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

by Nathan Lowell

  “Good morning, lady and gentlemen. Is there coffee?”

  Ms. Thomas was the first to speak. “Coffee, Captain?”

  I ambled across the mess deck, walking around Mr. Wyatt, and snagged a mug out of the rack. “Yes, Ms. Thomas, coffee. Dark beverage made by dripping nearly boiling water through the ground seeds from the fruit of the coffee plant. You’ve heard of it?”

  She had the grace to flush as I drew a cup from the ready urn. “Yes, Captain. I’ve heard of it.”

  “Good, Ms. Thomas.” I tasted it and it was, frankly, in need of assistance. “May I ask who made this pot?”

  Mr. Wyatt spoke up. “I did, Captain.”

  “Not bad, Mr. Wyatt. Get with me later and I’ll give you some pointers.” When I looked at him closely from the front, I winced. “Do you need medical attention, Mr. Wyatt?”

  His hands went to his face. “No, I don’t think so, Captain. It flashed up and caught me by surprise. I think it only got my eyebrows.”

  “Please do me a favor, Mr. Wyatt. Report to the first aid station on oh-one right now. It’s probably nothing serious but I want to get underway this afternoon, and I’d like to take a healthy crew with me.”

  “Oh, dear, is it that bad, Captain?” Mr. Wyatt looked alarmed.

  “It looks minor to me, Mr. Wyatt, but grease burns aren’t anything to take a chance with. We have the time and the facility. Please make sure that it’s as minor as it looks by checking with the appropriate medical authorities?”

  “Yes, sar.” He said it but he stood there.

  “Now, Mr. Wyatt.”

  “Don’t you want my report, Captain?”

  “In good time, Mr. Wyatt. Health and safety before blame and finger pointing. Scoot.”

  He scooted.

  I rested my haunches against the counter and sipped as I very obviously took in the scene. To their credit, nobody interrupted my inspection.

  “Mr. Schubert, that looks uncomfortable. You could stand.”

  “Thank you, Captain.” He did so and braced to attention when he regained his feet.

  “Mr. Pall? You’re OD. Please report.”

  “Pirates, Captain!”

  Ms. Thomas turned red and barked. “Pall, will you–”

  “Ms. Thomas!” I interrupted her before she could get up to speed. “I asked for Mr. Pall’s report. Please grant him the courtesy of letting him make it.” I turned to Mr. Pall. “You were saying, Mr. Pall.”

  “Pirates, Captain. They sabotaged the range where Mr. Wyatt was trying to cook the tray of bacon. When he went to pull it out, it flashed up, and he got singed. Quick thinking on Mr. Schubert’s part here. He dropped a second pan on it, snuffing the fire.”

  I turned to him. “That was quick thinking, Mr. Schubert. Thank you.”

  Schubert shrugged. “I got lucky, Captain.”

  I smiled at that and nodded for Mr. Pall to continue.

  “Things started going wrong after that, Captain. Mr. Schubert tried to pick up the pan and dropped it.”

  I looked at Mr. Schubert. “Show me your hands, Mr. Schubert.”

  I hadn’t been able to see them before but he had angry looking burns across the palm of each hand. “Usually one uses pot holders, Mr. Schubert. Please follow Mr. Wyatt’s footsteps immediately. Go.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.”

  “And then there were two.” I looked them over.

  “Mr. Pall, that mop won’t do much against the congealed grease. Use a spatula and scrape up what you can. Then report to Ms. Gerheart with my compliments and ask for a little of her Blu-Goo. She’ll know what that is. Use that to clean the residue off the deck.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.” He stashed the mop and began corralling the loose bits of hardware and burned food off the deck.

  “Ms. Thomas? The cabin, if you please.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.”

  She followed me out of the galley and I snagged my kit on the way. She started to speak a couple of times as we climbed the ladder, but I held up a hand. She was wise enough to heed the warning. I opened the door and walked through into the sleeping space to toss my kit onto the bunk before returning to the main cabin.

  Ms. Thomas stood just inside the door.

  “If you’d close the door, Ms. Thomas?”

  “I don’t think that’s wise, Captain.”

  “Right at this moment, Ms. Thomas, I don’t really care if you think it’s wise. Close the door. Do it now. Stand at attention right there.” I pointed to a spot on the deck in front of the desk. “I’m going to go into the next room to put on a shipsuit. You’re going to wait for me. While I’m gone, I’d like you to think of why I shouldn’t put you off this ship for dereliction of duty, endangering the health and safety of the crew, and conduct unbecoming an officer.”

  She started to speak, but I cut her off. “Shut up, Ms. Thomas. Close the door. Stand there. Do it now, please.”

  I went into the sleeping space and pulled the screen closed without waiting to see if she did it, or giving her a chance to question.

  It took me no time to skin out of civvies and into the shipsuit. I’d left one hanging in the head before leaving the ship. I gave Ms. Thomas a few extra ticks to think about what I’d said by washing my face and hands. It gave me a few ticks to think as well. Ms. Thomas was an enigma. There had to be more going on with her. Call me naïve, but I really wanted to believe that there was more to her than met the eye–or ear.

  I returned to find her properly braced and standing where I had left her. I didn’t sit behind the desk but stood in front of her to take her face on. She was short. I was shocked to see how short. Of course, I knew she was a heavy-worlder, she probably out massed me by half again, but she barely came up to my shoulder. I’d known that, but lost sight of it.

  “Do you have any idea why you are here, Ms. Thomas?”

  She seemed confused by the question. “Here, Captain?”

  “Yes, Ms. Thomas. Do you have any idea what you may have done to invoke my ire?”

  “I would suspect it has something to do with the injuries to the crew and my failure to address them, Captain.”

  “Points for you, Ms. Thomas. Can you explain your actions in failing to deal with the immediate and urgent issues of injured crewmen?”

  “No, Captain.”

  She seemed contrite and actually at a loss. That set me back. I paced around behind her to give her a little thinking space. “What happened to start this all off?”

  She cocked her head slightly, “Captain?”

  My pacing brought me back in front of her and I faced her once again. “What happened to start this all off, Ms. Thomas?”

  “Oh, that buffoon–”

  I interrupted. “Which buffoon, Ms. Thomas?”

  “Mr. Wyatt, Captain.” She looked a bit exasperated that I should have to ask for clarification.

  “The crew have names. Please use them. Name calling is beneath you, Ms. Thomas.”

  “It’s beneath them, too, Captain, but they don’t seem to have any trouble doing it.”

  “No doubt, Ms. Thomas. Is there a name you’re particularly sensitive to?”

  “Come, Captain. I’m no idiot. I know they call me ’Foghorn’ and ’Ole Fireplug’ and gods alone know what else.”

  “Ouch. That’s cold. And you’ve heard them?”

  “Well, not this crew, no, but I’ve heard it enough that I know it’s what they’re saying, sar.”

  “How do you know, Ms. Thomas?”

  “The lack of respect, sar. It’s insulting. They may make fun of me for my height or my voice, but by the gods they should at least respect the office of first mate and these chucklewits show all the respect of–”

  I interrupted her again. “The crew, Ms. Thomas. Not ’these chucklewits’ or any other derogatory epithets you might be contemplating. The crew.”

  “Captain, I have a hard time being respectful of individuals who show so little respect themselves.”

  “Did it
occur to you, Ms. Thomas, that they may be having the same problem?”

  She took a breath and thought before speaking. “Sar?”

  “Ms. Thomas, it’s been my experience that nobody respects an office if they cannot find it in themselves to respect the officer who fills it. Furthermore, that officer cannot simply demand the respect due the office without demonstrating that he or she deserves it.”

  “Well, of course, Captain.”

  “And do you consider referring to your fellow officers and crew as ‘buffoon’ and ‘chucklewits’ as demonstration of deserving their respect, Ms. Thomas?”

  “It’s all they deserve, Captain. It’s what I get, why shouldn’t I give it back? It’s not like I call them that to their faces.”

  “No, Ms. Thomas, but it’s how you think of them and that shows up in your treatment of them. And you’re the first mate. You’re supposed to be in command, but before you can command them, you have to command yourself. You got mad when Mr. Wyatt burned the bacon and became incensed when Schubert dropped it on the deck and made a mess, didn’t you, Ms. Thomas?”

  “Well, of course, Captain. Cooking bacon is not exactly complicated. He’s an officer! He can’t manage a simple task like cooking breakfast? And that oaf–errr–when Schubert dropped it on the deck, I just saw it as my duty to teach him a lesson. The man is so clumsy!”

  “So your first instinct wasn’t to see if, perhaps the ship were in danger, or the crew might be injured, but rather that you needed to assert your authority by punishing Mr. Schubert for his clumsiness?”

  “Exactly, Captain.”

  “For over a full stan?”

  “Sar?”

  “Ms. Thomas, I came aboard at 0730. Breakfast mess traditionally begins at 0600. Allowing for a bit of delay because of the new experience of actually cooking a meal instead of decanting it, I’d guess this all started between 0600 and 0630.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  My tablet bipped. I glanced at it and it was a note from the brow. The ship fitters had arrived. I punched an acknowledgment and returned to the problem at hand.

  “Think about the fact that you kept injured crew from medical treatment for a stan while you exercised your authority and showed them just how much respect you have for them. I need to deal with an issue below for a few ticks. I’ll be right back.”

  I left her at attention and headed for the lock. The head of the shipfitter crew waited with a couple of hands and some packages. “Good morning, Captain. I’m Charlie, this here’s Sam and that’s Terry. Understand you got a bit of remodeling you’d like done?”

  I shook each hand in turn. “Yes, thank you, Charlie.” I turned to Mr. Ricks. “My compliments to Chief Gerheart and would she join me on the mess deck at her earliest convenience, Mr. Ricks?”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.”

  I led the work gang onto the mess deck and explained what I wanted done. Before I got halfway through the explanation, Chief Gerheart skidded through the door with a bright look and a big smile for Charlie. I backed up slightly for her benefit and within two ticks I knew I was in trouble.

  Charlie looked at the chief and she shrugged.

  He turned back to me. “Captain. I can do what you’re asking or I can do what I think you want.”

  “Please explain the difference, if you would, Charlie?”

  “Of course, Skipper.” He proceeded to give me chapter and verse in appropriate detail with encouraging nods from the chief. He finished with a flourish. “To do what you want, I’d have to burn out those two deck flanges. We can do it but it would be ugly. If we substitute a couple parts, we can use those flanges and give you a really nice solution without cutting up your ship.”

  It sounded pretty good to me. “Differential in cost and time?”

  “Costs less. The parts are less expensive and we’ll use more of what you got. Time is the problem. We didn’t bring the parts we need, Captain.”

  “You brought what I asked for?”

  “’Fraid so, sar.”

  “I want to get underway by 1500. What can you do?”

  “We’re talking a stan, tops. I can be back with the parts and all by 1300. You should have an hour to spare if you wanna cut it that fine, Captain.”

  I looked at Chief Gerheart.

  She nodded back.

  “Make is so, Charlie, and I’m sorry for not asking the experts before making up my mind.”

  “No problem, Skipper. Happy to do it.”

  They took their tools and boxes and left. Ms. Gerheart remained on the mess deck measuring it with her eyes.

  “Measuring for drapes, Chief?”

  She grinned and shook her head before scampering back down to engineering.

  Mr. Pall was still working on the clean up but he’d heard it all. “Your thoughts, Mr. Pall?”

  “Yo ho ho, Captain. Should we stock a few bottles of rum?”

  “Not a bad idea, Mr. Pall. Let me get back to you on that.”

  In the meantime I needed to get back to the cabin and I scampered up the ladder at a dash.

  I walked into the cabin to find Ms. Thomas still braced. “I’m sorry for the delay, Ms. Thomas.”

  She jumped as if startled as I walked past her and took a seat at my desk.

  When I looked at her face, I knew she’d had time to think. “Comments, Ms. Thomas?”

  “I didn’t know they were injured, Captain.”

  “I’m glad, Ms. Thomas, because if I thought you had known and had kept them from treatment even knowing, I would have been very sorry to have to cancel our departure while I found a new first.”

  “I should have known, Captain.”

  “Yes, Ms. Thomas, you should have.”

  “I have no excuse, Captain.”

  “I know that, Ms. Thomas. And I’m glad you do, too.” I let that settle in for a couple of heartbeats. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You are going to go to your stateroom, take a hot shower, and rack out until I call you to the bridge for navigation detail. You’re just off the mid and we’re getting underway at 1500. I need you fresh and ready to help me get this ship underway. You know better than anybody else aboard how she handles and I’ll need your assistance.”

  “Actually, Mr. Schubert knows better, Captain.”

  “Excuse me, Ms. Thomas?”

  “Mr. Schubert, Captain. The man has the touch.”

  “I thought you said he’s clumsy, Ms. Thomas.”

  “Oh, he is, Captain, with everything but the helm. Put him on helm and he knows just how to move her to put her right where we need her. He’s got the touch, sar.”

  I almost had to bite my tongue and it took several long breaths to get myself under control. In the end I managed not to laugh, but I thought I had a pretty good handle on one of the issues facing Ms. Thomas.

  “Thank you, Ms. Thomas. I’ll take that under advisement. Now, please, get some sleep.”

  “Captain?”

  “Yes, Ms. Thomas?”

  She looked embarrassed but she plowed ahead. “Food, Captain. I–um–missed breakfast and with my metabolism, I need something to eat. Rather badly.”

  “Oh, crap.” I jumped to my feet and probably startled her. “I’m so sorry. I know about heavy worlders but I completely lost sight of that. Please accept my apologies, Ms. Thomas!”

  “Of course, Captain. I’ll consider it my penance. And I am sorry. You’re right. I was over the line and I don’t really know why.”

  She did seem contrite.

  I felt like a heel for keeping her standing there while her stomach ate its way to her backbone.

  “Do you know Over Easy?”

  “Down on 02, Captain? Of course! Everybody knows Over Easy.”

  “Before you rack out? Go eat. Top yourself up. Bring me the bill.”

  “You don’t need to do that, Captain.”

  “Consider it my penance for not taking the physical well-being of my crew–no matter how ill behaved–into consideration. It wasn’t an obviou
s ill, but I overlooked it. I’ll take it as a lesson and be grateful that it didn’t come at any higher cost than one of Frank’s breakfast specials.”

  “Or two?” She looked a little sheepish.

  “As many as you want, Ms. Thomas. I know heavy worlders. You’re just built that way. It’s nothing to apologize for. Dismissed.”

  She left and I slumped at my desk. I didn’t really want to think about what else might go wrong. So far I was getting tossed a lot of soft pitches. I was pretty sure I’d be able to hit a few of them.

  But I worried about the ones I’d miss, and what I’d do when they started throwing fastballs.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Diurnia Orbital:

  2372-January-11

  Around 0900, after a bit of quiet soul searching of my own and a brief kick in my own behind for being an idiot, I went down to the mess deck to find the chief and Mr. Pall finishing up the degreasing of the galley.

  “Did anyone get breakfast, Mr. Pall?”

  He looked startled by the question. “Not that I’m aware of, Captain. The excitement started and then just kept going until you showed up.”

  I sighed and scrubbed my face in my hands. “Okay, priorities, Mr. Pall, feed the crew. Do we have anything left from breakfast?”

  He looked around a bit bewildered. “All I saw was the bacon. What was supposed to be here, Skipper?”

  “The menu called for bacon, scrambled eggs, juice, toast, and some of that honey melon that came up yesterday from the chandlery.”

  He pulled the handle on the ready cooler and all the rest of the ingredients for breakfast were in there. He held the door wide so I could see.

  “Can you scramble an egg, William?”

  “Captain?”

  “Some people can’t. I’m just checking. Can you scramble an egg? No. Can you scramble, say, a dozen? There’s a skillet under the counter there and bowls above the work counter. Wisks in the drawer with the spatulas which you’ve already found. Can you handle it?”

  “Of course, Skipper.”

  Chief Gerheart surprised me. “Can I help him, Skipper?”

  “That’s up to him, Chief, but sure. Many hands make light work.”

  I heard footsteps in the passage and turned to see Ms. Thomas coming back from breakfast. She nodded to me, somewhat sleepily I thought, and continued up to officer country. Not long after that Wyatt and Schubert returned from the medical station. Wyatt had a light salve on one cheek bone but Schubert’s hands were wound with bandages and I got a sinking feeling.