Quarter Share

by Nathan Lowell

  She waved and left me to get on with the day. Beverly kicked the bottom of my bunk. “If the family reunion is over, can I have a little peace?” I turned out the light and Bev said, “Thank you.”

  It took only a couple of minutes to get myself cleaned up and into a fresh shipsuit. I left Pip in the showers and reported to the galley. I grinned at Cookie and he looked relieved.

  “Pip is better, I presume.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, he’s hobbling about a bit and needed help getting out of the lower bunk. He must be hurting.”

  Cookie chuckled. “Some mornings, any of us can feel like you have to step up to get out of a lower bunk, young Ishmael.”

  Pip shuffled into the galley right on cue. “This morning was just such a time, Cookie.” The bandage was gone from his face but his eye was still swollen shut. He moved tentatively with an arm held tight to his side. Pip lowered himself gingerly into a chair. “What’s a guy gotta do to get a cuppa coffee around this joint?” He grinned.

  I smiled back at him. “You want the old pot or can you wait five minutes for the new?”

  We all had a little laugh, the tension broken and I went out to get the urn going. By the time I got back, Cookie had poured Pip some fruit juice and was just flipping an omelet out of the pan. I finished setting up for breakfast service and pulled the biscuits out of the bread oven. Nobody spoke as the morning prep spooled out like a well-oiled cable. In just a few ticks Cookie, Pip, and I were left waiting for the crew to show up and looking at each other.

  “All right, Mr. Carstairs,” Cookie prompted with a smile, “the time has come and you will tell us what happened or I will ask Mr. Wang to beat on your other eye.”

  Pip chuckled. “Okay, okay. I went to sell the Grishom. My contact at Chez Louis gave me a hundred thirty a bottle because they were in the presentation cases. I didn’t think anything of it, but I guess carrying over five hundred creds in cash wasn’t the smartest thing I ever did. I headed back right away so I could contact my next deal.” He looked at me then and shrugged. “I had a line on some entertainment cubes, a lot of them in plain brown wrappers. We’re heading back to Gugara and there’s a good market for that there.”

  I shrugged. Porn was porn and everybody had a preferred flavor, even ancient lit professors. Mom had quite an interesting collection of samples from various time periods. It still stung when I remembered her, but I could tell I was healing.

  “Anyway, I tried to get to a depository and transfer the creds, but these three thugs were waiting near the lift to the docks. They backed me into an alcove so fast, I never saw it coming. I gave them my wallet and told them I didn’t have anything else. They were pissed that there were only a few creds.”

  “Where was the cash from the trade?” I interrupted him.

  “In my money belt. I’m stupid, but not totally ignorant.” He took a sip of coffee. “Unfortunately, they’d tagged me as I left the docks. One of the thugs had a digital of me leaving with the duffel. They didn’t believe me when I told them it was laundry. So the next thing I know, I’m waking up, stretched out flat in the cul-de-sac, beat to a pulp, and my belt is gone. That was sometime around morning watch yesterday as far as I can tell. Darbati Orbital Security found me, saw that I wasn’t drunk, and figured I’d been mugged. I was coherent enough by then to tell them I was stationed on the Lois so they took me to the local medical outpost. The medics patched me up, filled me with painkillers, and security brought me back here.”

  Cookie seemed alarmed. “Did you file a report with the authorities?”

  Pip shook his head. “No, they never asked for a statement and by the time the meds kicked in I was too out of it. I probably couldn’t have made one.”

  “Could you recognize them, Mr. Carstairs?” Mr. Maxwell’s sudden appearance startled all of us.

  “I—I don’t know, sar,”

  “Would you like to try?” His lips curled in a wry smile.

  Pip thought for a moment. “I’d be willing to give it a shot, sar.”

  Mr. Maxwell nodded. “Have you learned anything from this experience, Mr. Carstairs?”

  “I was stupid and I was lucky.” He unconsciously echoed what Cookie had said the night before. “I got cocky and didn’t take a wingman. I figured I could handle it and…” He petered out a bit but stiffened up and finished, “and I didn’t want to risk people making fun of me for trading.”

  Mr. Maxwell nodded once, crossed his arms, and leaned into the doorframe. “Anything else?”

  “The Lois isn’t the Duchamp.”

  “Very good, Mr. Carstairs.” Mr. Maxwell swiveled his head to include Cookie and me in his consideration. “And since we’re all here and among friends, perhaps one or more of you gentlemen would tell me what in the Deep Dark is going on with ship’s stores?”

  There was a heavy stillness in the galley for about three heartbeats.

  Cookie spoke, “We’re trying out something to reduce the cost of supplies, sar.”

  Mr. Maxwell nodded. “I presume that something explains the nearly full container of frozen food being delivered to the dock? And another one of canned vegetables?”

  Cookie nodded. “Yes, sar.”

  Mr. Maxwell didn’t speak for a while. “What if we were to change course and head back to Neris instead of Gugara?”

  Pip stiffened and looked at Cookie. Cookie didn’t even flinch. “Well, sar, I’d say that’s good.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because the extra frozen food is cobia fillets. We got them to swap in Gugara for some beefalo. They’ll be worth more in Neris. We can trade some of them for fresh produce which, on our budget, we couldn’t otherwise afford.”

  Mr. Maxwell didn’t say a word, but it looked to me like Pip was holding his breath. Cookie seemed calm and unperturbed. Finally, Mr. Maxwell spoke, “That’s an interesting notion. Do you have the extra mass allotment to carry stores for trading purposes?” He asked in a way that made it sound like he was really interested.

  Cookie nodded. “Yes, sar, we do. The ship’s rated for a larger crew than we carry. By being a bit more careful in stowage, we can take on up to fifteen percent more mass in stores without sacrificing either ship performance or jeopardizing crew meals.” He paused for a heartbeat. “I believe we can reduce the cost of feeding the crew by close to twenty percent which would add a nice bit to our profit margin overall.”

  “And the quality won’t suffer? We eat well on this ship. It’s a matter of pride.”

  “No, sar, of course not. The whole point is to procure foods that we wouldn’t normally consider because of the expense. I have some projections if you’d like to see them.”

  Mr. Maxwell nodded. “Yes, Cookie, I would like a look, but only out of curiosity. It’s your budget and you know what it takes to keep the crew well fed and satisfied. I trust your mass figures and if you say it’s going to save us money, then that’s your call.”

  “Thank you, sar. I’ll have them in your in-box by mid day.”

  Mr. Maxwell nodded and turned his attention back to Pip. “If you could put together a description of the thugs, and the general location where they attacked you, Mr. Carstairs, I’ll circulate it to the crew and to the Darbati authorities. We’ll be pulling out in a few days, but if you’re well enough for a short stroll later, we might be able to spot them.”

  Pip smiled. “Thank you, sar. I’d be happy to try to help nail them.”

  “You know the creds are probably gone, right?”

  “Oh yes, sar,” he nodded, “but if we can keep them from hijacking anybody else, that’s a win as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Carstairs. Your efforts here are noted and appreciated.” Mr. Maxwell smiled—yes, smiled—and somewhat enigmatically, I thought. He turned and left the galley, but I heard him grab a mug from the rack and fill it with coffee on his way off the mess deck.

  Nobody moved or said a word for a long time after we were sure he was gone. Cookie broke the silence. �
�I have known that man for over fifteen stanyers and it still makes me nervous when he smiles.”

  Chapter 13

  Darbat Orbital

  2351-October-24

  The rest of our stay at Darbat Orbital was fairly quiet. Pip wrote up a description of the guys that jumped him, including the model number of the digital imager and a rough sketch of a tattoo one of them had on his arm. Mr. Maxwell sent a copy to station security, our crew, and the Union Hall Representative on Darbat. Pip, Mr. Maxwell, and a couple of the cargo gang strolled through the station a couple of times before we got underway, but they didn’t find anything. Darbat is a busy station. The culprits were probably lying low until any recently docked ships headed out. Typical port time for a union trader was seldom more than five days. I couldn’t help but wonder just how many people were involved. Pip had only seen three, but that didn’t mean there weren’t others covering the other hatches. We speculated on it endlessly during port-duty in the galley. For me, it underscored Sandy’s prophetic words on the track that night.

  ***

  Over the next couple of days, the new stores came aboard and Pip watched me stow them in the spaces I’d emptied while he was busy getting mugged. I teased him about people who were willing to do anything to get out of shifting stores around, but it was all in good fun. We didn’t talk about the fact that he was back to zero on his private trading. The deal on entertainment cubes fell through because without the creds from the Grishom, he couldn’t afford them.

  We were down in the pantry, when I offered to bankroll him. “If you can get a line on something good, I got paid and still have the money. It’s not much, but…”

  “Thanks, Ish. I still have a bit of cash from the last run, but between us I doubt we have the five hundred and fifty creds to follow up on the cubes.”

  I agreed. My pay, even with the quarter share, only came to a little over two hundred and fifty creds. From one perspective that didn’t seem like a lot, but if I added in what it would have cost me for food, housing, clothing, transportation, and all the other expenses of being planet-side, I was actually making out pretty well. I know our budget on Neris was tight even with Mom being a relatively senior professor. Of course, there had only been two of us, but we had to watch our spending.

  “I’ve been looking for some kind of deal, but I haven’t found anything worth pursuing. The turnaround is just too short. Sometimes you luck out, but…” He shrugged and only winced a little. The ready-knit had nearly repaired most of the rib damage, leaving only the residual muscle tissue trauma.

  “Got a line on anything in Gugara? If we pool our resources that’ll give us a bigger bankroll and more mass quota to work with.”

  He gaped at me. “After this, you’d be willing to team up?”

  I nodded and shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I? You’ve got the connections and the know-how. I still need to learn more about trading, frankly, I don’t have a clue. I might as well learn from the master.” I grinned at him.

  He gave a winced chuckle. “Well, I don’t know about being the master, but thanks. I’d be happy to show you what I know, and there was something interesting on Gugara…” His voice trailed off. He whipped out his tablet and pulled up a file. “Yes, I thought I remembered this. I gave it a pass originally. Price is right, good profit potential, but too much mass. I didn’t have the quota to cover it.”

  I grinned. “I have about ten kilos, maybe eleven. Is that enough?”

  He did some quick calculations and nodded slowly, looking at the tablet. “Yeah, It’s plenty. The deal masses fifteen kilos. Cost would be two hundred creds.” He consulted the ship’s schedule. “We’re going to Margary Station after that.” He grinned broadly. “Excellent. We can sell almost anything there.”

  “Why’s that?” I tossed the last case of canned banapod on the stack and strapped it down.

  “Because, young Ishmael,” he did a wicked impression of Cookie, “it’s an isolated station. They support an asteroid mining operation and there’s little in-system production, except for the refined metals and some large-scale fabrication.” He consulted his tablet again before continuing, “Interesting. There’s a Manchester yard there.”

  “That’s significant?”

  He shrugged. “Dunno, but the Lois is Manchester-built. I wonder…” he began punching up data on his tablet but refused to comment further, absorbed in his research. I left him sitting on a stack of creamed spinach and went back to the galley to get ready for the lunch service.

  ***

  The pull back was routine and getting underway felt good. I don’t know if it was Pip’s getting beaten up, having the crew aboard again, or merely the resumption of the normal routine, but it felt like I was somehow coming home as we started the long crawl out of Darbat. This was normal compared to the less demanding and, by now, less familiar, time in port. It was comforting in an odd way. That night I started my last passes through the instructional materials for the half share tests. Mr. von Ickles would administer them in eight days. I had cargo nailed down, along with the power and propulsion sections of the engineman exam, but I thought I’d better spend some time with Brill down in environmental before the test.

  Two standays out of Darbat, right after lunch mess, Mr. Maxwell just happened to stop by the galley during cleaning up. Ominously, he was smiling. “Good afternoon, gentlemen. I’ve been going over those figures, Cookie. I wonder if you have a few moments to spare to discuss them?”

  Cookie shrugged. “Of course, Mr. Maxwell. Here?”

  He nodded and laid a tablet down on the work counter. “Mr. Carstairs and Mr. Wang should join us.”

  Pip looked a bit guilty to me, although it could have been a projection on my part. Mr. Maxwell was obviously enjoying himself, and I’d been aboard long enough to know that the next stan or so would be interesting although not necessarily in a good way.

  When we gathered around, Mr. Maxwell indicated his tablet. “I’ve noticed some things on these tables. For example, this column labeled demand probability and this one marked possible margin. These don’t appear to be based on anything I know about. How were they derived?”

  Cookie looked over the columns in question. “Oh, those are estimates based on the port-of-call and the current galactic average wholesale price, sar. These are for Gugara, they would change if we were to go back to Neris. We run them based on a specific pair of ports.”

  “You run them where?”

  “On Mr. Carstairs’ portable.”

  Mr. Maxwell nodded. “I see. That would explain why I didn’t find this data except in my in-box.” He swiveled his gaze to Pip. “And where did you get this portable, Mr. Carstairs?”

  I broke in before he could answer, “From me, sar. It was my mother’s and I brought it aboard in my quota. I was planning on using it to study, but I’ve been so busy, I haven’t had time.”

  Mr. Maxwell nodded. “We’ll come back to the question of your studies another day, but I surmised as much.” He turned back to Cookie. “I think I know the answer to this next question as well, but humor me. Where did you get these simulations that produce this kind of information.”

  “We built them, sar,” Cookie replied.

  “We?” Mr. Maxwell did not look at Pip.

  Cookie and Pip nodded. “Yes, sar. Mr. Carstairs and I created them. We’ve been refining them for a few weeks now.”

  “This implies that you have considerable knowledge of the market conditions for a lot of ports.” He looked pointedly at Pip. “Care to tell me how this works?”

  Pip pulled out his own tablet. “I have a database, sar. I started it some time back. It has been a kind of hobby of mine. I keep it on a personal data cube.” Mr. Maxwell nodded for him to continue. “When we get the updated market reports from the jump point beacons and station data, I have a little routine that updates my galactic standard prices files. And I research ports on our projected flight path, plus level one alternatives.”

  Mr. Maxwell concentrated i
ntently on what Pip was saying, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Level one alternatives being…?”

  “Oh, that’s what I call alternate ports on our flight plan. From Darbat, we’re scheduled for Gugara, but there are two other ports in jump range. We could have gone back to Neris, or we could have gone to Albert. Since we came from Neris, doubling back on our course is unlikely. We only do that every once in forever. We might, however, change course for Albert. We have last minute course changes about once every five jumps. So, Albert becomes a level one alternative and I tried to find out as much about Albert as about Gugara.”

  Mr. Maxwell nodded. “But since we came from Gugara before Neris, you didn’t have that much to look up?”

  “Yes, sar. Some minor market updates, but I got a good profile going into Gugara before. That cuts down on the amount of work I needed to do to leave Darbat with high probability goods.”

  “And how did you determine that our route changes only once in five jumps?”

  “Oh, that was easy, sar. The ship’s log has a complete record of all courses filed along with the actual paths taken. I just tracked the flight plans we’ve filed over the last five stanyers. Confederation regulations require us to project out four jumps, but we’re allowed to amend those plans based on—well, whatever we want, really. Every time we change one, it sets a flag in our records, sar. I just counted the numbers of flight plans with flags and compared that to the total number of flight plans filed. The tablet tracks that for me.”

  Mr. Maxwell looked thoughtful. “So you research out four jumps along with possible alternate routes for every port we go to?”

  Pip nodded. “Yes, sar.”

  “Where are we going after Gugara?”

  “Margary,” I answered without thinking.

  Mr. Maxwell swiveled his gaze to me and said, “Et tu, Brute?”