Cape Grace

by Nathan Lowell

  She sighed as he stepped up to the wheel and turned an impatient look in her direction. His pursed lips and raised eyebrows clearly said “Are you coming or what?”

  She released the bow and stern lines, gathering them as she went and tossing them into the boat. She stood by the spring line as Bobby backed down against it to start the bow swinging out before putting the boat in gear and giving the line enough slack for her to release it. Just as she stepped for the gunwale, Bobby goosed the throttle making the boat lurch. She only just barely made the adjustment and got aboard without falling into the drink. She banged her arm against the gunwale as she fell into the boat instead.

  “Hey! What the hell are you doing?” she yelled from the stern.

  He smirked at her over his shoulder. “Sorry. Throttle stuck for a sec.” He faced the bow and the boat lumbered away from the pier and into the channel heading for the bait shack and fuel dock.

  Sarah shook her head and started stowing the loose cordage to clear the deck. “Asshole.”

  * * *

  Sarah pulled the bow line out and stepped onto the dock as Bobby killed the engine, letting momentum carry the boat to the dock. She gave it a couple of wraps around the bollard and went aft to set the stern line. When she got the lines set, she pulled her stuff from the cuddy and cast Bobby a sour glance before leaving the boat for the day.

  “Silent treatment?” Bobby said. “That what this is?”

  She stopped and looked down into the cockpit.

  “Really?” he asked, shaking his head and sighing. “All right. What time tomorrow?”

  “Why? You won’t show up on time anyway,” Sarah said.

  He sighed and looked out over the bay. “Look, I’m sorry, all right?”

  “Sorry for what?” she asked, spitting the words at him, wishing they were venom. “Sorry for being late every damn day? Sorry for nearly dumping me in the drink this morning with your stuck throttle stunt? You ever think what would happen if I quit? You can’t run solo. Company rules. How old are you? Same age as me. You think I’m the only one that needs this job? Is that it? You think the company won’t kick you off planet?”

  He looked up at her, his face going a bit pale under the summer tan.

  “Didn’t think of that, did ya?”

  “I can get another crew,” Bobby said, sticking out his jaw. “There’s a dozen guys here that would jump at the chance to work with me. It’s a company boat, remember.”

  “Really? All those friends of yours that finally got berths on the draggers? They’re going to quit those? Lose their seniority and chance to move up to skipper someday?”

  Bobby’s face clouded over and folded into a dark scowl. His fists balled at the end of his arms, hammers looking for a nail. “You’re not the boss on this boat, kid. Your old man won’t protect you out there. You best keep that in mind.”

  Sarah felt a stab of fear but anger overwhelmed it. “You keep this in mind, Bobby Tatum. You pull that stunt again and I’ll report it to Comstock.”

  He sneered. “You think he’s going to believe you?”

  “Yes,” she said, but doubt sank a hook into her.

  Bobby’s posture changed and he settled back, opening his fists and rubbing the palms of his hands against his thighs. “All right, look,” he said, licking his lips. “Things got a little hot. I’m sorry.”

  “You said that before. Sorry for what?”

  He drew in a deep breath and blew it out through his nose, the passage of air audible even over the sounds of the harbor. His face relaxed into a smile. “All of it. Whatever it was that has you upset. I’m sorry.”

  “Nine o’clock,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Tomorrow. Be here at nine.”

  She watched his face start to crinkle into a frown. His hands twitched like they wanted to fist again but he nodded. “Nine o’clock.”

  “Sharp, Bobby. Straight up.”

  He nodded, his head a jerky puppet on unseen strings.

  * * *

  Sarah made the turn onto the pier and started toward the boat. She checked the time. 0855. “Five minutes, Bobby,” she said. “Five minutes.”

  At the boat she dropped her pack into the cockpit and started singling up the lines. It took only a few moments to prep the boat but by the time she had the extra mooring lines stored, Bobby had come strolling up the dock. She nodded. “Morning.”

  He nodded back. “Ready to catch a bunch of crabs?” He offered a tentative smile. A porcelain peace offering.

  “Yup. Season’s been good so far,” she said, jumping up onto the pier and pulling in the bow and stern lines. “Your buddies are doing well with the bait operation.”

  He nodded. “Glad we’re not having to pay transportation costs.” He checked the engine and pushed the starter, holding it until the engine coughed and caught. He eyed the gauge and held up two fingers.

  She pulled the spring line loose, keeping just a loop around the bollard, waiting for the engine to warm up a bit.

  He checked the console and put his hand on the throttle, giving Sarah a look and a nod.

  She nodded back and he put the boat in reverse for a few heartbeats then popped the throttle back to neutral. She slipped the spring line free as the bow swung out and the tension left the rope. After so many weeks of doing it, she didn’t even notice she’d done it until she had the lines secured and Bobby had the boat cruising into the inner harbor channel. She looked back at the pier, remembering the first time. How frightened she’d been.

  Bobby kept his eye on the channel markers, easing the throttle up as they cleared the inner harbor and slewing the boat to starboard to pick up their first buoy.

  Could she do this for the rest of her life? Putting around the harbor pulling crab pots? She caught a whiff of rock weed on the wind, and she gazed out to the headland and the long beach she called home.

  She grimaced and sighed as she pulled on her work gloves and jerked the gaff from its brackets under the gunwale. She stared at the water sliding by and leaned out to spot the buoy. For all his other flaws, she had to give Bobby his due—he could maneuver the boat even better than her father. She felt her lips press together, thinking about her father.

  Bobby glanced over at her. “You all right?”

  The question surprised her. “Yeah. Why?”

  He shrugged, stretching his neck up to look at the approaching float. “Looked like you were gettin’ ready to kill this buoy.” He shot her a grin.

  She leaned over, catching the line and pulling it aboard, taking a couple of turns around the winch and letting the motor do the heavy work.

  Bobby idled the engine and swung the stern to give her a straight line to the string of five traps.

  Sarah pushed the thoughts of her father and his constant drumbeat of “married or employed.” She sank into the routine of the traps, the rhythm of it.

  “Pull ‘em up, put ‘em down again,” Bobby said.

  She laughed a little and nodded. “Kinda peaceful.”

  Bobby nodded, the tiniest of smiles on his face. “You ready?” he asked, nodding at the string.

  “Let’s do it.”

  Bobby put the boat in gear and aimed it at some landmark she couldn’t see from the stern. When he gave her the sign, she dropped the float and first trap over the side, guiding the line and traps as they slid off the sideboard and into the drink, pulling the terminal buoy off. He gave the engine a little more throttle and headed for the next string.

  She watched him when he wasn’t looking. He seemed in his element while running the boat. The tightness around his eyes seemed less, somehow. The bitter turn of his lip lost its scorn. He looked almost like a boy, totally immersed in the moment. Totally where he wanted to be, where he belonged.

  He pulled the throttle back and she leaned over to grab the next string. If only he could find that peace ashore. His life—and probably hers—would be so much better.

  The thought shocked her so much she almost flubbe
d the pickup, but managed to pull it together and get the line on the winch before it all came apart.

  Bobby glanced at her. And she shrugged. “Wool gatherin’,” she said.

  He laughed and waved it off. “Long as you didn’t fall over. We can always make a second pass.”

  She tended to her line and the pots. The crab population seemed to be growing instead of shrinking as the season went along. The crab box filled up faster every week. Her hands and arms worked mechanically, almost free of mental intervention. Pull the line, settle the trap, pull the pinchy little buggers out and toss them in the box. Fill the bait bag. Repeat.

  In her head she heard the gulls, the water bumping against the sides of the boat. The engine’s throb masked the deeper sounds of the world, but she could pick out that slow heartbeat if she listened hard for it, like picking out a conversation in a crowded room. Eavesdropping on the planet. The thought made her smile as she leaned out to grab the next buoy.

  * * *

  Bobby secured the engine and sighed. He glanced at Sarah. “Better?” he asked.

  She finished swabbing down the cockpit and rinsed the swab in the bay. “What’s better?”

  He made a swirling motion with his hand. “Today.”

  She clipped the swab back into storage and stretched her back. “Yes. Can you do it like this every day?”

  He stuck his hands into his pockets, leaned back against the console, and stared out over the bay. “You mean can I show up on time and not be a dick?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “Showing up on time is really the key, I think.”

  He looked at her, a puzzled frown on his face. “Not all the rest?”

  She shrugged and crossed her arms. Even though the boat was no longer moving, a chill washed over her. “Once we’re in the groove, you’re really into it. You’re not trying to boss me around, tell me what to do.”

  “So what’s the big deal about being late?” he asked.

  “It’s insulting.” She shook her head and looked away from him. “You don’t care enough about my time to not waste it. You’re setting yourself up to be the bottleneck because you don’t think I matter. If you want to start later, don’t agree to start at ten but then show up half a stan late.” She waited until he looked at her. “It sets the tone for the day where you’ve already slapped me in the face and I’m supposed to ignore it knowing you’re going to do it again. And again.”

  He nodded.

  “And that stunt with the throttle. What if I’d broken my arm?”

  His lips pressed into a line and he looked at his feet. “Yeah. Sorry about that. I guess I wasn’t thinking.” He shrugged. “It won’t happen again.”

  She stared at him, wondering if she really believed it. If she could trust him to remember.

  “Today was better,” he said.

  She nodded and pulled her pack out of the cuddy. “We got off on the right foot.”

  He nodded. “What time tomorrow?”

  “Same time? That work for you?” Sarah asked.

  “See you then,” Bobby said.

  Sarah started down the pier already thinking about getting a short walk in. The tide would be full in a few hours. She might get her feet wet coming back, but the beach called to her. She smiled and picked up her pace.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  St. Cloud Orbital: September 17, 2347

  SARAH STEPPED OFF THE passenger shuttle and into a madhouse. People hurried everywhere in all directions. It seemed like everybody needed to be someplace else immediately and they weren’t afraid to push past her to get there. She stepped to the side of the arrival lounge to let the crowd thin out a little and hefted her bag to the other hand.

  Once the herd had departed, she followed the passageway marked with a green exit sign. Almost everybody had gone that way even as they had swirled and crowded around her as they streamed off the shuttle from the surface.

  Sarah walked along the passage for just a few meters before it opened up into a wide plaza. Cargo haulers zipped along marked lanes while people in a bewildering array of clothing strode along singly and in groups. The smell of floor wax and some kind of minty oil seemed to stick on the inside of her nose.

  “Sarah?” A voice beside her caught her attention. She turned to see her great-grandmother standing beside the passage she’d just left.

  “Hi.” The word just bubbled out of her without conscious thought. For a moment she couldn’t think what to call the tall slender woman waiting there.

  The woman’s face split into a wide smile. “My goodness. Look at you.” She spread her arms wide. “Give me a hug, child, and let’s get off the docks before we get run over.”

  Sarah wrapped her arms around her great-grandmother and felt an unexpected strength in the woman’s rail-thin frame. “Good to see you, Gram.”

  “I’m so glad you came up to visit. I haven’t seen you since you were a wee tyke. You probably don’t remember.” She ushered them through an unmarked door on the inside of the curving wall. The passageway on the other side felt much warmer and the door itself closed with a solid chunk.

  Sarah looked over her shoulder at the door.

  “Air tight.” Her great-grandmother looked back at the door. “It’s air tight. If the docks lose atmosphere, that door won’t open. It seals against the vacuum.”

  “Does that happen often?” Sarah asked, feeling a little frisson of fear tickle her back.

  “Nope. Hardly ever.”

  Sarah gulped but the older woman slung an arm over Sarah’s shoulders. “Don’t worry, dearie. I’ve been living up here for going on four decades. I feel safer up here than I do on the ground.” She hugged Sarah. “You’ll get used to it.”

  Sarah felt a laugh just under the surface. She smiled. “I hope so.”

  Her great-grandmother led Sarah a short way down the passage before taking a confusing series of left and right turns. After they’d traveled for just a few ticks, Sarah felt completely lost.

  “Where are we going?”

  “First my office,” her great-grandmother said. “I need to check on a shipment. Then home. It won’t take long.”

  Sarah strode along, doing her best to keep pace with the energetic older woman. “I had no idea the station was so big,” she said.

  Her great-grandmother chortled. “First, it’s an orbital. Stations are something different,” she said. “Second, it’s not as big as it feels at first. You’ll get used to it. At least I did.”

  “How do you find your way around?”

  Her great-grandmother laughed. “I’ve been here a long time. You begin to learn a few things by walking the same passages every day.”

  They bustled through a normal looking door into a tidy office space with a young clerk sitting at a console just inside the door.

  “Lette, good. You’re still here. This is my great-granddaughter Sarah. Sarah, this is Lette Beale. She keeps me honest. Most days.”

  Lette stood and shook Sarah’s hand. “Nice to meet you. Welcome to Bundles.”

  “Bundles?” Sarah asked, speaking before thinking.

  “It’s the name of the company,” Lette said. “Speaking of which. Your 1400 appointment canceled, Marta. He’s re-sked for tomorrow in your 0900 block. You’ve got six open reqs in your queue for approval. Two need to be handled before close of business.”

  “Can you bring them up?”

  Lette nodded. “Of course.” She sat and pulled up a screen, leaning to the side so Sarah’s great-grandmother could see.

  “We’ve got capacity for all of these?”

  Lette nodded again. “Yes. The only tricky one is this shipment of frozen ova. We’ve got a fast packet going in that direction in the morning, if we can get it aboard.”

  “Who’s the skipper?”

  “Peter Gold.”

  “Send him an invitation to dinner at Scotty’s on the Eight. Tonight. 1900. Make a reservation in the company name.”

  Lette’s gaze flickered to Sarah before she
asked, “Can you make it?”

  Her great-grandmother looked at Sarah and pursed her lips. “No,” she said. She looked back at Lette. “How about you? Feel like an expensive dinner with a dashing ship’s captain on the company credit?”

  “Peter’s is old enough to be my father.”

  “I’ve met your father. He didn’t seem that old to me.”

  Lette gave the older woman a sour look. “This orbital doesn’t seem that old to you.”

  The old lady grinned and waggled her eyebrows. “True, but I wouldn’t kick him out of the bunk for eatin’ crackers.”

  Sarah felt a bit out of her depth. “If you need to do a business meeting, Gramma, I’m sure I can survive for a few stans on my own.”

  “Nonsense, my dear.” Her great-grandmother looked back and forth between Lette and Sarah for a few moments. “All right. New plan. Lette, can you show Sarah around a little bit while I’m tied up with Peter?”

  Lette grinned up at Sarah. “I’m game. She’s buying.”

  Sarah shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

  “Shall I swing by the apartment at like 1800?” Lette asked.

  Marta nodded. “Thanks, Lette. You’re a dear.”

  “And you’re buying me a nice dinner,” Lette said with a cheeky grin. She gave Sarah a wave. “See you later.”

  Marta led Sarah out of the office and down the corridor to a small passenger lift. The door opened as they arrived and they took the car up four levels. “Brokers and dealers get office space on the dock level. I’m on four with some of the other permanent party.”

  “Permanent party?” Sarah asked. Visions of all-night party goers wandering the halls gave her pause.

  “We’re part of the permanent orbital staff and crew. Permanent party,” Marta said. There’s a couple of other decks but I moved into this place when I first came up back when your great-grandfather died. It was shortly after your grandmother married your grandfather. He’s a much nicer man now, your grandfather,” Marta said, pressing her hand against the palm plate by the door. “In those days, he had a stick up his ass so far it made a point on his head.” She sighed and shook her head, pushing through into the apartment. “That boxfish was the best thing that ever happened to him, far as I’m concerned.”