’m surprised you made it back during daylight.”
He blushed but tried not to acknowledge it. “Well, duty calls. What were you two looking at?”
Carlos nodded back toward the front landing gear. “There’s some kind of mark on the main strut.”
They went over to see it, but it was little more than a horizontal grease stain.
“That wasn’t there when I got back to Taschin,” Michael said. He had given Sophie a thorough inspection after he returned.
“I wouldn’t worry about,” Richard said. “It looks like a towing mark. I understand you had the ship in storage for a while.”
He nodded. “They towed it out here because I couldn’t put her under power without a minimum crew.”
“Well, no real harm came from doing it once, but next time make sure they use a double-L clasp instead of the standard H style. Your undercarriage is a little odd for a freighter, but it looks like it can handle a rougher landing than most.”
He thought about his own piloting skills and was glad for it. “Thank you, Mr. Mosley. I’ll have to remember that.”
They went inside, Carlos branching off to the bridge while Michael led Richard to the galley. As they sat, Richard placed his profile in front of Michael. He scanned it quickly. Richard’s self-description as a mixed bag was as accurate as it was understated. He had twenty-eight years of experience across a dozen ships, hitting almost every department and station. “It looks like it would be easier to simply say you don’t cook,” Michael said when he got to the bottom.
“Something like that, though my most current rating is environmental. I suppose I get bored after a few years and start looking for another skill. Now I’m bored by bigger ships and corporate paperwork.”
“And you were interested in the first mate position?”
“Yes, sir. I was the third mate on Takasumi’s Atlas Runner, but it was a much larger ship with a crew of forty.”
Michael nodded, mostly to stall for time. He had not even begun thinking about what qualities he should look for in a first mate. That had always been Malcolm’s decision. “Anything else?”
“Not so much,” he replied. “But I thought we could talk a little about your other openings.”
Michael shrugged. “Sure.”
“I took the liberty of pulling the profiles of the two you’ve already hired as well as yours—nice work on the license exam, by the way. Right now it looks like you’re mostly deficient in drives. Your own rating is probably up to the task of any maintenance we need, but unless you plan on running the ship from engineering, you’re going to need two qualified engineers.” He reached into a folder, pulled out four more profiles, and laid them out in front of Michael. “I also took the liberty of checking who was in port. All four are qualified, but the two on your left are my favorites.
“Dieter Merkel is also from Takasumi Lines, not my ship though, and his contract is up in a week. All of his previous experience has been on small ships, and if he’s having any trouble making the switch to the bigger ships, he could be lured away fairly easily. Vivian Ward is currently posted to the Red Earl, but her owner-captain is being sued for breach of contract, and the rumor is the Earl may be tied up while some kind of lien is worked through. She’s old but quite experienced. If you don’t mind playing the vulture, her crew should be easy pickings. These other two … like I said, they’re qualified, but they’ve both been in port for a couple of months, which suggests some problem not listed in their profile. My guess would be some kind of attitude problem, but they’re still worth a look if Merkel and Ward are unavailable.”
Richard then laid out two more profiles. “Both of these would fill the environmental posting fairly well. Hector Reyes just dropped out of a two-year contr
act with one of the Solarian cross-border lines, notably six months early. That might mark him as a discipline issue, but you’ll note he’s a Confederate citizen, so he may have simply been using that posting as a way of getting back into Confederate space. This other one, Dennis Brodie, has a better rating, but he’s only here because he was on a transfer between two Helliker ships and missed the connection. You might be able to poach him, but he’ll come at a premium.”
Michael scanned the profiles, realizing he should have been doing this all along rather than relying on a job posting to attract the right people. He had never even thought to look for crew on other ships, but the old crew of the Sophie had certainly been qualified when Malcolm’s death had forced them to scatter. As for the two engineers who had been lagging at port, Michael recognized one of them from the hiring hall, one of the few who had been polite when refusing the job. As for the environmental post, he knew that Helliker held onto its crewmembers almost as well as Schneider and Williams. He simply could not afford Brodie, but Hector Reyes looked like a fine candidate.
He looked up to see Richard with a satisfied grin. “Let me guess,” Michael said, “this is your application for the first mate position.”
Richard shrugged. “If nothing else, I figured I could do you the favor of some research.”
“You know I’m not in the Guild yet.”
He nodded. “But Carlos said an old captain of his had offered to sponsor you. All you’re lacking is the bond.”
“That’s about the size of it.”
“As long as you’re working toward it, I’m fine.”
Michael chewed on it for only a few seconds. This guy was a lot sharper than Malcolm’s final first mate. If anything, he was probably sharper than Michael. That could be useful. “I’m offering standard rates plus a 5-percent profit bonus.”
“When should I report for duty?”
Michael looked down at the profiles in front of him and pushed the three favored ones back toward Richard. “I think you just did. Go reach out to these three.”
“Right now?”
“Yeah, before anyone else does.”
Winifred stepped into the galley. Her jumpsuit was peeled down with the sleeves tied around her waist, showing off her tank top underneath. It was the first time Michael had seen her in anything less baggy than coveralls. She did not have the muscular bulk that the dreaded Maya Zoland had carried, but she had a wiry tautness in her build. She stepped back immediately and awkwardly covered her chest with crossed arms. “Sorry, Captain. I didn’t realize you had a visitor.”
“Another hire,” he said. “Winner, this is Richard Mosley, our new first officer. Richard, this is Ms. Vargas.”
Richard rose and extended his hand. She stepped forward hesitantly and took his hand for a brief handshake, only to retreat and pull her coverall back up, slipping her arms into the sleeves. Richard merely nodded and said, “It’s good to meet you, Ms. Vargas.”
“Um, sure,” she replied. “Captain, I was going back into town to get a few more stores for the galley. Is that cool with you? I mean, is that cool with you, sir?”
“That will be fine, Ms. Vargas. Carry on.”
She nodded once and left immediately.
“She’s an interesting one,” Richard commented.
“Yeah, but she can wield both a loader and a spatula with considerable skill.”
“Good combination.” He paused, glancing back toward the corridor. “I don’t want to step on any toes, Captain, but do you have any policy on … you know?”
Michael stiffened a little at the question, remembering Winner’s blunt statement on the matter, but the truth was that Malcolm had never made a big deal out of it when he was growing up. Malcolm had never indulged as far as he knew, but neither had he raised a fuss over any other shipboard relations. “Not really,” he finally answered, “but in this case, she most definitely does have a policy.”
Richard shrugged. “Not a problem, sir. There are always plenty of options in port.” He gathered up the profiles from the table. “I’ll go track these three down and collect my things. From the looks of it, you’re using the local Stellar Styles for uniforms?”
“Yeah, order whatever you need, but also get yourself a dress uniform. If we have to woo the new crew, I want us to look sharp.”
“Aye, sir. That we will.”
Michael sat in Malcolm’s cabin, except it was no longer Malcolm’s. He had moved his own belongings from his childhood quarters two days earlier to make room for the new crew. He warned them of his problematic history with the toilet in his old cabin, and Dieter Merkel insisted on taking it as the gentlemanly thing to do. That left Vivian Ward with Wendy’s old cabin. Hector Reyes had been the last to report in and took the remaining small cabin on the port side of the ship.
In the end, none of them had required much wooing. Richard had made a late-night call from a nightclub, asking for the engine specifications. By the following day, all they wanted was to tour the ship, meet Michael, and confirm the 5-percent profit bonus. They were settling in this morning, and he had a meeting scheduled with Dieter and Vivian after lunch to go over the reactor restart procedures.
Dieter, it turned out, was a talented musician. His instrument of choice was a sitar, but he also brought a mandolin and a banjo. “I had a roommate on my last ship, and he had neither appreciation nor tolerance. The philistine actually cut my sitar strings, and I’ve got to tell you, those aren’t easy to come by out here.”
Vivian had spent her life on ships, from a childhood tagging along on one of the Takasumi Lines executive yachts to a thirty-eight-year stretch on a freighter, the Wandering Gull. Divorce had ended ultimately ended that posting. “My bastard of a husband had seniority, so when it got crazy, I was the one who had to go. The truth of it is, though, it was the best thing for me. The Gull didn’t wander as much as you’d think, stuck on the Callista-Berrand-Teshon triangle run, so I never got to see my kids. Three of them are here in the Caspian sector, and I’d like more of a chance to visit with the grandchildren while they’re still actually children.”
Hector was a film buff, but he was not interested in anything recent. “The directors from the last century of the Republic have not yet been eclipsed. I’m telling you, they knew tragedy better than anyone before or since.” He had spent the last five years working his way across the Solarian Union building up an extensive collection of such films. He eagerly promised to share the collection as well as provide insightful commentary. Michael was doubtful he would get many takers on that offer.
Malcolm’s cabin was the one true suite on board. The bed was large enough for two if they were at least a little friendly. Michael could not remember him ever entertaining on board ship, but it was there anyway. The closet and drawers provided more storage than his old cabin had, and he knew from Malcolm’s many years in it that there was nothing wrong with the plumbing here.
Unlike most of the cabins, the desk was not next to the bed but instead out in a little anteroom. On the deck plans it was labeled “Captain’s Office,” though Malcolm had never used it as such. Yes, he had done all of his paperwork there, but he had never held meetings there or summoned anyone to it. It had mostly been an extension of his private space.
Michael wanted to change that, so he sat there at the desk with the hatch open to the corridor. He was reviewing cargo postings here on Taschin as well as some of the out-of-date ones that had been reported from nearby worlds. He had never worried too much about the cargo before, but he had at least learned to look more than one leg ahead. Multi-leg through-cargo tended to pay better, but it was sparse. Most of it out here was short-haul to the next system, but if you carried something out, you needed to be able to pick something up for the next leg. That made cargo runs to new colony worlds especially annoying, but you could usually charge extra for them.
Occasionally one of the crew would pass by and nod to him, but they mostly left him in peace. Even so, he liked the feel of it. He wa
s visible without breathing down their necks. He remembered the command presence that Ms. Corazon had held on his uncle’s ship. Even as the XO, she could make you nervous simply by coming into the room. Somehow she had managed to find that balance between invisibility and being in everyone’s way. Michael hoped he could be so lucky.
“Have you decided yet, Captain?”
He looked up to see Richard standing in the hatch. Like all the others, he was in his Sophie’s utility uniform, but his pale skin and white hair contrasted to the green more sharply. “I’m thinking up to Rapoen, back down to Cenita, then a hop over to Ballison, and probably on to Arvin from there. We may have a bit more of a layover there, but we’ll figure that out as we get closer.”
“It should be a good route. Have you given any thought to passengers? We have those two extra staterooms on the starboard side, the single and the bunks.”
“You really think we should?” Malcolm had rarely bothered with passengers. He said he got tired of them complaining about his cooking.
Richard shrugged. “It’s up to you, but it would make those 5-percent bonuses a little thicker.”
“It would at that,” he replied. It would also make it a little easier to start making those bond payments if he could ever get that sorted out. “Tell Winner I want to see her. With the galley, she’s the one who will be most affected.”
“As soon as I see her,” he replied.
Michael pulled up the budget numbers again. The extra environmental load might cost them an extra filter skin per leg, but that was trivial. Food was only a little more, presuming they could keep to regular food. Mostly it was going to come down to personnel.
“Package for you, Captain.” Winner stood in the door, holding a locked crate in her arms.
“That was quick.”
“You were expecting it?”
He shook his head. “No, it’s … just set it down in the corner. I wanted to talk to you about the galley. We’re thinking of taking on passengers to help boost our margins. Can you handle cooking for another two or three?”
