Quarter Share

by Nathan Lowell

  Mr. Maxwell pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. I braced myself because I was pretty sure he was thinking really hard, or considering just how to kill me. Either way, I wanted to keep a low profile. “Just so I understand this, Mr. Wang. You’re proposing to rent a booth at the flea market so that the crew members who have private trades have a place to sell their goods retail?”

  “Yes, sar, that’s the basic idea.”

  “Who’s going to work the booth?”

  “We’ll need a couple volunteers from each watch section. Pip and I, of course, but I don’t have any others yet because we’re still trying to figure out if we can do it.”

  Mr. Maxwell swiveled his gaze to Pip. “You’re in on this?”

  “Yes, sar. Mr. Wang and I, being on opposite watches agreed that we can cover the booth so that it can stay open every day we’re in port.”

  “Are you telling me you’re giving up liberty so that your crewmates have a place to make private trades?”

  We both gulped. I shot a glance at Pip out of the corner of my eye before answering, “Yes, sar.”

  “Well, sar, it’s only during business hours so it’s not like we’re giving up all our liberty,” Pip added. “The flea market isn’t open in the evening.”

  I thought Mr. Maxwell smiled at that, but it disappeared too fast for me to be sure.

  He let us stew in our own juices for about two solid ticks before answering, “Gentlemen, I have some good news and some bad news.” Pip and I shot a glance to each other before Mr. Maxwell went on, “The crew is prohibited from engaging in any activity which might be considered competing with the trading mission of the ship. That’s the bad news. The good news is that the ship is under no such restriction.”

  I was having trouble untangling that statement but Pip grinned.

  Mr. Maxwell continued, “We frequently rent offices, warehouses, and other port-side facilities when they are required for legitimate ship’s business. The captain and I have been struggling with how to keep the crew safe without restricting their enthusiasm for private trading ever since Darbat. You two seem to have hit upon a solution so obvious that we never would have thought of it. Let me run this idea past her and get back to you. I suspect you’ll be able to set up shop tomorrow, but I’ll let you know later this evening.”

  Pip spoke while I was still untangling my tongue. “Yes, sar, thank you, sar.”

  Mr. Maxwell nodded. “You’re welcome. Dismissed.”

  We took the hint and headed back to the galley to start the evening meal. First night of liberty or not, neither of us wanted to leave the ship until we got the idea fully hashed out. As we expected, almost nobody came to the mess deck for dinner. We served the few watch standers left aboard and waited.

  Near the end of dinner, a message from the captain pinged into our tablets simultaneously. It confirmed that the ship had rented booth four seventy-eight at Margary Station’s flea market for four standays beginning at 08:00 the next day. She instructed us to pick up our authorization certificate from the market office no later than 07:30 under the name of McKendrick Mercantile Cooperative.

  Pip looked at me across the mess table. “Okay, I’ll take the duty tomorrow. You get it set up.”

  “Me? You’re the trading genius.”

  He grinned at me. “Your idea, so you have to do it.”

  I shook my head slowly. This trip just got stranger and stranger. I left Pip with clean up duty and went in search of people to help me in the morning.

  My first stop was the berthing area where I found Bev coming off watch and getting ready for liberty. “The captain approved the flea market.”

  She turned wide-eyed in my direction. “Wha—? How’d the captain get involved?”

  “Pip and I wanted to make sure there wasn’t any conflict so we went to Mr. Maxwell. As it turns out, only the ship can officially rent the space but can do it for the benefit of the crew. The only catch was he had to run it by the captain. We just got the confirmation a few ticks ago. They rented space in the name of McKendrick Mercantile Cooperative and anybody in the crew with trade goods will be free to use the space to sell their stuff.”

  “Sounds great. Will it be expensive?”

  “That’s the best part, the rental is only ten creds a day and it’s a simple pay-as-you go plan.”

  Bev grinned. “I’ll be switched. You actually did it.”

  “Yup. Only problem is that Pip has the duty tomorrow and I’m a little nervous about setting up by myself.”

  “I’m off tomorrow. I’ll help ya. Besides, it’ll give me a chance to check out the other booths.” She grinned wolfishly. “Might find something else to spend my money on.”

  Relief washed over me. “Thanks, Bev. I really mean it.”

  “No worries. Besides.” She paused and gave me a wink. “I can’t have my boy toy wandering around unprotected now, can I?”

  “Well, with Big Bad Beverly watching my back, there’s nothing I’m gonna be worried about.”

  We both grinned and got on with our evening plans.

  I found Sandy Belterson on the track and learned that Brill was off the ship already, but would be returning in the morning. I went down to the environmental section and found Francis and Diane on duty and filled them in on the plan. They each had some trade goods and were excited to join in. I asked them to pass the word and went back to my bunk to rack out.

  ***

  When the watch stander came for Pip the next morning, Beverly and I got up too. We put on shipsuits and headed to the galley for breakfast and to talk things over.

  I made the coffee while Pip set up Cookie’s omelet station. Bev accepted the first cup from the pot and let Pip practice his omelet skills on her while Cookie finished putting up the bread. In port mess duty seemed so laid back by this time that I found it ridiculous I had ever considered it difficult. The three of us had become a well-integrated machine, each doing the required tasks without the least interference from either of the others. Any one of us could probably have handled the breakfast alone, but Cookie spent his time preparing his signature breads, pastries, and desserts that were his pride and joy.

  After the few crew members were served, Pip, Bev, and I gathered at a table to talk about how to proceed.

  Pip started, “You two should go and take your belts. I can send the other crew up to find you later. Sell as many as you want and I’ll take the big bundle up tomorrow. Bev, you have dibs, so I won’t put mine out until you’re done selling, okay?”

  She grinned. “I’m only planning on taking four of the eight. If we do this on St. Cloud, too, we’ll probably make a killing, and I want to have at least half of my belts available for that.”

  Pip sipped his coffee while he considered. “You’re going to take yours up, aren’t you, Ish?”

  “Yeah, at the moment it’s all I have to sell and I’d like to get something out there. I’ll take the eight I bought with Bev. It won’t matter if I sell them all, because we have that whole bundle. The big question is how much to charge?”

  Bev finished her omelet and pushed the tray back. “I was thinking thirty creds. That’s more than double what we paid for them.”

  Pip shook his head. “If it were me, I’d start at fifty and let ’em talk me down to thirty. These are top shelf goods. The leather is amazing and the tool work is exceptional. The rock jockeys and metal munchers will have money to spare and if you don’t take it from them, they’ll just drink it away instead.”

  Bev smiled. “Point taken. We’ll see what the market will bear and that’ll help you move the large bundle later.”

  Pip nodded and it seemed like a logical plan to me.

  I looked back and forth between the two of them. “Do you think any of the crew will come to sell in the booth?”

  Bev nodded vigorously. “They will, but maybe not until they see how it works out.”

  Pip lifted his chin to get our attention. “I have one more question. How do we reimburse the ship?”
r />   Bev and I looked at each other and then back at him. “Reimburse the ship?”

  He nodded. “If Ish and I had taken this on, we’d have just absorbed the cost in the day’s business, but this is ship’s business. We can’t expect the rest of the crew to absorb the expense, can we?”

  Bev snorted. “We only need to cover ten creds a day, right?”

  “Something like that.” Pip shrugged. “The captain paid out forty creds for the rental.”

  “No table,” I pointed out. “I wonder if I can add that at the office this morning.”

  “How much is one?” Bev asked.

  “A cred a day.”

  “Whoa, can you afford it, big spender?”

  Pip grinned. “I think that’s the answer. Ish, you and I were going to cover this expense when we asked Mr. Maxwell so why don’t we just do it.”

  “Do you need me to chip in?” Bev asked.

  I shook my head. “No, we’ve got this. After all, you’re only selling a few belts and we have that big bundle. We should make more than enough to cover it.”

  “Okay, well if you want me to, just let me know.”

  “Gimme twenty now and I’ll add twenty and reimburse the ship while you’re out setting up,” Pip said before getting up to start another pot of coffee.

  I pulled out my tablet and transferred the credits. “Done.” While I was in my account I noted that I’d been paid again and that I was building up a respectable balance, even after having paid out the two hundred back on Gugara.

  Bev stood up and grabbed her dirty dishes. “Okay, I need to get into some civvies and go get seriously commercial for a bit.” She looked at me with a twinkle in her eye. “Wanna join me?”

  We all laughed and started moving. We took the dishes to the galley and Bev and I headed to the berthing area to change while Pip returned to morning mess duty. As I slipped on my jacket, I couldn’t help but remember that leather coat with the black silk lining on Gugara. I half wished I’d gotten it but the mass would have chewed into my trading. It only took a few ticks to change clothes and we headed for the lock with our belts in a duffel bag.

  At the lock, Rhon Scham had the bow watch and gave us a bundle of blue cloth. “Compliments of the captain.” She told us. We had no idea what it was, so we unfolded it. It turned out to be a banner, about two meters long, with shiny letters sewn onto it. When we got it fully stretched out, we could see that the silvery material spelled McKendrick Mercantile Cooperative.

  “From the captain?” I ask Rhon.

  “That’s what the note says. She dropped it off just before midwatch last night.”

  Beverly examined the fabric. “This is ancient. This banner has to be…maybe fifty years old.”

  Rhon and I both shrugged.

  “What’s the McKendrick Mercantile Cooperative?” I looked back and forth between them.

  Bev shrugged. “I don’t know, but I bet there’s a good story behind this. Come on, we’re gonna be late.”

  We refolded the banner and carefully tucked it in the duffel with the belts. Rhon keyed the lock and we bolted for the lift and headed up to the flea market office to check in.

  The flea market manager seemed a nice enough guy. I suppose you have to be to coordinate the circus that constituted a major orbital flea market. He didn’t even appear terribly intimidated by Beverly. He wore a bright green vest that clashed terribly with everything else he had on, which probably was the point. He certainly stood out in the crowd. Across the back it said, “Margary Flea” in big yellow letters and on the left breast it said, “Fergus, Manager.” He was happy to rent me a table for the four days and let me pick the one I wanted out of a battered collection stacked up in the storage area.

  “You just bring it back tonight and it’ll be safe until tomorrow.” He handed me a plastic coated badge with all the pertinent information: dates, rates, services, along with a big four seventy-eight on its face. “Just clip this to the drape at the back of your booth so that security knows you’re registered and take it with you when you leave for the night. There’s a magtag in it that will open the doors when you want to come back in the morning. It’s good for the full four days. After 17:00 on the last day it expires. You can just toss it. Your booth is over that way about forty meters. Just follow the signs painted on the deck. Good luck with your sales.”

  Bev and I thanked him and headed off in the indicated direction to find our space. We had half a stan before the doors opened and let the public in. We joined the steady parade of merchants and the flea market felt like it was coming to life after a long night’s sleep, which in truth, I suppose it was.

  It took us five ticks to find the place but no time at all to set up. The table was a pull-the-legs-and-lock type, so it was easy. We pulled out the banner and debated where to put it. A pipe-scaffold ran along the back of the space with a drape on it. If we’d had some wire or string, we could have hung it up there. Some pins would have let us attach it to the drape, but, of course, we had none of them. Ultimately, we just laid it out like a tablecloth and put a selection of the belts for sale on it. We stashed the empty duffel under the table. The display looked completely amateurish, even to me.

  Bev and I looked at each other.

  I shrugged. “We’re really not prepared, are we?”

  She shook her head. “No. Not really.” She grinned at my hang-dog look. “But it’ll come. Live and learn, I always say.”

  More vendors filed in and set up around us. Across the aisle was a potter, a youngish looking guy with sandy hair and an artificial foot. He slid a grav-pallet into his space, all set up with his displays. He just locked it down and was ready for business. Looking around, I saw that the grav-pallet seemed to be the standard as there was a procession of them winding in from the lifts.

  Bev and I looked at each other. “If this catches on…” we started to say at the same time and laughed.

  An obviously married older couple trundled up to the booth beside us and began unloading a simple cargo tote. The woman—a mousy, gray-haired matron in boots, a pair of jeans, a checked shirt, and a vest—began directing the man. He was nearly bald and wore a utility jumpsuit. Her voice carried over the rising noise level as she bossed him around.

  “Not there, Virgil, I need that here.” Her smooth alto carried a whip-crack undertone that made me instantly feel sorry for him.

  “Come on, Virgil, the floor will be open soon and I need this set up now!”

  She continued along this vein for quite some time. Poor Virgil had apparently done this chore many times but he just couldn’t seem to do it to her satisfaction. They unpacked signs, display racks, and other paraphernalia from their little tote. With each new item, she’d give Virgil another order. Bev had to look the other way just to hide her amusement.

  I joined her on the far side of our booth and elbowed her. “It’s not funny. That poor guy.”

  Bev nodded. “I know, I know. It’s just…”

  Behind us we heard, “Virgil, I’ve told you a hundred times not that way. Set it up like this.”

  I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing and Beverly looked down with a hand on her brow to hide her face. Her shoulders were shaking as she tried to suppress her laughter.

  Luckily, about that time, a loud pa-pong echoed from the ceiling speakers and the big entry doors at either end of the hall rolled open. A tide of people surged onto the trading floor. In a few ticks buyers began sauntering by and Virgil left the woman to tend the booth by herself.

  Bev and I stood awkwardly behind the table and watched as people passed. Some stopped to eye the belts, but more were interested in Bev. She wore her black leather pants, jacket, and boots. Under the jacket she wore a cream-colored shirt with a stand-up collar. Even with the buzz-cut and piercings, the shirt softened the edge a bit in comparison to the aluminum pullover she’d worn on Gugara. I wore my only set of civvies and, compared to her, I was about as non-nondescript as Virgil had been.

  “Lookie loos,�
�� Bev pitched her voice low enough to reach my ears without being overheard by those around us.

  “What?”

  “This first group.” She indicated the crowd with a slight nod of her head. “They’re the lookie loos. They have no intention of buying yet. Eventually they might, but for now…”

  I nodded.

  It didn’t take long for the experience to get boring. I took out my tablet and started making a list.

  “Whatcha you doing?”

  I didn’t look up. “Taking notes. Next time we need some clips so we can hang the banner on the drape, and Pip will need some kind of rack to be able to display that bundle of belts.”

  Bev nodded and stretched her back. “Stools would be good too. It’s going to be a long day standing, I’m afraid.”

  I added that to the list, along with grav-pallet followed by a question mark and thermos of coffee.

  A couple stepped up to the table, so I put my tablet away. The next three stans eroded under the steady trickle of buyers through the booth. Bev did the actual haggling and I listened out of one ear while I explained to the next buyer that the belts came from Gugara and were hand-tooled by one of their master craftsmen. Most people who picked up one of them and could feel the texture and suppleness of the leather wanted to buy one, even if they weren’t able to afford it. We set the price high and were in no hurry to drop it too quickly, something the hagglers caught on to right away. Nobody seemed too put out and Bev sold two at forty creds rather quickly.

  About that time, Diane Ardele showed up with Francis in tow. He lugged a duffel stuffed with silk scarves, brocaded vests, and delicate china plates with oriental scenes painted on them. The plates were wrapped in sponge-foam and individually boxed. Bev and I moved the belts over to one end of the table and let Diane and Francis set up on the other. The booth looked more appealing with the brightly colored fabrics and shining glass. It also didn’t hurt that Diane wore jeans that were one size larger than painted on and a deep, scoop-neck top. With her cheerful smile, she was soon attracting as much attention as Bev. Francis and I knew enough to stand back and let the experts work the table.