Milk Run (Smuggler's Tales From The Golden Age Of The Solar Clipper Book 1)

by Nathan Lowell

  Zoya kept shaking her head. “This is nuts.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Can you run the engine room? You’re only a boot third. We only graduated—what? Two weeks ago? It’s an awful lot to bite off.”

  Natalya took a deep breath and asked herself the same question. “I don’t know. I’ve been running the Peregrine for stanyers now. Same principles.”

  “Other than the sails and keel.”

  “True, but the Burlesons are the same. Just bigger. Kickers are kickers. Peregrine’s are actually oversized for a small ship. Environmental is plug-and-play on Peregrine, but we’ve got an honest-to-Maude environmental expert to keep us out of trouble there.” Natalya hated to admit it to herself but the idea of running the entire engineering department on the ship gave her more of a thrill than it should have.

  “We’ll each get fifty thousand if we succeed,” Zoya said. “Won’t be able to spend it if we fail.” She looked Natalya in the eyes. “What are the odds?”

  Natalya shook her head. “I’ve no idea. The ship part? I think we’re actually in better shape than we might think. It’s a solid ship. As long as the crew doesn’t sabotage us—and as long as Blanchard can actually plot a course—we could almost make the whole trip on autopilot.”

  “As long as we don’t run into anything unexpected.”

  “There’s that.”

  Zoya frowned and stared at the undress uniform in her hands for several long moments. “Let’s go see what the wardroom looks like. Maybe scope out Blanchard to see if he has a clue.”

  “You’ll do it?” Natalya asked.

  Zoya shook her head. “I don’t know yet. Let’s get some due diligence on this and see what we can learn. It doesn’t make sense that Kondur would risk a ship without some expectation that it would pay off.”

  Natalya grinned. “You’re thinking like a Toe-Holder now.”

  “I only met the guy a couple of times. Did he strike you as the kind of guy who’d toss a billion credits into the void without some expectation that they’d come back with a few friends?”

  “No. He didn’t.”

  “All right, then. Get changed for dinner and let’s go see who else we have to play with.”

  Chapter 19

  Dark Knight Station: 2373, June 7

  Natalya and Zoya found themselves nearly the last ones to enter the wardroom. Albee and Pritchard stood near the head of the table, apparently not looking at each other or anybody else in the room. A pleasant-looking older man turned out in neat undress looked up from the coffee mess in the corner and raised a cup in salute as they entered. “You must be our new blood. Charlie Blanchard, second mate. Call me Charlie.”

  Zoya nodded. “Zoya Usoko, third mate.”

  “I’m Natalya Regyri, engineering third officer.”

  “Nice of you to join us finally,” Albee said.

  Blanchard chuckled. “Easy there, big fella. We’ll be underway soon and you’ll be able to get that stick out of your ass.”

  Albee rounded on Blanchard. “That’s insubordination, Mr. Blanchard.”

  Blanchard sipped his coffee and smiled at the now red-faced Albee. “No. Actually that was not insubordination. Insubordination is when I refuse your orders or defy your authority. That was more like disrespect for an officer, or perhaps conduct unbecoming. Under the circumstances, and given your example, just let me assure you that you set a very low bar to get over on that score.”

  The door opened and another man staggered in. “Sorry I’m late. Got lost in the head.” He drew up short, nearly falling into Zoya as he realized she stood in his way. He stared at her face and frowned quizzically. “Do I know you?”

  “I’m the new third mate. Zoya Usoko.”

  “I’m the old luch. Lust. Luck.” He sighed. “Drunk.” He looked toward the head of the table. “Oh, good. I beat the skipper.”

  Blanchard said, “Ladies, this is our cargo master, Josh Lyons. Mr. Lyons has the singular privilege of having nothing to do but sign a document on the other end of our little sojourn certifying that the can of ore we’re hauling actually came from Margary.”

  Josh nodded. “Yes. Yes, I do. And it’s a darn fine piece of work.”

  “Did it?” Natalya asked, looking at Blanchard. “Come from Margary?”

  “No. As luck would have it, it came from our very own ore-bearing belts here in Dark Knight, but the CPJCT can be such sticklers.”

  “Stupid process,” Josh said. “Hate these trips.”

  “Why do you do it, then?” Albee asked. “You’re a disgrace to the uniform.”

  Blanchard turned his head and gave Albee’s maroon-and-gold shipsuit a long up-and-down stare.

  The captain threw the door open and stomped in. “Good. You’re here. Let’s eat.” He bustled his way to the head of the table, jostling Albee out of the way and nearly elbowing Pritchard in the gut in the process. He paused for a moment and then lowered himself into his chair. Everybody else followed suit. As first mate, Albee sat on the captain’s right and Pritchard, as nominal engineering chief, on the left. The rest of them found seats in decreasing order of displayed rank.

  “Gentlemen—and ladies—welcome aboard, and I look forward to sailing with you.” He clinked a fork against his water glass and a steward in white coat and black slacks carried in a tray with cups of soup to begin the evening mess.

  He said nothing, simply distributed the soups around the table and took up station just inside the pantry door.

  The captain lifted his spoon and took a portion of the soup, lifting it toward his lips and then pausing to watch Albee start to take up his own spoon, only to stop and replace his hand beside the dish. The captain teased him several more times before finally eating the soup on his spoon, freeing Albee—and the rest—to begin their own meals.

  Blanchard chuckled and Albee shot him a dark look.

  “Don’t blame me, John. He just does it because you always fall for it,” Blanchard said.

  Trask grinned and winked at Blanchard. He looked at Albee. “Didn’t I tell you to get a decent set of undress khakis?”

  “I have some, Captain, as you ordered.”

  “Why are you still wearing this, then?” He waved his empty spoon at the shipsuit.

  “I’m saving them for when we dock at Siren. The uniform of the day is shipsuit in company colors, Captain.”

  “Those aren’t the company colors.”

  “They are now, Captain.”

  The captain sat back in his chair. “Since when?”

  “Since I filed them with the CPJCT’s corporate registry last voyage.”

  Trask’s eyes narrowed. “Mr. Albee. If I catch you wearing these company colors again, I will exercise my right of summary judgment. Am I clear?”

  “Perfectly, Captain.”

  Trask took a few more spoons of soup before pushing the cup away. “Bray, clear this and bring the main course, if you would?”

  The waiting steward stepped forward and placed the cups—some nearly full, only Pritchard’s completely empty—on his tray and left the wardroom. He returned almost immediately with a helper who doled out meager portions of some kind of pasta casserole in sauce.

  Natalya looked at it and wondered if staying aboard was such a good idea after all.

  Blanchard leaned forward to speak to her across the table. “It tastes better than it looks. Try it.” He smiled encouragement.

  Natalya found herself liking the man in spite of the situation and took a small portion on a fork. She smelled it before tasting and was pleasantly surprised.

  It must have shown on her face because Blanchard grinned in response.

  Trask looked at Natalya. “You found your way to the engine room all right?”

  “Yes, thank you, Captain. Tankage is topped off and I started some diagnostics on the drives to run overnight.”

  Trask’s eyebrows went up. “Diagnostics?”

  “Just a last minute check to make sure the Burlesons are up to spec.”
>
  “Thank you, Ms. Regyri. Good initiative.” The captain looked at Zoya. “I understand you did the backups for us today, Ms. Usoko?”

  “Yes, Captain. Systems and comms backed up and verified. We’ve left a copy here with Mr. Kondur’s people.”

  Trask scowled at Josh who sat slouched over his plate. “I don’t suppose you’ve checked stores, Josh?”

  Lyons didn’t even look up. “I’m not a grocer.”

  Trask sighed and looked to the waiting steward. “Mr. Bray, my compliments to Ms. Marah. If you’d have her let me know if there’s anything we need by way of stores before we leave tomorrow?”

  “Of course, Captain.” Bray slipped out of the wardroom.

  Trask looked back at Lyons. “Josh, we’ve talked about this.”

  “Talk, talk, talk, talk, talk. We’re launching into the Deep Dark in a tin brick and I’m risking my neck every time just so you can get a legit signoff on a smuggled cargo. I hate it. You know I hate it. Leave me alone.” With that he slammed out of the wardroom, leaving his half-eaten meal on the table, his fork balanced precariously on the edge of the plate.

  Blanchard said, “Well, I’m glad we got that out of the way early.”

  Trask shot him a dark look. “Are you going to be insufferable, Charlie?”

  “Have you ever known me to be any other way, Skipper?” His bright smile seemed to carry a certain level of warmth toward the old man.

  Trask gave him a small smile in return. “No. No, I haven’t.”

  “I’ll get us there as long as the ship holds together,” Blanchard said, his voice low.

  Trask nodded several times. “I know you will, Charlie. I know you will.” He looked at Natalya, then at Zoya. “Welcome aboard,” he said.

  Zoya looked like she might be going to bolt, but something stiffened in her spine. She glanced across the table at Natalya before speaking. “We’ll do our best, Captain.”

  The old man smiled and he nodded. “I’m counting on it.”

  Albee sniffed.

  “You have a comment, Mr. Albee?” the captain asked, raising an eyebrow at the first mate.

  “No, Captain.” He pursed his lips and screwed up his face like somebody had waved a dead fish under his nose.

  “Good. Get some decent clothes on, John. You look like a movie poster.”

  “Yes, Captain. Anything else you’d like to criticize in front of the crew?” Albee’s face had turned an unfortunate shade of red.

  “Many things, John, but I’ll spare your delicate sensibilities. See me in the cabin at 1930 and I’ll give you a list.”

  “You need me, Trask,” Albee said, his voice a bare growl through his teeth.

  The captain turned his head to look the first mate square in the eye. “What I need is a first mate I can count on to run the ship. Not one that spends all of his time running everybody else into the ground while dressed like a mummer in a burlesque farce.”

  “You need my name,” Albee said. He held up his right thumb. “You need my thumb.”

  Trask shook his head. “Get your gear and get off my boat.”

  Albee jerked to his feet. “It’s not your boat. It’s Kondur’s and Kondur hired me.”

  “I’ll call him if I have to.” Trask gazed up at Albee’s face without standing. “You willing to take the chance of being on the wrong end of that discussion?”

  Albee practically vibrated in his outrage. “Listen to me, you crazy old fart. You can’t run this ship without me. Nobody will follow a command you give without me to back it up.”

  “Good-bye, John,” Trask said and looked away, reaching for his coffee cup.

  Albee sprang on the older man, smashing his head down onto his plate and grabbing for his outstretched arm.

  Before she had a chance to think, Natalya launched herself out of her chair, over the table, and took the larger Albee down in one move, cracking his skull against the bulkhead on the way by and pinning his face against the decking by the simple expedient of kneeling on the back of his neck and locking his arm behind his shoulder blade.

  It happened in an instant and for several long moments, the blowers provided the only sound.

  Captain Trask straightened up and started wiping his dinner off his face with a napkin. He gazed at Albee and then nodded at Natalya. “Thank you, Ms. Regyri. I think you can let him up now.”

  Natalya released the pressure on Albee’s arm and shifted her weight back off his neck. She stood and waited for him to move.

  Albee glared at her as he stood. His hands opened and closed, finally ending as fists tight against his side. He didn’t take his eyes off Natalya when he spoke. “We’re not done, Captain.” He spit the word out like a curse. “You’ll have to come back here when the trip is over. Think on that while you’re gone.”

  “Mr. Blanchard, would you escort Mr. Albee to his stateroom and assist him in collecting his things. Make sure he leaves the ship.”

  “Of course, Captain.” Blanchard stood and smiled at Albee as if nothing had happened. “Shall we, John?” He held out a hand as if to usher him toward the door.

  Albee shoved Blanchard out of his way and kicked the empty chair on his way. He paused at the wardroom door and turned to send a glare at everyone left in the room, stopping with the captain. “See you in hell.”

  The captain gave him a half-smile that never reached his eyes. “I’ll call ahead for a reservation and save you a seat.”

  Blanchard closed the door on his way out, the latch making a soft click.

  Pritchard turned to Natalya, his eyes wide. “I’ve never seen anybody move that fast.”

  “I’m a little off my game. Not getting enough sleep lately,” Natalya said.

  Captain Trask held out a hand. “Thank you. That coulda gotten nasty.”

  Natalya shook his hand. “You’re welcome. Can we not do that again any time soon?”

  Trask rubbed his face with his napkin once more. “Yeah. I think I can agree to that.”

  Zoya said, “So what will you do for a first mate now?”

  He turned and leaned an elbow on the table. He looked down at the table cloth for a few moments. “I’ll see what Kondur wants to do. It’s his show. See if he wants to run with what we have or bring in a new face.” He shrugged. “I can stand watch if we need to, but it would be better if we had another first mate. Raises fewer flags on the far end.”

  “Should I go make sure things are all right with Charlie, Captain?” Pritchard asked.

  The captain gave a small laugh. “I think you’d probably better just sit here for a bit until the coast is clear, Steven. Charlie can take care of himself and his section is all aboard if he needs help.”

  Pritchard settled himself back in his chair, his face slightly pale and his fingers toying with the edge of his napkin. “If you think it’s best, Captain.”

  The captain nodded. “I do, Steven. I do.”

  “Captain?” Bray asked from the galley door.

  “Yes, Bray?”

  “Dessert, sar?”

  He turned to the steward who stood holding his tray like a shield, his eyes wide and his face pale. “Mr. Bray, I think you can clear. I don’t think we’ll be having dessert.”

  Chapter 20

  Dark Knight Station: 2363, June 8

  Natalya’s tablet bipped her awake at 0530. She fumbled it up to her face and then sat up in her bunk, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. The tablet showed her diagnostics had completed with no reportable discrepancies. She scrolled through the details and saw a clean set of readings all the way down. Only tiny discrepancies between the two units showed up. Nothing that would flag the drives as anything but straight up.

  She took a moment to scroll through the rest of the engineering status reports and found nothing more serious than a potable water filter tagged for routine replacement by end of day. She forwarded it to Knowles.

  The sound of water running in the head convinced her to get up and moving. She wasn’t sure if the captain would s
till try to get underway at 0800 but she wouldn’t bet against it. She rummaged in her trunk for a clean set of undress and knocked on the door to the head.

  Zoya opened it and peeked out. “Morning. How’re the Burleson units?”

  “Straight up. I haven’t seen better diagnostics since I did that jump drive rotation in third year.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  Natalya grinned. “Now all we need to worry about are all the other things that could go wrong.”

  “Breakfast in the wardroom at 0600?”

  “That’d be my guess,” Natalya said.

  “I’ll be done in a tick. I can’t wait to find out what the captain does about the first mate.”

  “That makes two of us. With our luck, it’ll be somebody who doesn’t know which end the fire comes out.”

  “Fire comes out?” Zoya asked.

  Natalya threw a pillow at her.

  Zoya chuckled as she pulled the door closed.

  A few moments later she was as good as her word. “All yours,” she said through the door.

  Natalya did the needful and grabbed a fast shower before sliding into fresh khakis. She policed her stateroom, stowing all the loose bits in case they got underway before she had a chance to get back.

  In the passageway outside, the smell of fresh baked bread drew her down the ladder to the wardroom. She found Zoya already there with a stunned look on her face and the captain looking pleased with himself over something.

  “Good morning, Ms. Regyri. I hope our little unpleasantness didn’t interfere with your sleep.”

  “Good morning, Captain. I slept very well. Thanks.”

  “Have you the results from your overnight diagnostics?”

  “I do. Burlesons are straight up. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “I’m relieved but not surprised. Mr. Kondur spends a lot of time and credits to make sure the ship is in tiptop condition before we sail. Wouldn’t do to fail a routine safety inspection when we get in close.”

  The captain stuck his head through the door to the pantry. “Mr. Bray? If you could find us some coffee?”

  “Right away, Skipper.” Bray’s voice echoed back down the passageway, followed only moments later by Bray himself. “Sorry about that, Captain.” He flourished a thermal carafe and the captain took his seat at the head of the table, signaling Zoya and Natalya that it was safe to sit. Bray poured the few cups and left the carafe before slipping back out of the wardroom.