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

by Nathan Lowell

  A single line was scrawled across the bottom in a black stylus. “It’s the least we could do. JP”

  There was a moment or two of silence before Mr. Pall raised his head and blinked back his headache. “Can we keep it, Captain?”

  He winced as we all laughed and I assured him that it was already a done deal. The funds were already in the ship’s accounts. “I’ll do the accounting and distribute the shares on the way back to Diurnia.”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Diurnia System:

  2372-June-01

  The run back into Diurnia from Jett was strictly routine. It didn’t seem possible that we’d been gone almost six months. Mr. Pall threaded the needle for us quite nicely and in something under seven weeks, the tug nudged us toward Diurnia Orbital and home port. We experimented a bit with the jump, shooting for a point somewhat higher in relation to the plane of the ecliptic to see if the winds there were more stable. Diurnia has less in the way of orbital real estate than Jett does and several of the larger bodies were on the far side of Diurnia’s primary which cut down on the local disturbances.

  The only thing out of the ordinary–and it rapidly became normal–was the relationship between Ms. Thomas and Mr. Wyatt. Nobody said anything, just accepted it. Perhaps there’d been more there than I’d been aware of before, based on a mumbled “About time,” that I overheard from one of the ratings.

  I had no complaints personally. They both reported to me and it created no conflicts in the chain of command. If anything, I found that Ms. Thomas was much more diligent than before in terms of her relationships with the ratings and Mr. Wyatt was especially careful of her dietary requirements.

  We also instituted “movie night on the mess deck” and Mr. Ricks proved to be an amusing and erudite critic of film. I don’t know if he had a secret encyclopedia of movie trivia on his tablet or if he really did know a lot. Perhaps some of each because the films jumped around from night to night, never any two films in a row in the same decade or genre. We got around the “who’s on watch” problem by showing the same film for three nights, which gave everybody a chance to watch it twice, rather than shorting somebody who didn’t get to see it at all. It worked out surprisingly well.

  One other thing marked the return home. I started practicing my tai chi for the first time since taking over the ship. It was a discipline that I’d picked up at the academy and carried with me for all the stanyers I’d been aboard the Tinker. The gym there had a small floor for those members of the crew who practiced one of the martial arts and I’d taken full advantage of it. The Agamemnon, by comparison, had no room in the workout room to do anything like tai chi. It didn’t require a huge amount of space but it needed more than was available. It occurred to me as I was getting off the treadmill one day that the main passageway provided more than enough room. We tended to ignore it as a ship’s space since it really was a transitional area but it was the single largest uninterrupted deck space aboard. I found that it offered more than enough space for me to do a full Jung Long Form without having to worry about bumping into a bulkhead or cramping a movement. I was very rusty after so long without practice, but within a few days it evened out, and by the time we got to Diurnia, it felt smooth and fluid again. The moving meditation worked its magic and I found myself relaxing into it, carrying that sense of being in the moment with me after the session was over.

  By the time we nuzzled into the lock at Diurnia, we already had our cans lined up for the next trip. I’d snagged a low level priority shipment of machine parts going to Dree which set our course up. Very shortly thereafter, Mr. Hill managed to grab the contract on a middle priority can of pharmaceuticals and Mr. Wyatt got a container of unprocessed silicon wafers that also had a middle level priority. I was waiting on the final tally from the shipments from Jett, but it looked like the two of them were still neck-and-neck.

  Frankly, I was about ready to spend a night or two ashore. The Tinker was not a long hauler, and had a pretty regular route. Sometimes it was Jett, other times Welliver, but where ever we went, we always jumped back home. I’d never been gone more than two and half months in all the time we’d been married and I was ready for a warm homecoming.

  We docked just before noon and first section had the watch. It didn’t take long for us to clear customs and get settled in. I had Ms. Thomas declare liberty just past 1300. While I wasn’t the first one off the ship, nobody seemed to begrudge me not being the last either. I had packed a kit already and only needed to grab and go. By 1305 I was walking down the passage toward our apartment.

  I have to confess to a bit of nervousness. If Jen were still on the same schedule, she’d be home. She normally reported to work around 1600 and then worked until 0100 or so. There were more people around in the afternoon and I met several of them as I headed toward home. I met my cross-the-hall neighbor heading for the ice machine in his stocking feet. He seemed almost embarrassed to be caught out without his shoes. I’m not sure why. I often made the same trip myself. I nodded and smiled as we passed.

  When I slipped into the apartment, it was still dark although I heard rustling in the bedroom as I crossed the kitchen. Before I got to the door, I spoke. “Honey, I’m home.”

  I stepped around the corner and she sat bolt upright in bed. She took my breath away. “Ishmael?”

  “You were expecting the plumber?” I smiled.

  “No!” She caught herself. “I just didn’t expect you until tonight!”

  “We docked before noon. Customs cleared us right away and I came right home. I don’t need to be back until 0600.”

  I crossed to the bed, dropping my kit at the foot and crossing over to my side to start stripping down. Boots, shipsuit, boxers and tee all went flying as she launched herself at me dragging me down so strongly that we both rolled over to her side in a giggling mass of limbs and skin. She was quite vocal and I was glad we were there in the afternoon and not when the neighbors might be around. It didn’t take too long for me to not be thinking at all.

  Around 1500 she extricated herself and climbed into the shower. I must have been exhausted because I fell right back asleep again and slept through until almost 2200. It’s one of the side effects of the watchstanding merry-go-round. When you finally get a chance to sleep, it all hits at once. The release of being off the ship and home, to say nothing of the vigorous homecoming, served to tell my mind and body that it was time to rest. I slept like a log.

  My bladder finally drove me to crawl out and once up, I slipped on my boxers and padded out into the kitchen. I wasn’t in the mood for big food or major productions, so I just made a sandwich and washed it down with some fruit juice before thinking that bed was a good place to wait. I could feel more sleep in my immediate future and I expected I wouldn’t get much between her homecoming and my having to leave to take over the watch at 0600.

  I was right.

  I didn’t get much but my tablet had to bip me to get me moving at 0500. I was muscle sore, and a bit raw in places, but I felt great as I got into the shower and sluiced off the accumulated slime. The scent of her soap and shampoo tickled my nose. It made me feel warm and at home all over again.

  Time was ticking and I couldn’t linger, so I toweled off quickly and padded naked out to the dimly lit bed room. My kit was where I’d tossed it, and I fished out fresh boxers, tee, socks, and a rolled up shipsuit. It was a matter of just a few ticks to get the fresh clothes on, gather up the dirty and stuff them into my bag. I crossed to my side of the bed and sat down on it, leaning over for a good morning, good-bye kiss and was rewarded with a warm snuggle that threatened to make me late.

  “See you tonight, hon.”

  She mumbled something but was asleep again before she finished the thought. I grinned and reached down for my boot. The chrono on the side table said 0525 and I had plenty of time.

  It occurred to me suddenly that my boot was not going on. I had it by the top and was stuffing my foot into it, but it wasn’t going. I pulled it of
f to see if I’d dropped something into it and it wasn’t until that moment that I realized it wasn’t my boot. For a few heartbeats I thought it might be Jen’s, but I leaned over and pulled out the mate from under the edge of the bed. Not Jen’s. They were a very serviceable, station-style work boot. Almost every stationer had a pair like them. These were scuffed about the toe a bit and a tad run down at the heel. About three sizes too big for Jen and at least one size too small for me.

  There are moments in one’s life where things become at once crystal clear and very dark. As I sat there on the bed I remembered the day Neris Security knocked on the door to tell me that my mother had died. I realized I was holding my breath. I tried to breathe out and in, and out and in. It seemed to work. Sort of. I leaned down and put them back on the floor. A little to one side, I found my own boots and I realized that I’d stopped breathing again as I slipped them on. So I focused on breathing in, breathing out. I remembered the way my brain would vapor lock when we had our “getting underway fights” back before I was a captain. That’s what it was doing. It had shut off. I had to remember to breathe.

  I wanted to scream. I wanted to rail against the unfairness.

  But I had to admit to myself that the unfairness was being away too long. Being gone when I should have been here. I had to force myself to breathe in, breathe out.

  The chrono clicked to 0530 and I had to move. My ship needed me. I needed my ship.

  I stood and grabbed the strap on my kit. The pair of boots was still there on the deck. I could see the darker shape of them against the floor covering. Without thinking, I stooped and grabbed one, stuffing it into my kit as I left the apartment for what I knew would be my last time.

  The path to the docks was clear at 0530. Most of the people who needed to be there were already there and those who didn’t were still closeted. I don’t think I met a single soul on the way. I’m not really sure, but I did breathe in and breathe out. The lift doors opened onto the docks and the frigid air tingled into my nose and down to my lungs. I breathed it out, hot and moist. One step at a time and the lock opened on my key. Mr. Ricks was on duty and I tried to smile a little but it was a brittle thing that wasn’t working. I could see it in his eyes. I shrugged and nodded and escaped down the passage.

  In the cabin the wide port showed the scarred white metal of the orbital and that seemed appropriate. I didn’t need to focus on breathing any more. It seemed to be coming more naturally. The lock was closed, my shore tie was cut. I could focus on the ship, on the next watch.

  Watch. Yes.

  I tossed the kit onto my bunk and used the sink in the head to splash some water on my face. I needed to get a bit more control before I faced any more of the crew. I was the captain. I could do it.

  At 0545 I found Mr. Pall on the mess deck and managed to hide behind a mug of coffee. He wasn’t very much awake and I managed to fool him long enough to relieve the watch and send him off to wash up a bit before breakfast.

  Mr. Wyatt, however, gave me a very concerned sideways glance. “Good morning, Skipper.”

  “Good morning, Avery. What’s for breakfast? I’m starved.” I sounded okay to me. Good solid voice. The right level of volume and intonation. I just pretended I was me being captain. I knew what I was supposed to sound like. I just did that.

  He didn’t seem fooled, but he played along with me. In my heart I thanked him profusely. “Omelets this morning, Captain. Can I make you one?”

  I glanced at the chrono on the bulkhead. “Mess isn’t for another few ticks, Mr. Wyatt, but if you’d like to test the pans, I’d be happy to help out.” I tried the smile again. I don’t think it actually worked that time either, but at least Mr. Wyatt didn’t seem frightened by it as Mr. Ricks had earlier.

  “Anything in particular you’d like to have in it, Skipper?”

  I crossed to the table and took my seat. “Surprise me, Avery. You’ve never made a bad omelet for me and I’m sure you won’t start now.” The smile came more easily. The familiar surroundings helped. There was enough oxygen in the air. Chief Gerheart saw to that with the utmost diligence.

  It seemed like I had just seated myself when he slipped the plate in front of me and I tucked in. “This is delicious, Avery. What all did you put in here?”

  “Oh, a little of this and that. Some sweepings from the meat cooler, and a bit of grit from the lock. Mr. Ricks found a bit of mildew that was a particularly poignant color, as well.”

  “It really is wonderful, Mr. Wyatt. You’ve outdone yourself again.”

  “Thank you, Captain. I knew you’d like it.”

  The rest of the crew gathered and I thought I did fairly well at pretending to be me. Ms. Thomas and Mr. Wyatt had a quiet conversation at the stove top and I thought they looked remarkably domestic. They really did make a good couple.

  None of the ratings lingered over breakfast. Mr. Hill went back to the lock and the other two headed up to the flea market. They’d picked up some nice items during the stay at Jett.

  Mr. Pall seemed barely awake and ate mechanically, almost falling asleep in his plate.

  The chief on the other hand sat across from me and looked at me with those sapphire daggers. Once she arched an eyebrow, but she made small talk without asking questions.

  Ms. Thomas and Mr. Wyatt sat beside each other and talked shop and ship, odds and ends. They glanced in my direction occasionally, but offered no pointed questions.

  The food helped and before I really knew it I’d polished off the omelet, a couple slices of toast, and even a pastry. I sat back in my chair, and looked across the table at them.

  Bless them, every one. They didn’t say a word.

  I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “No, I’m not all right.”

  The chief choked on a laugh. “Really? You seem perfectly fine to me. Doesn’t he seem fine to you, Avery?”

  “Never better, Chief. Just marvelous.” They were twitting me but they had soft eyes and softer smiles.

  “Thank you. I’ll be in the cabin if anybody needs me. I’ve got reports to finish.”

  Ms. Thomas nodded. “Of course, Skipper.”

  I got up and slotted the dirties out of habit before pulling a fresh mug of coffee from the urn. I took several sips from it as I headed for the ladder.

  Mr. Wyatt stopped me. “Captain? Is that coffee okay?”

  “Yes, Avery. Why?”

  “Captain, that’s the cold pot. I haven’t had a chance to rinse it out yet. You might want to warm that up a bit...”

  I stopped and looked into the cup. Yes. It was stone cold, the mug ice in my hand. “I thought it seemed a bit cooler than normal, Avery. Thanks.” They didn’t say anything as I emptied the cold coffee into the sink and refilled the mug with hot. The china warmed to my touch and the heat sunk into me in some fundamental way. I took a sip of the dark, aromatic brew, drawing the scent of it into my lungs as the warm liquid fell down my throat. “Yes, much better. Thanks.”

  I managed to make it to the cabin without further mishap and settled at my desk. The reports needed to be reviewed and the overnight logs approved. I forced myself to read carefully. I focused on the words and the meanings. A mistake here and somebody might die. I got through several of them and as I worked I felt the spinning in my head begin to ease. At noon, I went down to the mess deck and had a light lunch before returning–with hot coffee the first time–to the cabin to complete the reports. The routine soothed me and by 1500 I had finished off the paperwork. I had three more stans of watch and then I’d be off duty.

  The thought hit me hard. Off duty, but then what?

  I went into the sleeping cabin and began to unpack my kit, dropping the dirty clothing into the cleaner and stowing the toiletries back in the head. I had almost forgotten the boot—blocked it from my mind, more like—and when I pulled it out of the bag I had a moment of befuddlement before it all came back and I felt foolish.

  I took the boot back to my desk and sat it down in the middle. I looked a
t it for a long time.

  At 1730 I got up, stripped off my clothes, and took a shower. When I got out, I put on an undress uniform and fastened the gold stars to my collar. I grabbed the empty kit bag and stuffed the boot into it before slinging the strap over my shoulder and heading for the mess deck.

  Ms. Thomas and Mr. Wyatt were waiting for me there and at 1745 we relieved the watch. With the formalities served, I smiled. Really smiled for maybe the first time all day. They looked relieved but not yet relaxed.

  Mr. Wyatt asked, “Will you be staying aboard for dinner, Captain?”

  “No, Avery, I have some business I need to deal with ashore, and then I’ll grab a bite there. I should be back within two or three stans.”

  I left them getting ready to open the dinner mess and headed for the lock. I met Mr. Schubert coming in with a bundle of goods from the flea market and stood aside while he wrestled it into the locker. “Good day at the flea, Mr. Schubert?”

  “Very good, Skipper. We’re getting the hang of it now, I think.”

  “Carry on, then.” I smiled and nodded as I left the ship and keyed the lock closed behind me.

  The oh-one deck on the orbital is where all the offices and support staff for the docks are located. One level down from the docks, it was open for business around the clock. Ships and their crews were often at the mercy of schedules that knew no day, no night, just now. By 1830 I was wrapping up my business with Ms. Audrey Pacquette, Solicitor.

  “Are you sure about this, Captain?”

  I sat there for a full tick. Was I sure? “No, but it’s what has to happen.”

  “But you haven’t talked this over with your wife? It’s normally done with the two parties in the same room at the same time. It cuts down on–how do I put this–ambiguity? She’ll have to sign the agreement and if she’s never seen it how can you be sure she’ll agree to dissolving the marriage on the grounds of irreconcilable differences?”

  I fished in my kit and pulled out the boot. I reached over and, to Ms. Pacquette’s horror, placed it on the center of her blotter topped desk. “Deliver the papers in that.”