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

by Lowell, Nathan

  “Yes, Mr. Dubois. I just came off bridge watch. I’d like to know what you’re doing with my watch-stander.”

  “Oh, nothing, Captain.” He leered down at her, and I could see her grip on the pen shift. “Just being friendly towards the crew.”

  “Mr. Dubois, I’ll warn you only once. Don’t. Whatever you think it is you are doing isn’t appreciated. Not by me. Not by Ms. Arellone. If you persist, Ms. Arellone is fully capable of dealing with the problem, and she has my full authority to do so.”

  His laugh was a sort of bass titter. “Come now, Captain. There’s no need for threats.”

  “You mistake me, sir. I have made no threats. I don’t believe in them. Threats warn one’s opponent and tip one’s hand.” I locked eyes with him. “I suggest you step slowly away from Ms. Arellone, now, and return to your compartment.”

  “Or what, Captain? You’ll thrash me?” He sneered, and I couldn’t decide if he were drugged, drunk, or merely terminally stupid.

  “Me? Mr. Dubois? Hardly. I’m going to go back into my cabin, and leave you here for Ms. Arellone to deal with. She’s a bit out of practice, and could use the work out.”

  “What? This cute little bit—”

  “Mr. Dubois, Ms. Arellone is my bodyguard. No one has ever walked away from an assault on me as long as she’s been my bodyguard. Step away, Mr. Dubois. Now, if you please.”

  He looked at her in surprise, and then back at me. For few heartbeats, I thought he was going to be stupid, but he took one step back, and then another. “Okay. Okay,” he said. “I was just trying to be nice.” He sniffed and turned, walking back to his compartment with as much of his dignity as he thought he retained.

  “Thank you, Ms. Arellone. If you’d resume your watch?”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.” She nodded and went to the galley to refill her mug before clambering back up the ladder.

  I watched her go, and sighed. Every time I thought I had a handle on things, I learned that I simply didn’t understand the situation.

  In spite of my desire to sleep through breakfast, the smell of coffee and bacon drove me from my bunk. I got cleaned up and into a fresh shipsuit before putting in an appearance. I hadn’t been indiscreet before but with guests aboard I felt extra pressure to put on a good front.

  I wasn’t surprised when Mr. Dubois didn’t join the kaffeeklatsch in the galley. Ms. Maloney had adopted an open kitchen rule, and served breakfast at our normal hour but always had a little something—fruit, cheese, yogurt, pastries—and bottomless pitchers of juice available almost around the clock.

  Mr. and Mrs. Gerard joined us for breakfast, and even I noticed the glow between the two of them. Mrs. Gerard in particular seemed almost languid in her enjoyment of breakfast, and effusive in her praise of the ship.

  “Captain, I can’t tell you when we’ve enjoyed a cruise more,” she gushed. “Mark and I travel so much that we’ve become quite jaded about it, haven’t we, dear?” She patted him on his leg with an arched eyebrow and a bit of a smile.

  “To be certain, my dear. To be certain.”

  “Usually we’re crowded dreadfully, stuffed in shoe-box sized cabins, and the bunks!” She groaned dramatically. “But not here, Captain! My back hasn’t felt so good in stanyers, perhaps decades.” She smiled around the table, and patted Mr. Gerard’s leg again. “And we’re almost at the jump already?” She smiled quite delightedly pleased. “This is most expeditious, Captain. Most expeditious, isn’t it, dear?” She turned back to her husband, and stroked the inside of his thigh.

  “Very swift transit, indeed.”

  I grinned into my coffee cup, and considered Ms. Maloney’s suggestion of honeymooners as a potential market niche. I wondered if we would find ourselves hip-deep in passengers, once Mrs. Gerard started noising about on the joys of her cruise experience.

  “Do you find the view to your liking, Mrs. Gerard?” I asked.

  “That’s the thing that really sets your vessel apart, Captain. Why, it’s like we’re flying through space while snug in our bunk. It’s quite relaxing and most enjoyable.” Her voice lowered to a near purr, and she leaned closer to Mr. Gerard. “You’re enjoying it, too, aren’t you, love?”

  He smiled at her and grinned. “It’s been rather invigorating, to be sure.” He looked at me over her shoulder, and winked. “Invigorating indeed.”

  Ms. Maloney coughed once, and immediately put a napkin to her lips. “Oh, excuse me. I shouldn’t inhale coffee like that. It spoils the taste,” she said when she’d recovered.

  Mrs. Gerard turned to me again. “So, Captain? Will you be announcing when we actually jump? We’ll know at the precise moment, won’t we?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Gerard, I’ll announce it over the ship’s speakers so you’ll know.” I did my very best to keep a straight face as I added. “I’ll actually give you about half a stan warning so you’ll have time to prepare yourselves.”

  She turned to Mr. Gerard. “Half a stan should be enough time to get ready, don’t you think, dear?”

  “I think that would be perfect, yes. Certainly enough time.”

  Ms. Maloney made little clearing throat sounds, trying to expel the rest of the coffee from her lungs, no doubt, while Ms. Arellone looked around the table trying to figure out what was happening.

  Chief Bailey excused himself, and slotted his dishes. “Better get to work, scrubbers need attention, yes, they do,” he announced to no one in particular, and shambled out of the galley with a full mug of coffee hooked into his forefinger.

  Breakfast broke up shortly thereafter with Mrs. Gerard leading a rather bemused looking Mr. Gerard back to their compartment to prepare for the jump.

  Ms. Arellone giggled. “They look like a fun couple.”

  Ms. Maloney sipped her coffee and shrugged. “Pharmaceutical manufacturing has been good to the Gerards. I’ve known them since before I went away to school. They used to be rabid card players.”

  I refrained from making comments about hands by strong applications of will-power. The thought did remind me of Ms. Arellone’s run in with Mr. Dubois.

  “Ms. Maitland? Have you had any problems with our other passenger?” I kept my voice pitched low.

  She arched an eyebrow. “Problems, Captain?”

  Ms. Arellone leaned over to her. “He jumped me coming out of the galley last night. Just being friendly he claimed.”

  Ms. Maloney cocked her head at Ms. Arellone. “Are you okay?”

  Ms. Arellone shrugged. “Yeah. He startled me, got too close to me, and spilled my coffee. I should have kept a better level of awareness than I did, but aboard, it’s not something you expect, yanno?”

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing much,” Ms. Arellone said. She tossed her head in my direction. “The captain heard us in the passage outside the cabin and when he stuck his head out to see what was happening, Mr. Dubois backed down, and went back to his compartment.”

  Ms. Maloney looked at me, and then back at Ms. Arellone. “You didn’t hurt him, did you?”

  She shook her head. “Naw. I was ready to adjust his vocal chords for him, but the captain here scared him off.”

  “He hasn’t bothered you, has he Ms. Maitland?” I asked again.

  She shook her head. “No, Captain, nothing like that. He’s barely come out for meals.

  Ms. Arellone grimaced. “Well, ain’t I just special then?”

  “You’re the only female moving around in the middle of the night, Ms. Arellone. Stay on your toes. I don’t think he really believes you’re dangerous.”

  “He touches me again, he’ll find out how dangerous I am,” she promised.

  “Try not to draw blood, Ms. Arellone,” I cautioned.

  “Why? You afraid of the authorities on Greenfields?” she asked, more curious than challenging.

  “No, Ms. Arellone. It’s difficult to get out of the deck coating.”

  Ms. Maloney looked distressed. “That’s no way to treat a guest, sar.”

  “If
he starts manhandling the crew, he forfeits his guest privilege, Ms. Maitland.”

  “Captain, might I respectfully suggest that roughing up the passengers might not be the best way to promote business?” She seemed quite serious, and I sat back in my seat. Ms. Arellone stared at her slack jawed.

  “It’s not like we’re planning to mug him in his bunk, Ms. Maitland.”

  “Might I suggest loud voices before hard metal, at least?” she said. “There’s always somebody on the bridge, or in the galley, or both. A shout will carry up the ladder.”

  Ms. Arellone nodded. “She does have a point, sar.”

  “Indeed, she does. Thank you, Ms. Maitland.”

  She smiled. “You’re most welcome, Captain. Now if you’ll excuse me? I’ve got to get on with lunch prep.”

  As she stood, Ms. Arellone and I followed suit, helping to clear the table. While Ms. Arellone sought her bunk for some much deserved rest before taking the afternoon watch, I swept the galley. I had to admit, there was a certain peace in the simple tasks.

  Mr. Dubois shambled in and scowled at me, fetched a cup from the rack, and poured coffee. When he realized what I was doing, he smirked. “Found a duty that’s suited to your skills, eh, Captain? That dirt’s pretty easy to bully about, huh?”

  I smiled at him. “Good morning, Mr. Dubois.”

  I leaned on the broom, and watched him cross to the plate of pastries and pick out several, placing them on a napkin. He selected one and took a big bite out of it, chewing thoughtfully while he stood at the counter. Ms. Maloney was working at the sink, and had her back turned so she missed seeing him leer at her backside.

  I resumed sweeping, but watched him out of the corner of my eye as I swept. Periodically, he held his pastry out and tapped it with a finger, knocking crumbs onto the deck. He never took his eyes off Ms. Maloney’s backside.

  She continued to wash dishes, unaware of his regard.

  “Hey, Captain,” Mr. Dubois said after a few more bites, “there’s crumbs on the deck over here that you missed.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Dubois,” I said but made no move to attend to the small spattering of crumbs he had spread. Instead, I crossed to the far side of the galley, and began sweeping from that corner.

  Ms. Maloney turned, then, wiping her hands on a side towel, and leaning back against the sink. “Mr. Dubois? Is there something you need? Would you like an omelet?”

  He grinned and brushed down the front of his clothes with his free hand. “Naw, hon, I’m good with eatin’ sweets.” He leered at her and took another bite of the pastry.

  “All right.” She crossed to where he stood, and pulled a plate from the rack, offering it to him with a smile. “Help yourself, Mr. Dubois.”

  He took the plate and realized he had too many things to hold and couldn’t pick up his coffee cup without shifting his load. While he fumbled, Ms. Maloney disappeared into the pantry and closed the door behind her. After a few moments, I heard her rummaging around back there, moving cases of canned goods from the sound.

  Dubois finished putting pastries on his plate, picked up his mug of coffee, and seeing the target of his observation had escaped, turned to me.

  I swept without comment.

  “That your squeeze, Captain?” He asked with a knowing smirk. “Or do you do your bodyguard?”

  I stopped sweeping, and leaned on my broom. “Good day, Mr. Dubois.” I smiled with my mouth.

  He frowned at my lack of response and tried again. “Oh, I know, it’s the lad, isn’t it?” He grinned knowingly, “that’s just about right. Or maybe the old man?”

  I returned to my sweeping.

  “I’m talking to you, Captain,” he barked.

  I stopped sweeping long enough to look over at him. “Sir, you’re making rude and inappropriate sounds. You’re welcome to do so, but I’ve got a job to do. I believe I’ll do it.” I resumed sweeping.

  He made several other off-hand, not to mention off-color, comments, but when I did nothing more than sweep, he eventually stopped. His face stiffened and he went to the pot, filled his cup again, then, grabbing the plate of pastries, stormed out of the galley.

  “You did well, Captain.” Ms. Maloney stood in the pantry door, and watched as I finished sweeping.

  “Thanks, Ms. Maitland.” I shrugged. “It was nothing compared to the hazing that happens at the academy at Port Newmar. It’s been awhile since I was subject to the imaginative and provocative imprecations of my fellow cadets, but our unpleasant passenger would be considered a clumsy amateur in that company.”

  She snickered but sighed. “Well, the nice thing about duty here, Captain? The trips are short, and we’ll never see him aboard again.”

  “True, Ms. Maitland, very true. I’d still kinda like to see him walk in from the burleson limit, but that would be spiteful and vindictive.”

  “And fatal,” she pointed out. “I suspect the CPJCT frowns on captains who space their passengers.”

  I sighed dramatically. “Too true, Ms. Maitland. Too true.”

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Greenfields System:

  2373-March-2

  By the time we were four days out of Greenfields, even the generally unflappable Ms. Maloney had had enough of Malcolm Dubois. Whatever had occupied him in his compartment on the first few days underway had apparently lost its charm. He spent his days sitting at the table in the galley leering at Ms. Maloney.

  After the second full day of it—and after Ms. Maloney had a quiet talk with the Gerards—we placed the galley off-limits except for meals. That had the effect of keeping him in his compartment. Short of shackling him to his bunk, it was the best we could do. I actually considered purchasing some shackles once we docked, but decided the temptation to use them would be too great.

  “I’ve not traveled by commercial carrier that much, Ms. Maitland. Is this normal?”

  She shook her head. “In all the trips I’ve taken, this guy takes the cake.” She crossed her arms under her breasts and shuddered. “It’s not too unusual to have some Lido Deck Lothario decide to make a play, but big disturbances on a small ship are rare. I’ve never had anybody not take no for an answer, and that’s even without the bodyguard.”

  I sighed and shook my head. “I probably shouldn’t have interfered that first time. A pointed lesson from Ms. Arellone might have been embarrassing enough to keep him in his compartment.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know, Captain. It might also have yielded a lawsuit. He’s just the kind who’d sue the victim for defending herself.”

  “Can we protect ourselves from this kind of behavior in the future, do you think?” I asked. “I’m out of my depth here.”

  “If it were crew, what would you do, Captain?”

  “Keep him too busy to make trouble. An order is an order to crew. There are limits to what I can order a passenger to do.”

  She nodded slowly. “But if you have a legitimate issue of safety or security, you can give them orders, sar.”

  I pondered that. “Usually, it’s a question of the passenger’s safety, though. Order them to stay off the mess deck, out of engineering. That kind of thing.”

  “Yes, Captain, but that’s a pretty sweeping power. It involves the safety of the ship. It’s the basis for making the mess deck off-limits.”

  I looked at her. “You seem pretty well conversant in this, Ms. Maitland. Are you holding out on me?”

  She smiled and shrugged. “Holding out, Captain? Why, whatever to you mean?”

  “You’ve been studying, Ms. Maitland. Can I ask what?”

  “Steward, sar. That’s my field. I’m finding it quite fascinating.”

  “Yes, Ms. Maitland, but which level?”

  “Specialist First Class Chef, Captain.”

  I could feel my eyebrows trying to find my hairline. “That’s a big jump. Quarter share to spec-one.”

  She shrugged. “Correct me if I’m wrong but Ms. Arellone said that if I can pass the test, I’m qualified
for that or any lower position.”

  “She’s correct,” I agreed. “Can you do it?”

  She shrugged. “I think so, Captain. Except for the maritime law, almost all of it is directly out of my coursework at L’Institute des Arts Culinaires.”

  I stared in open admiration. “Ms. Maitland? If you pass it, I’ll pay it.”

  She grinned. “Thanks, the extra credits will help.”

  The way she said it, it didn’t sound like a joke. “Ms. Maitland? The extra credits will help? Are you being serious?”

  “Yes, Captain.” She shrugged. “Jarvis used his power to freeze my assets pending the outcome of my stanyer in space.”

  “How can he do that?”

  She shrugged. “My personal assets—the galleries, my apartments, my personal income—he can’t, but I’ve been living off the income from my trust fund since I turned twenty-one. The galleries just barely break even, and the cost of my various apartments comes out of my pocket.” She gave me a level look. “Luckily, I don’t have a lot of extra expenses right now, but my disposable credits are spoken for, and I can’t get anymore until my lawyers break Jarvis’s hold on my accounts or the stanyer is up.”

  “How could he get that through the board?”

  “He has enough friends there. As acting CEO, and without stockholder oversight, he’s got votes to do most anything.”

  “The weasel!”

  She shrugged. “It’s his way of helping to contribute to my failure. Even if I thought you could be bought, I’ve nothing to buy you with at the moment.” She smiled. “And, this is probably going to sound odd, Captain, but I’m just as glad. When we get to the other side, there’s nobody who’s going to be able to say I didn’t earn it.”

  “Oh, you’re earning it, Ms. Maitland. You’re most definitely earning it.”

  “Thanks, Captain. That means a lot coming from you.”

  “You’re welcome, Ms. Maitland.” I couldn’t imagine why it meant a lot, but I wasn’t going to argue with the woman.

  She checked the chrono and rose. “Time to get dinner going. Chicken cordon bleu tonight. I know April likes it, and I think Mark needs some extra protein.”