Owner's Share (Trader's Tales from the Golden Age of the Solar Clipper) (40 page)

“What’ll you do with your evening, Chief?”

He shook his head. “I’ve still got stuff needs cleanin’. Stuff needs fixin’. Don’t worry about me, Cap. I can entertain myself, I can.”

I grinned and headed for my bunk, setting my tablet to wake me at 2320, and stripping down to boxers before slipping between the luxurious sheets. My last thought before the tablet bipped me awake was that the mattresses and linens were a great investment. On waking I wished the temptation to stay in bed weren’t quite so attractive.

A quick splash in the head helped rinse off my brain cells, and I zipped up my shipsuit in time to make a fresh pot of coffee before relieving the watch. While I was there, I took a good look at how much of the Moscow Morning blend was left, and made a promise to myself that I’d visit my friend at Light City before we headed out to where ever we were going.

While the coffee dripped, I climbed the ladder to the bridge to see how Ms. Arellone was making out. She met me with a smile. “Skipper, this is such a sweet ship!”

I chuckled a little. “I’m glad you like her, Ms. Arellone. Is there something in particular that makes you say that?”

“We came up on a way-point about two stans ago, and you know how much trouble they can be.” She paused to look over at me.

“I do, indeed, Ms. Arellone.”

“Well, I previewed the course when I came up on watch, and so I knew it was there, sar. I figured I’d have to do some course corrections, but she just tracked right around to our new course with only the little beep it gives when it reaches a waypoint.” She looked at me and squinted. “You knew it would do that, didn’t you, sar?”

“I suspected, Ms. Arellone. These smaller ships have a better control profile because of the sail-to-mass ratios. The bigger ones will actually track too but the period of destabilization is longer, and they all have helmsmen who can correct it faster.” I grinned. “I’m glad to have it confirmed.”

“Sar?” She looked at me out of the corner of her eyes. “How are you going to keep it?”

“The ship?”

She nodded. “Yes, sar.”

“I don’t know, Ms. Arellone. Keep doing the best I can, and try to find an investor before the note comes due.”

“You have any contingency plans, sar?”

“Well, with the ship refurbished, if we can show a nice balance sheet, and that it’s actually a worthwhile vessel, we could probably sell the ship for two or three times what we paid for it. That would let me settle the note, buy out the investors, and be ahead enough to buy the next ship.”

“Would you do that, sar?”

“Last resort, Ms. Arellone. We’re not down and out yet, and I like this odd duck of a ship. It’s different. I’ve heard of them before. Seems like there was something about them when they first came out, but the design never caught on.” I looked around the bridge. “For a family ship, this is awkward, so maybe that’s it.”

“Awkward, sar?”

“The Damiens and Unwins have a kind of living room bridge. It’s really large, with room for sofas and easy chairs. You can throw a party on the bridge and have room for a five piece band.” I waved my hand around. “This is like a digi-booth or something. Even with just the two of us in it, it seems crowded by comparison. I suspect a family might have a problem looking at this as a viable alternative.”

She frowned and looked around the bridge. “I see what you mean, sar. Interesting.”

I eyed the chronometer on her display, and gave her a little wave. “Coffee should be done. I’m gonna go get a cup, and see if Ms. Maloney is up...”

“I’m up, sar!” Her voice came from the ladder, and I heard her foot falls coming up. “I only brought one coffee, though.” She smiled apologetically.

“Oh, good. Ms. Arellone, would you walk Ms. Maloney through the change of watch routine? Get her logged on? I’m gonna go grab my coffee.”

“You bet, Skipper!”

When Ms. Maloney cleared the ladder, I dropped down to the mess deck, and filled a cup with fresh coffee, taking time to smell it before I sipped. I looked around the mess deck, dim with subdued night-cycle lighting, and sighed. I hated the thought of turning around and selling it, but if I needed to, it was a viable alternative.

I headed back up the ladde,r and thought of my father as I remembered him saying, “Duty calls.”

“All set, skipper. She’s got the conn.”

“Thank you, Ms. Arellone. Grab some sleep while you can. Breakfast at 0600, and I’m going to need you back up here for a stan or so in the morning.”

“Aye, aye, skipper. See ya in six.”

She clattered down the ladder, and was gone.

I crossed to the captain’s chair, and hoisted myself into it without spilling my coffee.

We sat there quietly for a few ticks, sipping coffee. Ms. Maloney tried to keep her eyes on the console, but kept looking out at the stars all around us. The orb of Diurnia wasn’t that far off our starboard side although with our current orientation, we were looking down on the north pole of the planet and, if we watched long enough, we’d see the orbital circle all the way around it without ever being occluded. It made a pretty picture.

“Is this all we do, Captain?” Her gently modulated alto sounded a bit amused. Sitting behind her and in the dim light, I couldn’t really get a feel for her expression.

“Ideally, Ms. Maloney. Except for the very beginning, the very end, and the jump in the middle. We like it boring.”

“Why’s that, Captain?”

“Because as long as it’s boring, then there’s a good chance we won’t die.”

She turned to look at me, and the chair swiveled with her. She studied my face for a while. “You’re serious.”

I shrugged. “Yeah, well, not always. So far, I’ve managed to avoid the dying part, but after you’ve had a few watches that aren’t boring, boredom feels good.”

She swiveled back to look at the screen, but her eyes were soon drawn back to the outside. “So? Now what? We spend the next six stans looking out the windows, sar?”

I chuckled. “They’re called ports, and yes, basically. This is—technically—a mid-watch so we have something special to do, though.”

She looked over her shoulder at me. “I’ve been aboard long enough to know, I’m going to hate the answer to this question...” She grinned. “What’s that, Captain?”

“Clean.”

She laughed. It was a good sound. “I should have seen that one coming, Captain, but how can we clean in the dark?”

“You’ve got a point. All the other bridges I’ve been on have had more than enough light from the various displays to clean by.” I shrugged. “We’ll turn on a light or two. As small as this place is, it won’t take us long.” I put my cup in the holder beside my seat and stood. “Sit tight. I’ll go get some gear.”

Less than five ticks later, I dragged a broom, swab, a bucket of hot soapy water, and a bucket of rags and sponges up over the ladder. She frowned, and jumped up to help me untangle the swab handle from the ladder railing. “You weren’t kidding.”

“Nope. I wasn’t kidding, Ms. Maloney.” I shrugged. “It helps pass the time and it makes it nicer to work in when it’s clean.” I flicked on a couple of lights, and looked around.

The extra lighting made the armorglass slightly reflective and showed every greasy finger and hand print. Built-up cruft lined the corners and edges, and the seats all needed sprucing up.

“Good thing we’ve got all watch, Captain,” Ms. Maloney said, her head turning slowly in survey.

“Look on the bright side, Ms. Maloney. After this, the next mid-watch will be much easier, and on this one you have me to help.”

She rolled up the sleeves on her shipsuit. “Good point, Captain.” She grabbed a rag, and dunked it in the hot water. Looking around again she added, “A very good point.”

In the end, even as dirty as it was, we did all we could do with it in just under two stans. It was too small for it to take any longer than that. I was glad we’d traded out the consoles because the new ones didn’t need much attention. Ms. Maloney took the first load of cleaning gear down, and grabbed a coffee, and when she came back I took the rest. By the time I got back, she had secured the extra lighting, and settled at the console again, her nose stuck in her coffee mug.

We sipped in silence, waiting for our eyes to readjust to the new light levels.

“Why sar, sar?” she asked quietly.

“Why sar, Ms. Maloney?”

“Why that word—sar? Why not sir or ma’am?”

“The official line is that the service wanted one, gender neutral word. Every officer, male or female, can be addressed politely as sar.”

“Not terribly gender neutral, is it, sar?” Her dry tone evaporated the remaining wetness from the console in front of her.

“Not terribly, Ms. Maloney. Personally, I think somebody typoed in the original manual, and by the time they discovered it, they needed to make up a good story to explain it.”

I heard her chuckle.

“Why do you want me to study for a rating, Captain?”

“It’s a good way to learn your job, and it helps with the boredom.”

“What’s the point, really? I only need to keep this job for a stanyer, and then I go back to my life.” There was a hint of bitterness there.

“That’s true, but a stanyer is a long time. You’ll get about fourteen or fifteen trips in. I realize that you’ll earn more from your investment income than you will here, but where else would you see this?”

I looked out the ports at the stars.

I saw her head turn as she scanned around. “True.” I thought I heard a grudging acceptance in her tone.

“You don’t have to study, if you don’t want to. You don’t have to do very much except help out around the ship, and keep your bridge watches.”

“What do you mean help out around the ship, Captain?”

“Just that, Ms. Maloney. We’re a small crew here, more family than crew and we’ll rely on each other more, not less, because there’s only the four of us.”

There was pause while she digested that.

“Why did you agree to take me on, Captain?”

“I needed crew, Ms. Maloney.”

“Actually, Captain, I looked it up. You only need an engineer. You’re not required to maintain a bridge watch on any ship under ten metric kilotons.” She paused, and turned to look at me. “Why the charade?”

I shook my head. “No charade. I’m perfectly aware that I don’t need to have a crew, that I can run the ship from the mess deck or my cabin as easily as I can from the bridge. Well, mostly. Maneuvering near the orbital really does require line of sight.”

“Then why, Captain?”

“Because those rules make me nervous. I don’t like the idea of not having a bridge watch. Somebody to just be awake on board in case something happens.”

“What if something does happen? What then, sar?”

“Then you call for help. It’s the first rule of watchstanding. If it’s outside your expertise, something that shouldn’t be there, and nothing you know how to deal with, yell. Yell loud, yell long, and yell until somebody comes along.”

We sat there for a time, drinking coffee, sailing along in the dark.

“So why did you take me on, Captain? Assuming I buy your explanation about wanting a bridge watch, why me?”

“I don’t know.”

She spun around again to look at me. “You don’t know?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

She stared at me, incredulity visible even in the reduced light.

“I mean, I’d like to say it was because I had such vast respect for your father, and if somebody outside the company had to take you under his wing, then I’d do it to repay him, et cetera, et cetera.”

“But no?” she asked.

“No. Your father did all right by me. I’d be the first to admit it, but he hired me to be a stalking goat, and threw me into the
William Tinker
. That was fifteen stanyers ago when I was right out of the academy. He didn’t pick me for my native wit and intelligence, or even my skill and knowledge, and if it was because of my placement in the graduating class it was because I wasn’t near the top of it.”

“He didn’t pick you because you’re stupid, Captain. My father doesn’t—didn’t—suffer fools. At all.”

“At the time, he told me a lot of nice things about the kind of third mate he wanted, and that Commandant Giggone had recommended me. It felt good at the time, but I was young and foolish then, Ms. Maloney.”

“You’re not now, Captain?”

I grinned. “I’m not young now, Ms. Maloney. I’m still foolish but I’m learning to work around it. I hope.”

She smiled, I think, in spite of herself.

“I think part of it is certainly a sense of debt. Kirsten Kinsley wouldn’t have arranged to have this ship declared scrap so the price would be low enough that I could actually get it.” I shrugged. “We never shook any hands, or made any deals, but she blew enough smoke up my skirt to make me think I should, but no, I didn’t do it for your father. I think maybe I might have done it for the company—not the stockholders and management but for the other ships and crews. For all the people that the new CEO will be important to.”

“You thought you could teach me whatever it is he wanted me to learn?”

I shrugged. “That’s up for grabs, Ms. Maloney. I still don’t know what that is, so that’s a bit of an obstacle.”

“Then why?”

I sipped my coffee, and trying to think of a diplomatic way to put it. “Because I know the other companies around, and I didn’t want you to go to any of them for a stanyer, and come back to run DST.”

“Yes, but why, Captain?”

“Because I can’t trust their motives. There would be a serious temptation to take you, wrap you in cotton wool, set you on a shelf for a stanyer, and send you back.” I shrugged. “I’m not saying you’d sit still for that, but if it happened, you’d go back to the company, and either decide it was stupid and let it go public, sell it off piecemeal, or make some other decision based on the bad information you got from the competitor with a vested interest in bringing DST down.”

“Aren’t you one of DST’s competitors now? Doesn’t that argument apply to you?”

I shook my head. “Maybe but no. I don’t compete with DST. DST has a niche. Bulk cargo, local region. Yes, there are a couple of fast packets in the fleet, but I wouldn’t wonder if they weren’t there just to provide transport for your father.”