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

by Nathan Lowell

  “Thank you, Mr. Hill. I appreciate your candor.” I went into the mess deck and poured a cup of coffee before settling at the table and pulling up the cargo lists. I didn’t expect to spot anything but it passed the time before I needed to start on lunch.

  The installation of the hot tub took most of the day, but by the time I started dealing with the dinner mess, Charlie and his crew were picking up their tools and policing the area. Chief Gerheart appeared at the entrance to the mess deck and grinned. “You might wanna check this out before they get all packed up, Skipper.”

  “Why? Is there something wrong with it?”

  She shook her head. “Oh, no. It looks great to me.”

  I followed her back down to the workout room. The tub was not one of the larger models. Realistically, no more than a half dozen people needed to be able to use it at a time. More likely it would be a couple of us at once, maybe as many as four, but with watches underway and liberty while docked, it was plenty large enough for what I thought we needed. Roughly oblong with rounded corners, a molded cowling latched to a frame on the deck and concealed the plumbing works. The whole thing was a little more than a meter tall, extended from the bulkhead about two meters in one direction and three in the other. It was already about half full of water and was slowly filling as we watched.

  Charlie came over to point out the main features. “You’ll want to wait until it’s full, Captain, and then you can start-up the heaters. I’ve left the full instructions with the chief there, but this should be a warm treat in the Deep Dark.”

  I nodded as I admired his work. “Thanks, Charlie. I’m looking forward to it myself.”

  He pointed out things like the safety lid that locked down to prevent sloppage, and the automatic cutoffs that prevented scalding the crew. He was grinning. “Wait’ll you try the jets, Skipper.”

  I laughed. “I have been in a hot tub before, Charlie. I think I know what jets do.”

  He grinned knowingly. “All right then, Captain, but don’t say I didn’t tell ya.”

  He signaled his crew and they all trouped back to the lock while I got on with fixing dinner. I didn’t expect too many people aboard, but I had a mind to make a nice beef roast with vegetables. The leftovers, if there were any, would make a good soup.

  At 1700, Mr. Wyatt and Ms. Thomas came back aboard and by 1715, Mr. Ricks was aboard as well, bringing the co-op goods back to the ship with Mr. Schubert’s help. I revised my estimate for dinner and added a few more vegetables to the pot. Mr. Wyatt joined me after changing out of his civvies.

  “Nice day off, Mr. Wyatt?”

  “Yes, Captain. Thank you. It was lovely.” He had a dreamy smile on his face and I didn’t pry. “Anything new here?”

  “Mr. Hill won the bet.” I glanced at him as I said it.

  “Oh, excellent. I was hoping he would. I’d much rather have the hot tub than an assistant.”

  I chuckled. “Well, we have the hot tub.”

  He blinked at me. “Already?”

  “Ship fitters left half a stan ago. The tub’s filling now and should be up to temp by this time tomorrow.”

  He grinned. “You acted very fast!”

  “I ordered it last night.”

  He looked surprised. “Did you think he’d win last night?”

  I shook my head. “He won by one cred. The numbers came down around 0830.”

  He whistled appreciatively. “That’s cutting it fine.” He turned to peeling the extra carrots and we got the dinner mess underway in record time.

  As it happened everybody but Mr. Pall was aboard for dinner and I hoped that he wouldn’t be falling down any more ladders. At 1745, Ms. Thomas and Mr. Ricks relieved the watch and Mr. Hill joined us on the mess deck.

  Mr. Wyatt greeted him warmly. “Congratulations, Mr. Hill.”

  “Thank you, sar.” He nodded in acknowledgement. “Did the captain tell you what his total was?”

  Mr. Wyatt turned to me. “Your total, Captain?”

  “I did pretty well.”

  “Pretty well? He beat us by ten kilocreds, Mr. Wyatt.”

  Ms. Thomas who was sitting at the table laughed. “You’ve been hiding your light under a bushel, Captain!”

  Mr. Wyatt raised his eyebrows. “Any special knowledge, Skipper? Tips for the working stiffs?”

  I laughed. “No, Mr. Wyatt. Almost all of it was because of the early delivery bonus on that very first can. It was luck more than anything.”

  Mr. Wyatt mugged for Mr. Hill. “The captain says luck, Mr. Hill. I think he’s holding out.”

  “Well, we need a shipment, don’t we, Mr. Wyatt?” Mr. Hill was having fun. “Maybe we should get the captain to show us how it’s done.”

  The level of joviality ran quite high and the chief joined us as the chrono clicked up towards 1800.

  I looked over my shoulder from where I was draining vegetables just in time to see a three can cargo with a high priority hit the top of the free-cargo list on the repeater. “Mr. Hill? My hands are wet, would you check the delivery date on that priority?”

  He turned to look and then dove for the keyboard to drill into the record. “November fifth, Skipper. Eight weeks.”

  “Mr. Wyatt, you’re the cargo officer here and I’m up to my elbows in hot food. In your professional opinion, is that a cargo we should take?”

  He was already sprinting for the cargo terminal and a tick later the cargo status changed to show we had a cargo bound for Breakall.

  He was grinning broadly as he came back onto the mess deck. “Skipper? You’re systems certified. Is there any way we can modify my tablet so it’ll place an order?”

  “See me after mess, Mr. Wyatt. I’ll show you.”

  I’d wondered why he always went to the cargo terminal to place the orders, but I assumed it was for some personal reason. I chuckled to myself. That would probably not actually teach me, but it was certainly one more lesson in making assumptions.

  Dinner mess went smoothly and everybody helped clean up after, except Mr. Ricks who went back to his watch station. By 1930, I’d shown Mr. Wyatt how to slave the cargo terminal to his tablet and headed to the cabin. I settled at my desk and filed the flight plan to Breakall with departure set for the thirteenth. That gave us a full four day port stay and, if the preliminary course projections were even close, we’d be in Breakall a week before the deadline on the cargo.

  I clicked through the pending reports and by 2000 sat back in my chair. A feeling of “now what?” washed over me. I found it unsettling. I looked around the cabin and–with the exception of the glare from the port–I liked what I saw. I looked at the armor glass and wondered for the umpteenth time if I should do something about the light reflecting in from the side of the orbital. I decided for the umpteenth time that it wasn’t worth the effort because we’d be under way soon. I’d have weeks of Deep Dark to look at.

  There was also the unsettling feeling of being single. I tried to get a handle on that. For seven stanyers, I’d had a commitment that needed to be honored. That was gone and it felt like it had disappeared suddenly. Sure, I’d known it was going away for weeks, but the packet of papers in my grav trunk said it was over. The reality of it fell upon me and I wanted to feel jubilant. I wanted to feel freed. I wanted to feel something.

  The cabin felt like home, but I needed to get out for awhile and stretch my legs. I wasn’t really sure I wanted to be around people, but I also didn’t want to spend the evening sitting there feeling sorry for myself. I headed for my civvies and an old ritual came back to me as I was washing up. I grinned as I clipped my fingernails.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Diurnia Orbital:

  2372-September-10

  When I left the ship, I just followed my nose. I couldn’t very well go down to the oh-two deck. That was where crews went. As a rule, one didn’t see captains down there. I headed up to the civilian areas on seven and strolled around the orbital looking for someplace. I didn’t really know what I was looking for
and I was feeling a bit sorry for myself. It had been so long since I’d been single, I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do any more. Being a captain only made that worse. There were proprieties to observe that I hadn’t had to deal with before.

  The stroll felt good to legs that had been too long in a can. I made two full circuits of the seven deck without seeing anything that appealed to me. I was familiar with most of the restaurants and watering holes on seven but seldom frequented them. When I passed the ladder up to eight deck, I climbed up and made a circuit there as well. I recognized some of the places but certainly not all.

  Eventually I settled on an upscale coffee boutique called Light City. The smell attracted me as much as anything and after nearly a stan of walking in circles, a cup of coffee and a sit down sounded like a good idea. Inside the place was outfitted with a collection of sofas and chairs, a few restaurant style tables, and a heavy wooden bar with about ten tall stools. The place wasn’t crowded but it was far from empty and a low buzz of conversation wafted over a whirring, rattling sound coming from a glorious bronze and dark metal contraption against the far wall. It was roped off from casual approach, but held obvious pride of place.

  I was drawn towards it and as I approached I could feel the heat on my face. A short, wiry man with a completely shaved head was opening some sort of lever and allowing the contents to pour out into a rotating wire basket. When the cinnamon colored flow stopped, he reached back and flipped a couple of switches and a low-pitched motor sound died out as the heavier noise of the machine’s mechanism faded. The basket was filled with toasted coffee beans. The aroma was almost overwhelming.

  With his tasks complete, he turned to me with a grin. “Good evening, Captain. How may I help you?”

  I could feel myself grinning. “I think I’d like a cup of coffee.”

  He laughed. “We might be able to find the odd cup or two. Do you have a preference?” He stepped out of the roped area and led me to the counter and I hitched a hip onto one of the empty stools.

  “Well, I’m most familiar with Djartmo Arabasti in a medium roast but Sarabanda Dark isn’t bad either.”

  He grinned happily. “You at least know the difference! I’m impressed. Most people can’t tell espresso from press. How adventurous are you?” He had a twinkle in his eye.

  “Relatively. That roast there smells wonderful. What’s that?”

  “One of the components of a house blend. That’s an Arabasti base bean, shade grown on Grail. We roast that to a nice light city and blend it with a city roasted Zenovka Taratzu. We call it Moscow Morning.”

  I held out my hand. “Ishmael Wang. Nice to meet you.”

  He grinned, wiped his hand on his apron before returning the shake. “Steve Jacob. Nice to meet you, Captain. Now what can I show you?”

  I spent a delicious stan talking coffee, sipping samples, and savoring a large cup of an appropriately named Evening Mug. The flavor was rich and fruity with an almost cinnamon aftertaste. The shop did a moderate walk-in business but Steve handled all the customers personally. Many of them appeared to be regulars who walked up to the counter, were greeted by name, and settled onto the various chairs and couches depending on their preference.

  The tension I didn’t realize I’d been carrying melted away as the level in the mug went down.

  “I don’t suppose you sell much in bulk, do you, Steve?”

  He chuckled. “No. Vinnie there is my only roaster and I can only do twenty kilos at a time.”

  “Vinnie?”

  He laughed. “Yep. It’s a Vincenzo Victorex 900 roaster. It’s almost an antique at this point. I call him Vinnie.” He looked over at it fondly for a moment before continuing. “I package a few kilos for regulars but all the bulk stuff is custom order. I try not to have roasted beans laying around too long.”

  “Define too long.”

  “More than a couple days.” He grinned. “I keep a few kilos bricked up, if you’d like to take some with you, but I can’t handle starship quantities.”

  “What’s your largest package?”

  “I can do five kilo pails, but mostly I sell the two kilo bricks.” He shrugged. “My coffee’s expensive because it’s custom roasted in small batches from special beans.” He wasn’t apologizing, just explaining.

  In the end I bought a brick of the Evening Mug and another of the Moscow Morning. The four kilos of coffee cost a little more than a full pail of our Djartmo Arabasti, but it would make a nice break in the routine. He put them in a carry-sack for me. “They’ll keep in that package for two or three weeks without any problem, Ishmael, but once you open them, try to use them up within a few days. The flavor will degrade pretty rapidly.”

  “At the rate we go through coffee, these won’t last more than a few days.” I thanked him, shouldered my load and headed back to the ship.

  Riding down in the lift, it occurred to me that I hadn’t really found what I had gone out looking for, but had found something else instead. Funny how that works so often. Serendipity strikes at odd moments and always when you’re not looking. I chuckled to myself, realizing that if I’d been looking, then it wouldn’t have been serendipity to begin with.

  The lift opened onto the dock but the chill air reminded me of one other errand that I should run, so I punched the button for the oh-one deck and headed for the chandlery. I needed a bathing suit before heading back to the ship for the night and a well earned snooze.

  My treacherous body clock overwhelmed me at 0600. It had been my intention to sleep in, but in the battle between brain and bladder, bladder won every time. Once moving, there was no going back so I bowed to the inevitable and headed for breakfast.

  Most of the crew was present, including a rumpled and not very well rested Mr. Pall. I gave my bundle of coffee to Mr. Wyatt and suggested he tuck it away until we got underway. The breakfast mess went smoothly with Mr. Wyatt presiding over a waffle iron and the rest of us enjoying the fruits of his labor. The only odd spot in the proceeding was Mr. Ricks. There was something going on, judging from the looks he was exchanging with his fellow ratings.

  As we cleared the breakfast away, I took the opportunity to speak to him quietly.

  “Is there something you’d like to talk with me about, Mr. Ricks?”

  He looked like a kid caught with his hand in the candy jar. “Why do you ask, Captain?”

  I eyed him and then pointedly looked at the other ratings. “They seem to think something’s up.”

  He looked at the deck. “Skipper, there’s an opening on the board for a messman.”

  “Which ship?”

  “The Paul Fischer out of Martha’s Haven. They’re getting underway day after tomorrow.”

  “Did you apply, Mr. Ricks?”

  “I’d like to, Captain, but they think I should stay.”

  “What’s your reasoning, Mr. Ricks?”

  He shrugged. “The shares have been great and the ship has really perked up since you’ve been aboard, Captain.”

  “But..?”

  “But this watch stander thing is getting old. I feel like I’m off balance and exhausted all the time. I think I’d like to try working the mess deck. Day workers don’t have it any easier, I know, and the mess deck on a big ship isn’t exactly glamorous, but when the day’s over, I can sleep.”

  “So? What’s holding you back, Mr. Ricks. Those sound like excellent reasons.”

  “Well, you’ll need to replace me, Skipper. Assuming I can even get the job to begin with.”

  “That’s true of any of us, Mr. Ricks. Why don’t you apply and see what happens. In the meantime, I’ll contact the office and see if there’s anybody waiting in the wings.”

  He looked up at me. “Really, Captain?”

  I shrugged. “Look, Mr. Ricks. You’ve been a good shipmate and you’re qualified to take this berth. You’ve got some good reasons for taking it and the only obstacle is actually getting it. You can’t manage your career solely on the basis of what’s good for the ship, b
ut you have to look out for you, too. It’s too cold out in the Deep Dark to do a job you don’t like.”

  “But what if I get it and you have to replace me. You could be delayed for days.”

  I chuckled. “Look at the list of open berths for deck ratings, Mr. Ricks.”

  He blinked at me. “There aren’t that many to look at, Skipper. A few Able Spacers and once in a while you’ll see an Ordinary Spacer, but they don’t last long.”

  “Why do you suppose that is, Mr. Ricks?”

  “There aren’t that many openings, sar?”

  I shook my head. “There’s usually a waiting list of people to fill them. You don’t see them because they get filled too quickly. Don’t fret about it, Mr. Ricks. Follow your gut. If you want it, apply. If you apply, let me know so I can be prepared to replace you. That’s all I ask.”

  He looked me square in the face. “Thanks, Captain. I’ll apply as soon as we get the co-op set up this morning and I’ll let you know what I hear.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Ricks, and good luck.”

  By the time we finished our little corner discussion, we’d attracted the attention of Mr. Wyatt and Ms. Thomas who kept their distance but looked questioningly at me as Mr. Ricks smiled and hustled off the mess deck to help Mr. Hill set up the day’s co-op activities.

  Ms. Thomas nodded after him. “Trouble in paradise, Skipper?”

  I shook my head. “The boys aren’t happy with Mr. Ricks because he’s thinking of leaving our merry band of travelers and taking up with another ship.”

  Mr. Wyatt looked surprised. “Whatever for, Captain?”

  “He’s got some good reasons, Avery. And I can’t fault him for wanting to move on to something that he might like better.”

  Ms. Thomas nodded her agreement. “Yeah. Sometimes you just need a break. What’s he going for, Skipper?”

  “There’s an open berth for a messman. He passed the test a while back. He’s qualified, although he has no mess deck experience. He’ll be okay on a larger vessel where he can be part of an established mess gang.”