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

by Nathan Lowell

  “She’s a good officer. The changes in her over the last few months have been remarkable, but I credit that to Avery Wyatt as much as anything.”

  “Wyatt? The cargo chief?”

  “They’re an item.”

  “Interesting.” Her voice was so low I almost didn’t catch it, but she shook her head as if dislodging a fly from her nose before continuing more strongly. “At any rate, the string that Geoff pulled got her a new Board.” She slid the first envelope across the table to me. “That’s her formal invitation. She’s due at CPJCT in the morning. That would have happened regardless, by the way. Events of the last week notwithstanding, we expected to get Ms. Thomas her ticket.”

  I smiled happily. “That’s excellent news! I’d planned to put her up when we pulled in, but I haven’t had a chance yet.”

  “Now you don’t have to wait. We’ve managed to reconvene her last Board. She should have her master’s license by the twenty-first.”

  That bit of news made me blink. “How can you be so sure?”

  “I know how it works. I’m assuming you’re willing to write a letter of recommendation to the Board?”

  “Well, of course, but I don’t see how that’ll matter.”

  “Between your letter, the late Mr. Maloney’s interest, and Ms. Thomas’s performance review, it should be enough. She has to pass the written exam, which she’s done easily more than once. It’s not a done deal, but we’re pretty sure they’ll find in her favor this time.”

  “What has this got to do with Christine Maloney and me?”

  She pushed the second envelope across the table to me. “You’re fired.” She said the words with a broad grin on her face. Her expression didn’t match what she’d just said, and the response didn’t seem to answer my question.

  “What?”

  She put up both hands in a placating gesture. “Hang on, Captain. Let me explain.”

  I could barely hear her for the blood rushing in my ears. “You’ve got my attention.”

  “Sorry, Captain, that was mean of me.”

  I nodded acceptance of her apology, and waited for her to go on.

  She folded her hands together in front of her. “In about two weeks, you’re going to become very wealthy. According to Ames, the winning bid on the Chernyakova salvage job will come in around a gig. Your share of that as leader of the prize crew will be substantial, even after the insurance company recovers their slice of the pie. Everyone who was a member of the Tinker’s crew at the time will get a good piece, but those of you who served on the prize crew will get the most—after the company, of course.”

  “How substantial are we talking about here?” I frowned in concentration, trying to knit all the various strands together in my mind.

  “Something on the order of ten.”

  “Ten? Ten... thousand?”

  She smiled and shook her head. “Ten million.”

  The number echoed in my mind. I’d hoped that maybe I’d see a hundred thousand out of it. “Ten million...credits?” I was having a little trouble breathing and my mind seemed to have stopped processing.

  “Captain Wang, that was the richest prize ever salvaged in Diurnia. Usually when a ship is recovered, it’s a burned hulk, or worse. You brought back the ship and the cargo intact. Even after the insurer gets their cut, it’s going to be a very large settlement. When that news breaks, the media frenzy will make the death of a shipping magnate disappear like water in a vacuum.”

  “But...” I ran out of steam after a single syllable. I didn’t know what to say.

  “I can put you in touch with some financial advisers. In fact, I’d urge you to hire a tax accountant, today if possible, but you’re not going to be the only new millionaire in the company. We expect we’re going to lose most of the crew of the Tinker and Captain deGrut will have her retirement eased greatly, not that she was hurting to begin with.”

  “Lose the crew...?”

  “They’ll be too rich to want to work for us.”

  I goggled at her.

  “Moving a bit fast?” She actually sat back and smiled at me. She looked much older than I first thought.

  “Just a bit, yes.” I held up a fist. “Lemme see if I have these right.” I flipped up my index finger. “We’re pushing Ms. Thomas into the Captain’s Board tomorrow and you expect she’ll have her ticket within a few days?”

  “Yes.”

  I added my thumb. “I’m fired, so I’m assuming you’re planning on giving the Agamemnon to her.”

  “Very astute.”

  I added my middle finger to the digital bouquet. “You’re expecting that I’m going to train your new CEO in how to run a ship so she gets a better appreciation about how to run a shipping company?” That seemed like a bit of a stretch to me, and I wasn’t sure that’s where the path was going.

  “Yes, and no.” Kirsten grimaced. “We want you to show her why she shouldn’t run the business and convince her to turn over the company to Ames.”

  I blinked at her.

  She shook her head. “No, I said that badly.” She screwed up her face in thought.

  “While you’re thinking, explain why I’d help you after you fire me.” I released my fingers. “When I’m no longer on the payroll, what’s in it for me?”

  Ms. Kingsley nodded. “Okay. You’ve got the main points. Lemme walk you through it in sequence.”

  I waved for her to continue and topped off my coffee from the carafe.

  “Mr. Maloney’s will stipulates that on his death his majority interest in DST goes to his daughter, Christine. Because it’s not a publicly traded company, she becomes the de facto Chairman of the Board because, with controlling interest, she can dictate to the board. She’s not, yet, and the way the board has always dealt with it—the way Mr. Maloney and his father and grandfather before him wanted it—was the board provides the fig leaf of corporate legitimacy and the operational control of the company is in the hands of the majority stockholder. It’s been a family company for over a century, so the scheme has always worked.”

  I frowned in concentration. “As long as there’s an heir to the throne.”

  “Exactly. There’s always been a Maloney in the wings ready to step up and take the reins.”

  “Until now.”

  “Until now. Mr. Maloney recognized that about five stanyers ago, and set about rectifying the situation by adding a codicil to his will. Christine gets nominal ownership of the stock, but it will be held in trust for one standard year.”

  “She’s old enough, isn’t she?”

  Ms. Kingsley’s mouth curled in a smirk. “Yes, but she has to do something before she can claim the inheritance. She has to get a job on a ship, and stick it out for a stanyer.”

  I could feel my face twist into a mask of confusion. “Well, I suspect DST has a few ships that might be willing to take her on.”

  “Ah, you see, that’s a problem. It can’t be one of our ships.”

  “What?”

  “She can’t sign onto any of DST’s ships. The power differential and potential for abuse there is just too large.”

  I saw it immediately. “What happens if she doesn’t stick it out?”

  “She doesn’t get the stock. It reverts to the company with the instructions that DST goes public, the stock gets converted to common, and the Board of Directors controls that process. She’ll get a cash settlement and a block of preferred stock in the new company—but not controlling interest. DST will cease to be a family company. If that happens, there are a whole set of financial transactions that will occur to clear out some old debt, stream line the operations, and regularize finance.”

  “But her inheritance is greatly reduced, is what I’m hearing you say.”

  “Yes.” Her mouth straightened into a firm line. “If she can do it, she gets controlling interest in the company and earns the right to try to run it. If not...” Ms. Kingsley shrugged. “She’ll still be rich, but not as rich, and certainly not as powerful as she’d
be otherwise.”

  “And Ames Jarvis?”

  “He’s given his life to this company. He’s seen the good times, the bad times and all the other times. He’ll be interim CEO for the next stanyer, and if she fails to work the stanyer out, then he’s a shoo-in for the post. The Board likes him and he’d be a great CEO.” She sighed and shook her head. “If she can run the company, then okay, but at the moment she’s a spoiled rich kid who’s gonna have a straight shot at the cookie jar. We have a stanyer to prove to her that she’s not ready to step into Daddy’s shoes.”

  “And where do I fit in this?”

  “Well, Captain. You’re about to become independently wealthy and beached. The smart money would bet you’d buy a ship of your own and go indie.”

  I snorted. “I’ve priced ships. Even used, they’re not cheap. And there’s insurance, pay, papers, cargo. The tab is pretty steep.”

  “But you thought about it.” She nailed me with her eyes.

  “I thought about it.”

  “DST is in an odd position, Captain Wang. We’ve lost our leader and we’re going to be fat on cash. In a few weeks, we’re going to have at least two-thirds of the crew of the William Tinker retire, and those are going to be people who are hard to replace in the short term. Some of the officers will stay, and probably some of the senior ranks. Captain Delman, of course, since he’s not eligible for prize money.”

  I nodded, still not sure where this long and winding path led.

  “We’re planning to consolidate crews. Mix, match, and hire where we can, but we anticipate that we’ll be putting a ship up for sale.”

  “What kind of ship?”

  “Funny you should ask.” She grinned at me. “Wanna take a walk?”

  Chapter Three

  Diurnia Orbital:

  2372-December-17

  I walked Ms. Kingsley down to the lock and stopped at the mess deck on the way. Ms. Thomas held court at the table while Mr. Wyatt worked on the final touches of the evening meal. To my surprise, most of the off-duty crew sat with her.

  “Ms. Thomas?” I called to her across the mess deck and the surrounding conversations went silent.

  “Yes, Skipper?”

  “Get a good night’s sleep tonight, Ms. Thomas. You’ll have a full couple of days. You have a Captain’s Board in the morning.”

  I enjoyed the look of shocked surprise on her face for a moment before turning to Mr. Wyatt. “Avery, can you cover first section’s midwatch for her so she can sleep tomorrow night?”

  He beamed at her and nodded, a smile splitting his face. “Of course, Skipper. My pleasure.”

  “Very well, I’ll handle meals on day watch tomorrow so you plan to take the day off, get some sleep. You know the drill.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.”

  I eyed the chronometer. “Ms. Thomas, I’ve got to run some errands with Ms. Kingsley here. I’m leaving the ship.”

  Mr. Wyatt looked up at that and asked, “Will you be back for dinner mess, Skipper?”

  I glanced at Ms. Kingsley where she stood in the passageway leading to the lock. “Probably not, Avery.” I saw the cascade of curious and disappointed looks going around the table. “I’ll be aboard all day tomorrow and will share what I can then.”

  A chorus of “Aye, Captain” and “Thanks, Skipper” followed me down the passageway, and Ms. Arellone logged us off the ship.

  “Good luck, Skipper,” she whispered to me as I passed the watch station.

  I looked at her sharply, and she gave me a sly wink and nodded her head toward Ms. Kingsley. I snorted, and gave her a little smile on the way out of the lock.

  Kingsley seemed unaffected by the chilly air of the docks, and strode easily along, her portfolio under her arm, and just the briefest of glances in my direction. With all the people around the dock, and some of them paying rather closer attention to us that I was comfortable with, I didn’t try to talk to her as we crossed the station and headed for the small craft docks.

  She crossed from the public side to a maintenance bay, swiping a key card and tapping a code into a pad. She glanced at me and pulled the heavy hatch open before leading me through and carefully closing it behind her, throwing the dogs, and pressing the key code in a few smooth movements.

  “You’ve done this before?” I couldn’t help comment.

  She smirked and struck off around the promenade. “A few.”

  The air was still cold but it felt, somehow, less intense. Three locks in from the hatch, she stopped, consulted a read-out on her tablet, and keyed the lock open. The name above the keypad read, “Jezebel.”

  The lock swung up and Ms. Kingsley led the way into the ship. Light from the passage outside gave enough illumination for us to find the lighting panel inside the inner lock, and she flipped the masters to bring up the lights. The ship itself was silent except for the faintest of whooshing sounds coming from the air vent over my head.

  Ms. Kingsley pivoted slowly and said, “Welcome to the Jezebel.”

  The first thought through my mind was that she had to be kidding. The scuffed and scraped non-skid deck coat in the lock exposed a meter wide strip of raw metal down the main passage and across the lock’s threshold. The brow watch station—nothing more than a bulkhead-mounted console—looked as if it had been purposefully vandalized with key caps missing and a crack across the display. I was prepared for the ship to smell stale, but the musty funk in the air told me that the ship’s scrubbers needed some serious attention.

  “How long has she been docked?” It was the politest question I could think to ask.

  “A week.” Kirsten’s face clouded as she surveyed the ship.

  “This wasn’t exactly what you wanted to show a potential buyer, was it?”

  She shook her head with a wry grin. “No, Captain, it surely wasn’t. Well, we knew we were going to put it on the market...” Her voice trailed off as she eyed the vandalized terminal on the bulkhead.

  I walked over to it and ran a finger down the screen. It left a trail in the grimy dust. “This break isn’t new.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “If it were, then we’d see a mark in the dirt where whatever struck it, broke it. I don’t know when the last time this thing was cleaned, but it’s been broken a while.”

  “We’ll get it taken care of, Captain.”

  “Kirsten?” I looked to make sure I had her attention. “Call me Ishmael.”

  She gave a soft laugh. “Okay, Ishmael. Let’s go see what’s in the belly of this somewhat disreputable whale.”

  “I think that was Jonah, but all right.”

  She shot me a look that was equal parts amusement and exasperation before leading the way, somewhat tentatively down the main passage into the ship.

  Jezebel’s main deck was an open plan but with relatively low overheads.

  “Cargo deck?” I asked noting the tie downs and scrubbed up bulkheads and decks.

  Kirsten nodded. “It’s a Higbee 9500. She’s rated for nine and a half metric kilotons. An engineer and captain can sail her legally anywhere in the Confederated planets so long as you’re only hauling cargo.”

  Most fast packets are small, light ships with big sails and heavy duty jump drives giving them long legs to cross very long distances quickly. They can’t carry much cargo, but are intended for low mass, high value transport.

  I eyed the cargo deck. “That’s a pretty low overhead.”

  Kirsten grimaced. “That’s one of the problems. She’s rated for nine and a half, but lacks the volume to carry it unless it’s really high density stuff.”

  “What’s under the decking?”

  “Tankage and keel generators.”

  She turned and led me up a ladder to the first deck. “Crew and passenger space here.”

  A tiny eat-in galley was on the starboard side of the landing and a closed stateroom door was to port. Another ladder, rather steep and narrow, ran up, angled forward toward the bow.

  Kristen pointed out t
he galley with a grimace. It was far from pristine, but given what I’d seen so far in the ship, I was surprised to find it wasn’t a smelly shambles. “Captain’s cabin here.” She opened the closed door and went in, flipping the wall switch . “No window, I’m afraid.” She smiled at me as we stepped into the relatively spacious and non-descript space. “The head is through there.” She pointed to a door. It was smaller than the Agamemnon, but the bunk looked inviting even if the walls were stained and faded in places where artwork had been hung. The bare mattress lacked bedding, but the mattress itself looked to be in relatively good shape.

  We went back out into the dorsal passage and she led me back, opening stateroom doors as we went and sticking our heads in. The one next to the cabin was almost as large, although it lacked its own private head. The rest were either obvious crew quarters with over-and-under bunks and lockers or small passenger staterooms—a couple with double wide bunks.

  A full airtight hatch aft opened into the engine room space that took up the full stern area of the ship. Standing at the top of the ladder, I could see that it would need a good engineer to put it right.

  “You want to inspect it now, Ishmael?”

  I shook my head. “I’m not that good an engineer. It looks like it needs a good cleaning…” I picked my hand off the ladder’s hand rail and showed her the grime I’d picked up with just that casual contact. She grimaced and lifted her own hand and looked at it with grimace of disgust. “Beyond that, I need somebody rated in these machines to tell me what I’m looking at.”

  She nodded and looked down into the gloom of the dimly lit space below.

  “I can tell you the scrubbers need some work immediately, just from the smell. I’d guess the cartridges need replacing.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I wondered. Didn’t want to say anything.” She gave me an apologetic shrug.

  We made our way forward again, dogging the hatch to engineering and closing the stateroom doors as we went. When we got back to the bow, we climbed up the steep ladder to the bridge.

  The bridge held seats for five in the tiny cupola that rested half inside the hull. Only two seats had console access. A quick survey showed helm and engineering sitting side by side, and a comfy looking captain’s chair mounted to the deck behind. The skipper could look over the shoulders of whomever happened to be manning the consoles. The bridge seemed to be in the best repair of all the spaces on the ship. The consoles weren’t ancient and the space looked a bit lived-in but cared for.