Take The Star Road (The Maxwell Saga) (13 page)

"If you have the aptitude and work hard, you can complete the pilot training prerequisites by then. If the Bosun gives permission, you can do the basic studies using the ship's computer, and serve as a crew member aboard our small craft to build up your hours. You'll still have to find the money for the school - you can't ask the ship to pay for you if you intend to enlist soon afterward - but you can save a lot if you don't waste your wages partying at every planet of call. You'll also have crew trading privileges once you qualify as a Spacer Third Class, which shouldn't take you more than three or four months, since you've already done most of the theoretical training. With a few good trades you can make even more money.

"With me at the Academy to give you a priority on training, you could qualify as a second pilot on cutters by the time the ship's maintenance period is over. That'd earn you Spacer Second Class rank right away, plus a decent skills supplement to your salary. First Class rank would follow once you qualify as first pilot on at least one type of small craft."

Steve decided not to mention his windfall from the Dragon Tong, but he knew it would more than cover the training costs. "Sounds great! Thanks for being willing to help me. As soon as I'm a qualified Spacer, I'll talk to the Bosun about that."

"Good. He likes people with drive and ambition, and he'll help you all he can. The skipper has the same attitude. You're lucky to be aboard
Cabot
. There's not many better ships for someone in your position, just starting out."

"I'm beginning to realize that. I don't know if there's anyone up there, but if there is, I guess he must like me!" He craned around, trying to see the planet, which at one and a half million kilometers' distance was no more than a tiny dot in the viewscreen.

"Taking a last look at home, eh?"

"Yes. It's... it's a funny feeling. I've wanted to get away from Earth for a long time, but even so, to know I may never see the planet again... it's a strange, almost sad feeling."

"I don't blame you for feeling like that. I guess we all do, the first time we leave our home worlds. Used to be you felt like that when walking away from home to begin life on your own, but worlds have become pretty small places, what with high-speed transportation. You can almost always visit home, no matter where you live. Travel between planets, though... that's a different story. Some are pretty similar, but others are so different you wonder how they ended up in the same galaxy! Ever seen pink or blue vegetation, or rocks in brilliant orange or peppermint green? They're out there! Canyons deeper than the deepest seas, mountains so high most planes can't fly over them because the atmosphere's too thin, critters stranger than anything fiction writers ever invented... I've seen them, and I hope to see a lot more before I'm through."

Steve sighed as he turned away from the planet and settled himself into his seat, looking through the viewscreen towards
Cabot
, still a distant tiny dot ringed in green in the head-up display, but drawing closer. "Yeah. I want that too. I may miss Earth sometimes, but it's time for me to go."

Part Two: Hitting Stride

Chapter 8: June 2nd, 2837 GSC

"You say this is the last load?" the dispatcher inquired, frowning as he checked his electronic clipboard. "We were expecting a thousand containers, but you've only delivered five hundred and fifty-two."

"The empties we've been taking back up to the ship are ten-meter containers," Tomkins pointed out. "This shipment's packed in twenty-meter units, which would account for the difference."

"I guess so," the dispatcher agreed dubiously. "We're gonna have a problem getting them all to the assembly plant. Our haulers are mostly short-chassis units. I think we've only got two or three long-chassis trailers."

Tomkins nodded, and looked over his shoulder. "OK, Steve, let's have the last one."

"Here she comes." Steve was seated at the cargo handling console. He used the cargo shuttle's tractor and pressor beams to lift the last container from the load compartment and move it towards the gaping doors.

As he did so, Tomkins turned back to the dispatcher. "You'll have to run a non-stop shuttle service with the long trailers. Did you specify to the factory on Jaen that you wanted your stuff shipped in smaller containers? If you didn't, they'd have used whatever was most convenient for them."

The dispatcher shook his head. "I don't think we did for this last order. The boss won’t be happy to hear we screwed up like that! I guess we'll have to make sure we tell the factory to use smaller ones next time." He fell silent as he entered commands into the control panel strapped to his right forearm, using the spaceport warehouse's beams to take the container from Steve and move it through the gaping roller doors into the cool, dark interior, lit only by skylights. He added it to the stacks of containers already delivered.

"There we go," he said at last, satisfied. "Just gotta load the last twenty empties, then you can be on your way back up to orbit."

"Why are we taking them back, anyway?" Steve asked as he rose from the console and walked over to the other two. "I thought containers were usually left at the point of delivery for re-use or recycling."

"That normally happens with standard units," the dispatcher agreed. "Like most colony planets, the first houses here were built by converting the containers that brought cargo for the initial settlement wave. I'm living in a two-container unit myself, with my wife and kids. They make good homes. Thing is, these pressurized containers cost a lot more than standard boxes, so it's worth sending them back to a central depot for re-use. Sure, the shipping's expensive, but the depot pays us half the price of a new container for each one. That makes it worthwhile."

"Steve, you want to try your hand at loading them?" Tomkins asked. "You'll find 'em a bit squirrelly - they weigh much less than when they were full, so this crosswind will push them around."

"I'll do my best," Steve said cautiously. "Stand by to help if I have any problems."

As Tomkins had warned, the strong crosswind made loading the first empty box, with its large windage area, much trickier than the full containers he'd just offloaded. He got it halfway through the shuttle's cargo bay doors, but then it swung too far and jammed itself crossways.

"Hold it!"
Tomkins sprang to the console, shoving Steve ungently out of the way. He hammered at the beam controls, took the joystick, and spent a careful five minutes maneuvering the container back out again and setting it down on the loading dock. Securing the console, he turned to Steve.

"Sorry about that, but there's no time to be polite when that sort of thing happens. Let's go check the cargo doors for damage. If their airtight seals are broken, we'll have to go back up to orbit in spacesuits, and book the shuttle for repairs at the next orbital dockyard we reach."

"I - I'm sorry. I didn't mean to... "

"Hey, stuff like this happens. It could just as easily have been me, in a wind like this."

They spent ten minutes carefully checking every centimeter of the doors' edges and their seals. Finally, Tomkins straightened up. "Looks OK to me. We'll wear spacesuits on the return trip, just in case, and run a pressure test on the way up to orbit. If the bird passes, we're golden. Now, let's try those containers again - but this time I'll load 'em."

"That suits me just fine!" Steve assured him fervently.

Things went more smoothly for the rest of the loading. Tomkins re-checked the wind speed and direction, recalculated the empty mass of the containers, then updated the cargo handling software's parameters. It automatically adjusted the power of the tractor and pressor beams to compensate for the problem, and deployed extra stabilizing beams to keep the containers at the optimum angle for loading. The next few boxes went much more smoothly. Tomkins allowed Steve to try his hand once again as soon as he was sure the software was properly calibrated.

"Not bad at all," he praised as the next container settled into place and the robotic cargo-handling systems attached hold-downs to its locking points. "For only your second month as a cargo shuttle crewman, you're doing real well."

Steve flushed with pleasure. "Thanks."

He'd completed his spacer apprenticeship only two months before, passed the final theoretical and practical examinations, and been formally promoted to the rank of Spacer Third Class. The Bosun had immediately given permission for him to study piloting theory in his very limited free time, using the ship's computer and hypno-study facilities. He'd also given him a secondary assignment as a trainee small craft crew member, over and above his basic shipboard duties. He now flew with Tomkins and the other pilots at every opportunity to build experience.

"While you finish off the last few, I'm going to use the fresher, since we won't be able to do that while wearing spacesuits. You should do the same when you finish. No point in using a spacesuit's sanitary facilities if we don't have to - that saves us having to clean and purify 'em again once we're back on board."

"OK." Steve locked the beams onto the next container as the Bosun's Mate went through the door leading to the cargo shuttle's crew quarters, where the toilet was located.

"How many ships call at Parana?" he asked the dispatcher as he lifted the container and turned it towards the cargo shuttle's doors.

"A scheduled freighter arrives here every six weeks, plus we get a special shipment like this, containing motors and vehicle components, about every three months. The regular ship is a small tramp freighter that's set up a circuit linking four minor planets, including us, to the freight hub at Vesta. They left here only a week ago. They were real grumpy - they'd just been ruled ineligible for a fat contract at Vesta. We were happy, though, 'cause if they'd got it, we would have had to do without them for a few months. That would have sucked rocks! It's tough for a recently-settled planet like this, with an economy that's still finding its feet, to get regular shipping service."

"What do you mean, 'ruled ineligible'?" Steve asked idly as he settled the container into place on the growing stack in the cargo compartment.

"Vesta's one of the planets hosting a Sector Headquarters of the Lancastrian Commonwealth Fleet. Seems they're going to be supporting a United Planets mission to Radetski. They're looking to charter a couple of freighters for a few round trips. Trouble is, they want Lancastrian-registered ships built to T-9 series standards.
Rahina
- that's our regular freighter - was neither, so they lost out."

Steve felt a sudden
frisson
of excitement.
Cabot
was Lancastrian-registered, and he'd learned during his training that she was a T-9 design. Might this be an opportunity for the ship?

He mentioned it to the Bosun when they returned to
Cabot
, and was rewarded by a very narrow look. "You sure about that? They specifically wanted a T-9 design?"

"That's what the dispatcher said, Bosun. Is that important?"

"Yes, it is. You see, the T-9's are optimized to handle hospital pods, not just any old personnel accommodation. You've seen our empty administrative compartments, the second reactor compartment beneath our spine, our outsized environmental systems - much bigger than we need for our crew alone - and the extra connections to the ship's systems in our eight largest holds amidships. We don't need any of those things during normal operations, but they allow
Cabot
to be rapidly converted into a hospital ship to support Fleet operations."

Steve frowned. "Must have cost a lot to include all those facilities we never use."

"It did, but the Commonwealth paid for them. It does that in ships built to Fleet auxiliary specifications, plus a bit more as a subsidy. In return, the owners allow the extra facilities to be built in, and make their ships available to the Fleet for charter or emergency mobilization. The program's called STUFT - Ships Taken Up From Trade. It pre-equips merchant vessels for quick conversion to cargo and personnel transports, depot ships, and other Fleet auxiliary functions. A couple of dozen freighters like
Cabot
were built to T-9 specifications for use as hospital ships. All of 'em trade across the settled galaxy, so if Vesta Sector is looking for two, they may not have gotten both of them yet - and the Fleet pays very good rates for short-term charters. Come with me. The First Mate needs to hear about this."

Jennifer Scarlatti, the First Mate, was in her office, scanning the bill of lading for the containers loaded from the planet below. She looked up as the Bosun knocked.

"Yes, Bosun Cardle?"

"Spacer Maxwell learned something planetside that I think will interest you, Ma'am. I brought him here to tell you about it."

"Oh? Come in, both of you, and sit down. What did you find out, Maxwell?"

Steve told her what the dispatcher had said. Her eyes gleamed as the Bosun confirmed, "I asked Maxwell whether he was sure about that, Ma'am, and he said the dispatcher specifically mentioned the T-9 requirement."

"Well done, Spacer! This may mean money in our pockets - and in yours, through our incentive scheme." Steve blinked in surprise, and she smiled. "Had you forgotten about that?"