Double Share: Solar Clipper Trader Tales

by Nathan Lowell

  Burnside stood right beside me but he wasn’t looking at me. The pain in the hand he’d driven against the wall was claiming the lion’s share of his attention. He bit down on the noise and pulled his hand back to his chest, trying to protect it. Behind me I heard Mosler and Apones crawling out from under the desk and heading in my direction. They gained their feet and Apones had a look on his face that said several bad words without actually uttering a sound.

  They rushed me, the pair of them. I thought for a heartbeat that they’d bind up in the narrow door, but Mosler hung back just enough to put his shoulder behind Apones and give him that little extra momentum. It was like watching a freight train coming straight at me. I knew it was gonna hurt like hell when they hit.

  Tai chi is like that, though. The basic idea is that it’s difficult for an opponent to hurt you if you don’t stand still for the blow. I shifted my weight to my back leg and let my torso pivot around as the two burly crewmen exploded out of my stateroom. I felt Apones’s lowered shoulder just slide across my upper body as I turned, the full mass and momentum of the two heavy bodies sailing by me and into the stationary figure of Burnside. They collided with his broken hand, driving it into his own sternum, before pushing him backward across the passageway where he slammed against the bulkhead hard enough to rattle the ship. I heard sounds from Fredi’s and Mel’s staterooms and, in the only really conscious decision I’d made in the previous tick, I stepped back into my own stateroom and closed the door even before the tangle of groaning men slid to the deck.

  All I heard outside was quiet curses and groans, and once, something that sounded like a slap.

  My tablet bipped and I retrieved it from the shelf above my bunk.

  It was a note from Mel. You okay? it asked.

  I sent back, So far.

  Anything I can do? came back once more.

  Not tonight, I replied. Let’s talk tomorrow.

  I heard the commotion in the passageway getting sorted out and I braced myself against the door. They didn’t try another run, and I heard them scuffling down toward Burnside’s stateroom and the sound of a closing door. I let out the breath I’d been holding since stepping back into the room and seriously considered how I was going to secure the door against future attacks.

  Burnside had the key codes to every door on the ship. I could change my code, but his access gave him the tools he needed to get in anytime he wanted. What I needed was a mechanical lock, or something to block the door. None of the furniture moved, everything was either bolted or hinged to the bulkheads. My eyes kept dancing from the desk to the chair to the bunk trying to figure out how to solve this problem.

  I leaned up against my grav pallet and eyed the distance to the door, wondering if I could do something with the mattress from my bunk. I contemplated if there was a way to situate it so that the door would bind against the mattress if anybody came into my room. It seemed a bit of a stretch. I sighed when the answer came to me. There are days—and apparently nights—when I shouldn’t be allowed out alone.

  I leaned back, keyed the release on my grav pallet and maneuvered it out of the storage cubby. Sliding it over to block the door with a hundred kilograms of clothes and other artifacts, I made sure my toes were out of the way before I let the pallet settle to the deck. It wasn’t flush against the frame, but instead would allow the door to open about two centimeters.

  That looked about as secure as I could make it. The door wouldn’t open through my trunk, and trying would make a racket.

  Satisfied, I crawled back into my bunk and hoped I’d be able to get back to sleep.

  I shouldn’t have worried.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  BREAKALL SYSTEM

  2358-NOVEMBER-7

  My tablet woke me in time for watch and I felt surprisingly refreshed. Nothing like a little violence in the middle of the night to get your blood flowing. I headed for the shower, and the water felt good. I was grateful that I still had skin to feel it on. I did have one bruise on my hip although I don’t remember where I got that, probably when I fell on the deck.

  I got into a fresh shipsuit and eased the grav pallet back to the alcove. I locked it down and locked it closed. He may be able to get into the room, but he was going to have to work hard if he wanted my stuff. Somewhat gingerly, I cracked open the stateroom door and peeked out into the passage. There was one smear of something that could have been blood, down near the deck about where Mosler would have landed—face first, no doubt.

  The coast seemed clear so I moved out, secured the door, and headed to the mess deck to get a cup of coffee to take to the bridge. I knew that Karen would be bringing coffee with breakfast, but that was almost a stan away and I wasn’t about to wait.

  When I got back to the bridge, I found all of second section gaping at me as I came up over the ladder. I checked my zippers ostentatiously and looked over my shoulder to see if there was anybody behind me. There wasn’t. I was about ten ticks early to relieve the watch.

  “Mr. Wang?” Arletta said, “A moment, if you please?” She nodded to the bridge wing.

  “You’re not gonna hit me, are you?” I asked with a small smile.

  “I will if you don’t tell me what happened last night, and I mean now, mister!” she said it fiercely and I was almost afraid.

  It was quite a performance.

  “Burnside sent the Bumble Brothers to rough me up last night,” I said flatly with my back to the bridge. I wasn’t sure how far the story had spread yet.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, her brow furrowing in concern and her eyes scanning me for damage.

  I shrugged and sipped my coffee. “I got a bruise on my hip, right about there,” I said pointing to the approximate location.

  She looked confused.

  “I rolled off my bunk, and I think I hit their feet. Other than that, they never came close.”

  I gave her the quick outline, ending with using my grav pallet to block the door.

  “They could have come through the head,” she said.

  “Yeah,” I agreed, “but they had quite a lot to think about last night. David has a broken left hand, and probably a cracked rib or two. Those boys were traveling fast and the bulkhead is hard. One of them lost some blood from planting his nose, and it wouldn’t surprise me to find out that at least one of them has a black eye. I’ll talk to Mel today and see if there’s some kind of deadbolt arrangement I can use on my side of the head. If they come through the door, that’s one thing. But I’d like to prevent them from opening it first.”

  We stood there looking at each other.

  “This is really messed up,” she said finally.

  “Ya think?”

  “What can we do about it?” she asked.

  “Relieve the watch so you can get breakfast, and let Mel know I’m really okay. She heard the crashing and sent me a message on the tablet.”

  “Ishmael, we heard the clamor up here. I sent Ulla down to look, but by the time she got there, there was nothing to see.”

  “Well, that’s a relief. The last thing they needed was a witness. I’m going to be interested to hear what story they come up with.”

  “Story for what?” Arletta asked.

  “Well, David’s going to show up for breakfast in a cast. It’s going to be difficult to hide,” I noted.

  “You mean it? He broke his hand? That wasn’t a figure of speech?”

  “Well maybe only a few fingers, but yeah I think some of the small bones as well.” I shrugged. “I could be wrong, but his fist was right beside my ear when it hit. It sounded nasty. The bulkheads are rather hard and somewhat unyielding. Mosler smashed the back of his head on my desk when he fell, and I suspect it was him that bloodied his nose when they bounced David off the bulkhead. You can see the blood on the plates just above the deck when you go down.”

  “What about Apones?” she asked.

  “He was sandwiched between David and Mosler when the bulkhead stopped them. A lot will depend
on how much cushion he got from David’s body. For that matter, David may have a broken rib or two as well as the hand. It just won’t be obvious.”

  Juliett came up the ladder then and I saw the relief in her face when she saw me standing there.

  “Well, shall we do this thing we call watch?” I asked Arletta.

  “The ship is on course and target. Loud noises in the passageway last night, but investigation turned up nothing significant. You may relieve the watch.”

  “You logged it?” I asked incredulously.

  “What else could I do? I wasn’t sure what was happening, but I know it happened less than a stan after I took the watch.”

  “I have the watch, Ms. Novea. Logged on 2358-September-2, at 05:45 per standing order.”

  Juliett and Betts swapped places at the helm, and if she patted him on the butt in passing, I didn’t see it, although I did approve. Mr. Betts went up a couple of notches in my estimation.

  I sat down at the watch console and sipped coffee and reviewed the sparse notes that Arletta had posted. It wasn’t very specific, but it did establish the time and place. I shrugged mentally.

  Juliett was waiting patiently for me to finish my review but I could tell she was about ready to burst.

  “Ms. Jaxton? Is everything all right?” I asked. “You seem a bit jumpy this morning.”

  “Very fine, sar, I was just concerned. There were stories…”

  “Stories, Ms. Jaxton? I thought we’d established that gossip mongering was Ms. D’Heng’s job?”

  “Indeed we have, sar, and far be it from me to even try to step into her very capable shoes. Still, even amateurs hear things.”

  “Things, Ms. Jaxton? Could you be more specific? Is there going to be rain this afternoon? Should we man the bilge pumps?”

  She chuckled. “Well, sar. Mr. Burnside is locked in the auto-doc. It won’t let him out.”

  “Locked?” I asked.

  “Yes, sar, apparently he had some kind of accident last night and when he went to sick bay and got into the auto-doc, it latched down and is still treating him.”

  “That seems extreme, Ms. Jaxton,” I said. “Does anybody know what kind of damage he’s being treated for?”

  “According to Mr. Apones, he has a broken hand, three broken ribs, and a concussion.”

  “A concussion?” I couldn’t help but ask, but as soon as I did, I knew how it happened. Those bulkheads are hard and with Apones and Mosler slamming into your chest, the whiplash would have been pretty painful.

  “Yes, sar, apparently he bumped his head on something.”

  “That would follow,” I agreed. I wondered if we’d be watch-and-watch for the ride into Breakall. On the other hand, having nobody in the chair would probably improve the safety and security of the ship from what I’d seen of his watch standing habits.

  “Is anybody saying how all this damage came about?” I asked after a few heartbeats.

  “No, sar, although a few people thought they heard something just after the midwatch changed. Some kind of loud crash in Officers’ Country.”

  “Perhaps he fell out of bed,” I suggested.

  “Onto Apones and Mosler, sar?”

  I blinked as I caught up. “Why? What’s wrong with them?”

  “Mosler has a broken nose, and Apones has a strained shoulder and a black eye.”

  “What a dangerous night it was,” I said.

  “Yes, sar, apparently so,” she agreed.

  “I’m glad I was safe in my stateroom and out of harm’s way.”

  “Yes, sar, I am too.” After a moment she added, “And, sar?”

  “Yes, Ms. Jaxton?”

  “Keep practicing, sar. You’re getting better, but still not quite there.”

  “Thank you for the critique, Ms. Jaxton. I’ll take it under advisement.”

  “Yes, sar. You’re very welcome, sar,” she said with a perfectly straight face and not even a hint of a giggle in her voice. It was masterful. Really.

  A few ticks later, Ms. Cramer came up the ladder looking in my direction like she wasn’t sure what she was going to see. I was pleased to see she look relieved.

  “Here you go, sar,” she said, walking up to the console and placing my dinner tray on the customary corner.

  “Thank you, Ms. Cramer, it looks as delicious as ever.”

  She headed down over the ladder and must have passed Charlotte coming up.

  “You two aren’t mongering in my absence are you?” she asked brightly when she got to the bridge.

  “Not at all, Ms. D’Heng,” I assured her. “We were just comparing notes in preparation for your arrival.”

  I settled down to my breakfast while they traded the helm off and Juliett went below.

  “So, what fresh news have you this morning, Ms. D’Heng?” I asked.

  “Well, sar, there are rumors—and I stress that they are only rumors—that Mr. Burnside will be in the auto-doc for the rest of the day.”

  “The rest of the day? Isn’t that rather extreme?”

  “He took a blow to the chest, sar, that seems to have broken three ribs and cracked two others. You may be aware, sar, that lungs and heart are located behind the ribs?”

  “I had heard something to that effect, yes, Ms. D’Heng, from relatively reliable sources.”

  “Yes, sar, I try not to put too much stock in unconfirmed reports, as you know,” she assured me.

  “Very good policy to have, Ms. D’Heng.”

  “Thank you, sar. Very nice of you to say so.”

  “Ms. D’Heng? We’ll likely be in Diurnia in about nine days…” I prompted.

  “Oh, yes, sar, well, the auto-doc has him latched in and sedated. It won’t release him until it’s stabilized his ribs and made sure he’s not going to stab himself from the inside.”

  “And the concussion?”

  “Oh, sar? Has that story made it up here already?” she turned to me, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Are you certain you two weren’t…you know…telling stories?”

  “Well, the subject might have come up, but I assure you that it was inadvertent.”

  She looked unconvinced but proceeded. “Yes, he has a concussion and a rather large contusion on the back of his head, but that’s a relatively minor issue.”

  “Relatively,” I repeated.

  “Compared to the ribs, yes, sar.”

  “I see. And in any of these rumors are there any suggestions as to what may have been the cause?” I asked.

  “Oh, yes, sar. According to Mr. Apones, he tripped.”

  “Mr. Apones tripped?” I asked.

  “No, sar, Mr. Burnside tripped.”

  “And fell on his…head?”

  “Oh, no, sar,” she smiled as if I were being quite funny. “On his side. That’s how he broke his ribs.”

  “And the contusion on the back of his head? How did that occur?”

  “Mr. Apones hasn’t offered any explanation for that, sar.”

  “Has anyone else?” I asked.

  “Well, there are rumors, sar.”

  “Yes, I’m sure,” I said, after a moment, I added, “And his broken hand?”

  “Mr. Apones has a broken hand, sar?”

  “No, Mr. Burnside’s broken hand.”

  She looked at me aghast, her eyes wide in surprise. “He has a broken hand?”

  “It was just a rumor, Ms. D’Heng.”

  “You should be more careful, sar. There are a lot of amateurs around. They spread all kinds of tales.”

  “Thank you for that reminder, Ms. D’Heng. That will teach me to listen to amateurs,” I assured her as graciously as I could.

  She sniffed in dismissal. “I should hope so. Why there’s one story making the rounds that Burnside let Apones and Mosler into your stateroom at about 00:45 this morning, in order to pound some sense into you, and get you out of their way. But instead of pounding you senseless, you managed to give them the slip and got out into the passageway in your skivvies. When Burnside found y
ou, he took a swing and broke his left hand on the bulkhead when you ducked, and then was steamrollered by his own thugs when you stepped out of their way. They slammed him across from your stateroom, which is how he got his ribcage smashed in and that nasty bonk on the back of the head.”

  I practically choked on my coffee and mentally kicked myself for drinking while Ms. D’Heng was speaking.

  “Of course, that’s just a rumor, sar. There isn’t one shred of evidence to support it.” She assured me.

  “Rather a detailed rumor,” I said.

  “Oh, you know how people like to embroider stories, sar.”

  “And you’re sure there’s no evidence?” I asked, thinking I’d tripped her up.

  “Quite sure, yes, sar. It’s just a rumor.”

  “I see,” I said quietly.

  “Oh, sar?” she asked after a moment. “Did you know there was some kind of red smudge on the bulkhead across from your stateroom?”

  “I think I saw something there this morning on my way to relieve the watch, yes,” I said. “Why?”

  “Oh, well, if you saw it why didn’t you clean it up?” she asked crossly. “Aren’t you always after us to keep the ship neat and clean?”

  “I suppose I should have,” I said, “but I was in a hurry to get to the bridge.”

  “I understand, sar. It’s okay,” she said, her face crinkling into a smile. “I cleaned it.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  DIURNIA SYSTEM

  2358-NOVEMBER-7

  About 09:45 Mel, followed by Arletta and Fredi, came onto the bridge. I gave Charlotte the nod and she discretely excused herself, while the rest of us gathered in the bridge wing.

  Mel looked at me with an expression that was more curiosity than concern. “Well, you’ve probably heard we have a little problem.”

  “He’s locked in the auto-doc?” I asked.

  Fredi’s grin was almost indecent. “Yes, and if I’m reading the diagnostic protocols correctly,” she said, “he’s going to be in there for a while until the quik-knit deals with his ribs.”