Captain's Share (Trader's Tales from the Golden Age of the Solar Clipper)

by Nathan Lowell

  When he signed off, I did something I should have done the first day and had forgotten. I looked up the balance on the ship’s pooka. When I first signed on to the Lois McKendrick back in ‘51, I’d been surprised to learn that there was a crewman on the roster named Lois McKendrick. They told me that the ship had an account set up for random acts of kindness and aid. When somebody in the crew needed something that fell outside the pale of normal operations, that something was sometimes handled by the pooka. There was a fund set up, and some extra mass allotment so most things could be accommodated anonymously in a way that permitted largesse that couldn’t be traced. There was a William Tinker crewman on the Tinker. He’d been a bit neglected and overlooked when I first joined the ship, but I left him healthy and well tuned. I wasn’t surprised to find Agamemnon had almost no money and an allocated mass allotment equal to about five full shares. I made a note to follow up with Wyatt on that. I took solace in it being there at all and chalked it up to status quo.

  In the meantime, I needed to get Mr. Wyatt up to security to retrieve our wayward boys.

  I headed down to the mess deck but met him coming up the ladder. “I’ve got the new stores stowed, Captain. And Mr. Hill has a can. It looks good.”

  “Excellent. Go book it fast and then go up to security and retrieve our missing crewmen, if you would, Mr. Wyatt?”

  “Oh, no.” He stopped on the ladder.

  “Yes. Well. Grab that can before somebody else does. Then go up and get the lads. I’ll have a little talk with them when you get them back here.”

  “Aye, aye, Skipper.” He raced up the ladder and I went down to the mess deck. I’d ordered a new coffee grinder and I wanted to try it out on some of the Sarabanda Dark.

  I had a pot brewed and was just savoring my first mug full when Wyatt returned with a pair of rather bedraggled looking, civvy-clad crewmen. I had him line them up on the mess deck. Ricks had what looked like a bruise on his cheek and Schubert looked like he’d vomited down his shirt. They both smelled rather bad.

  “You gentleman seem a bit worse for wear.”

  Ricks smirked. “We try not to do things halfway, sar.”

  “Well, gentlemen, I’m glad to see you’ve retained a sense of humor. You may find that handy. You’re confined to ship, of course, until departure. You’re too expensive for me to have wandering around loose. And I’m claiming your shares to pay back the fines I just paid on your behalf.”

  Schubert sniggered and cast a sideways glance at Ricks.

  “You have a comment, Mr. Schubert?”

  “Good luck with that, sar. The way our shares have been, you’ll be a long time recovering.”

  “I appreciate the sentiment, Mr. Schubert, but I calculate that your share value on this next trip might be as much as, if not more than, the princely wage we pay you. Two trips and I expect to recoup the losses to my purse.”

  They looked startled.

  “Mr. Wyatt and Mr. Hill are having a bit of a competition to see who can pick the better cargo. I’ve upped the ante by agreeing to put in a hot tub if Mr. Hill prevails, and Mr. Hill will become apprentice to Mr. Wyatt should that work out the other way. I’m picking the third can, and if I’m any judge of cargo, the share value on this trip should be something on the order of five times bigger than the last.”

  They looked doubtful. I didn’t blame them.

  “Gentlemen, let’s be clear. I’m the captain now. Things will change. Because I am the captain things will change the way I want them to. What I want is to make money. I want to make lots and lots of money. We do that by carrying cargo from here to there and back again very cheaply. We don’t do it cheaply if the ship has to pay the fines for idiots who can’t hold their liquor or control their tempers. Am I clear so far? Just nod.”

  They nodded.

  “Good. Toward that end, you’ll find that the ship did not pay your fines this time. I did. Personally. You owe me, not the ship. I intend to make sure you pay me back. Please consider this a business relationship and nothing personal. You two, and looking at the records I should probably include Mr. Hill in this, have been playing this game too long. It ends. Here. You will not get in the way of my profit margins. Are we clear on this? Just nod.”

  They nodded. They didn’t really look like they believed me, although I saw Mr. Schubert eying the new repeater on the bulkhead.

  “Excellent. We’re getting underway tomorrow afternoon at 1500. We’ll have more time to get acquainted on our trip out to Welliver. And just so you’re aware. The only way you two are getting off this ship is if your contracts expire or you take berths on another vessel.”

  That hit them out of left field somewhere. Mr. Ricks had enough on the ball to question. “Sar?”

  “Look, I’ll take the gloves off here, lads. You’ve been trying to get put ashore so you can sue the company for what? A couple of stanyers? While I admit that I admire your stamina, I question your strategic ability. The lawyers won’t let the company put you ashore because of a union rule. You know it. Captain Delman knew it. I know it. Unlike the company lawyers, I happen to know that you three may be the best three spacers in the whole fleet, and I have no intention of letting you get away.”

  Mr. Wyatt looked shocked at that, but he had sense enough not to speak.

  “I also have no intention of letting you squander your not inconsiderable talents on bar brawls and d-and-d charges. You two are going to help us make this ship the best in the fleet and we’re gonna thumb our noses at the rest.”

  Ricks recovered faster than Schubert. “Okay, Captain, and how do you propose we’re gonna do this miraculous feat of financial engineering?”

  “I’m glad you asked that question, Mr. Ricks. This ship has no morale officer, as I understand it. Is that true, Mr. Wyatt?”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “Well, that’s changed. Mr. Ricks, you are now the ship’s morale officer.”

  Mr. Wyatt’s eyes widened in shock, but he didn’t speak. He didn’t need to, because my space lawyer chimed in right on cue.

  “Sar? I’m the lowest ranked member of the crew. You can’t make me morale officer.”

  “Really, Mr. Ricks. Can you find me a rules citation for that? Something in Title J under other duties as required maybe?”

  Bless his little heart, I could almost see his brain cranking over as he mentally reviewed the appropriate sections.

  “We can pull up the manual on that screen if it would help, Mr. Ricks.”

  He knew I had him. “No, Captain. There’s no citation.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Ricks, then I would think being the lowest of the low, you’d have the best perspective on what would make life better for the crew as a whole. With that logic I believe you to be the appropriate person to hold the post.”

  He didn’t look convinced.

  “You don’t need to do anything right now. We’ll iron out the details once we’re underway. You’ll have a budget and some discretionary authority over how it might be spent.”

  He perked up at the mention of budget. He’d probably be disappointed when he saw how much it would really amount to, but small steps can complete long journeys.

  “Mr. Schubert, are you tracking?”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “Good, because I’ve got a collateral duty for you as well.”

  “Me, sar?”

  “You, Mr. Schubert. You’re going to be in charge of the ship’s co-op.”

  “Co-op, Captain?”

  “Yes, Mr. Schubert, the co-op. We’ll talk more about it when we get underway. We’re out of time here but I expect good things from you.”

  They both looked very confused.

  “Dismissed, gentlemen. Get cleaned up. There’s fresh coffee and dinner mess will be promptly at 1800. I’ve got a date with an angel, so I’ll be missing that, but we’ll have plenty of time to get better acquainted when we get underway.”

  They trooped out of the mess deck and crossed the passage to crew berthing
.

  Mr. Wyatt looked at me with a question in his eyes that he didn’t ask.

  “Ask it, Mr. Wyatt.”

  “Captain? Are you sure?”

  “Very, Mr. Wyatt.”

  “The best three spacers in the fleet, Captain?”

  I smiled and shrugged. “Okay, that might have been a bit of hyperbole on my part but do you know any other three spacers in the fleet who could have been in so much trouble for so long without being put ashore, or busted to Spacer Apprentice?”

  “Oh, they have been busted, Captain. They just keep coming back.”

  I smiled at him. “You begin to see my point, Mr. Wyatt?”

  I could see the light dawn and he looked at me oddly. “Yes, Captain. I think I do.”

  “Good. Then let’s get the dinner mess going. I’ll need to leave it to you this evening, because I’m spending my last night in port with the Missus.”

  “Are you sure I can do this, Captain?”

  “What? Dinner?”

  He nodded.

  “Yup. Positive.”

  We started pulling up the menu and getting things organized. It was a simple meal and one that was mostly opening cans and adding the fresh herbs and spices that had been delivered earlier in the day. The one serious bit of cooking was roasting a pork loin and I walked him through that process easily.

  As the clock ticked down, we started planning breakfast, so that the 0600 watch change would have a full meal. I planned to be back aboard by 0800 myself. He seemed to adjust pretty well. He’d been doing all the cooking before, so this was not something new for him, even if what he was cooking was a bit more complicated. I hoped he would find it more satisfying.

  Ms. Thomas came down to the mess deck at 1745 and we relieved the watch amid the delicious smells of roast pork and baking biscuits. I was almost sorry to be leaving.

  She eyed the new terminal on the bulkhead, but made no comment. We exchanged reports and I noted that Schubert and Ricks were confined to ship.

  “You’re not going to confine, Hill?”

  “No, Ms. Thomas. He didn’t do anything to warrant it. And he’s snagged us a nice cargo.”

  She looked startled at that.

  “Ask Mr. Wyatt to explain it over dinner. I’ve got a date.”

  I smiled all around. I ran into Mr. Hill on the way off the mess deck. “You won’t be causing me any grief over night, will you, Mr. Hill?”

  He looked at me and I’m not sure what he saw, but the look went from challenging to contemplative while I watched. “No, Captain.”

  I smiled. “Thanks, Brandon. I’m counting on you.”

  I turned and scampered up the ladder but not before I caught the look of surprise on his face. As I skinned out of my shipsuit and into civvies, I was caught between the feeling of pleasure that things might actually turn around on this boat and anger that the crew should have been so abused.

  When I signed out for the night, an odd thought crossed my mind.

  “Mr. Schubert? Do you think we should get a cat?”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Diurnia Orbital:

  2372-January-11

  I dreaded getting underway. Not the getting underway part. I actually looked forward to that. There’s something oddly exciting about getting out there. Mostly it’s nothing to write home about. Lots of watches. Lots of hours trapped in a can. A few ticks of magic when you’re going someplace really different and then more hours, more watches. A few days in a new port and then back out again. I’d been doing it so long, being docked seemed odd to me.

  No, I dreaded the leaving Jen part. It didn’t matter what time I got underway, she’d get up while I showered, and would accost me in the kitchen with The Look–part accusatory, part puppy dog. We’d have The Scene. And I’d leave feeling like a selfish jerk and she’d sit there cursing me as the door closed. And worse, I couldn’t be sure she wasn’t right.

  For stanyers, every time I got underway, we had The Scene. Except that morning, she didn’t. She didn’t even get up. She lay there in bed looking so delightfully rumpled I nearly crawled in with her again. It had been a truly memorable night and early morning. I had several gouges in my hide and a silly grin on my face to prove it.

  I sat on the edge of the bed. “We’re getting underway this afternoon. Heading to Welliver.”

  She smiled up at me sleepily and wrapped those strong arms around my neck and pulled me down for a kiss. “Mmm, yeah. I ’member. You be safe out there, ’k?”

  “I’ll do my best.” I was melting inside.

  “You have any idea when you’ll be home?”

  I thought about it. With our mass and sail, we should carve weeks off the round trip. “Something around mid-April, I should think.”

  She seemed to wake up a bit for that. “Oh, that’s quick! I was thinking May.”

  “Smaller boat, shorter run.”

  She nodded. “Okay.” She pulled me down for one last smooch. “Go. Your ship’s waitin’, Captain.”

  “See you in a few weeks, my love.”

  “Turn the light off on your way out. I don’t have to get up for a coupla stans yet.” She giggled and burrowed back under the covers.

  I chuckled, grabbed my kit, shut off the lights, and headed for the door. It felt good to be leaving for once when I wasn’t under a cloud. I arrived at the ship at 0730 and the real fun for the day began.

  When I popped the lock and stepped aboard, I had a bad feeling. You can tell a lot about a ship by the smell. I’d been pleased when first coming aboard that the smell had been clean and only slightly mechanical. This morning, the ship smelled more like …

  “Burned bacon, Skipper.” Mr. Ricks supplied the missing identifier.

  “Thank you, Mr. Ricks. And I take it breakfast mess didn’t go as smoothly as I’d anticipated?”

  “Um, no, sar. But it was entertaining for a time.”

  “As morale officer, you should note these instances in order to capitalize on them in the future.” I stood on the scale while he did the mass adjustments.

  “Not that entertaining, sar, if you catch my drift.”

  From the direction of the mess deck I could hear Ms. Thomas proclaiming loudly although the echoes in the ship made her actual words indistinct.

  “Yes, Mr. Ricks, I believe I do.” I sighed. “Carry on, Mr. Ricks.”

  “Sar? About this morale officer business?”

  “Yes, Mr. Ricks?”

  “Are you serious?”

  I waited.

  “Sar?”

  “Quite, Mr. Ricks. You are the lowest rating on the ship. Traditionally morale officer falls to the lowest ranking officer, but we’re a small crew and we all need to contribute.” I paused while the loud clatter of some metallic object rattled off the deck from the direction of the galley, followed by some more imprecations in the key of Thomas. “And I have it on good authority that you’re something of a space lawyer. I intend to use that, Mr. Ricks.”

  “Use it, Captain? Space lawyer isn’t a phrase most folks take as a compliment.”

  Several smaller clatters that sounded suspiciously like flatware echoed down the passage.

  “No, but usually the people who use space lawyer as pejorative do so because they’re caught out on the wrong end of a rule. While there are those who abuse the issue by splitting semantic hairs and parsing every sub-clause, you didn’t do that when I put you on the spot yesterday.”

  “But you’d already made me morale officer by then, Captain.”

  “Yes.” I smiled at him. “Yes, Mr. Ricks, I had. Contemplate that timing of events while I see if any medical attention is required–” I had to pause for another loud clang “–in the galley.”

  “Of course, sar. Thanks for your time.”

  “My pleasure, Mr. Ricks. Carry on.”

  “Aye, aye, sar.”

  I wasn’t really certain I wanted to see what all the noise was about but, knowing the mess that bacon fat can make on deck plates, I considered i
t my duty to try to get things shipshape before the fitters arrived. I stopped at the entry to the galley and leaned against the jamb. I was still in my civvies and my presence seemed to make no impression on the mêlée in progress.

  Mr. Wyatt stood with his back to the door. Even from behind, he looked a bit smoked out and greasy. That, coupled with the burned bacon smell, made me think that I’d over estimated his culinary ability. I kicked myself mentally. Mr. Pall should have been OD but he managed a swab and a bucket of water near the range trying to clean up a blackened runnel of what could only be bacon fat, smeared across the deck and congealed. The center of attention was on Ms. Thomas and Mr. Schubert.

  Ms. Thomas was in fine fettle, leaning down over Mr. Schubert--giving him both barrels--as he tried to pick up loose pieces of burned bacon, flatware, and what looked like a half-meter stainless steel roasting pan. Every time Mr. Schubert would start to make some progress, Ms. Thomas would kick loose pieces around and increase the not inconsiderable volume of her diatribe.

  Neither Mr. Hill nor Ms. Gerheart were in evidence, a fact which I chalked up to either fortune or good sense.

  After several ticks of observation, I dropped my kit loudly to the deck during one of the infrequent lulls in the action. It made a satisfying thwack when the bottom hit the deckplates.

  Mr. Pall had the presence of mind to notice the sound and snap, “Captain on deck.”

  I don’t take much to the more military aspects of rank and most ships ran rather looser than the academy made cadets believe. In extremes, however, the training kicked in and I was grateful that Mr. Pall’s instincts were on the mark. If the assembled company didn’t exactly jump to attention, they stopped what they were doing and silence descended.

  I let it lay there undisturbed for more than a few heartbeats.

  Ms. Thomas had a look of “you’re gonna get it now” on her face. Mr. Schubert looked grateful for the interruption but froze where he sprawled on the deck. Mr. Wyatt stood at attention, still with his back to me, frozen ramrod stiff by Mr. Pall’s call. Mr. Pall stood almost at attention and seemed to be having trouble figuring out what to do with the mop. I interceded before he tried “port-arms” with it.