He nervously took his post and after a moment stood at a passable attention.
I smiled at him and raised my voice. “Ladies and gentlemen of the Agamemnon, it gives me great pleasure to announce the promotion of Ordinary Spacer Zachary Ricks to the rank of Able Spacer.” I held out the shoulder patches that indicated his new rank and he took them with a smile. “Congratulations, Mr. Ricks. Try to hold onto them this time.”
He grinned back at me. “Thank you, Captain. I’ll do my best.” He snapped a very tight salute and held it until I returned the honor.
“Dismiss the company, Ms. Thomas.”
“Company, dis-MISSED!”
Lunch was a joyous occasion and if nobody was on the lock for a stan or so, I don’t think anybody on the docks noticed. Even with the happy hubbub, we’d have heard the call bell. As it was the last afternoon in port, Mr. Hill and Mr. Schubert left very shortly after the lunch mess and headed for one last pass at the flea market. I was pleased to see Mr. Pall organizing an outing for later in the evening. Mr. Hill and I would have the duty and would miss it, but I liked the idea that Mr. Ricks and Mr. Schubert would be engaged in activities which–if not strictly speaking, controlled–not entirely on their own and getting into trouble for at least part of the evening. My experience in bailing them out of security in Diurnia wasn’t one I really wanted to repeat, even though they’d paid off their fines on that first run to Welliver.
After we secured the mess deck, I took Mr. Wyatt aside. “Avery, don’t bother with making dinner tonight. Take the afternoon and evening off and enjoy it.”
He looked startled. “Skipper?”
I chuckled. “You’ve made every meal on this ship for weeks. Mr. Hill and I will be the only ones aboard at dinner time and we can certainly fend for ourselves for one meal. In fact, let me handle breakfast for you, too. You sleep in tomorrow. I’m going to be up all night on OD watch anyway so why not?”
He seemed somewhat distressed. “Are you sure, Captain? I don’t mind. Really.”
I smiled at him. “I’ll make it an order if I have to. Go eat somebody else’s cooking for once and have a nice sleep in tomorrow. You’ll feel better for it.”
He adjusted to the idea, if slowly, and I left him to ruminate while I went to grab a nap. Port duty midwatches weren’t difficult. I was almost caught up on my reports so I really didn’t have a lot to do. I had a suspicion that staying awake might be a problem.
Around 1730 I woke up ahead of my alarm and felt refreshed. I’d apparently made peace with myself over missing the priority shipment. The greater good of saving lives and influencing people helped, I think. There’s always the possibility of profit on the next run as long as we don’t die on the current one. It was rather a morbid thought, but I took comfort in it.
I snagged a quick shower to freshen up, slipped into a clean shipsuit, and headed to the mess deck. I found Mr. Schubert going over the co-op’s books and Mr. Hill looking at a block of perforated plastic on the table.
“What do you have there, Mr. Hill?” When I got closer I saw what it was and I was hit by a wave of nostalgia.
“It’s a game, Captain. I found it up at the flea market this afternoon. The guy in the next booth was selling them and it looked interesting. He called it a Crib-batch board.” His brow furled. “Crib-something.”
“Cribbage, Mr. Hill. Cribbage.” I pronounced it distinctly for him.
“You know this game, Skipper?”
My mind flashed back to long evenings across the board from my mother back on Neris. “I haven’t seen a board in decades, Mr. Hill, but I think I remember how to play. Does it have pegs?”
“Pegs, Skipper?” He looked down at the board with a frown. “The ones he had on display did.”
I picked up the block and turned it over. A small metal door slid open and revealed four small pegs molded from some kind of plastic or resin with the shape of a tiny stylized rocket on the top as a knob. I held the board so Mr. Hill could look in. “Pegs, Mr. Hill.”
I glanced up at the chrono on the bulkhead just as it clicked to 1744. “We need to relieve the watch, Mr. Hill, but I suspect we’ll have a chance this evening to explore this more.” I latched the door shut and handed him the board. “Nice find, Mr. Hill.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
The change over went smoothly enough and by 1815 the shore party began gathering on the mess deck. Ms. Thomas showed up first in a natty denim jacket and jeans with a very attractive peasant style blouse under. “Nice outfit, Ms. Thomas. I think this is the first time I’ve seen you in civvies.”
“Thanks, Skipper. I don’t go out much.” She stopped herself. “I didn’t go out much. I think I might do it a little more often now.” She smiled. It was a good look for her.
Mr. Ricks showed up next with Mr. Schubert close behind. They were in standard slacks and jersey garb. Enough pockets for money, tablet, ID, and not enough loose fabric to provide handles should the need arise. I eyed them warily. “You gentlemen aren’t going out looking for trouble, are you?”
Mr. Ricks shook his head. “No, Captain, but trouble sometimes finds us.”
Mr. Schubert added. “It’s all we have, Skipper, and like he said. Trouble sometimes finds us.”
I gave him a stern look. I’m not sure he bought it.
Mr. Wyatt joined the party in a non-descript pair of slacks and a jacket that was a little short at the cuff and a little long on wear. “Good evening, all.”
Ms. Thomas beamed at him. “I wouldn’t have recognized you out of your shipsuit, Avery!”
Mr. Wyatt grinned and nodded as Chief Gerheart entered the mess deck looking radiant in a gorgeously tailored jacket and slacks suit embroidered with a deep red flower pattern. She was accompanied by Mr. Pall in an outfit that convinced me that I really needed to take the men folk from the ship out to visit a good men’s shop at the next port.
I took them all in. “Looks like the gang’s all here. Try to stay out of trouble tonight, huh?”
Ms. Thomas grinned. “I’ll keep any eye on ’em, Skipper.”
“See that you do, Ms. Thomas. They’re a rum lot but the best in the fleet.”
She did a little mock salute with one finger to her brow. “Aye, aye, Skipper, and yo ho ho!”
They all laughed and headed for the lock. I followed in their wake. Mr. Hill and I watched them parade off the ship, Mr. Pall leading the way and Mr. Wyatt and the chief in the rear.
Mr. Hill chuckled as the lock closed behind them. “That looks like trouble on the hoof, there, Captain. Are you sure they’re safe?”
“Who, the crew?”
“No, Skipper. The station.”
We shared a laugh at that. “What would you like for dinner, Mr. Hill. I’m cooking tonight.”
“I’m open, Skipper. Although I am getting a bit hungry so fast is better than long.”
“I know what you mean, Mr. Hill. I feel the same way.” I pondered for a tick. “How about I raid the galley and see what leftovers Mr. Wyatt has tucked?”
“I’d settle for a ham sandwich skipper. Seriously.” He grinned at me.
In the end, I managed to rummage up a few ham sandwiches, some pickles, and assorted other small foods including some fresh fruit. We even had cookies and ice cream for dessert.
After dinner and the subsequent cleanup, I rummaged in the games locker for a pack of playing cards and took the cribbage board out to the lock along with one of the work stools from the galley. “Mr. Hill? If you’ve a mind to, perhaps we can see if I remember how to play after all these stanyers?”
“You really know how to play this game, Captain?”
I shrugged. “I’m pretty sure. It’s an old, old game, but my mother loved to play. Until you brought this aboard, I’d forgotten all about it, so I’m probably a little rusty, but I think so, yes.”
We set up the board and settled in to pass the time while waiting out the crew’s return. The sounds echoed down the passage in the quiet of the docked ship
. The snapping of the cards on the desk, the rhythmic call and response as we added our pips and counted our scores took me back to another place, another time.
Around 2200, Chief Gerheart returned alone and found us still playing. “I’ve had enough merriment for one night. What are you two up to?”
I smiled at her. “I’m just teaching Mr. Hill how to beat me at cribbage. He’s an apt student.”
“It seems pretty even to me, Skipper. I’m only up by two games.”
I turned to the chief. “Gave up on the party?”
“Dinner was good. Mr. Wyatt has a rather dry wit when left to his own devices, but they were heading out for some music and dancing. I’m thinking I’d rather not get underway with a hangover.”
“Probably wise, Chief.”
Mr. Hill grinned. “It’s not a fun way to get underway, Chief.”
She grinned back at him. “Bitter voice of experience, Mr. Hill?”
He nodded.
She chuckled. “Well, I’ll let you gentlemen get back to your game. I need to get some sleep. Morning comes before breakfast and I’ll need to get the fusactors back online before that.”
We both bid her good night and she sauntered down the hall and we could clearly hear her walk up the ladder and the faint sound of her stateroom door close.
“I had no idea sound carried that well in a quiet ship, did you, Mr. Hill?”
“You can’t hear that much with all the equipment running, Skipper, but when we’re docked, and in the middle of the night? Yeah, you can hear an awful lot.”
We finished off the game in progress, but packed up the board after that with Mr. Hill up seven games to four and demonstrating a fine understanding of the mechanics of pegging. I left him to study his Cargoman Two exam and I returned to the cabin to discover the ‘almost caught up’ pile of reports had multiplied while I wasn’t looking.
I sighed and dug into the pile.
Around 0100 I realized that the ship was still quiet and that I hadn’t heard the lock open since I’d returned to the cabin. It was about time for me to stand up and walk around a little anyway so I headed down to the brow to check with Mr. Hill.
He shook his head. “No, Captain, nobody’s back yet.”
I thanked him and headed into the galley to make up a fresh pot of coffee. It was too early to think about organizing breakfast, and I’d already decided that I’d make pancakes with fruit for the morning meal. If the hour were any indication, I suspected that breakfast might be somewhat sparsely attended.
The ready light had just blinked on the pot and I was reaching for a mug when Mr. Hill called from the brow. “Skipper? You might want to–”
The call buzzer rang, interrupting him.
“–come out here.”
I heard the lock start to cycle and hot-footed to the lock, arriving just as the big doors latched into the open position. A burly Orbital Security man stood at the foot of the ramp. Behind him, in a more or less straight line, stood my crew.
I spared a glance at Mr. Hill who shrugged in return before heading out to see what was going on.
It didn’t take long for me to take in some of the more prurient details. The two ratings looked like they’d escaped the worse of it, whatever it had been. Mr. Schubert had a bruise beginning to form on his right cheek and Mr. Ricks kept licking at a small cut on his upper lip. Mr. Pall’s ensemble was improved greatly by having the jacket torn in several places and one sleeve actually missing. He didn’t seem to have any obvious wounds but he was standing oddly. Mr. Wyatt had one eye swollen nearly shut and his rather nondescript outfit would have to be destroyed because I doubted that much blood would come out. I assumed that it wasn’t his, at least in its entirety, or security would have had him in medical. Astonishingly, it was Ms. Thomas who looked the worst. Her jacket was in actual tatters and she looked like she’d lost a fight with a revolving door. The effect was exacerbated by the fact that she was missing one shoe. I almost winced to think of how cold that deck must be on her foot.
A small squad of officers stood in loose formation behind my line up of crew. The lead officer gave me a chance to finish my once-over before speaking.
“Good morning, Captain. I believe these belong to you?”
I glanced at his name plate. “Yes, Officer Henry. They bear an uncanny resemblance to my ship’s company. They seem a bit more worn than when last I saw them. Wherever did you find them?”
“Well, Captain, some of them were under a pile of angry, drunken spacers. Those two on the end seemed to be trying to dig them out when we arrived.” To my surprise, he nodded at Ricks and Schubert.
Schubert shrugged in response to my surprised look.
“I see. And what do I owe for this rather unfortunate delivery?” I swept a hand down the line. “Fines? Damages? Medical bills?”
Officer Henry shrugged. “The owner isn’t claiming damages and we couldn’t really get a clear handle on who started it. Medical says there was no permanent damage to this lot, although there are a couple of other crews that might be on light duty for a day or so.” He shrugged again. “We won’t charge ’em if you’ll promise to keep them aboard until you leave.” He looked somewhat apologetic. “Between you and me, Captain, I just don’t want to do the paperwork. It’s too close to the end of shift.”
I chuckled. “You have my sympathy and complete understanding, Officer Henry. May I take them off your hands now?”
“Oh, please do, Captain.”
I turned to them. “Ms. Thomas, if you’d gather your little damage control party on the mess deck, I’ll be along shortly.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.” She led the way and the rest followed with Mr. Ricks bringing up the rear, ambling along with a slight limp.
The security man just watched them go and when they were safely aboard turned back to me. “You’re getting underway later this morning, aren’t you, Captain?”
“That’s my plan. I’m assuming the crew will be actually fit enough to stand to for a few stans.”
“They’re a spunky bunch, Skipper. Gotta give ’em that.” He chuckled. “What’s the phrase? You should see the other guy.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle a bit in return. “Well. They’ll have plenty of time to heal up on the ride home, and that should give me a chance to order leashes and muzzles for them before we arrive.”
He laughed at that and gave me a little salute. “Good luck, Captain, and safe voyage.”
“Thank you, Officer Henry. And thanks for bringing them back to me. They’re a disreputable lot, but they’re all I’ve got.”
He chuckled again and turned, waving to his squad, headed back down the docks toward the lift.
I shook my head and climbed back up the ramp into the ship and Mr. Hill keyed the lock closed behind me. I could hear faint murmurs from the direction of the mess deck and Mr. Hill regarded me with an almost incredulous smile. “Aren’t you glad you had the duty tonight, Mr. Hill?”
He laughed and shook his head. “Actually, no, Skipper. I have a feeling that when we find out what happened out there tonight, I’m gonna wish I’d been there to see it!”
He caught me funny with that one and I barked a soft laugh. “Good point, Mr. Hill.” I sighed and shook my head as I walked down the passage and toward the brightly lit mess deck.
Their murmuring died out as I got closer to the mess deck and, by the time, I got there it died out completely. The crew was lined up and braced more or less at attention. Given the nature of their injuries, I didn’t press it.
Ricks and Schubert looked resigned. Mr. Pall looked the most ill at ease, but I’d look uncomfortable too if I were wearing those clothes. Mr. Wyatt looked apologetic, but Ms. Thomas looked almost radiant. Inwardly, I shrank. Somehow I knew I wasn’t going to like this story, but I needed to find out what it was.
I sighed loudly. “Anybody have anything to say? Mr. Ricks? You’re junior man here. Comments?”
“I told you, Captain. Sometimes trouble just finds
us.”
“So you did, Mr. Ricks. Somehow I thought you might avoid it tonight.”
“So did I, Captain. But we didn’t start it. Exactly.”
Mr. Wyatt started to say something, but apparently thought better of it and closed his mouth.
“Mr. Schubert? Any comments?”
“No, Captain. We did our best, but security showed up and broke it up.”
“Broke it up, Mr. Schubert?”
“Yes, Captain. We’d almost gotten Ms. Thomas and Mr. Wyatt out of the pile when they arrived. Another five ticks and we might have gotten away.”
I glanced down the line at my first mate and cargo officer. Ms. Thomas continued to gaze straight ahead, but Mr. Wyatt was beginning to look a little more abashed.
“Mr. Pall? Comments?”
“Well, Skipper, they started it. After dinner we went down to the Gravity Well for a few drinks and maybe some dancing. We got to talking with a couple of the other crews.”
I waved a hand to indicate his sartorial disarray. “That must have been rather an interesting talk, Mr. Pall.”
He glanced down at himself. “Yes, Captain. After a few getting acquainted drinks, they started talking about the ship.”
“Which ship, Mr. Pall?”
“This ship, Captain. The Agamemnon.”
“Curiouser and curiouser.” I stepped down the line to where Mr. Wyatt was beginning to fidget. “You were privy to this conversation about the ship, Mr. Wyatt?”
“Well, yes, Captain. We all were.”
“And what were these comments that caused such damage to your clothing and bodies? And I trust all this blood isn’t yours, Mr. Wyatt.”
He looked down and took in the dark shambles of his coat and shirt. “I can’t be sure, Skipper. Some of it’s mine. I had a nosebleed for a while.”
“Go on, Mr. Wyatt.”
“Well, we got to talking about the ship, running the double in from Welliver, missing the priority, but rescuing the Voice. Unfortunately, the Agamemnon has something of a bad reputation, Captain.”
“I’m aware of that, Mr. Wyatt. I thought we were working to turn that around.”
Captain's Share (Trader's Tales from the Golden Age of the Solar Clipper) Page 33