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

by Nathan Lowell

  She laughed and waved. In a tick we heard the lock cycling as she left the ship.

  Ms. Maloney stood. “That’s my cue, Captain. I don’t know how you’re managing to do it, but after last night I can barely keep my eyes open.”

  I laughed softly. “I’m only doing it by the force of will, Ms. Maloney. Sharpened by a sense of desperation.”

  She smiled at me. “Good hunting, Captain.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Maloney.”

  I sat back in my chair. Sitting there poised over the button was only going to put me to sleep if I didn’t do something, soon.

  While I watched, I tried to think of the things I’d forgotten. One of the problems with using my tablet to display the query was that I couldn’t use it for other things. I needed to keep it keyed to the query screen, and keep it refreshing. I wondered if the problem was the refresh rate, and I changed it to a bare minimum. I wasn’t sure if it would make any difference, but I saved the change and watched the screen.

  The longer I sat there the more demoralized I felt. Intellectually, I knew that sometimes it took a couple of days to find a good cargo. Back during the cargo picking contests on the Agamemnon, we’d sometimes try and fail dozens of times before we snagged a good load. Of course we had days in which to search. Even at the shortest, we’d looked for several stans before the right cargoes had come our way. I glanced at the chrono, and realized I’d been at it less than a stan.

  Unfortunately, Ms. Maloney was right. I was exhausted and I had a difficult time keeping my eyes focused on the screen in front of me. The longer I sat there, the more convinced I was that I just needed to put it down and get some sleep. I could, after all, keep an eye on it during dinner, and in the evening, if I could grab a couple of hours sleep.

  I sighed and gave up the search, reaching forward to kill the query just as a three hundred cubic meter load with a fifteen day priority to Welliver dropped on the top of the list. Instead of canceling the query, my finger went to “book”. For ten agonizing seconds I waited until the screen came back showing that I had booked the load.

  I smiled, killed the link with the screen, and unloaded the available cargoes database. All the while, I couldn’t help but think it would have worked a lot better with the screen linked to a real console.

  I dragged myself up and across the passageway to the cabin, and dropped onto my bunk. I was too tired to care that I still wore my shipsuit.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Diurnia Orbital:

  2372-December-29

  The smell of bacon woke me, and I sat up with a start, horrified that I’d slept through the night. My sense of duty stabbed me until I saw the chrono, and realized it was only 1730.

  I levered myself out of the bunk. After a brief foray into the head to splash some cold water on my face, I stumbled onto the mess deck to find Ms. Maloney at the stovetop—a skillet on the burner and a pair of tongs in one hand. She looked up and smiled when she saw me.

  “Hello, Captain. You got a nap?”

  I nodded, still a bit muzzy. “Yes, thank you, Ms. Maloney, I did. I also got us a small cargo, just before I passed out.”

  She waved the tongs at the stove and said, “I hope you don’t mind, sar. I wasn’t sure if you’d be getting up.”

  “Not at all, Ms. Maloney. I applaud your initiative. Anytime you want to cook, please, help yourself.”

  “Thank you, Captain. I wasn’t really sure if this was off-limits or not.”

  I drew a mug of coffee, and sipped to clear some of the muck out of my mouth. “We’re running a bit more haphazardly than I’d like, Ms. Maloney. Not only are we starting with a ship that’s been mostly stripped of anything not nailed down, we have no base of standing orders, a very small crew, and a deadline.”

  “From my seat, it looks like you’re doing pretty well for a company that didn’t exist two weeks ago, Captain.” She flipped the bacon. “On the strength of some promised prize money and your dashing good looks, you raised nearly forty million credits, purchased a ship, and founded a shipping line.” She shrugged and smiled at me. “That seems like pretty good progress to me.”

  “When you put it that way, Ms. Maloney...”

  “How else can you put it, Captain?”

  “Well, I credit Kirsten Kingsley for being the architect.”

  Ms. Maloney pursed her lips and shook her head. “Instigator, perhaps. A key player, certainly.” She shook her head again. “No, although I’d go along with William Simpson as architect.”

  I thought about how he brought the pieces together, and had all the paperwork lined up for me. “I can see that. Any idea why?”

  “I’d finger Veronica Dalmati for that, Captain. She’s been chairman of the board longer than I’ve been alive. She’s also taken Kirsten Kingsley under her wing as an unofficial protégée, I think. Rumor is that William Simpson is her main squeeze these days.”

  “So, when your father died, Kirsten went to Ms. Dalmati, and between them they hatched up this scheme to set me up in business so that I’d be able to hire you as a quarter share?”

  Ms. Maloney frowned into the skillet for a few heartbeats, fiddling with the rashers of bacon with the tongs. She nodded slowly. “Possibly. Kirsten would have known about the will.” She looked over at me. “And Roni certainly would have. The orderly transfer of power falls directly under her thumb.”

  I looked at her curiously, suddenly hit with an odd thought.

  “What is it, Captain?” She eyed me with a crooked grin.

  “Sorry, Ms. Maloney.” I shrugged in apology and tried to clear my expression. “I was just trying to place you in this. My understanding is that you’re not really part of the company.”

  “Correct. Papa kept me out of the business, for the most part. I have to think that, had I been a son, he’d have had me out there working the docks as soon as I could walk.”

  “Why didn’t he?”

  “Mother, perhaps. She had some rather silly ideas. Not silly. How do I put this? Arcane? Dated? Stupid?” She grinned at me. “You get the idea. She thought that ladies—and that’s what rich women are, don’t ya know. Ladies?—so ladies don’t work on the docks, or anywhere else for that matter. Trés gauche. Trés nouveau. Just wasn’t done.”

  “That’s unfortunate.”

  She gave a little side-to-side dance of her head. “Maybe yes. Maybe no. Certainly I got a different education than a son would have gotten. I think that the die was cast before he realized I wouldn’t have a brother.”

  She pulled the bacon out of the skillet, and laid it on a wire while she tossed a handful of slivered onion into the pan drippings, filling the mess deck with the heavenly aroma.

  “By the time I was ten, I was already on a path of boarding schools and private academies. I spent most of my youth someplace other than Diurnia. By the time I got back here around ’62 or ’63, Papa didn’t know what to do with me, but having me hanging around the office wasn’t something that appealed to either of us.” She grabbed the handle on the skillet, and shook and flipped the onions, keeping everything—including the hot drippings—inside. She reduced the heat a bit, scraped a cutting board full of diced potatoes into the onions and gave the pan another little shake to settle them.

  “So, why the codicil?”

  She grinned. “He never said, but I think it was a thumb in Mother’s eye. He added it right after she split with Genji. I don’t really know what he was thinking, but he set it up as a kind of rite of passage, maybe.”

  I considered that. “Makes a certain amount of sense. If you stepped into the CEO’s shoes without any credibility on the docks, that could be rough.”

  “And being a woman?” She asked it flatly without a lot of heat behind it.

  “Actually, I don’t think that would matter that much. A good number of the captains are women. Many of the engineering officers are women. The chairman of the board is a woman.” I shook my head. “No, I think you characterized it pretty well when you said your m
other’s ideas were dated.”

  She cast me a side-eyed glance.

  I shrugged. “Okay, for some of them, it might be an issue, but I still think the credibility is a bigger problem. It’s hard to trust somebody you don’t know, and what little they do know about you is from the society pages and gossip sheets.”

  She shook the pan again, and threw a pinch of salt on top followed by a generous grind of black pepper. The aroma drove me crazy.

  “How much did you know about me, Captain?”

  “I didn’t even know you existed. Ms. Arellone recognized your name—”

  “And my face apparently,” she said.

  I laughed. “That, too. How’re you two getting along?”

  Ms. Maloney chuckled a little. “She’s a bit...intense, I guess is the word.”

  “Oh, yes. She is that.”

  “She was a bit hesitant at first, but I think she’s decided I’m neither a threat nor a snoot. I’m not exactly her idea of big sister material, and I think she’s a little off kilter because of the discrepancy between age and rank.” She shrugged. “I think, if we can get beyond the initial ice breaking stages, we’re going to have a lot of fun.” She turned a wicked grin in my direction.

  The look filled me with trepidation.

  “How long has Chief Bailey been your bodyguard?”

  She smiled. “Five or six stanyers now.”

  “Is he any good at it?”

  She shrugged. “I’m still here. Never been mugged. Had a few run-ins with folks that thought a young woman and her gramps would be easy marks, but they always left with more respect for their elders.”

  She flipped the potatoes again, and put a lid on the pan. “How is he as engineer?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “He seems to know his stuff all right. A bit distracted at times, and he tested me a little in the beginning, but we’ve reached an understanding, I think.”

  “What gave him away?”

  “You.”

  She looked surprised. “Me, Captain? How did I give him away?”

  “You came without a bodyguard. I don’t understand it, but that seems to be the moral equivalent of going out without your pants around here.”

  She shrugged. “Shipowners, business people. Anybody with a lot of money? They’re targets. Corporate ransom is a game to some of the companies, and just because we’re on Diurnia, doesn’t mean we’re immune.” She nodded her head at me. “You’re a target, too, and the news about the Chernyakova is going to make it worse.” She paused. “How did my coming without a bodyguard give him away?”

  “It didn’t seem right. Not only didn’t you come with one, you didn’t ask for one. Even while we were discussing security. I figured you must, therefore, have one. The only other person aboard is Chief Bailey.”

  “Impeccable logic, Captain.”

  “Thanks. He gave it away at Over Easy the other morning during the blow up with the picture. He was far too into his situational awareness to really be the kind of bumbling, old fogey engineer he pretends.”

  “Oh, he’s not pretending, Captain. Trust me. He really is a bumbling, old fogey engineer.” She smiled to take the sting out of the criticism. “But he’s a dear, and he’s very street smart. He makes up for a lack of speed and strength with stamina and treachery.”

  I snickered. “I think I know the type. You might be able to run away from him but you can’t run far enough.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Will he be joining us for dinner? I’ve been here a quarter stan now, and he hasn’t made a coffee run.”

  She grinned at me. “You’ve got only yourself to blame for that, Captain. You serve a darn fine cup in your establishment.”

  She pulled the lid off the skillet, and crumbled the now cool bacon onto the top. A few quick flips of her wrist and a half dozen eggs lay on top of the potato, onion, and bacon mixture. She slipped it into the broiler next to the stove top and left the door cracked a bit.

  “I told him I’d stay aboard. He took advantage of the opportunity to go out for a pint or three. He’ll be back later tonight.”

  “You look like you’ve done this before, Ms. Maloney.” I nodded at the broiler.

  She smiled at me and peeked back into the broiler. “A few.” She pulled the door open, and, using a side towel as pot holder, snagged the skillet out of the heat and tossed some crumbled bleu cheese on top. I couldn’t help but notice how nicely the eggs had set up but hadn’t yet cooked through. She thrust it back under the heat and closed the door almost shut again. She saw me watching and arched an eyebrow. “Don’t you have another cargo to find, Captain?” She smiled, and I noticed that the corners of her eyes crinkled just a little bit.

  “Oh, yes!” I felt my face flush. I’d completely forgotten it. A tick later and the cargo query, refined for cargoes under five tons and restricted to those bound for Welliver, ranked down the screen.

  I sat with my eyes glued to the screen while she rummaged about in the galley. I had to admit that she seemed perfectly at home there. She wasn’t the woman I had expected after our brief introduction at dinner. As much as I hated to, I had to admit that my preconceived notion colored my impressions—and I’d done her a disservice.

  Behind me, I could hear her working but I didn’t dare take my eyes of the screen or my finger off the button. There were a few cargoes that might be suitable to fill the hole in the cargo deck, but I was still hoping for something with a little more profit behind it. Without passengers, I’d need as much edge as I could get to cover the cost of the run.

  In relatively short order, she placed a hot pad on the center of the table, and topped it with the skillet. She put a small bowl of salad beside it and added a measuring cup with dressing. She slipped a plate and some flatware onto the table at my elbow, and I saw her seat herself beside me where she could watch the screen.

  “May I serve you, Captain?” I glanced over, and she had a serving spoon ready to dish out some of the broiled eggs, bacon, and potatoes.

  “Please, Ms. Maloney. That would be most helpful.”

  “Any idea how you’re going to eat like that, Captain?” There was a suspicion of humor in her voice.

  “Not a clue,” I admitted just as a three-ton cargo with a near-term priority popped to the top of the list. I snapped the book command, and waited while the system worked. I’d missed.

  I shrugged and kept my eye on the screen but my attention on dinner. It was delicious. She’d sprinkled a bit of basil across the top of the finished dish and the salad made a deliciously chilled counterpoint to the rich, smoky flavor of the bacon laced potatoes.

  In between bites, I placed a hand on the book button while I chewed. Conversation, understandably, lagged.

  “Will it matter whose finger is on the button, Captain?” she asked after a few ticks.

  “No, Ms. Maloney, why?”

  “I can do it, if you want to finish your dinner.”

  I glanced over at the teasing tone, and realized that her plate was clean while mine looked stirred about but barely eaten. I snickered, and placed my tablet between us where she could reach it easily.

  “Use the arrow to select and press that button to book it. I’ll let you know which ones.”

  I picked up a fork and began doing some serious damage to dinner while my eyes stayed glued to the screen. I had to keep looking down to fill the fork and on one of these instances, I looked back up to find a very high value cargo right at the top of the list—four hundred cubic meters massing eight hundred metric tons with a high priority rating. Before I could react, the screen went dark. When it came back, the cargo displayed our tag.

  “Thank you, Ms. Maloney.” I turned to look at her. “I couldn’t speak fast enough.”

  “I saw it come up, and had it selected, Captain. When you opened your mouth, that was the only really viable cargo up there.” She shrugged. “I hit it.”

  “You did well.” I took the tablet and shut it off. “That’s about half our hold capa
city and nothing close to our mass limit. It should be a fast trip.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Diurnia Orbital:

  2372-December-30

  When the grav trucks arrived with the cargo, I began to appreciate why the ship had a reputation for being difficult to fill to full capacity. I had hoped to pick up half our rated mass, but with around 1200 cubic meters of cargo space, I realized it would take a cargo of gold, or perhaps uranium, to fill it. As it was, the grav trucks wheeled up with what looked like a mountain of two meter cargo cubes. The cargo wranglers began stacking them in the hold with dazzling efficiency.

  The cubes had indents and dimples that let them lock together and the cargo hold was precisely tall enough to allow the handlers to stack two of the big cubes one on top of another. I had them stack the higher density load against the outside bulkheads, and the lighter density one just inside, leaving the corridor down the middle that opened into engineering.

  It took the crew a bit more than a stan to wheel it in, stack it up, and lock it down. I told their crew chief how I wanted it done, and then stood back. With the ladder lowered out of the way for them, the four loaders looked more like twelve as they performed an intricate choreography.

  When they left, I went through and checked the tie-downs, making sure the cubes were locked to the deck. The heavy cubes filled most of the cargo hold, leaving only five meters of open space in the forward end. The lighter cubes stacked in a single height row just in front of the heavier ones, giving me a relatively even distribution of mass down the length of the ship as well as side to side. I supposed I would get used to planning the load distributions for this hold eventually. What I’d do with single cubes or short shipments, I had no idea.

  I also realized I needed to get passengers into the ship soon. While these cargoes had nice priorities, the total revenue for seven hundred metric tons wouldn’t yield much share value.

  Ms. Arellone watched the process from the upper deck, and came down the ladder as soon as I put it back in place. She surveyed the load out and smiled. “Are we really rated for nine and a half metric kilotons, Skipper?”