Milk Run (Smuggler's Tales From The Golden Age Of The Solar Clipper Book 1) (18 page)

Natalya found Zoya in her stateroom. “What’s the uniform of the day? Do you know?”

“Apparently it’s that god-awful musical-theater maroon and gold.” Zoya pulled a set of undress khakis from her trunk. “I’m going with this and hoping I don’t get blinded by the splendor that is the amazingly horrible Maroon Avenger.”

“Since I don’t have a set of maroon shipsuits, I’ll have to go with undress khakis, too.” Natalya paused at the door to the head. “You know this is madness, right?”

“Which part?” Zoya asked, looking up from her trunk. “The part where we’re getting underway without enough crew? Or the part that we’re going to try to sneak this ship into a Confederation port?”

“The part where at least some of the officers are only playing the part of actual skilled officers and don’t really understand what’s happening.”

“Wait. The officers? I had my doubts about the crew but the officers? Do any of them know what they’re doing?”

“I don’t really know. I’m pretty sure the skipper is on the up and up. At least was at one point. He misses it so he puts on the captain’s hat once a stanyer.”

“He seems nice enough, if a bit grumpy.” She sighed and looked up at the overhead. “I’m not sure about Albee. He seems like he has something of a handle on it, but other than barking about the backups, he didn’t seem overly concerned with basic things like food and fuel for the trip.”

“I checked the tankage. We’ve got enough fuel, water, and air. They’re topped off. I’m running a high-level diagnostic on the Burlesons overnight. I’ll know in the morning if they’re more likely to bend space or break the ship.”

“That would be good to know,” Zoya said. “I thought there was a chief engineer.”

“We have someone in a chief engineer’s uniform who is flat-out enjoying the role of chief engineer but who is quite delighted to have an actual engineering officer aboard for this trip.”

Zoya’s jaw dropped.

“Yes. Chief Pritchard isn’t actually an engineering officer. Mr. Albee isn’t actually a first mate. They’re just playing the roles.”

“How did you find this out?”

“I had a short chat with Captain Trask and another with an environmental expert wearing a spec-one disguise.”

“What the—?”

“This is apparently their normal mode of operation. The second mate is apparently a good guy who actually knows astronavigation and can plot a course. You’re the third mate and you’re more qualified than the first.”

“What’re you going to do in engineering?”

“I’ve already usurped control of engineering systems. Which reminds me. I need you to give Mr. Pritchard guest access to ShipNet so he can get messages and use the entertainment system.”

“You what?” Zoya’s eyes practically bugged out of their sockets.

“He had full system access to the operational controls for the entire ship. He had everything in the engine room along with personnel jackets. He even had access to the helm and bridge controls.”

Zoya lowered herself to her bunk and stared at the deck. “Mercy Maude.”

Natalya watched her for a few ticks. “If it’s any consolation, most of the crew apparently knows what they’re doing.”

Zoya chuckled. “That would explain Helms’s apparent disrespect for everybody in a management role. Why are they doing this?”

“No idea. Something to do with the smuggling operation maybe?”

“You’d think they’d want the ship to get there and back again all in one piece.”

Natalya nodded. “I was thinking about that. In reality? What’s the downside for Kondur and company if the ship doesn’t make it?”

“What do you mean, downside? He’s out a ship and crew.”

“The ship, maybe. Crew?” Natalya sighed. “Honestly, I’m not sure he’s too concerned about losing this crew. Might be he’s done this before and lost ships. Are these the only people desperate enough to take the trip?”

“I don’t know that I’m that desperate,” Zoya said.

Natalya sat on the bunk beside her. “I am.”

Zoya turned her head to stare.

“I am,” Natalya said again. “I need to get the
Peregrine
repaired and this trip can make it happen.”

“We have to make it back first.”

Natalya glanced at Zoya out of the corners of her eyes. “I was thinking about that.”

“Thinking what? I’m thinking we need to grab our trunks and run.” Zoya’s face had grown pale.

“Assuming the ship is in reasonable repair, what are the chances we won’t make it back?”

“Given the state of the crew? What makes you think it’s in reasonable repair?”

“The engine room doesn’t show any sign of neglect. The systems records looked adequate if not top shelf. You remember that summer cruise from hell?”

“Yeah. Bunk bunnies and crap food.”

“That engine room was a shambles. In retrospect I’m surprised the orbital allowed it to dock, let alone the academy approving it for summer cruise.”

“What’s your point?”

“Barbells are pretty forgiving. Redundant systems. Solid navigation. Over-engineered environmentals. There’s a reason they’re called bricks. Beyond the shape.”

Zoya pursed her lips and her gaze focused elsewhere. “Having one can makes for fewer moving parts and adds a huge amount of stability.”

“She’s got kickers and massive sail generators. You can take a Barbell anywhere.”

“What are you saying?” Zoya asked.

“I’m saying we can do this.”

Zoya caught her bottom lip between her teeth and squinted at Natalya. “Seriously? You’re suggesting we set sail in this deathtrap?”

“That’s the thing,” Natalya said, turning to face Zoya. “The ship looks like it’s actually decent. The crew? Maybe not so much. If we can keep them from killing us, the ship should make it.”

“You’re out of your mind.”

“You’ve known that for at least a couple of weeks now.”

“We’d be violating I don’t know how many regs.”

Natalya grinned. “Not out here, we’re not. When we get to Siren? Yeah. Regs will be the last things we’re going to worry about.”

Zoya’s head shook back and forth. “No, I suppose not getting arrested on a trumped-up murder charge will matter more.”

“Or not getting caught with an illegal can of ore.”

Zoya snorted. “I suppose, on balance, having fewer than the regulation numbers of crew in appropriate ratings falls a bit short on that score.”

“You’ll do it?” Natalya asked. “I can’t ask you to but we’ve come this far.”

Zoya kept shaking her head. “This is nuts.”

“Yeah.”

“Can you run the engine room? You’re only a boot third. We only graduated—what? Two weeks ago? It’s an awful lot to bite off.”

Natalya took a deep breath and asked herself the same question. “I don’t know. I’ve been running the
Peregrine
for stanyers now. Same principles.”

“Other than the sails and keel.”

“True, but the Burlesons are the same. Just bigger. Kickers are kickers.
Peregrine’s
are actually oversized for a small ship. Environmental is plug-and-play on
Peregrine
, but we’ve got an honest-to-Maude environmental expert to keep us out of trouble there.” Natalya hated to admit it to herself but the idea of running the entire engineering department on the ship gave her more of a thrill than it should have.

“We’ll each get fifty thousand if we succeed,” Zoya said. “Won’t be able to spend it if we fail.” She looked Natalya in the eyes. “What are the odds?”

Natalya shook her head. “I’ve no idea. The ship part? I think we’re actually in better shape than we might think. It’s a solid ship. As long as the crew doesn’t sabotage us—and as long as Blanchard can actually plot a course—we could almost make the whole trip on autopilot.”

“As long as we don’t run into anything unexpected.”

“There’s that.”

Zoya frowned and stared at the undress uniform in her hands for several long moments. “Let’s go see what the wardroom looks like. Maybe scope out Blanchard to see if he has a clue.”

“You’ll do it?” Natalya asked.

Zoya shook her head. “I don’t know yet. Let’s get some due diligence on this and see what we can learn. It doesn’t make sense that Kondur would risk a ship without some expectation that it would pay off.”

Natalya grinned. “You’re thinking like a Toe-Holder now.”

“I only met the guy a couple of times. Did he strike you as the kind of guy who’d toss a billion credits into the void without some expectation that they’d come back with a few friends?”

“No. He didn’t.”

“All right, then. Get changed for dinner and let’s go see who else we have to play with.”

Chapter 19
Dark Knight Station: 2373, June 7

Natalya and Zoya found themselves nearly the last ones to enter the wardroom. Albee and Pritchard stood near the head of the table, apparently not looking at each other or anybody else in the room. A pleasant-looking older man turned out in neat undress looked up from the coffee mess in the corner and raised a cup in salute as they entered. “You must be our new blood. Charlie Blanchard, second mate. Call me Charlie.”

Zoya nodded. “Zoya Usoko, third mate.”

“I’m Natalya Regyri, engineering third officer.”

“Nice of you to join us finally,” Albee said.

Blanchard chuckled. “Easy there, big fella. We’ll be underway soon and you’ll be able to get that stick out of your ass.”

Albee rounded on Blanchard. “That’s insubordination, Mr. Blanchard.”

Blanchard sipped his coffee and smiled at the now red-faced Albee. “No. Actually that was not insubordination. Insubordination is when I refuse your orders or defy your authority. That was more like disrespect for an officer, or perhaps conduct unbecoming. Under the circumstances, and given your example, just let me assure you that you set a very low bar to get over on that score.”

The door opened and another man staggered in. “Sorry I’m late. Got lost in the head.” He drew up short, nearly falling into Zoya as he realized she stood in his way. He stared at her face and frowned quizzically. “Do I know you?”

“I’m the new third mate. Zoya Usoko.”

“I’m the old luch. Lust. Luck.” He sighed. “Drunk.” He looked toward the head of the table. “Oh, good. I beat the skipper.”

Blanchard said, “Ladies, this is our cargo master, Josh Lyons. Mr. Lyons has the singular privilege of having nothing to do but sign a document on the other end of our little sojourn certifying that the can of ore we’re hauling actually came from Margary.”

Josh nodded. “Yes. Yes, I do. And it’s a darn fine piece of work.”

“Did it?” Natalya asked, looking at Blanchard. “Come from Margary?”

“No. As luck would have it, it came from our very own ore-bearing belts here in Dark Knight, but the CPJCT can be such sticklers.”

“Stupid process,” Josh said. “Hate these trips.”

“Why do you do it, then?” Albee asked. “You’re a disgrace to the uniform.”

Blanchard turned his head and gave Albee’s maroon-and-gold shipsuit a long up-and-down stare.

The captain threw the door open and stomped in. “Good. You’re here. Let’s eat.” He bustled his way to the head of the table, jostling Albee out of the way and nearly elbowing Pritchard in the gut in the process. He paused for a moment and then lowered himself into his chair. Everybody else followed suit. As first mate, Albee sat on the captain’s right and Pritchard, as nominal engineering chief, on the left. The rest of them found seats in decreasing order of displayed rank.

“Gentlemen—and ladies—welcome aboard, and I look forward to sailing with you.” He clinked a fork against his water glass and a steward in white coat and black slacks carried in a tray with cups of soup to begin the evening mess.

He said nothing, simply distributed the soups around the table and took up station just inside the pantry door.

The captain lifted his spoon and took a portion of the soup, lifting it toward his lips and then pausing to watch Albee start to take up his own spoon, only to stop and replace his hand beside the dish. The captain teased him several more times before finally eating the soup on his spoon, freeing Albee—and the rest—to begin their own meals.

Blanchard chuckled and Albee shot him a dark look.

“Don’t blame me, John. He just does it because you always fall for it,” Blanchard said.

Trask grinned and winked at Blanchard. He looked at Albee. “Didn’t I tell you to get a decent set of undress khakis?”

“I have some, Captain, as you ordered.”

“Why are you still wearing this, then?” He waved his empty spoon at the shipsuit.

“I’m saving them for when we dock at Siren. The uniform of the day is shipsuit in company colors, Captain.”

“Those aren’t the company colors.”

“They are now, Captain.”

The captain sat back in his chair. “Since when?”

“Since I filed them with the CPJCT’s corporate registry last voyage.”

Trask’s eyes narrowed. “Mr. Albee. If I catch you wearing these company colors again, I will exercise my right of summary judgment. Am I clear?”

“Perfectly, Captain.”

Trask took a few more spoons of soup before pushing the cup away. “Bray, clear this and bring the main course, if you would?”

The waiting steward stepped forward and placed the cups—some nearly full, only Pritchard’s completely empty—on his tray and left the wardroom. He returned almost immediately with a helper who doled out meager portions of some kind of pasta casserole in sauce.