Owner's Share (Trader's Tales from the Golden Age of the Solar Clipper) (80 page)

I considered that while I changed my movements to twist my torso. The careful movements pulled my injured side but with each passing day, I felt myself healing a little more.

With a nod, we finished our warm up, and stood side by side for the first routine, a
Wu long
form. As the slow, even movements spooled out, I lost myself in the grace. Even the often awkward Four Corners movement felt more like a dance as we slid smoothly from movement to movement—our steps in sync, our breathing matched.

In my mind I felt the warmth of the spring sun streaming through the windows of Sifu Newmar’s studio. When school was in session, sometimes some of the faculty would join her class. More rarely a fellow cadet would join us—usually to round out some other art’s requirement for exploration. Spring was my favorite time at Port Newmar. The cold grip of winter loosened slowly, as if begrudging the inevitable blossoming of the planet’s southern hemisphere. Eventually there came a point where winter ended and spring began. The welcome warmth of the spring sun on our bodies as we practiced our forms promised much.

As the gardens quickened we moved our practices outside, often working the soil and tending the grounds. In the pale greens of spring, I only spent my allotted time with Sifu Newmar and the gardens. Studies and drills took up most waking moments. At the end of each semester, I had a window of opportunity with few demands on my time. With finals over, and summer cruises not yet begun, I found a halcyon early summer period of as much as ten standard days where I could practice from sun up to sun down if I so desired.

During the early summer of my junior year, Chief Stevens joined our practice one morning. Sifu Newmar’s students often returned to study with her. It never ceased to amaze me that officers with ships, careers, and even families would interrupt their lives to make the pilgrimage to Port Newmar. Some were old, some young. Chief Stevens was the first one whose name I recognized, but I suspected that I had stood in the garden or studio and sweated beside a veritable who’s who of spacer officers. I recognized Chief Stevens’ name because I had just finished reading her text. In spite of my upbringing around college faculty—or more likely, because of it—I remembered being figuratively clubbed between the eyes with awe when I realized who the woman beside me was. I smiled at the memory of our younger selves as we brought the routine to a close.

“I was in such awe of you,” I said.

She chuckled softly. “I remember.”

“Why did you go back?”

“To see Margaret?” she asked.

I nodded.

She shrugged and rubbed her cheeks with the palms of her hands. “I was between. I needed to get away, to think.” She cast me a calculating glance as she said it.

“Between? Between what?”

She laughed. “Husbands, children, jobs. I think, when I met you, I’d just finished the fourth edition of my book, and finalized the divorce from my third husband. My kids were grown, and the company I worked for got sold.” She shrugged. “Seemed like a good time to go back and brush up on my technique—to say nothing of my mental health.” I saw her gaze roll up toward the overhead as she thought about it. “That was the second time, I think.”

I looked at her in astonishment. “Really? How often have you been back?”

She shrugged. “Four? Five? I think five.”

I must have had an incredulous look on my face.

“What?” she asked. “Think of it as therapy. A few weeks with Margaret Newmar always set me back on my feet smack in the middle of the path.” She waved her hand as if shooing a fly. “Now, we gonna talk all day, or are we gonna do some
tai chi
?”

I snorted. “Okay.
Wu long
again?”

She shrugged. “Works for me.”

We worked through another round, and with each movement I found myself immersed more and more in the memories of my time at the academy, particularly the time I spent in the studio. As we made the final bow and straightened, I remembered a comment Sifu Newmar made about another of her visitors. I couldn’t remember which semester but it was winter and we were inside. I had entered for my training session just as one of her ex-students was leaving. He was somebody important. A distinguished gentleman who had a large company with several ships and even sat on the CPJCT Committee on something or other. As he left she sighed and looked after him for a moment, then she shrugged and turned back to me. “He had such potential,” she’d said, and we started a series of
Jung
short forms, back to back.

“What are you thinking, Captain?” The chief broke the stillness that surrounded us after a particularly good set.

“About Sifu Newmar and potential.”

I heard her breath huff out in a short laugh. “Me, too.” After a pause, she suggested, “One more
Wu
? Then I’ll be ready for the shower.”

In response, I took the opening stance, and we slid easily through the movements.

When we finished, we bowed to each other, and climbed the ladder to the first deck. My legs felt just a bit rubbery which meant I’d done a good level of workout, and I was pleased with how the forms were progressing. At the top of the ladder, the chief gave a little wave as I stopped at the cabin and she continued down the passage.

I glanced into the galley, and found Ms. Maloney entertaining Ms. McArthur and the female half of the Kilpatricks. She smiled at me over their heads when she saw me looking, and I gave her a wave before ducking into the cabin.

On my way past the console, my eyes caught the rough-hewn lines of Greta’s sea-bird whelkie. I picked it up and ran a thumb across the surface, feeling the texture of the rough cuts and sharp points. The light glinted off the polished shell heart and I admired it briefly before placing it back by the display. It made me think about the packet I had tucked into the bottom of my grav trunk.

I hadn’t looked at them in ages.

Chapter Seventy-Seven
Diurnia Orbital:
2373-July-17

When we got to Diurnia, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Our last word from the TIC in Greenfields said that Herring had disappeared. The single ship that hadn’t responded to the Greenfields recall had jumped before it could be intercepted. Unfortunately but not surprisingly, it didn’t arrive where the flight plan said it would. The TIC wouldn’t release any more information on an active investigation.

With passengers aboard, we spent little time talking about the situation while underway. The Kilpatricks knew of our situation. Ms. Kilpatrick even offered me condolences on my loss. Still, it was a subject that we didn’t bring up around the dinner table, for which I was extremely grateful.

After we docked the ship, Ms. Maloney sent a short message to Kirsten Kingsley asking her to join us for lunch aboard the
Iris
. Without any hard information, and the lack of any newsie gossip, we decided we needed to know more about what was happening on station before we ventured out.

With the last of the passengers and cargo ashore, we all gathered in the galley for a strategy session.

“It’s too soon,” Ms. Maloney said. “Jarvis has barely had time to learn that things went pear shaped on him. He can’t have had more than a few days since he heard from Greenfields.”

Chief Stevens pursed her lips and considered. “Depends on what kind of arrangements he had with his team at Greenfields. There isn’t a DST office there so he had to be working through an intermediary.”

Ms. Arellone said, “He managed to get Chief Bailey there in time to meet us, and I’d bet he wasn’t there alone either.”

Ms. Maloney looked at her with a frown. “That’s a good point,” she said. “But getting ahead of us wasn’t that difficult. He had weeks to put his team in place.”

“Maybe, but how’d he know we’d—” Ms. Arellone stopped herself in mid-sentence. “Of course. The law suit.”

“Exactly,” Chief Stevens said. “By filing the lawsuit they knew exactly when and where to find you. They didn’t need to follow, just be where you’re going.”

“Kirsten will know something,” Ms. Maloney said. “Chief Bailey was an employee of DST, so how they handled his death should give us some insight.”

“There’s another factor,” I said. “TIC must be working here. If Jarvis is behind this—”

Ms. Arellone snorted derisively.

“If Jarvis is behind this,” I repeated, “he’s going to have to keep a low profile for now. It won’t do him any good to stop us only to spend the rest of his life on Zazi.”

Ms. Arellone looked skeptical, but both Chief Stevens and Ms. Maloney nodded thoughtfully.

Kirsten Kingsley arrived at 1205 and apologized as she stepped through the lock with Adrian in tow. “We’re trying to arrange a bulk-purchase arrangement with the chandlery. With as many ships as we have operating in the area, even a small discount would add up.” She grimaced and shrugged apologetically. “The meeting ran long and, as you might imagine, the chandlery’s near monopoly gives them a lot of leverage.”

“I imagine it does,” I replied. “I’m surprised they’ll even consider it.”

She snorted. “Yeah, well, I’m not sure they are, frankly. I think it’s more a PR move than actual interest in the deal. So far they’ve talked a lot and tied us up in meetings, but we haven’t had much success.”

Ms. Arellone closed the lock behind them, and I led Ms. Kingsley and her shadow up the ladder to the galley. Ms. Maloney’s soup, salad, and crusty loaf luncheon included a thick chicken stew, the aroma of which wafted out to the top of the ladder.

I turned to Aiden and asked, “Will you be joining us for lunch?”

He shook his head. “No, sir, I’m on duty.” He took up a position just inside the galley, and stood at a kind of parade rest beside the door.

I nodded. “In that case would you satisfy yourself that the area is secure, and then return to the foot of the ladder?”

A look of surprise flashed across Ms. Kingsley’s face at the request, and she looked at Ms. Maloney who nodded once in reply.

“Ma’am?” Aiden asked, looking to Ms. Kingsley for instructions.

Ms. Kingsley looked around at the various faces before speaking. “Yes, please, Aiden. I’ll call you if I need you.”

He looked uncertain, but had no grounds for objection and, with a small half bow of his own, exited the galley. I heard his steps on the ladder. With a nod I dispatched Ms. Arellone to confirm he’d complied fully, and Ms. Kingsley’s eyebrows crawled together in a frown.

Ms. Maloney stepped into the gap by crossing to Ms. Kingsley, and greeting her warmly with a hug. “Thank you, Kirsten. So much has happened.” She stepped back and added, “Please! Sit! Let’s get some lunch, and you can tell me what’s happening here.”

Ms. Kingsley allowed Ms. Maloney to guide her to a seat, and looked curiously at Chief Stevens who smiled warmly.

Ms. Maloney made the introductions. “Chief? This is Kirsten Kingsley. She’s the fleet operations manager for DST, and one of my oldest friends. Kirsten, Engineering First Officer Margaret Stevens.”

The two women shook hands briefly, the chief murmuring an appropriate greeting, but allowing Ms. Maloney to control the conversation.

Ms. Kingsley looked confused. “Where’s Gramps?” she asked, peering from Ms. Maloney to the chief and back again.

Ms. Maloney frowned. “What do you mean?”

We settled at the table, and Ms. Maloney started serving, filling bowls of soup, and passing them around.

Ms. Kingsley nodded to the chief. “You’re the chief engineer here, right?”

The chief smiled her patient smile. “Indeed I am.”

Ms. Kingsley turned back to Ms. Maloney. “Chris? Where’s Gramps?”

Ms. Maloney frowned. “What do you mean ‘Where’s Gramps?’ I fired him months ago. We put him ashore here on Diurnia in, what was it?” She turned to me. “February? March?”

I finished helping myself to the salad, and passed the serving bowl to the chief. “March, I think.”

Ms. Kingsley’s face clouded in concern. “You fired him?” She looked back and forth between Ms. Maloney and me.

“I couldn’t work with him,” I told her flatly.

Ms. Maloney looked to me, and then back to Ms. Kingsley. “Kirsten? You really don’t know this?”

Ms. Kingsley shook her head. “No! This is the first I’ve heard of it. I don’t understand.”

Ms. Maloney reached out and placed her fingers on Ms. Kingsley’s forearm. “Kirsten,” she said her voice low, “he was leaking to the newsies.”

Ms. Kingsley pulled back in shock. “Not Gramps!”

Ms. Maloney nodded, a sad smile on her face. “We were getting a lot of newsie attention. Some digitals from inside the ship, even.” She shrugged. “We found the originals on his tablet.”

It took a few heartbeats for Ms. Kingsley to process that bit of news, but she frowned in concern. “How is that possible?”

“It’s worse, Kris.” Ms. Maloney gripped Ms. Kingsley’s forearm, and leaned toward her. “Gramps—Chief Bailey—is dead. He died in a fight on Greenfields a couple of weeks back.”

The news stunned Ms. Kingsley. I saw the surprise wash through her, leaving her expression blank with disbelief. She recovered after a few heartbeats, and her mind kicked back online. I could practically see the gears turning behind her eyes. “You’re going to have to back up.” She looked from Ms. Maloney, to me, to the chief, and then back to Ms. Maloney.