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

by Nathan Lowell

  “That kind of windfall?” He continued, frowning in thought. “Without doing anything, you’ll lose a quarter of it to taxes. You can invest it in ways that will cut that liability—generally by investing in the CPJCT.” He shrugged .“They make the rules, we just have to figure out how to use them to our advantage.”

  “Okay, what can I do if I just pay the taxes on it?”

  He pursed his lips and shook his head. “You won’t pay that much tax. We’ll see to that. The question is what do you want to do?”

  “I really don’t know. This is moving pretty quickly.”

  “Retire to the country? Buy a yacht? Pay off your school loans? Talk to me.”

  “I’m thinking of going indie and starting my own line.”

  “What? Buy a freighter?”

  I nodded.

  His frown deepened. “That’s why I said, for an individual it’s huge. You’re talking about starting a company with it? That’s different.”

  “Why?”

  “Price a few ships, Captain. You’ll see the problem. These vessels are expensive.” He shrugged. “There’s a reason the Chernakova will fetch a good price, but it’s going to be a fragment of what a new ship would cost.”

  “What about a fast packet?”

  He shrugged. “They’re smaller and slightly cheaper, but they’re still expensive and chancy to run.”

  “Chancy?”

  “Smaller ships, smaller cargoes, less flexibility.” He shrugged. “All the cargoes need to be relatively low mass, high value, and you’re competing on speed of delivery because the big, utility haulers will be competing on price.”

  He made good sense. “You’ve obviously been around the orbital a couple of times, Mr. Larks.”

  “A few,” he said with his low rumbling chuckle. “A few.”

  “So, what’s your recommendation, Mr. Larks?”

  He grimaced and shook his head. “First, you need to figure out what you want, Captain.”

  I left that statement lying on the coffee table, and nodded for him to continue.

  “If you’re serious about sailing about the galaxy, then think about maybe buying a yacht, something in the one ton range. You can pick one of those up with a modest down payment, and I can probably set you up with investment income that will pay your loan down while you loaf around the Western Annex. Do a little trading here and there. Follow your nose.” He let that settle a bit while I considered.

  After a few heartbeats I asked, “How much do I need to go indie with a real ship?”

  He frowned but I could see his wheels turning so I didn’t rush him. Eventually, he sighed and pulled his nose between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand. “Ten million will get you a leverage on a loan for maybe forty more. If you use the money to promote the idea, gain some venture capital backers...” he shrugged, “...you maybe could raise enough.”

  “How much is enough?”

  “Probably a hundred million to start. The problem with a loan is you have to cover the payments. On a hundred million? That’s a lot of freight. With venture capital, you only need to deal with keeping them happy. Usually, something like five or ten percent per annum.”

  “How does that help?”

  “With the right backers, you don’t need to start paying back until the contract says. Might be a stanyer, maybe two, maybe five. Depends on the backers and the contract.”

  I could feel my excitement fading. “But what you’re saying is this settlement is enough to retire on, but not do anything with.”

  He shook his head. “Not at all. That would be a good stake for, say, a trade broker. Somebody with a nose for cargo and value could make a good living brokering cargo around the sector.”

  It hadn’t occurred to me to go into a different business. I tried it on for size in my mind.

  While I was thinking, he continued. “It’s more than enough to open a restaurant. You could open a store. You’d be surprised how well import/exporters do here at a hub like Diurnia.”

  I nodded. “Those are interesting ideas and I’ll need to think about them.”

  “Don’t underestimate the value of retirement, Captain. You’d never have to work another day in your life with that much cushion. We can set you up with a very secure package that would generate upwards of three or four hundred thousand a year in income for you. How much house could you get with that kind of backing?”

  “You tell me, Mr. Larks.”

  He held out his hands and looked around the cabin. “A heck of a lot more than this, Captain.” He nodded at the armorglass port. “With a much nicer view than that.”

  I turned my head to follow his gaze and had to agree that the scuffed and stained metal skin of the orbital wasn’t the most attractive of views. I turned back to him. “Thank you, Mr. Larks. You’ve given me a lot to think about, but it’s all moot until the auction closes and the credits show up here.”

  He gave me a small nod. “Agreed, but it’s never too early to start planning, Captain, although I don’t envy you the decision.” He drained his mug and placed it gently on the table with a thoughtful expression. “With coffee like that? You might consider opening a shop.”

  “Thanks.” I grinned back and walked him back down to the lock.

  Before he left, we traded contact data and I thanked him again before closing the lock behind him.

  Mr. Hill looked at me oddly as I turned to head down the passage back into the ship.

  “Comments, Mr. Hill?”

  “It doesn’t look like he helped much, Skipper.”

  I turned to look at the closed lock, as if I could see through it to his retreating back. “Actually, I think he did, Mr. Hill.”

  “Really, Captain?”

  I pursed my lips in consideration. “He showed me some limits, Mr. Hill. It’s always good to know the boundary conditions.”

  He looked at me uncertainly, as if he weren’t sure what I’d just said. “If you say so, Skipper.”

  I smiled at him. “Carry on, Mr. Hill.”

  He settled back to his console as I headed back to the cabin to retrieve the tray for Mr. Avery. When I entered, the scarred, silvery metal reminded me that the view that Richard Larks saw wasn’t the one I usually had. I stood there for a moment, admiring the close up look at the side of the orbital and thinking about what it was that Geoff Maloney thought I could teach his daughter. I didn’t come to any conclusions about what I would do, but I was pretty sure I knew what I wouldn’t be doing. With a grin, I collected the used coffee tray and headed back down to the galley.

  Chapter Six

  Diurnia Orbital:

  2372-December-18

  “How sure are you, Skipper?” His question came just as we finished clean up after the lunch mess.

  “About what, Avery?”

  “About Gwen passing this time.”

  I sighed and shrugged. “Ms. Kingsley seemed pretty sure.”

  He frowned. “I didn’t think these things could be rigged.”

  I blinked at him .“What do you mean rigged?”

  “Well, you know. Established in advance.”

  “Do you think it is?”

  “Don’t you, Captain?” He looked at me with an odd, almost haunted, expression. “I mean how can she be sure unless Geoff Maloney pulled a string and that string has a master’s license tied to it?”

  I thought about it, and it wasn’t for the first time. “Well, I’m trying to keep an open mind here. Remember there are three captains involved and the findings are reported in summary, not in detail. Any strings that got pulled may have only been tied to the process, not the outcome.”

  His eyebrows beetled in confusion. “What would be the point of that?”

  “Boards generally take a while to convene, from what I know of the process. There’s a certain amount of serendipity involved that governs who sits on which board.”

  “Luck of the draw kind of thing?” he asked.

  “Exactly. So, if all Maloney did was pull
in a favor to reschedule the examination, that’s still going to leave the findings up to the captains involved. I’d think anything more would run the risk of getting the board’s collective hackles up. That would work against him in terms of getting his desired outcome.”

  I could see him processing that notion and waited. After a dozen heartbeats he nodded slowly. “Okay, I guess I can see that.”

  “The other thing to remember is where Gwen was a stanyer ago. Frustrated, bitter...”

  “Loud,” he added with a grin.

  I snorted a short laugh. “Yeah, loud, too, but remember that episode with the bacon grease?”

  Avery’s hand went to his eyebrows, which had grown back relatively quickly. “Oh, yes.”

  “Can you imagine the difference now? What do you think she’d do if it were to happen today?”

  He looked thoughtful as he considered it. “Point taken.”

  I shrugged. “If they did indeed manage to reconvene her last board—and we have no real guarantee that they did—think of how that difference will appear to them.”

  He nodded slowly. “It’s pretty dramatic.” He smiled at me. “You changed her life, you know, Captain.”

  I smiled back .“I think you’ve done as much, if not more than I have, Avery.”

  He actually blushed.

  “Now, go get some sleep.” I eyed the chrono.“She’ll be back in a few stans and you’ll want to be awake. I’ll get the dinner mess going.”

  With a small wave of his hand, he headed for the ladder. “Plan on seven for dinner. Mr. Pall stopped by earlier and said he’d be dining out tonight.”

  “Seven for dinner, aye aye.”

  He grinned and disappeared around the corner, leaving me sitting at the table in the empty mess deck with two stans before I needed to start dinner. I fetched myself another cup of coffee and the console’s keyboard. The events of the previous day had left me dizzy with the combination of peril and possibility. I submerged myself in the pool of mundane routine, and didn’t come up for air until Mr. Hill sauntered onto the mess deck with an empty cup in his hand.

  “A little preoccupied, Skipper?” He smiled as he crossed to the coffee urns.

  “Just clearing the red tape.” I flexed my back and twisted my torso left and right to stretch out the muscles before I tried to stand up. “How’re things out there?”

  “Quiet.” He glanced at the chrono. “The chief went ashore right after lunch mess, and Mr. Pall about half a stan ago. Other than that, nothing interesting.” He sipped his fresh mug. “Nothing at all, in fact.”

  A yawn caught me and stretched my jaw and he grinned at me. “Am I keeping you up, sar?”

  I chuckled. “Yes, Mr. Hill. I didn’t get my morning nap today.”

  He paused for a heartbeat before asking, “Too much to think about?” His voice carried a hint of levity but he eyes were serious.

  I took my own mug to the urn for a refill .“At the moment, too many questions and not enough answers.” There was only about half a cup left in the urn and I set the mug aside to make some more.

  Mr. Hill stepped aside with a mumbled, “Oh, sorry about that, Skipper. I didn’t realize I’d taken the last cup...”

  “Not a problem, Mr. Hill.” As I went about brewing a new pot, he watched without making a move to go back to his watch station.

  With a glance at the door, he asked, “So what are you going to do, Captain?”

  I gave him a look out of the corner of my eyes and considered the question. “I don’t really know yet, Mr. Hill. Too many questions and not enough answers at the moment.” I pressed the button to kick the water flow into the ground beans and leaned back against the counter. “There’s a good deal of speculation about just how much money the Chernyakova will fetch and that’s the governing factor.” As I said those words, I realized it didn’t ring true and amended it. “Well, one of the governing factors.”

  “What are the others, Skipper? If you don’t mind my asking.”

  I gave a little shrug. “Well, what DST does to me and with me is certainly a factor.”

  “They seem to like you well enough, Captain.”

  “True enough, Mr. Hill, but they seem to think I’m not going to want to keep working for them after this windfall.”

  “Will you, sar?”

  “What? Keep working for them?”

  “No, sar. Want to.”

  I considered it for a few heartbeats before answering. “It’s too soon to say, but that decision isn’t really in my hands. If Ames Jarvis puts me ashore, I’m off the ship.”

  “Can he, sar? Put you ashore?”

  “Under normal circumstances, probably not, but with the management shake up, and the retiring of part of their fleet, DST gets a lot of flexibility. With a major change like the death of the majority stockholder and CEO, the board of directors can do a lot that they wouldn’t be able to do otherwise.”

  I couldn’t help but remember my first berth right out of the academy and the difficulty Maloney had with getting rid of a bad captain. I knew my own contract included a clause citing business necessity as just cause for beaching a captain, a clause missing from Leon Rossett’s but which had become standard ever since.

  Mr. Hill looked into his mug and I could see him working up to the real question. “You think Ms. Thomas is going to get the Agamemnon, sar?”

  “Yes, Mr. Hill, I do, but a lot will depend on what she does tomorrow.”

  He swirled the coffee around in his mug a bit but didn’t answer. Finally he shrugged and shuffled off the mess deck without saying anything else.

  I sighed as he went. He didn’t seem particularly pleased at the prospect, but then, he wasn’t happy when Arellone joined the crew either. Maybe he was just one of those people who didn’t like change.

  With the urn full, I grabbed a fresh cup and checked the chrono. There was still a bit of time before I needed to start dinner so I settled back at the keyboard and pulled up the “ships for sale” section of the StationNet classified ads. Larks had been right about one thing. Starting out too far in debt would be a bad move and as much as it sounded like a lot, ten million didn’t go very far in commercial space.

  Cargo hauling was profitable. If it weren’t, nobody would be able to do it, but I’d learned back on the Lois McKendrick that the key to profit is diversification and quantity. The more you could haul of different cargoes, the better off you were. Items with larger profits subsidized the less profitable and the risk of hauling any given cargo got spread across the range of goods shipped. Smaller ships didn’t leave much room for diversification or quantity.

  There were some other ships for sale at Diurnia. I didn’t see a listing for the Jezebel, but there was a two metric ton yacht with an amazing list of amenities including a movie theatre, hot tub, sauna, and cabins for four. The ship itself had decent sail specs for a small ship, but the burleson drive was underpowered for any kind of distance, and the fusactors seemed too small to keep the lights on, let alone spooling up the keel generators.

  There were a couple of used Damien Eights, and a rare Unwin Six. The Damiens had nice cabin space, some reasonably sized holds, and enough legs to get almost anywhere in the Western Annex in a few weeks. The Damiens had asking prices just under two hundred. The Unwin was almost as high, and the oversized sail generators meant run times would be blindingly fast, justifying the relatively small price differential against the smaller mass rating.

  I rested my elbows on the table and cupped my hands in front of my face resting chin on palms and wondering what it was I kept missing. The Carstairs clan all sailed fast packets and did very well. I wondered how they did it.

  On a whim I pulled up the other side and looked for priority cargoes. From experience with the Agamemnon, I knew about the priority cans, but had never really looked at the kinds of cargoes a small, fast ship might carry. I had to admit it looked very doable. I did some rough calculations on operating costs and realized that some of the cargoes available
at Diurnia would make a nice profit if they could be delivered in under four weeks, orbital to orbital. Risky, if the jumps went bad, but I looked out a little further in time and found some more reasonable cargoes. With the right ship, a small crew, and a little luck, life in a fast packet could work out nicely.

  The only problem was getting the ship. I had a feeling, I was missing something there as well.

  The chrono clicked over and reminded me I’d have almost a full crew for dinner mess so I cleared the screen and stowed the keyboard. That would have to wait until I had more time to think.

  Chapter Seven

  Diurnia Orbital:

  2372-December-18

  Ms. Thomas returned looking like she’d been dragged through a half meter pipe. When she stumbled onto the mess deck, looking slightly bewildered and even a bit disheveled, I confess to being a bit taken aback.

  “Are you all right, Ms. Thomas?”

  She nodded, a glimmer of triumph in her eyes behind the exhaustion. She made her way to the table and collapsed in her normal seat. “Just tired, Captain.”

  I took her a cup of coffee and she accepted it with a nod of thanks. I caught her looking at the chrono and frowned. “Did you have lunch, Ms. Thomas?”

  “I grabbed a quick bite, but it wasn’t enough and I ran out of time.”

  I tsk’ed at her and pulled a couple of sandwiches out of the ready cooler. “Dinner mess isn’t for another half stan or so, but this should hold you over until we can get some hot food into you.”

  A lot of people really don’t understand the absolute need that heavy worlders have for calories. Her body was maybe a third denser than the average human, a by-product of generations of living on a high gravity world. The extra load kept her metabolism cranked all the way up, and required her to eat. We’d had a couple of people from heavy worlds on the Lois and we always made sure they got enough.

  “I know, Skipper, but there was a crowd and I couldn’t get served quickly at lunch. I only had an hour before I had to get back for the afternoon session.”

  “How do you think you did?”