Milk Run (Smuggler's Tales From The Golden Age Of The Solar Clipper Book 1) (43 page)

“What’s your comfort food?” Trask asked.

“Fried chicken. Hot and greasy with fresh biscuits and butter.”

“Don’t see that much on a scout, I bet.”

She laughed. “Now you know why it’s my comfort food.” She paused for a moment, screwing up her courage. “What’s yours, Skipper?”

He looked at her with a sheepish grin. “Ribs. Barbequed pork ribs. So tender they almost fall off the bone.”

Natalya’s stomach growled at the thought and she fought the urge to wipe her chin. “Where do you find real barbeque in Toe-Hold space?”

He shook his head. “Haven’t seen any since I left Dree. There was a joint just outside the shuttle port that made everything from scratch, including the charcoal. Raised his own pigs, even.”

Natalya caught the wistful tone in the old man’s voice. “That must have been amazing. You don’t get back?”

He shook his head. “No.”

The short answer made her bite back another question.

“What do you think about Charlie?” he asked.

“Me?”

“Yes, you. You and Ms. Usoko are about all I have left. I don’t trust Pritchard as far as I can throw him at this point. Lyons—” He stopped mid-sentence and bit his lip, his eyes squinting a bit. “Well, I don’t know about him.” He shrugged and offered a sheepish smile. “He was easier as a drunk. At least I always knew where he was and what he was doing.” He paused again. “I don’t like that we haven’t heard from Mr. Blanchard.”

“He’s either in on it—whatever it is—or he’s dead?” Natalya asked.

“He could be hurt, lying in an auto-doc somewhere.”

“Wouldn’t the authorities have gotten in touch with you? They only need a thumb print.”

“You’d think.” He sighed. “Ms. Usoko seems to think he’s in on it.”

“That would be the simplest answer.”

“Doesn’t make it right,” Trask said.

“No, but simplest answers often are.”

Trask grunted and stood up from the stool, lumbering down the passageway after Lyons. “Cabin, Ms. Regyri.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

Trask stared at Natalya across the expanse of his desk. “You remember talking to me about recruiting a full-time crew?” he asked.

The question caught Natalya off-guard. “Yes.”

“Think you can do it here?”

She felt like her eyes might bug out of her head before she got herself under control. “I’ve never been here before.”

“Yes, but could you?” he asked. “How would you go about it?”

She sighed and let her brain work for a moment. “We need a couple of mates. We could use a real engineering chief. Engineers hang out at the pubs.” She focused on Trask. “I assume there’s a generic beer-and-finger food establishment here on the oh-two?”

Trask’s shoulders twitched in a quick shrug. “I’d assume so.”

“I’d start there. See if any engineering officer needed a berth.”

“What about an astrogator?”

She met his gaze for a moment and then focused elsewhere. “Transient quarters on oh-nine. Put up a notice outside the lift.”

“What? A sign?”

“Yeah. Old-school but there’s always a community board down there. Wouldn’t take much to add our own message to it.” She shrugged. “Somebody between berths would be staying down there. We want somebody who’s looking for an outfit like ours.”

“Why not post on StationNet?”

“We could. We’d have to be a little careful about who we let aboard.”

“That what your father would do? Post a sign?”

She felt a smile stealing across her mouth. “He’d just go hang out at the nearest breakfast joint and chat people up.”

“That how he finds help?” Trask’s eyebrows rose. He looked half amused and half intrigued.

“That’s how he finds out what’s happening on the station.”

Trask sighed.

“You think we’ll need an astrogator?” Natalya asked.

“Maybe.”

“Zoya’s pretty good.”

“We’ll need mates if we can find them. I’d put Ms. Usoko in as astrogator if she’s willing, but we’d need a solid third and I’d feel more comfortable with a good first to cover her back.”

“What about a chief engineer?” Natalya asked.

Trask chewed his cheek a bit before answering. “I’m going to restrict Pritchard to the ship until we get back to Dark Knight. You’ve done a good job so far. Any reason you couldn’t keep doing it?”

“If we can get the emitter bus coupling replaced before we undock. I’m game. I’d feel better if we had a real engineer aboard in case something else goes pear-shaped on the ride home.”

“Noted.”

The chrono clicked over to 1145 with a snap in the sudden silence.

Trask eyed it. “Only lunch time? Seems like much later.”

Natalya snorted. “Tell me about it, Skipper. I thought this was supposed to be a milk run.”

He laughed and led the way out of the cabin. “We’re not home yet, Ms. Regyri.”

“That’s what bothers me, Skipper.”

Chapter 49
Siren Orbital: 2363, August 2

Lunch mess felt a bit lonely. With both Zoya and Lyons sleeping and Blanchard still missing, Natalya and the captain spent a strained—and virtually silent—half a stan with Pritchard carefully not looking at either of them. Even Bray knew enough to stay out except for those few moments he needed to serve.

As the meal ground to a close, Trask looked at Pritchard. “I don’t have to ask you to stay aboard, do I, Steven?”

“I had no plans to go ashore.” He didn’t look up from his dessert plate. “If I might be excused, Captain?” Pritchard asked. “I’m not feeling very hungry at the moment.”

“Please stay in your stateroom, Steven. I don’t want any misunderstandings.”

“Of course, Captain.” He left the wardroom, moving slowly, and latched the door behind himself on the way out.

Natalya thought he made the perfect picture of a remorseful crewman.

She didn’t trust it for a heartbeat, but there was little she could do. Looking at him set her teeth on edge. Even the scent of his too-minty cologne had her feeling slightly nauseated. She’d been aware of it before, but now the cloying scent stuck to the back of her throat.

She finished her meal and looked at Trask. “If we’re done for now, Captain? I didn’t get much sleep last night myself.”

Trask nodded. “Grab a nap, Ms. Regyri. You’ve earned it.”

Natalya made her way up the ladder to officer country. As she passed Lyons’s door, she considered knocking to make sure he was all right, but thought better of it. After his ordeal, he wouldn’t appreciate being awakened just for the social nicety.

That’s what she told herself as she threw the deadbolt on her door and stripped off her tunic before sprawling on top of her bunk. She pulled out her tablet and set an alarm for 1430, just in case. The chandlery would deliver the real parts shipment around 1500. She wanted to be there for it.

It had been a long morning after a very short night but her brain kept trying to tell her something. She couldn’t figure out what, but the ferrets in her head kept chasing the mice in her brain. Like the way Lyons had said Blanchard was dead. His apparent inability to remember even saying that had her baffled. Clearly something had happened but, try as she might, she couldn’t figure out what it might have been.

Who was behind the theft of the parts? It seemed like a long-term plan, if the goal was to order more expensive parts from Siren. Who would have known they were there? Yet, without those parts having been stripped out, there would have been no reason to order more spares. Without that order, the Zeta parts wouldn’t get onto the ship. When did the database get reloaded? And why was it zeroed out before the first of June?

Her exhausted brain went around the loop again.

Her alarm twittered her awake without her actually believing she’d been asleep. Maybe she hadn’t. She took a moment to rinse off her face, then slipped into a fresh tunic and headed for the brow.

She found her old friend Helms at the desk, feet up and reading something on his tablet. “Good afternoon, Mr. Helms. I haven’t seen much of you this trip.”

He grinned at her. “Howdy, Ms. Regyri. You’ve obviously not been spending much time with deckies.”

“It’s been a bit hectic back in the rumbly bits.”

“I heard you took out Town on the first day.”

She felt herself blushing. “Are people still talking about that?”

“Only deckies, I think.” He laughed. “You and Ms. Usoko have certainly livened things up around here.”

“What’s she done?” Natalya asked. “She doesn’t talk much about what happens in her world.”

Helms shrugged. “Not so much actually what she’s done. It’s that she’s taken Albee’s place.” He rolled his eyes. “You have no idea how much difference it’s made on this trip.”

“Well, true. I’ve never been on one of these trips before, so I’ve nothing to compare it to.”

He shrugged. “There’s that.” He shut off his tablet and pulled his feet down, leaning on the desk toward Natalya. “Can I ask a question?”

“You can ask,” she said. “I won’t guarantee I’ll answer.”

He smirked. “Fair enough.” He wiped a hand across his mouth. “Scuttlebutt says you kicked Albee’s ass after he attacked the Skipper. That’s why he got booted.”

“What’s the question there?”

“Did you?”

“That’s one I can’t answer, I’m afraid.” She shrugged.

“But you know what happened?”

“I was there, yes.”

“I knew it,” he said, his eyes alight with the excitement. “He had it coming, the old fraud.”

Natalya held up a hand. “Hold it right there, Mr. Helms. I can’t tell you what to think but I don’t take well to talking about people behind their backs. If you want to speculate around deck berthing, I can’t stop you, but not in my hearing, yeah?”

Helms sat back a bit, his uncertainty plain on his face but he nodded. Slowly at first, then more vigorously. “Aye, aye, sar. Understood.”

“Thank you, Mr. Helms.”

“Is there anything I can do for you, sar?” he asked.

“I’m just looking for a chandlery order. They said they’d deliver around 1500.”

Helms nodded. “Busy day for stores. Chef Marah got a food shipment earlier. We getting underway soon?”

“I’m not sure, Mr. Helms. The brow watches getting old?”

He rolled his eyes. “Bad enough at Dark Knight. Here? Every few ticks somebody wants something. Complete pain in the … er … that is … butt.”

“Have you gotten to go ashore yet?” she asked.

“Oh, yeah. Got off most of yesterday. Had a few beers with some people from another Barbell. Forget the name. They were taking off last night, I think. The gang we were with had to call it a night about 2100 and get back to their ship.” He shrugged. “Don’t get to hang out with real spacers that often.”

“Well, Mr. Helms, you’re as real a spacer as I’ve met.”

His hand went to the able spacer pips on his collar. “Not exactly legit, though.”

“You want to be?” she asked.

Helms’s face lit up for a moment and then closed down so fast Natalya wasn’t sure she’d seen it. “It’s not exactly possible, sar.”

Natalya considered that for a moment or two. “What if it was?”

He shook his head, an odd expression on his face like he thought she might be messing with his head but he didn’t dare call her on it. “I don’t know, sar.”

Natalya nodded. “Fair enough.” She pulled out her tablet and did a quick query on ShipNet. When she didn’t find it there, she pulled in a StationNet node and found what she was looking for. She downloaded it and then sent it to Helms. “
Spacer’s Handbook
,” she said.

He looked up at her with a blank look. “What?”

“I just sent you a copy of the
Spacer’s Handbook
. Everything you need to know to be a spacer is in there. You want to be an actual able spacer, you just need to pass the test. It’s in there.”

“I’m a Toe-Holder. How can I take the test?”

Natalya thought about that for a moment. “I don’t know, off hand. What I do know is that if you’re ready to take the test—and the opportunity comes—you’ll be able to jump on it right then.” She shrugged. “If you know the job, doing the job is a lot easier. Who knows? You might decide you’d rather be a High Liner than a Toe-Holder.”

He laughed. “As if. Why would I want to be one of them?”

She grinned at him. “Careful, Mr. Helms. I’m one of them.” She sighed. At least she had been. Once, not too long ago.