Quarter Share attftgaotsc-1

by Nathan Lowell

  I looked around the berthing area and tried to image a beefalo rug. “I still don’t get it? Why would they be in demand?”

  “Psychology. Everybody there knows they’re actually living inside a rock. They are cold, hard, and sterile, at least in their minds. You said it yourself-cavemen in space. I’m looking for something that’ll relieve that feeling. The rugs are soft, warm, and comforting.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “Mass and expense. We can’t afford them.”

  My tablet bipped then to remind me I needed to get up to the galley. “Back to work for me. Lemme know if you have any brain flashes.”

  Pip nodded distractedly and I got on with the lunch duty.

  As usual for a port-side lunch mess, it was mostly soup and sandwiches set up buffet style. There weren’t enough people to warrant setting up a serving line. The crew drifted in and out in doubles and triples. A lot of them loaded a tray and took it back to their stations. Brill came in and we sat together while she ate her soup.

  “Thanks, again,” I said. “Last night was so much fun. And Maurice knows how to make a guest feel welcome.”

  She laughed. “Yes, he’s a dear. I met him stanyers ago.” She dunked a chunk of bread in her soup and delicately nibbled off the wet edge. “Mmm, that’s not terribly good manners, but it reminds me of home.”

  I chuckled. “No need to stand on ceremony here. We’re all family.”

  “So, how’s the trading going?”

  “Which trading?”

  She giggled a little. “You got more than one?”

  I nodded. “There’s the Pip and Ish pool. He’s trying to show me how this works. So far, I’m mostly just holding his coat and watching from the sidelines.”

  She nodded sympathetically.

  “Then there’s the ship’s stores deals.”

  “Yeah, I heard about those. All the extra supplies on the dock attracted a bit of attention in Darbat and that pallet of Sarabanda Dark waiting outside looks very interesting.”

  “Oh, good. It’s here then?”

  She nodded.

  “Then there’s the empty container problem.”

  “The what?”

  “It’s kind of a long story but the gist of it is that Mr. Maxwell assigned Pip an exercise in cargo trading by asking him to put together a manifest for the Gugara to Margary run to fill a hypothetical empty container. They’ve run the exercise with several permutations and the latest is a fixed budget starting point of ten kilocreds and he’s looking for the maximum return on that budget.”

  “Sounds like an interesting story. Is there a punch line?”

  “Lois’ manifest list one empty container on the run to Margary.” I offered the comment in what I hoped was a suitably offhanded manner.

  Brill blinked for a tick. “Oh my.”

  “Indeed.”

  Her tablet bipped and she stood. “Time to get back to work. Gregor and I are swapping the sludge pools today. Wanna come help?”

  “I would, but I’m on duty here.”

  She laughed. “Yeah, I can see where that would be a problem. You’re so busy here in port.” She cast a pointed gaze around the practically empty mess deck.

  “Actually, I’d really like to come down and see how it really works. It was in the engineman exam but I’ve only got the theory, ya know?”

  She nodded. “That’ll change soon enough. Let me leave you with two words of advice for when you have to do sludge yourself…”

  I looked up, interested.

  “Mint soap.”

  We laughed and went about our respective duties.

  While I was straightening up after lunch, Pip came slouching in and settled on the portable. He was frowning in concentration and seemed upset about something. “Problems?”

  He shook his head. “Not really. I just cannot get a handle on a cargo for you and me. The stores trades for Margary are in good shape, although I still have some money and mass available on the empty container problem.”

  “Is it still empty?”

  He nodded. “This looks like a dry run to me. No changes to manifest have been filed.”

  “That’s kind of a relief, isn’t it?”

  He nodded distractedly. “Yeah.” He didn’t offer any more than that on the subject.

  I served him a bowl of soup from the kettle before recycling the rest and threw a couple chunks of bread on the plate.

  “Coffee?” he asked, distractedly.

  “Anything else, sir?”

  He shook his head and laughed at himself. “I’m sorry. I get so wrapped up, I forget.”

  I sat the mug beside his food and laughed with him. “It’s okay. I was going that way.”

  I finished my clean up and went for a run. I was the only one in the gym, and the sauna was empty too. As much as I liked the crew, having the place all to myself was strangely satisfying. I hadn’t realized how tense I was until I started noticing an odd sensation at dinner with Brill, Diane, and Francis. It had continued throughout the day. Sitting in the sauna, feeling the long muscles in my back and legs begin to unwind, I finally recognized it. I was relaxed and it felt good.

  Next day, Pip had the duty, but I felt a bit left out when Rhon Scham came down to wake him. So I got up and tagged along. The breakfast set up in the galley was probably my favorite time of the day. Everything was clean and fresh and the smells of coffee, yeast, bacon, and eggs hooked to something inside me that I couldn’t really describe. The smell of coffee always said morning to me. Growing up, we’d not had a tradition of bacon and eggs in my house, but I could see myself getting used to it.

  I kibitzed while Cookie and Pip played with omelets and I let Pip practice on me. Somehow I thought Cookie had taught him how to do them long ago, but apparently that was a mistaken assumption on my part. The omelet was good, filled with cheese and meat and thin slices of onion.

  After I ate, Cookie frowned at me. “Are you going to spend your whole liberty here in the galley?”

  I shook my head. “No, I’m heading out to do some sightseeing, but I’m feeling lazy and I’m in no hurry.”

  He smiled. “Young Ishmael, you are anything but lazy. You’ve earned your break. Go take it.” Then he grinned. “Pip can make the coffee today.”

  We all had a laugh at that and I headed down to berthing to put on my civvies. As I was leaving the ship, I met up with Beverly at the lock.

  “Hey, bunkie. Where you heading?”

  She grinned at me. “I’m going shopping. You?”

  I shrugged. “Dunno. Sightseeing mostly. My first time on an orbital other than Neris. I went out with some of the environmental crew for dinner last night but I thought I’d go for a stroll today.”

  She gave me a well, come on gesture. “I’m heading up to level nine to the flea market. Come with me.” She lowered her voice a tad. “After Darbat, I’m not too keen on just wandering around alone, you know?”

  She surprised me. Bev is about a meter and three quarters of menace. She keeps her hair cropped like most of us, but unlike other women aboard, hers was cut in a military crew cut and not one of the more feminine styles. She sported tattoos on most of her body and had piercings that made me wince just looking at them. In her shipsuit, she looked dangerous enough, but in her civvies: black leather pants and jacket, heavy boots and what looked like a pullover made of aluminum plates-I thought only an idiot would mess with her.

  It wasn’t all show either. In the gym I’d seen her working through some martial art drills and sparring with the crew. She even moved like she was dangerous, very smooth, aware, and centered. It was funny she wanted me, eighty kilos of coward, to watch her back. Go figure. They say there’s safety in numbers and I felt safe with her.

  “Sure, I’ve never been to the flea market.”

  As we left the ship she turned to me. “Never? There’s a flea on every orbital.”

  “I always visited the Neris Orbital with my mother and she was more focused on the mainstream
shops and the cube-sellers. It was a treat for us to go up to visit and we didn’t do it that often. When we did, we spent a lot of time just gawking. She kinda looked down on the flea market.”

  Bev shrugged. “Everybody’s allowed their own opinion, but if you’re gonna be a trader, the flea market is your best friend.”

  “Really?” I was surprised. Pip had never mentioned the flea market. “Why?”

  “You’ll see,” She just grinned, which was kind of a scary thing, but I forced myself to remember this was the woman who slept under me every night. I’m not sure that thought helped.

  We didn’t take the scenic route up through the various levels. Bev led me straight to the lift and we took it all the way up to level nine. When we stepped off the lift, I found myself in a maelstrom of sound and color. Almost the whole deck was one big open bay. It was carved up into aisles and each one was lined with stalls where people were buying and selling. The booths consisted of everything from prefab units with pseudo-walls and glazed displays, to a couple with stack upon stack of storage cubes, to a few people who had simply spread blankets on the deck and laid out hand crafted jewelry or clothing items. Ship and orbital time was almost in sync here, and even at this early hour the place was crawling with people. I was glad to be with Beverly. A space seemed to open before her as she moved through the throngs. I saw other people being jostled periodically, but nobody bumped into Beverly and I rode happily in her bubble. If the Neris flea market was like this, I can see why my mother, fifty kilos and barely a meter and a quarter, would want to avoid it. I wasn’t sure I’d want to come here alone.

  Beverly happily wandered up one aisle and down another, occasionally exchanging words and sometimes good-natured insults with the vendors. I marveled at the array of goods and just tried to keep up. Clothing seemed to be a popular item. I saw obviously handcrafted garments that had been created from whole cloth, as it were, to obviously purchased articles embellished with punch work, or embroidery and even rivets. Beverly spent some time looking over a red leather jacket with an elaborate dragon outlined in what appeared to be black steel rivets across the back. The thing was stunning on her, but she put it back on the rack and we left.

  “Nice work, but the red draws attention I don’t want, and the rivets were stuck on with mastic, not punched through the fabric.”

  “You think the red draws attention?” I suppressed a certain level of amusement.

  She nodded matter-of-factly as she sifted through a display of quilted, silk dresses.

  “And the aluminum pullover and black leather doesn’t?”

  She grinned. “Well, yeah, probably, but when people see me in red, they think I’m…well, someone I’m not. When I’m in black, they leave me alone.” She looked a little embarrassed, so I didn’t push it.

  At the next booth, I saw some of the beefalo rugs and robes that Pip had been talking about. The robes were nice and the rugs were quite soft. The short fur felt lush against my hand, but when I hefted one of the robes, I understood Pip’s comment about the mass. It must have weighed ten kilos. The rugs were heavier.

  Bev raised an eyebrow as she saw me examining the goods.

  “Pip thought these might do well on Margary. Soft and warm in a cold, hard world.”

  She nodded. “Maybe yes, maybe no. Mass is the problem though, right?”

  “Yup.”

  We continued our perambulations and at the next turn, a wizened, old woman sat behind a heavy bench and worked the most amazing patterns into a piece of leather. Bev and I stood, along with several others, spellbound as she pierced, punched, pounded, and laced the lovely natural brown material. Her gnarled fingers moved with amazing speed and grace. In what seemed like only a few minutes, she lifted the leather from her work bench and displayed the finished belt to the crowd’s appreciative applause before hanging it carefully on a long rack with several dozen others. She fished under the bench and brought out another length of supple, creamy brown strap. The scent of it cut through even the smell of the crowd. I was drawn to the rack of belts and began fingering through them.

  Beverly stood close beside me and admired them as well. “This is spectacular work,” she spoke softly. She took one from the rack and flexed it several times. “And this leather is amazing.”

  The lady behind the bench noticed us but didn’t interrupt.

  Beverly turned to her. “How much?”

  The woman flickered a glance in our direction and smiled. “Are you serious, dearie, or just curious?” She spoke without looking up and I thought she had a pleasant lilt in her voice.

  “Serious.”

  “Twenty creds each, fifty for three,” the old woman said, working a spider web pattern into the surface of the new leather on her bench.

  Bev grunted. “Interesting but not that interesting.” She paused for about five heartbeats before making a counter offer. “Hundred creds for ten?”

  The old woman grinned. “Child, my husband would beat me if I took so little. You cannot ask that of a frail old woman such as myself. But perhaps I could sell you seven…” She continued smoothly working the leather.

  “Eight,” Beverly answered after a single heartbeat.

  “Sold,” the woman replied as she put the finishing touches on the spider web. She finally looked up and gave a brief nod in my direction. “Your boy toy can have the same deal if he likes,” she added, obviously talking to Bev and not me.

  I blushed. Bev smirked. “How about it, Ish? Want to buy a new belt?”

  In the end, Bev and I bought eight belts each. They were exquisite and weighed less than a kilo total.

  As we left the booth, I murmured to Beverly, “I hope Pip wasn’t counting on that mass.”

  She glanced my way. “You and Pip are working together?”

  “He’s trying to show me the ropes, but after Darbat, he’s starting from scratch again.”

  “You mean along with the empty container and the ship’s stores dealing, right?” She grinned at me.

  “I know roughly what he’s doing there, but this kind of thing…” I waved my hand around at the flea market, “is more what I thought the idea of private trading would be like.”

  She nodded, turning her head to scan the flea market. “Some of it. Pip seems to have good connections and he does his homework. I’m more spur of the moment. I’m also full share so I have more mass to spend and I can afford to carry stuff a bit before I unload it. Lemme know if you get into a bind, Ishmael. I can buy these from you if you need to recover the creds. The half-kilo isn’t going to matter much in the long run, though.”

  “Thanks, that makes me feel a little better.”

  “No problem.” She grinned, chucking me playfully under the chin. “Besides, I need to look out for my boy toy.”

  We continued our tour around the flea market, but we didn’t buy anything else. Beverly spent most of her time looking at various crafted items like clothing, jewelry, and leather goods. She had me try on a leather coat that was to die for. It was a rich dark brown, smooth and supple, lined with black silk. It fastened with polished, stainless steel buckles that clipped together cleverly in a kind of loop and toggle arrangement. It fit like it was custom made for me.

  Unfortunately, it also cost twice what I had and weighed almost three full kilos.

  Bev shrugged. “Costs nothing to look. You’ll be full share soon and you won’t be worried about mass so much.”

  Eventually, we both got hungry, thirsty, and tired, so we sauntered down to a little bistro on level eight that catered to the flea market trade. They had some hearty sandwiches of thinly sliced and sautéed beefalo, onions, peppers and cheese on crusty rolls. We each got one and I couldn’t resist sampling the coffee. Beverly bought a beer and we rested our tired feet for almost a whole stan before heading to the ship.

  When we got back to berthing, I changed into a fresh shipsuit and hung the belts in my locker along with my civvies. Beverly stowed her purchases as well but went out with some of th
e bridge crew for what I suspected would be more of a pub-crawl than a shopping jaunt. I went up to the galley to see what was happening.

  Cookie and Pip were stowing the buckets of Sarabanda Dark and I walked in just in time to help them lock down the last load. I whistled at the quantity. “That’s a lot of coffee.”

  He wiped the sweat off his face with a towel. “You have no idea.”

  Cookie consulted his tablet. “That’s the last of our trade stores.” He looked up smiling. “These should be very useful.”

  Pip looked it over and shook his head. “I hope so. If this doesn’t work we’re going to be drinking a lot of Sarabanda.” He turned to me. “How was liberty?”

  “Fun. I went shopping.”

  Cookie looked up. “Shopping? For what?”

  “Well, nothing, really. I ran into Bev at the lock and she dragged me up to the flea market on level nine. We’ve been up there all day wandering from stall to stall.”

  “Bev? Our Big Bad Beverly goes to the flea market?”

  “Hey, she’s a good person to go with. Nobody messed with us.”

  Cookie chuckled. “I can see where Ms. Arith would be able to provide a security buffer.”

  “She dickers pretty well, too. At least I think it was good. I can’t haggle for squat.”

  Pip looked interested. “What’d she buy?”

  “Belts. Beautiful leather belts. I got some, too.”

  “Belts?”

  I nodded. “There was this little old lady working them on a bench right there in the flea market. She had a big rack of them. She was asking twenty creds each, or three for fifty. Bev got her down to a hundred creds for eight.”

  Pip nodded appreciatively. “Not bad. Twelve and a half each, but that’s a lot of cred for a belt.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe, but they are gorgeous.”

  Cookie broke in, “We’re done here. Why don’t you take your break?”

  I took him down to my locker and took out the bundle of belts. I spread them out on my bunk so Pip could get a good look. He picked up each one, examining it, front and back, and running the lengths through his hands. He flexed them and even smelled them.