In Ashes Born (A Seeker's Tale From The Golden Age Of The Solar Clipper Book 1) (33 page)

“Mercy Maude,” she said. “You scared the … heck out of me, sar.”

“Sorry, Ms. Sharps. Where do you want us?”

“Want you, sar?” She turned to see Pip standing behind me.

He waggled his fingers in greeting.

“Cleaning,” I said and lifted the bucket out of her hand. “You’ll need a couple more buckets.”

“Tables,” she said sounding a bit dazed.

“Tables,” I said and grabbed a scrubby sponge from the stack on my way back out to the mess deck.

Pip commandeered Franklin’s bucket and followed. We started on the table tops and seats. The hot water and grease-cutters made short work of most of the grunge. There were still smallish bits that would need a little more effort but I kept an eye on the chronometer on the bulkhead. With the four of us on table duty, we’d just about have time.

At 1445, the lock call bell rang. “I’ll get it. That should be our coffee,” Pip said and tossed his sponge into the bucket of slimy water.

I finished the last of the tables while Franklin filled a wringer bucket with detergent and hot water. I grabbed a spare swab and the two of us cleared most of the deck by the time the coffee service sat ready on the counter.

“Sar, you’ll need to stay off that for a bit so it’ll dry,” Franklin said, pointing at the deck.

“I also need to get into a clean uniform,” I said. “Mr. Carstairs? If you’d get into your khakis and man the lock? I’ll get changed and collect Chief Stevens.”

“Aye, aye, skipper,” Pip said and pounded up the ladder to officer country.

“Anything else you two need before we open the show?” I asked, looking at Sharps.

“No, sar,” Sharps said.

“Help yourself to the coffee and some dessert,” I said, pointing to the spread on the pass-through. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

I tiptoed over the wet deck. Franklin brought out a damp swab and backed into the galley, taking all our footprints with him. I grinned all the way up the ladder to the cabin. We could have done a lot worse.

I left the cabin at 1455 and met Pip outside the mess deck. “They’re gathering already, skipper. How do you want to do this?”

Chief Stevens joined us, wiping her hands on a bit of toweling. “One at a time for each of us?”

I nodded. “We don’t want people wandering around loose too much. Line ’em up in two rows and send them up one at a time. If you’d be so kind as to flash whatever you know about them to our tablets, so we know who’s supposed to be coming up the ladder?”

“Sure thing.” He backed two rungs down the ladder and paused to look up at us with a grin. “Good luck.”

The deck wasn’t completely dry but it served well enough. It would need swabbing again before the day was out. The chief and I grabbed cups of coffee and settled at side-by-side tables. At 1500, Ms. Sharps smiled and offered us a little wave as she closed the door to the galley. I could hear them sloshing water and scrubbing over the sound of the blowers.

My tablet bipped; a few moments later, so did the chief’s.

“And so it begins,” she said.

The first candidate stepped into the mess deck.

“Able Spacer Anthony Burgess, reporting.”

“Here, Mr. Burgess,” I said and pointed to the table opposite.

The candidate behind him followed his lead stepping onto the mess deck.

“Wiper Walter Bellamy, reporting.”

The chief raised a hand. “Here, Mr. Bellamy.”

So it began. Some refused coffee, some took extra time. Some were clearly nervous. Some looked relaxed, as if they met with clipper captains every day. For all I knew, they did. If I hadn’t kept notes, I would have lost track after the first ten ticks.

One candidate was another messman so I called Ms. Sharps out to sit beside me.

“Messman Rachel Adams, reporting.”

“Rache?” Ms. Sharps said, leaning forward, and then cast a horrified glance at me. “Oh, sorry, Captain.”

“Here, Ms. Adams.” I said with a smile at Ms. Sharps.

When the candidate had refused the coffee and taken her seat, I said, “Apparently you know Ms. Sharps?”

“Yes, sar. We served on the
Loren
under Captain Avery.”

I nodded. “Not a bunk bunny?”

She colored but held her head up. “No, sar.”

I turned to Ms. Sharps. “Can she make biscuits?”

“No, sar.” She smiled. “She’s a master of the omelet pan.”

“Good to hear.” After a few more routine questions I released her and addressed Ms. Sharps. “You’d approve?”

“Of Rache? In a heartbeat. I didn’t know she’d left the ship, too.”

“Thank you, Ms. Sharps. There’s your second hand.”

She grinned. “Thank you, Captain.” She left as my tablet bipped again.

When Ms. Sharps disappeared into the galley, the chief grinned at me. “You’ve made a friend.”

“Who? Ms. Sharps?”

The chief shook her head. “No. Me. I love a good omelet.”

We laughed as the next candidate stepped onto the mess deck. The afternoon disappeared in a sea of faces and names and ratings and specialties.

The chrono clicked over to 1730 before the chief ran out of engineers to interview. I sent my last one off and waited for the next bip.

“Why are all these people out of work?” I asked. “This isn’t even a Confederation port.”

“That might be why,” she said. “They get bumped or shoved off here, and getting back out is a problem. Honestly, I thought there’d be more.”

“Really?”

She shrugged. “You’ve led a charmed life, skipper. With some notable bumps. You had Alys Giggone at your back, and then you went to the academy. Some of these people have been sailing around as long as you have. Some longer. Most give up the life and settle down, but some of the people I’ve seen today have been sailing for three or four contracts, and this isn’t the first time they’ve been put ashore. They’ve been around the quadrant a couple of times.”

I chuckled and looked at my tablet to see if I’d missed the bip. “I was preparing for the eventuality that I’d be beached before I left the
Lois
. I never was and it doesn’t look like that’s something I ever need to worry about again.”

It bipped just as I reached for it. “Alberta Ross. Why do I know that name?”

A shadow moved in the passageway and a familiar figure stepped onto the mess deck. “First Mate Alberta Ross, reporting,” she said. Her naked scalp gleamed in the light of the overhead. Tribal tattoos snaked across her skull, down her neck, and disappeared into her service tunic. I saw at least a quarter kilo of surgical steel stuck through her flesh in various places.

Any normal person would probably have run for the lock.

Chapter Thirty-Three
Breakall Orbital:
2374, August 9

I didn’t know what to say for several heartbeats. I felt my jaw hinge open and hang just above the tabletop.

Luckily, the chief filled in for me. “Al? My gods, Al.” She was up and across the mess deck before I could recover. “What the—? Why are you here?”

“I heard the boy toy here was on station and hiring. Where else would I be?” she asked.

Chief Stevens shot me a quizzical expression. “Boy toy?”

“Long story.” I stood and crossed the deck to Al, unsure whether to shake, salute, hug, or some combination of the three.

She solved the problem by holding out a massive paw and gripping my hand in both of hers. “Good to see you.” She paused and smiled. “Captain.”

“I’m stunned,” I said. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Is that good stunned or bad stunned?”

“Delighted stunned.” I stepped back and just looked at her. “I can’t believe you’re here. I haven’t seen you in twenty stanyers.”

“I’ve got some new steel. Wanna see?” She reached for the buttons on her tunic.

I laughed. “I’d love to, but maybe another time?” I nodded toward the galley door where Sharps and Franklin peered out. “Give the crew a chance before we scare them off the ship.”

She bellowed her great laugh and clapped me on the shoulder. “Good plan, skip.”

“So, you want to come crew, Al? Or is that just Carstairs playing games?” the chief asked.

“I’m applying. I know you’re not looking for mates. Taking a permit to Dree, are ya?”

“Yeah. Didn’t seem really feasible to try to hire mates until the refit’s done,” I said. “Come in, sit. Have some coffee?”

She grinned. “Love a cup.” She strode across the mess deck, sloshed some coffee into a cup, grabbed a pastry, and slung a leg over a chair at the table.

I heard the galley door click closed and chuckled.

Pip came up from below decks with a cheesy grin stretched across the bottom of his face. “Told ya,” he said.

“Twenty-eight,” I said.

“We finally ran out of applicants,” he said. “Should we send Sharps and Franklin off before we settle in for a gab?”

“Probably.” I went to the galley door, opened it, and stuck my head through. “Ms. Sharps. Mr. Franklin. Excellent work today. Why don’t you hit the docks now? Get some rest. Sort out your business with the orbital. Plan on moving aboard day after tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Captain. We’ll just take a few ticks to get this gear stowed and we’ll be out of here,” Sharps said.

I grinned. “I appreciate all you’ve done. I hope we haven’t scared you off.”

Sharps glanced at Franklin and smiled. “It’s been different, Captain, but no. You haven’t scared me off.”

“Me, either, sar.” Franklin said.

I thought he still sounded a little rank-shy, which seemed odd if he had as much time in grade as the chief seemed to think. I nodded and left them to their stowing.

Al, Pip, and the chief had their heads together over the table by the time I got back. Al’s pastry was gone and she only had a bit of coffee left in her cup. “All right, you lot. No plotting against the captain while his back is turned.”

They all laughed and I sat.

“So, how do you know our captain, Al?” the chief asked. “This sounds like a story I need to hear.”

“Well, a couple of eons ago I was on the old
Hedley
. Third mate. We ran a nice triangle trade out in Dunsany. I knew a lot of the Federated Freight people there. Alys always seemed to snag the talent. I have no idea how she did it.”

“How well I know,” the chief said.

“So we were somewhere. St. Cloud?” she asked, looking at me.

“I thought it was Dunsany Roads, but it’s been so long it could have been Umber.”

She squinted her eyes and finished off the coffee. “No, had to have been Dunsany. You’d just been up to that hoity-toity tailor. What was his name? Rutabaga?”

“Roubaille.”

“That’s it. Anyway we’re out for a prowl with the crew from the
Lois
and this buck kid slides in beside me and we have a few beers. Jaw a bit. Not a bad-looking kid. Kinda green around the edges, but he didn’t spend all night staring at my tits like some do.”

The chief glanced at me and started chuckling.

“I’ve never heard this story,” Pip said, his eyes wide in feigned wonder.

I hoped it was feigned.

“So anyway. About two, three stans into the barn dance, this kid sees Alicia Alvarez across a crowded room. Stars in his eyes and bone in his … teeth.” She winked at me.

“Wait,” the chief said. “Captain Allie Alvarez?”

“Well, she was only second mate then, but yeah. That was back when she was running astrogation for … what was it? The old
Proust
?”

“
Duchamp
,” I said.

She slapped the table top with one large palm. “That’s it. She was second on the
Duchamp
. Hell of a looker then. Still is. This buck kid snakes in, winkles her out from under half a dozen Lido Deck Lotharios, and he’s got her out dancing on the floor.” She grinned at me. “Damnedest thing I ever saw, before or since.”

“Why, Captain Wang, you have depths I have never suspected,” the chief said.

I rolled my eyes and hoped it would be over soon. I suspected I’d never hear the end of it.

Sparks and Franklin stepped out of the galley and tried to scoot past. “Ms. Sharps. Mr. Franklin. This is First Mate Alberta Ross. If all goes well, she’ll be joining our little band.”

Al nodded to each. “Sharps. Franklin.”

“Nice to meet you, sar,” Sharps said. She turned to me. “What time in the morning, Captain?”

“Get a good breakfast in you and be back at 0800, if you would?”

“0800, aye, aye, sar,” Ms. Sharps said. She led Franklin off the mess deck and down the ladder. I felt the vibrations from the lock more than heard them as they left.

“All right. Nobody here but us chickens,” I said. “Al? You’re really applying for this post?”

She leaned in and crossed her arms on the table, resting her weight on her elbows. “Yes, Captain. I am.”

“You’re hired.”

My answer seemed to surprise her. “Just like that?”

I shrugged. “Why not?”

“Don’t you wanna know why I’m here on Breakall? Why I’m not a captain?”

“I suspect you’re not a captain because you either don’t want to be, which is fine, or because you’ve been yo-yo’d up and down the ladder so often nobody wants to take a chance on you, which isn’t.” I shrugged. “There might be other reasons, but frankly, I don’t care why you’re not a captain. It doesn’t matter any more than why you’re a first mate matters. Maybe someday you’ll tell me all about it over beers in some dive in the back of the Deep Dark, and maybe you won’t. I’m good with it either way. I’m not asking because it doesn’t matter.”