By Darkness Forged

by Nathan Lowell

  “Al was a semi-regular participant in the gala,” I said.

  Ms. Fortuner gave me a side-eyed glance. “Al tell you that?”

  “No. Christine Maloney implied it when she was here helping paint the cabin.”

  “Interesting,” Ms. Fortuner said. “Wonder if that’s why she’s thinking of retiring.”

  I returned the side-eyed glance.

  Ms. Fortuner grinned. “Don’t look so surprised. You’re not the only one she talks to.”

  “You don’t have any insight into her decision?” I asked.

  “No.” She frowned into her coffee cup. “If I had to guess, it’s frustration.”

  “With the system?” Pip asked.

  “Something like that.” She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “She was a second mate for a decade. Did you know that?”

  I nodded. “Been a first for another. It’s in her jacket.”

  “She got burned. She had the first-mate rating long before she got a billet.”

  “Any idea why?” I asked.

  Ms. Fortuner shrugged and gave me another glance. “You’d have to ask her.”

  I translated that as “yes, I know but I’m not telling” and filed it away for future reference.

  “She’s got enough time in grade for her master’s ticket,” I said.

  “She’s not interested,” Pip said.

  “You sure?” Ms. Fortuner asked. “Is she not interested or just doesn’t expect she’ll be given consideration?” She scraped the last of her lunch off the tray, drained her coffee cup, and stood. “I want to go check on Bentley at the brow.”

  “He a problem?” I asked.

  She grinned. “Nope. Funny guy. Prankster, but not a problem. Just want to make sure he knows I’m watching out for him.” She took her tray to the return rack, refilled her mug, and sauntered off the mess deck.

  “She’s going to want a second-mate billet soon,” Pip said.

  “She’s going to make a great captain someday,” I said.

  Pip started at that. “Why do you say that?”

  I shrugged. “Hunch.”

  “Wait, Bentley? I thought she had Cheuvront as a watchstander.”

  “She and Tom swap back and forth as the whim takes them. Long as everybody’s happy and somebody covers the duty, I don’t care who’s on which watch.”

  Reed slipped into a seat beside Pip. “Did I hear my name?”

  “Just talking about the watch rotation,” I said.

  “Why do you change it up so much?” Pip asked.

  “It’s not really that often. Both Cheuvront and Bentley want to go for their astrogation rating. We swap every voyage so each gets a chance to work with me while we’re underway.”

  “How are they coming along?” I asked. “Should I be looking for a few new able spacers?”

  Reed cast a glance at Kris Cross on the other side of the mess deck. “Might try prodding some of these SAs to move up. We’ve got three ables, three apprentices, but no ordinary.”

  I frowned. “Kim is the education officer?”

  Reed nodded. “She’s tried to get all three of them to move on their training modules without much luck.”

  “Is there an issue?”

  Reed shrugged. “I haven’t gotten into it with her. I know she’s frustrated.”

  “She’ll have some action down in engineering. I put bugs in a few ears,” I said.

  Reed shrugged again. “I’m just focusing on bringing up the next crop of spec-threes.”

  “Free labor,” Pip said, half into his coffee mug.

  Reed grinned. “Don’t knock it. Anybody want cargo training?”

  Pip shook his head. “Not that I know of.”

  Reed chuckled and addressed his lunch.

  Chapter 7

  Mel’s Place: 2376, February 1

  I had no sooner settled into my desk when the chief knocked on the open door frame. “We’re all secured aft. Replenishment order’s placed. Spares order coming tomorrow morning. Tanks will be topped off by end of the working day tomorrow.”

  I waved her in. “Gotta minute?”

  “You’re the skipper, Skipper.” She grinned as she plunked down in one of the guest chairs.

  “How do I recruit out here? There’s no central repository that I’ve found.”

  “Al?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  “Don’t do anything rash,” she said. “I’ve got my eye on a candidate for her slot.”

  I blinked, trying to catch up with the conversation. “You’ve got a candidate?”

  The chief grinned. “It may come as no surprise that I keep tabs on up-and-comers in the Toe-Holds.”

  “And the High Line?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “Not so much. CPJCT does a pretty good job of tagging people.”

  “But you have a candidate?”

  “Potentially,” she said. “I think you’ll like her. Young woman. About halfway to captain at this point, I think. Not sure what she wants long-term. Not sure she knows.”

  “She have any problems with our operational mode?”

  “What, half in, half out?” the chief asked.

  I nodded.

  “She’s doing it herself to a lesser degree. Has a pure profit motive.”

  “So not playing games with TIC or related entities?”

  “Nope. Nothing like that.”

  “Got a name?” I asked.

  “Yes, but I’m not sharing it yet.”

  “Got a replacement for you yet?” I asked.

  “Me? Am I going somewhere?” she asked.

  “I’m pretty sure you’re leaving as soon as you find whatever it is we’re looking for out here. You promised me a replacement.”

  She chuckled. “Yeah. Well. We haven’t found it yet and it may take a while for the dust to settle again.”

  “You didn’t answer the question,” I said.

  “Yes. I have a replacement in mind.” She frowned, bit her bottom lip, and looked at her hands.

  “But ...?”

  “I’m not sure about her.”

  “Technical issues?”

  “Oh, no. Bloody brilliant engineer. If she were interested in research, I’d be worried for my reputation.”

  “What, then?”

  “She’s got a cushy job, owns her own shipping company. I’m not sure I can convince her to work for you.”

  “And she’s an engineering chief?”

  “Oh, no. Not yet. First officer.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “How would that work?”

  “She could have written the exam. All she needs is somebody to sign off on her.”

  “No name,” I said.

  The chief shook her head. “Sorry, no. Not yet.”

  “Back to my original question. How do I recruit out here?”

  “Station net has a bulletin-board system. There’s a classified ad section. Credit a word a day for ads.”

  “I can find crew? I may need to hire some spacers.”

  “Somebody leaving?”

  “No, but both Cheuvront and Bentley are working on spec-three astrogation. They may move on.”

  “They won’t go,” she said.

  “You think?”

  “I know,” she said. “Bentley’s got his wagon hitched to your star. Cheuvront’s making credits hand over fist on the shares here. It’ll take a pretty big offer for her to accept, and she’s got no incentive to look.”

  “Any advice on my spacer apprentices?” I asked.

  “You lit a fire under Schulteis on your own. I’d check to see if any of the quarter- or half-shares want to change divisions. Offer some laterals if they can pass.” She paused and peered at me. “Why do you care? They don’t need ratings out here. They’re the rank you say they are.”

  “They won’t always be here. Getting rated is like money in the bank.”

  “You thinking of sending any of them to Alys?”

  “What?”

  “Alys Giggone. Remember h
er? Commandant at Port Newmar?”

  I sat back in my chair trying to wrap my head around the idea.

  “Never thought of that, huh?” the chief said with a grin.

  “No,” I said. “It never occurred to me. We’ve been in and out of the Toe-Holds. I’ve got no connections to the other captains the way Alys does.”

  “Do you need them?”

  “Well, she pushed my name to the top of the list by getting captains I’d come in contact with to recommend me.”

  “She got officers who knew you. Al wasn’t a captain. Most of the people who signed for you weren’t captains, were they?”

  I tried to remember who had signed, but she was right. The only two captains I could remember off the top of my head were Alys Giggone and Cassandra Harrison.

  “You know captains who trust you.”

  “I do?”

  She shrugged. “Recommendations only need three officers. You’re an overachiever and an exception to the rule. You’ve got a fine officer corps here. Even Pip, for all his other flaws, knows which end the fire comes out of. Even at that, do you think Fredi would refuse to back a candidate that you recommended?” She paused for a breath. “Do you think Alys Giggone would turn down one of your recommendations?”

  “Why would Fredi take a chance on somebody she doesn’t know?”

  “She wouldn’t be. She’d be taking a chance on somebody she thought enough of to put up for captain at a tender age. Somebody she herself helped grow into the role. Somebody she entrusted her grandfather’s stars to.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Fredi and I go back a ways.”

  “Is there anybody you don’t know?” I asked.

  “Quite a few, actually,” she said. “You’ll gather as many or more before you’re my age.”

  “So, that’s two, assuming I can get in touch with Fredi.”

  “If you can’t figure that part out, I’m not sure you’re sitting in the right chair on the bridge,” she said. “You also know Christine Maloney. Your reputation with DST keeps growing even if you’re not there.”

  “I can’t see asking Rossett,” I said. “Or even Delman.”

  “Rossett’s gone. He died five stanyers ago. Surprised you didn’t hear about it. Hordes of heartbroken romance readers descended on the funeral. Three of them were killed in the crush. They had to give his widow planetary security when they found out Lenora Rossetti was actually a man.” She shrugged. “Delman’s cashiered. I don’t think he’s worked since he got tossed out of DST.”

  “I knew he was booted but never knew why.”

  “Does the name Vonda Behr ring any bells?”

  “Yeah. She moved up to be first mate after I took over the Agamemnon.”

  “Delman made some bonehead moves to try to discredit her after failing to get into her shipsuit.”

  “Idiot.”

  “Yeah. That, coupled with the continual erosion of the Tinker’s performance and a revolving door at crew berthing, convinced Jarvis to step in.”

  “Ames Jarvis?”

  “The same. Rumor has it that Christine might have had some input.”

  “Yeah, I’d bet on that much.”

  “Anyway. DST didn’t have a deep enough bench. They brought in a new-ish skipper from Dunsany. One of your old pals, actually.”

  “Not von Ickles,” I said. “He’s still running for Federated Freight, isn’t he?”

  “Jillian Avril,” the chief said. “She made captain the stanyer before you did. Built a solid reputation at DST. Remembers you fondly, by the way. So does Cassie.”

  “Cassie?”

  “Captain Cassandra Harrison? Well, Cassandra Adams now. She signed your ticket for the academy?” The chief’s brows gathered in a little frown. “I never did get the low-down on that one, but she sends her regards. She’s still sailing. Senior captain, of course. Silver stars and everything.”

  “Alicia Alvarez?” I asked.

  “Allie’s now Alicia Montoya. Married her first mate. They run a family ship over in Dunsany Roads. Their kids are old enough to sign the articles. I expect she’ll ask you for a recommendation for her eldest in a couple of stanyers.”

  I felt a little bit like I’d been hit with a hammer. “How do you know all this?”

  She gave a little self-deprecating shrug. “Comes with the turf.”

  “But you don’t know everybody.”

  “Of course not. Something between ten and twelve billion people call the Western Annex home.” She shook her head. “I don’t think even High Tortuga knows them all, but we were talking about sending people to the academy. Think about it.”

  I took a deep breath in through my nose and blew it out. “Sure. Right. Yeah. I’ll think about it.”

  “You’ll find the bulletin board on the station net. It’ll all be local talent, of course. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

  I shook my head.

  She stood and smiled at me again. I got the feeling I amused her. She strolled out of the cabin and pulled the door shut as she left.

  I needed a moment to process everything she’d laid out.

  Then I dug into the station net to find the bulletin board. I wasn’t looking to hire anybody, but I wanted to see what options I had.

  Chapter 8

  Mel’s Place: 2376, February 1

  Pip dragged me out of the cabin at 1730. “Come on. Get civvied for dinner. I’m hungry and want to check in on that steak and brew place.”

  It only took a few ticks to slide into the suit. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and just shook my head.

  “What? You’re not going to wear the hat?” Pip asked, resplendent in an iridescent gold tuxedo.

  “I might need sunglasses,” I said. “The hat? No.”

  “What? You think this is too much?” he asked, looking down at himself.

  “For you? Not at all. I’m surprised you’re not wearing a diamond stud in your ear.”

  His hand went to the side of his head and he swore. “Knew I forgot something. Be right back.” He disappeared down the passageway only to return almost immediately, fastening a diamond stud in his ear.

  “That’s not a real diamond. Is it?”

  He shook his head. “Cubic zirconium. Costs almost as much as the real thing.”

  “Chief says the ship will be ready to go tomorrow evening,” I said as we cleared the lock and started down the gallery.

  “We’ll have cargo by then, too, I suspect,” Pip said.

  “Should we pull out earlier?” I asked.

  Pip shook his head. “It’s not going to be a long jump to Telluride from here but we may as well go in rested. Why you asking me?”

  “Partner. Thought I’d be polite. I wasn’t going to leave early unless you had some overriding reason to do so.”

  “What’d you talk with the chief about?” he asked.

  “Recruiting.”

  “What else?”

  “That’s it.”

  He stopped in the middle of the gallery and put his hands on his hips. “She was way too self-satisfied to have it only be about recruiting.”

  “She has some candidates for us. She wants me to consider recommending crew to the academy.”

  “I figured the first. Why does the second surprise you? How did you get in?”

  “You know how I got in. Alys Giggone.”

  “Yes, and now Dear Commandant needs recommendations from captains in the fleet to fill out her rosters with people who have more going for them than rich parents who aren’t afraid to exercise their largesse with clipper skippers.”

  “Really?” I asked.

  “Really what? Of course, she does.”

  “No. ‘Clipper skippers?’ You actually said that?”

  “You like it?” he asked grinning over at me.

  “Two goudas.”

  “I’ll raise you a cheddar and two slices of swiss. The imported stuff.”

  We arrived at the blank door, but Pip r
emembered to knock and say “Joe sent me.”

  “Joe who?” the shadowy figure behind the door asked.

  “Oh, sorry. This is new,” Pip said. “Can I get a hint?”

  The man slapped the panel closed.

  Pip sighed and knocked again.

  “Yeah? Whad’ya want?”

  “Quentin sent me.”

  The man behind the door leaned closer to the opening. “Quentin?” he’d dropped the accent and seemed genuinely confused.

  “Quentin Carstairs. I’m his nephew and I’m hungry.”

  The man’s eyes opened so wide I thought the orbs might roll out of the sockets. He slammed the panel closed and swung the door open wide. “Sorry, Mr. Carstairs. Your uncle didn’t mention he was expecting you.”

  “Happens. He’s sometimes a little scattered. Surely you’ve noticed?”

  The doorman coughed into his hand but offered no other commentary beyond “Right this way, sirs.”

  “Your uncle?” I asked.

  “He owns the place.”

  “I didn’t know we were meeting him,” I said.

  Pip shrugged. “I didn’t either, but if he’s here, he’s buying.”

  The doorman showed us to a private room, knocking before entering. “Mr. Carstairs? This person claims to be your nephew.”

  Everybody in the room looked up, expressions varying from surprise to anger. Quentin stood up from the table and swept us all out before I got a good look at the attendees beyond Pip’s aunt.

  With the door firmly shut behind him, Quentin smiled at Pip and nodded at the doorman. “Yes, he’s my nephew. I wasn’t expecting him, but he’s mine.”

  The doorman looked at the closed door and back at Pip. “Sorry, Mr. C. I didn’t realize.”

  “Not a problem, Clive. Pass the word that Pip and Ishmael are my guests?”

  Clive nodded and stopped to speak to a member of the staff on the way back to the door.

  “Pip,” Quentin said. “Sorry. Negotiations with some of the more skittish Toe-Holders.”

  “I’m sorry, Uncle Q. The doorman just brought us in thinking we were part of your party.”

  “How did he know you were my nephew?”

  “I didn’t know Joe’s last name so I gave him mine.”

  “You knew I owned this place?”

  “Sure. Doesn’t everybody?” Pip asked.

  Quentin frowned and pinched his lower lip between too fingers. “No. Actually they don’t. Who told you?”