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

by Nathan Lowell

  “Yes, Ms. Arellone?”

  “There’s almost six liters of that white paint left. Did you have any plans for it, sar?”

  “No, Ms. Arellone. You thinking of painting one of the compartments white?”

  She shrugged. “Actually, sar, the chief and I figured we’d throw in a liter of that darker blue and give it a lighter shade than our crew quarters, and maybe paint the passage?”

  “Paint’s cheap, Ms. Arellone. Have at it.”

  “Thanks, Skipper.”

  I laughed. “My pleasure, Ms. Arellone. Any time you want to use cheap material, and your own elbow grease in support of the ship, count on me to give permission.”

  She laughed and disappeared down the ladder with a little wave.

  I shook my head and took my seat. Having my own ship wasn’t anything like I’d imagined. I wondered if we’d ever get the thing set up correctly so we could just focus on getting from here to there and back again. I suspected it would be a while before that happened. I dug back into the small craft steward endorsement, and focused on what we needed to do to get passengers aboard.

  There was a lot to it, but boiled down, it really was only common sense—things that ships needed to do to keep paying customers from dying in the Deep Dark, either from the environment or from their fellow passengers. I rapidly got beyond the level of knowledge I remembered from my messman exam, and into legalities of cartage, medical liability, and insurance coverages or—more precisely—how to word a transportation contract that kept the passengers from suing your ship out from under you in the case of a hangnail. The more I read, the less interested I was in actually bringing strangers aboard, but my rational mind pointed out that it was too late, and I needed all the revenue I could get.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Diurnia System:

  2373-January-5

  The chief assured me that the burleson drives were ready to go, but I was still nervous. The jump from here to there marked the point where we were no longer leaving someplace and started arriving. In a few moments the burleson drives would grab the warp and weft of space-time and fold it, punching a hole from here to there through contiguous faces in the fabric. The process put us a lot closer to where we might be going than we had been a tick before.

  The idea of messing with the fundamental nature of the universe with an untried drive made me a little nervous. I set jump for 1130 so everybody would be up and moving. It’s not like we could do much if it all went sour, but if we needed help, all the help we had would be at hand.

  I’d had the morning watch to make sure we were on track, in the right position, and that the math was right. I’d jumped dozens, if not hundreds of times, I’d even pressed the button myself for two stanyers while I was second mate on the Tinker. I think my real concern was that everything else in the ship was run down and needed work. I feared that the drive might be in the same condition.

  I had Ms. Arellone sit at the engineering console on the bridge, and Ms. Maloney took one of the extra seats with us. The chief had his fingers in the machinery aft, and I hoped he was right about the drive.

  At fifteen seconds to jump, I keyed the intercom. “Stand by to jump ... 10 ... 5, 4, 3, 2, 1,” and I pressed the key.

  Nothing happened.

  I stared at the boards. I looked ahead and realized with a start that, yes, there was a bright star up ahead, and then the navigational plots updated with the nearest beacon data. A glance at the engineering console showed that the drives had been online, were now offline, and that the sail generators were ready for me to raise sail.

  Shaking my head, I keyed the intercom. “Everything all right back there, Chief?”

  There was a pause. “Oh, aye, Cap. You didn’t barely scratch ’em, though. Next time maybe we oughta take a longer jump, hey? Longer jump?” His cackling cut off when he let go of the intercom.

  “Welcome to Welliver, ladies,” I said. “Seems like the ship has a little more power than we thought.”

  “Is that good, sar?” Ms. Arellone asked.

  “It means we can jump a long way, Ms. Arellone.”

  She shrugged. “That seems like a good thing to me, sar.”

  I nodded, and started punching up the plot corrections for our run into Welliver. I was slow and out of practice, but I made it eventually, and updated the helm data for the autopilot.

  “Ms. Maloney? I believe you have the watch? If you’d like to come take the hot seat, I’ll walk you through raising sails, and getting on the beam.”

  We changed the watch, and I stepped her through the simple processes required for getting underway in open space. It was basic ship-handling, but she’d only been aboard a few days, and we were lagging in our instructional efforts. Meanwhile Ms. Arellone went below to make lunch.

  When the course had stabilized under the autopilot’s direction, we sat there for a few moments, admiring the stars.

  “Any idea when we’ll get into Welliver, Captain?”

  “Late in the day on the eleventh, I think, Ms. Maloney. Just under two weeks from port to port.”

  She shook her head. “Why don’t other fast packets go this fast, Captain?”

  “I suspect they do, Ms. Maloney, or they would if they were jumping as empty as we are at the moment.”

  She frowned. “I don’t think I’ve ever taken the Ellis anywhere in less than three weeks, and more usually a month.”

  “Depends on a lot of factors, but load and sail are the two keys for a run like this. We’d have needed to sail longer if we had as much cargo mass aboard as we’re rated for.”

  “Because we couldn’t go as fast, Captain? How does that work?”

  “Well, getting the mass moving is one factor, certainly, but we need to get beyond the burleson limit so the drives can bend space. They can’t bend space that’s already deformed too much by gravity, and the ship always deforms it slightly based on its own mass. A low mass vessel doesn’t need to get out as far to get into a place where it can jump.”

  “I’m with you so far, sar.”

  “Small ships have bigger mass to sail ratios as a rule because a big ship needs big sail generators which in turn drives their total mass up. A small ship can afford a better ratio. So the smaller vessels can go faster, and don’t have to go as far to begin with.”

  “So because we’re running light, we could sail faster and jump sooner?”

  “Precisely, Ms. Maloney.”

  She laughed a little.

  “Something funny, Ms. Maloney?”

  “Normally, I hate traveling, Captain. I think that was one of the things that irked me most about this quarter share for a stanyer,” she confessed with a small smile.

  “Normally, Ms. Maloney?”

  “Yes, Captain, I travel a lot. Mostly fast packets—usually the Ellis. I resented being locked in can for weeks at a time with little to do, cut off from everything, and surrounded by people you’d like to strangle by the third day.” She looked at me and shrugged. “I thought it would be like that here. I don’t even have a private compartment and have to share a room—a tiny room at that. Looking forward to a stanyer of that?” She shuddered dramatically with a grin on her face. “But I was sitting here thinking, ‘Oh, darn, we’ll be in port soon.’ That’s when I laughed.”

  “It’s not so bad? Even with the watch-standing and the cooking?” I smiled at her. “Thanks for that, by the way. You’re not obligated to do that but it makes it easier on me.”

  “You’re welcome. I quite enjoy cooking, and no, it’s not so bad. Not only is it not bad, but having something do to, having a purpose? Having this view?” She waved her hand at the armorglass. “Do you know how rare a view out of the ship is?”

  “Yes, actually, I think I do. Except for the bridge, the Agamemnon is the only ship I’ve been on that had a view. The captain’s cabin on the tractor-class ships has a panoramic view forward.”

  “The big liners have observation decks. Mostly they’re crowded, and too bright to be
able to see well, and you have to stand. There’s no sitting and getting comfortable to read or anything.”

  “I never rode a passenger liner.”

  “They’re slow, and largely geared toward distracting the passengers so nobody realizes just how much time the trip is taking.” She shook her head. “I travel on small ships when I can. I happen to know a guy who has a fleet. He lets me...” Her face clouded. “He used to let me go wherever I wanted.”

  We sat quietly in the dimness for a few ticks, and I saw the chrono had run well past 1200.

  “Come on, Ms. Maloney. Let’s get some lunch, shall we? You can come back to your view after...”

  “I’ll be down in a tick or two, Captain, if you don’t mind I’d like to sit here for a bit.”

  I smiled at her. “It’s your watch, Ms. Maloney. Sit here all you like.” With a wave, I headed down the ladder to the galley, and hoped I’d find a sandwich or two with my name on it.

  The chief met me on the mess deck with a big grin on his face. “That’s one monster of a drive down there, Cap. A real monster, or I hain’t never seen one.”

  I poured a fresh cup, and joined Ms. Arellone and the chief at the table. “It was smooth enough. I didn’t think we’d jumped when I pushed the button, Chief. I was getting ready to call you when the nav system updates kicked in.”

  “Them drives are rated at nine, Cap. That’s under load. Runnin’ near empty like we are that’s really somethin’ like fourteen. You know how banging far we can go on a fourteen unit jump, Cap? Do ya?”

  “Greenfields or better, I’d guess, Chief.”

  “You know it, Cap. Darn right, you know it.”

  The chief subsided into his lunch leaving me to make a sandwich, and I glanced at Ms. Arellone who had a concerned look on her face.

  “Is she all right, Skipper?” Her eyes flickered toward the bridge.

  “Oh, yes, Ms. Arellone. Taking in the sights for a few ticks is all.”

  She looked dubious. “Not like her to miss a meal, sar.”

  I gave a low laugh. “Nobody will go hungry, Ms. Arellone. We always have food in the chiller.”

  She gave a kind of sideways shrug of agreement.

  “How’s the cleaning going? Will we have compartments ready for passengers?”

  “The cleanup is going well, Captain, but the fittings are a bit dated.”

  “Fittings, Ms. Arellone?”

  She shrugged. “The consoles in the compartments are rather old and slow. Many of the keyboards are dirty and the screens are scratched and small.”

  “Can we replace them, Chief?” I turned to him, and saw him nodding in agreement.

  “All the electronics are old, Cap. The main systems boards, have you looked at ’em? No, prolly not, but look at ’em. You know systems, I know you do, don’t you?”

  “I do, Chief.”

  “Take a look at ’em on watch. Up there on the bridge. Look from up there.”

  “Okay, I’ll look, Chief.” I turned back to Ms. Arellone. “What about decorating? Any ideas how to make them look like more than boxes?”

  “Without adding a lot of mass, sar?”

  “I think we have mass to burn, Ms. Arellone. Unless we load up with something heavier than lead, it’ll be almost impossible to reach our rated mass. What did you have in mind?”

  She shrugged. “I didn’t have anything in mind, sar, but we tend to overlook paintings or the like because they add mass. Might be nice to have something on the bulkheads besides paint.”

  “Does Ms. Maloney have any ideas?”

  “She does indeed, Captain.” Ms. Maloney stepped onto the mess deck, and headed for the coffee pot. “Any food left?”

  Ms. Arellone grinned at her. “Plenty. Pull up a chair. We were just talking about the passenger compartments.”

  “They’re really not bad,” Ms. Maloney replied, setting her full mug down on the table before taking her seat. “Architecturally interesting with the curved overheads. It helps them look less like jail cells. The texture on the bulkheads and the exposed structural elements give them a bit more feeling.”

  Ms. Arellone turned to Ms. Maloney. “We talked about replacing the consoles, Chris. The chief thinks there’s a bigger system problem.”

  “Ah, you, don’t cha go puttin’ words in my mouth!” The chief grinned at her. “I said the whole system needs lookin’ at by somebody who knows ’em? Didn’t I say that? I did.” He gave an emphatic nod.

  Ms. Maloney gave him a fond smile.

  Ms. Arellone shrugged, “Well, at any rate, we were talking about paintings maybe, or something for the bulkheads.”

  A thoughtful frown creased Ms. Maloney’s brow as she filled a sandwich, and dressed it with a bit of mustard. “You know what might be nice? Some kind of fiber art.” She took a bite of her sandwich, and chewed thoughtfully.

  Ms. Arellone looked at her with an eyebrow raised. “Fiber art? You mean like grasses and stuff?”

  Ms. Maloney swallowed before replying, a tiny grin tilting her lips. “Well, maybe, but I was thinking more like tapestry or perhaps less structured pieces. It doesn’t have to be a Tobias or a Frenchette, but something to break up the plane of the bulkhead, and maybe give a bit of color.”

  “Oh!” Ms. Arellone turned to me. “Captain, you had some woven hangings in the cabin on the Agamemnon, didn’t you?”

  “I brought them. They’re in my grav trunk. I haven’t had a chance to hang them. They do help dress the place up, and they cut down on the echo-y sound.”

  Ms. Arellone looked pleased. “Maybe we could borrow one and see how it looks? We’ve got three compartments cleaned and painted, if you’d like to look, sar.”

  “I would, Ms. Arellone.” I actually felt rather chagrined that I hadn’t paid that much attention on the run out. They’d been working for a couple of days, and the ship periodically smelled of the paint. “Ms. Maloney, you mentioned Tobias and ...?”

  “Frenchette, Captain. Two of the bigger names in fiber production. Andrea Tobias has a wonderful grasp of texture and structure, while William Frenchette uses bold colors in conjunction with a more sculptural style that gets away from the standard tapestry or carpet.”

  Ms. Arellone closed her eyes for one long beat and then opened them again. “You sound like a museum guide, Chris.”

  Ms. Maloney smiled, but didn’t offer any explanation. She turned to me. “I do think something on the walls—that is, bulkheads—would soften the edges, and the consoles, particularly the displays...” she didn’t finish the thought, just shook her head. “They don’t have to be as big as that one.” She nodded her head at the one on the bulkhead. “But something large enough to make it comfortable watching a video would be nice.”

  “Thank you, both. That’s good information.”

  “Do you think we’ll be taking on passengers in Welliver, Captain?” Ms. Maloney asked.

  “I don’t know. Depends on whether or not I can get my steward’s endorsement. It shouldn’t be too hard.”

  “Well, we should have the compartments ready for mattresses and linens. We might want to give the heads a freshening up.”

  “How we fixed for paint?” I asked.

  She grimaced. “Almost gone, but might be enough to do the last compartment.”

  “Well, we’ll be on Welliver in a few more days, if you come up short.” I shrugged. “I’m not sure we can get passengers at all. Maybe we should focus on getting one or two compartments ready. Start slow before we fill the ship.”

  I saw nods all around the table.

  Ms. Maloney finished her sandwich, stood, and gave a little wave. “Back to work for me.” She bussed her dirties, refilled her mug, and grabbed a cookie on the way to the ladder.

  “Good idea. Yep. Sure is,” and with that the chief did the same, ambling aft toward engineering.

  “You made it, least I can do is clean it up, Ms. Arellone, but would you like to see the hangings before I start?”

  “Let’s get this clea
red first, sar, and then I can show you what we’ve done.”

  In less than ten ticks I found myself holding the largest of the hangings against the bulkhead in compartment A. I had to admit, the idea had merit. I wondered if we could find more at the flea market at Welliver. I struggled to remember where the co-op had gotten them originally.

  While I stood there, I also had to admit that Ms. Arellone was right about the consoles. They looked very dated, and not the kind of impression I thought we needed to make on guests. Granted, Iris was a freighter, but that was no reason for the passengers and crew to be uncomfortable.

  “That looks great, don’t you think, Skipper?” Ms. Arellone was admiring it but my arms were getting tired.

  “I do, Ms. Arellone, and we need to find some more.”

  “I think this is going to work out nicely, sar. Don’t you?”

  I stepped down, and lowered my arms, letting the rug pool on the bare rack. “I do, indeed, Ms. Arellone. I do, indeed.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Welliver System:

  2373-January-10

  The chief had been right about the systems. I spent one whole mid-watch crawling through them, checking the specifications on the boards and processors, sorting through the archives, and generally trying to get a feel for the way the ship’s systems were wired.

  The ship was ten stanyers old but the systems looked much older. They reminded me more of the Lois McKendrick’s systems than the Agamemnon’s. That they worked at all stood testament to the builders. The builders had tuned the ship to work with slow speed networks and low power devices. I pondered that in my idle moments and wondered why.

  In my wanderings, I found several archives of manufacturer’s promotional materials, some old sales brochures, and the original ship’s logs. I set those all aside, routing the logs to the console in the cabin, and tucking the other material into a public archive. I needed to find a path to migration. I didn’t want to spend a week in port rebuilding the ship’s systems board by board, but I was leery about swapping out engineering control systems while underway. We really needed to replace the complete communications subsystem from the main routing processors forward, but that backbone also carried internal control communications. The more I thought about it, the more I came to believe I needed a yard, preferably the Higbee yard, to do that work.