The Snows of Montora (The Chronicles of Montora Book 3)

by Ward Wagher

  Frank thought of something else. “Hey Jones, give Cedric a call and see if we can pick him up for lunch. I've got some things I need to run past him.”

  Jones picked up his hand com and pushed a couple of buttons, then held it to his head.

  “Skipper wants you at lunch.”

  He listened for a moment.

  “Right. Ten.”

  He disconnected and continued driving. He threaded the ground car through the streets of Gustav and towards the central business district. Frank leaned back in the seat and watched the scenery.

  Ah, Wendy. If only you could be here to share this with me. You would have laughed at Frank Borgia. You would be telling me how to structure the deals. I miss you so much.

  Jones pulled over to the curb and Smith climbed into the front seat.

  “Where are we eating, Skipper?” Smith asked.

  “I told Jones to surprise me. I'm willing to bet he knows the best local dives.”

  “No debate, Skipper.”

  “Find out anything interesting this morning, Cedric?”

  “Yes. No permits or licenses needed. It looks like a wide open market. Some of the city officials hinted that we would owe a vig to the the local gang. Regular payoffs, I guess.”

  “I'm not too surprised,” Frank said. “Any ideas on what it will cost?”

  “With any luck, they will look at us as a startup and not drape us over a barrel.”

  “That's fine, Cedric. I'll let you guys take care of it. Just remember I don't want to call attention to us.”

  “Right, Skipper... Jones, what is this?”

  Frank looked up as Jones pulled the car to a stop in front of what looked like something out of the slums. The two story building was made of brick, but the grout had never been pointed. If the window frames had ever been painted, there was no sign of it now.

  Jones grinned and tilted his head to tell them to follow as he got out of the ground car. Frank shrugged and got out. Smith looked carefully at Jones.

  “Hey, I told him to surprise me,” Frank said.

  “You should never say anything like that to Jones, Skipper.”

  “I'm willing to give it a shot,” Frank said.

  He turned and followed Jones into the decrepit building. The inside was scarcely in better repair, but it was clean. A row of rough wooden booths were arrayed along one wall. Rickety looking tables and chairs were in the middle. Frank and Smith followed Jones to the back of the restaurant. Jones slid into a booth so that he was facing the front. Smith slid in next to him. Frank took the seat across. An ancient looking, fat bald man marched to the table. The apron he was wearing was also clean, but threadbare.

  “Good to see you again, Mr. Jones,” the proprietor said. “And welcome to your friends. You would be having the special?”

  Jones smiled and held up three fingers.

  “Right. It'll be right up.” He turned and marched off.

  “Who's that?” Frank asked.

  “Chesly Frakes. Owns the place.” Jones said.

  “Must not do much,” Frank said. “There's nobody else in the dump.”

  “We got more coming in, now,” Smith said.

  “We was early,” Jones commented.

  “I hope you're not setting me up,” Frank said. “I'm really not up to fun and games.”

  “Have faith,” Jones said.

  “So who did you talk to this morning, Cedric?”

  “I hit the local police station and the city hall. Both clean and not much going on. Just a courtroom and a county clerk. Not much more with the police. I understand they have a mayor, but he's ceremonial.”

  “Wonder how they finance the infrastructure around here,” Frank said.

  “Local gangs do it,” Jones said.

  “Come on, Martin,” Frank said. “Quit pulling my chain.”

  “The truth, Sir. Haven't quite figgered it out, though.”

  “I guess sooner or later we'll have to dig into that,” Frank said.

  “Bound to be interesting,” Smith said.

  Chesly slid three plates on the table. “Here ya go, gents. What to drink?”

  “Soft drink?” Frank asked.

  “Yeah. Caledon Fizz.”

  “That'll do, Frank said.

  “Beer,” Jones said.

  “Beer,” Smith said.

  Frank looked down at the plate. “Okay, the daily special is eggs, sausage and potatoes?”

  “Take a bite, Skipper,” Jones ordered.

  Frank picked up the fork and studied it. He then wiped it off on his trousers. Then took a bite. The eggs were scrambled, but were so fluffy they were almost like chiffon. The sausage was moderately spiced, but had a fascinating medley of flavors. The potatoes had been fried in the sausage grease, and were pleasant crisp on the outside, and moist on the inside.

  “Okay, Jones, you have my apologies. This is good. In fact, it's outstanding.”

  Jones merely smiled as he dug into his lunch. There was not much conversation as the three ate. A bit later Frank sat back and sipped on his drink. Jones eased out a soft belch. Frank's com trilled.

  “Nyman.”

  “George Liston, Frank.”

  “Hey George. What's going on?”

  “I have a Navy Captain here. Says he's looking for you.”

  “Does he have a name?” Frank asked.

  “Says his name is Grimes Gorstead.”

  “Grimy Gorstead? What's he doing out here?”

  “I said he's looking for you.” Liston repeated.

  “Sorry, George. I was just surprised. Could you make him feel at home? I'm on my way.”

  “Will do. See ya, Frank.”

  Frank disconnected and put his com in his pocket. Smith was looking at him quizzically.

  “What's Grimy doing out here?” he asked.

  “I guess we'll go find out. Do we pay at the table or the door, Jones?”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Grimes Gorstead was a professional naval officer. He entered the Naval Academy of the Merchants and Manufacturers League immediately after receiving his college degree. He had come from a wealthy family, whose patronage advanced him in the Merchant League Navy. The current step in his carefully planned career was his position as Admiral Willard Krause's flag captain. He did not particularly like Willard Krause, and he really didn't like being Krause's errand boy, which he was at that moment.

  "You are a long ways from civilization, Grimy," Frank said. "What brings you out here are among the flotsam and jetsam, otherwise known as Smith & Jones?"

  Gorstead glared at Frank. "You could show a little more respect to the uniform, Nyman. Especially, since I'm out here to do you a big favor."

  "Oh, I show a lot of respect for the uniform." Frank placed just a slight emphasis on the last word. "May I assume you're not just passing through?"

  "You may assume. I am here on the Admiral's business. Is there a place where we can talk?"

  Frank looked around the room. "George, do you have an empty office or conference room where we can park?"

  Liston, who was as curious as everyone else about the unexpected visit from the Navy, swung his head around. "Oh, go ahead and use the conference room. I don't think it's scheduled for anything today."

  "There's nothing scheduled in there all week, George," Maggie said.

  “Shut up, Maggie!”

  Frank grinned at Liston as he led the Naval officer into the small conference room. He closed the door and Smith & Jones took position in front of it. Inside the conference room Frank waived Gorstead into a chair.

  "Okay, Grimy, let's have it."

  Gorstead laid a small attaché case on the table and opened it. He pulled out a small folio and slid it across the table to Frank. Frank picked up the folio and opened it. He set a data chip to the side and quickly paged through the document.

  He looked up at Gorstead with raised eyebrows. "You weren't kidding, Captain. Did you know what you were carrying?"

  Gorstead grinned s
lightly and pointed up with his index finger.

  "Here?" Frank asked. "At Sarah's Star?"

  "Both of them," he replied.

  "Are you allowed to talk about this?” Frank asked.

  "The admiral asked me to brief you, then answer any questions you may have," he said.

  Frank leaned back in the chair and folded his hands on the table top. "Proceed with your briefing then please, Captain."

  Gorstead leaned forward and took a breath. "Essentially, Captain Nyman, what we have is a transfer of ownership for reasons I will elaborate on later. Great Northern Shipping out of Festalborg listed the freighters Nyland and Danica Maiden for disposal. Upon your agreement, ownership will be transferred to Nyman Trans-Space. The financing will be carried by Piedmont Investments, which is a subsidiary of Nano Roma. The amount of the transaction is 20 million Centaurans. Both ships are in orbit around New Stockholm, and are fully crewed."

  “Twenty million?” Frank asked.

  "Correct. The data chip in front of you contains the titles to both ships as well as all the necessary documentation. All that is required is for you to sign the paperwork and the note."

  "You say that the titles are included?" Frank asked.

  "That is correct, Captain. You will own both ships free and clear."

  "I'm a little surprised that Carlo Roma is involved in this. What is he attaching liens to? Montora?"

  "No Captain," Gorstead said. "You simply have to sign a promissory note to Piedmont Investments. There is no lien."

  "And what about the crew?" Frank asked.

  "What you have is most of the original crews of the ships. They volunteered to stay aboard and work for you. We were able to fill the key positions before bringing the ships out here. There's a bit of an unemployment problem in the inner worlds, and I think you'll find the crew motivated to work hard."

  "And the captains?"

  "Subject to your approval they plan to stay with the ships."

  Frank leaned forward and crossed his arms on the table. "20 mil is not even salvage value. What kind of junk did Krause send out here?"

  "Both ships are recently out of refit. According to both captains, and all the paperwork I have seen, they are ready for service in all respects, Captain. I rode out here on Nyland, and it could pass for a brand new starship."

  "How did you get down to the surface, Grimy?"

  "I came down on one of the ships' shuttles."

  "I suppose, then, I should ride up with you and take a look at my new property."

  “I am at your disposal, Captain.”

  § § §

  Frank Nyman blotted his lips with the snowy linen napkin. He looked around the officers' dining room on the star-freighter Nyland. It was hard to believe he was not in the dining room of an upscale merchant. The cream colored walls were contrasted by the walnut chair-rail and crown molding. The crystal and silver on the table glittered and reflected the lights in the room. The fine bone china wore the ship's crest. The bright pin-point lights embedded in the crystal chandelier brought a warm ambiance to the room.

  “A very good meal, Captain,” Frank said.

  Captain Erich Müden looked pleased. He clearly had been trying to impress the new owner and had succeeded.

  “Thank you, Mr. Nyman. I cannot claim we eat this well every meal, but please understand we think this is a special occasion.” Müden's New Prussian accent was soft, but apparent. “I think it important to feed the crew well, but one must also keep an eye on the bottom line, no?”

  Frank smiled. Now is the time to pour on the charm. This fellow knows how to manage a ship. “I completely understand, Captain. Everything I've seen so far has impressed me. It appears you run a taut ship.”

  Frank nodded over to the other ship's master in the room. Guy Plimpton was older than Müden, but no less competent. The Danica Maiden was not decorated as tastefully as Nyland, but was nonetheless as clean and well cared for. “And you too, Captain.”

  “Thank you, Sir,” Plimpton said. “I have to say I'm really relieved to have finally met you.” The flat tonality of his voice and matter-of-fact speech identified him as being from the upper mid-west Palatinate on Earth.

  “Relieved?” Frank asked.

  “Well, yes. You gotta understand, I had just arrived in Earth orbit and discharged my cargo. I received notice of the change in ownership and had just enough time to take on bunkerage before we sailed. I had the eight week voyage to worry about the destination.”

  Frank looked over at Müden. “Same thing happen to you, Captain?”

  “Yes, Sir.” He didn't elaborate.

  “In that case I must apologize, gentlemen,” Frank said. “This deal went together with indecent haste. I had a chance to pick up both ships sight unseen. I was relying on the good word of my broker. I didn't realize things would move so quickly.”

  Jones stood against the wall acting as Frank's guard. He raised an eyebrow.

  Shut up, Jones, Frank thought. I don't want to panic these people. It'll be bad enough when they find out the size of the shoe-strap I'm using to hold things together.

  “I wasn't sure when you would arrive, so I am having to scramble to pull the details together on this end,” Frank continued. “Tomorrow I plan to begin setting your crews up on my payroll as well as do a detailed inspection of the ships' books. Are there any immediate needs we should deal with?”

  “My apologies, Sir,” Müden said, “but my purser is very short on working cash.”

  “How much do you have?” Frank asked.

  “Five hundred Centaurans.”

  Frank whistled. “I suppose that should not surprise me. In fact, it's a wonder the previous owners did not strip the ships. That's normally the case. What about you, Captain Plimpton?”

  “I am in somewhat better shape, although I am short on bunkerage.”

  “Okay, start putting your grocery lists together. We need to figure out the payroll soonest. I want to be able to issue partial pay to the crew and let them get dirt-side. If you both were turned around that quickly and sent out here, the crew will definitely be ready for some shore time.”

  Plimpton nodded. “The crew has been curious about New Stockholm. Most of them have never been out this far.”

  “To be honest,” Frank said, “I expect most of your trading will be out in this area. For the most part, New Stockholm is a decent place. If anybody wants to move their families out here, we can talk about it.”

  “That's very kind of you, Sir,” Plimpton replied. “The crew has been getting anxious about leaving their families on Earth.”

  “Any problem with stowaways?”

  Plimpton snorted. “If we turned our back, we would have a ship full of jumpers.”

  Frank nodded. “I understand. Once again,” he looked at Müden, “a very nice dinner. If there's no other pressing business, I will plan to arrive on Danica Maiden around lunch time tomorrow.”

  “And you shall certainly dine with me, then,” Plimpton said.

  “How's that for shamelessly inviting myself to your table?” Frank asked.

  “Oh, no, Sir. You are quite welcome. When he hears about this meal, my cook will be highly motivated to uphold the traditions of Danica Maiden.”

  Frank laughed. “I suppose death by gluttony is to be preferred to other forms.”

  “It compares favorably against breathing vacuum, Sir,” Müden said.

  “With that, gentlemen, I will see you tomorrow.” Frank stood up.

  § § §

  The shuttle eased out of the Nyland's docking bay with a brief burst of maneuvering jets. Frank leaned back in the seat and looked at Smith & Jones.

  “All right, Sarn'ts, you're going to earn your pay over the next few days. We've just tripled the size of our fleet and the three of us are the corporate office.”

  “Just tell us what you want, Skipper,” Smith said. “Jonesy and I were starting to get bored.”

  “We can't have that. Let me call Liston. I think we're
going to need a few more warm bodies.”

  He pulled out his com, and punched the contact for Liston's unit.

  “If you're in the area, Frank, you could join Pamela and I for dinner,” Liston said. “We're at Bryson's. It's near your hotel.”

  “That's a relief. I thought maybe you had gone to bed. I need some help. And I've already eaten.”

  “Anything I have is yours, except my toothbrush or my wife. Ouch!”

  “Pamela just elbow you?” Frank asked.

  “No, she kicked me.”

  “Okay, pay attention, George. I just added two freighters to my fleet. They are in orbit here. Can I rent you and Maggie tomorrow to ride up to the ships with me?”

  “I'll have to pay somebody to cover the office.”

  “George, let me tell you everything we have to do, and then you decide how much to charge me. I don't have time to screw around negotiating. I'm just going to have to trust you.”

  “'Or else?” he said, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  “I'll have Smith & Jones settle up with you.”

  “Right you are,” Liston said quickly. “I promise not to overcharge by more than one-hundred percent, or so. What do you need?”

  “Let's get started and then you can add to the list anything I've forgotten. I need you and Maggie upstairs to get the crews on my payroll. You will also make arrangements for victualing and fueling the ships. I want you to find a temp to cover my office. When the spacers start visiting Gustav, I'm sure they will want to visit the corporate offices to see what they have bought into. I want the temp to welcome them and give them a chit for a free meal in a nice restaurant.”

  “Good idea, Frank. What else?”

  “Pass the word around I'm looking for cargoes. Just as soon as we get the crews settled and the ships ready, I want them on the routes. If I don't start generating revenue, they'll break me.”

  “Need help with the bank?”

  “No, but thanks, George,” Frank said. “I've already established a working relationship with the UBS branch in Gustav. I've got to head there first thing in the morning. Can you be ready to go around 11?”

  “Absolutely. I may not sleep tonight, though.”