Owner's Share (Trader's Tales from the Golden Age of the Solar Clipper) (32 page)

The lift opened on the docks, and we made our way around to maintenance. As we approached, I noticed Ms. Kingsley walking toward us with a tall, slender woman in a shipsuit and fresh buzz cut. Kirsten waved and Ms. Arellone waved back.

“Somebody you’re expecting, Skipper?”

“Yes, Ms. Arellone.”

“Looks like trouble, sar.”

“Why do you say that, Ms. Arellone?”

“No dufflebag.”

“Until we get the console fixed, we can’t really do much.”

She sighed and shook her head. “Not the point. Would you report without your bag?”

I paused for a moment. “No, Ms. Arellone.”

“That’s my point.”

By then, the two women were within hailing distance. Kirsten fired the first salvo. “I thought I might catch you. I take it the signing went well? I got the notification for transfer of ownership.”

I smiled. “Well, let’s just say, if that’s the worst we have to deal with, I think we’re off to a good start.”

Ms. Kingsley gave me an uncertain look, and I noticed that Ms. Arellone eyed the newcomer with a scowl.

“Captain, this is Cynthia Maitland.” Ms. Kingsley indicated the tall woman I knew as Christine Maloney. “Ms. Maitland, Captain Ishmael Wang.”

Ms. Maitland stared at me blandly for a moment. “Captain.” Her voice was cool and she tipped her head.

“Ms. Maitland.”

To my left, Ms. Arellone sniffed.

“Shall we get the transfers finalized, Captain?” Ms. Kingsley suggested.

I keyed the door to the maintenance docks, and Ms. Arellone led the parade through to lock three. She had a hard time keeping all of us in sight at the same time, but she was most interested in the new quarter share.

Kirsten and I walked side by side with Ms. Maitland ahead of us. “You had a problem at the signing?” Ms. Kingsley asked quietly.

“One of the investors backed out at the last moment. Left me a bit short.”

She frowned at me. “But you managed to get it sorted out?”

“Mr. Simpson did. But I’m now eight and a half million in debt.”

“Ouch. What period?”

I sighed. “Ninety days.”

Kirsten looked at me. “Are you serious?”

“Oh, yes.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Find another investor, or hope I can make something over eight million credits with this ship in the next ninety days.”

She shot me a glance and whistled. I could see Ms. Maitland’s head twitch slightly as she cocked her head in our direction.

“Good luck,” Ms. Kingsley murmured. “You’re gonna need it.”

I nodded and we arrived at the lock just as Ms. Arellone keyed it open. She stood aside and let Ms. Maitland precede her into the ship. Ms Kingsley and I walked aboard together, and Ms. Arellone keyed the lock closed.

Ms. Maitland stood patiently and waited, while Ms. Arellone looked like she might go for a blade. Ms. Kingsley eyed the pile of mattresses, linen, paint, and other supplies. “I love what you’ve done with the place,” she said.

“You’ll be glad to know we checked out of the Lagrange as of this morning.”

She laughed. “You’ll be glad you did. You don’t work for us anymore, and they’d have billed you for tonight.”

Ms. Maitland smiled a bit, but she stood stiffly to one side.

“Do you have the keys, Captain?” Ms. Kingsley asked.

“I do,” I told her, “and I need to rent a safety deposit box today.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out the owner’s key, holding it up for her to see. “Shall we?”

We all paraded up to the bridge, and Ms. Arellone leaned in close to watch while Ms. Maitland observed from the top of the ladder.

I plugged the owner’s key into the console, brought up the owner’s maintenance screen, and re-keyed the owner data with the new information I had from Mr. Simpson. In less than a quarter stan, the ship’s records showed the new names. Ms. Kingsley pointed out where I should change the account numbers, and ShipNet obediently linked to the station to synchronize bank, personnel, and ship’s data records with those on file with the bank and my home office—which in this case was an account at Presto Personnel Services.

“That’s it!” Ms. Kingsley smiled at me and held out her hand. “Congratulations, Captain.”

I thanked her and turned my attention to Ms. Maitland. “You ever signed The Articles before, Ms. Maitland?”

She shook her head. “No.” After a moment and a sharp look from Ms. Arellone, she added, “Sar.”

I nodded. “Well, if you’re sailing with me, you’ll need to.”

She nodded. “Okay, sar.”

I pulled up The Articles on the bridge console, and scrolled down through them. They were pretty clear, intended to be intelligible to the average sailor, and not hiding anything untoward in the subclauses. I scrolled down to the place for name, date of birth, and place of signing but the last two clauses caught my eye.

The next to last was a paragraph affirming that the signatory was not under duress, and the last was a statement that all information was true and correct.

I eyed her in consternation. “Are you under duress, Ms. Maitland?”

“Duress, Captain?”

“Yes, Ms. Maitland, are you being forced to sign the articles against your will?”

She looked startled and Ms. Kingsley muttered, “Captain?” between her teeth.

“Not strictly speaking, no, Captain. There are some ... unfortunate ... consequences if I do not sign, but those consequences do not extend to my physical well-being.” I could feel my lips twitch as I listened to her carefully worded statement.

“How about your emotional well-being, Ms. Maitland?”

“Captain? I don’t believe the state of my emotional health is any of your concern.” She said it gently as if it were not an admonishment.

“What you believe is of little consequence in this instance, Ms. Maitland. I have asked you a question.”

She blinked at me, and shot a glance at Ms. Kingsley before replying. “My emotions have been permanently scarred by this already, Captain. Whether I sign or not, those scars will not change. They do not constitute duress in that failing to sign will not relieve the pain.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Ms. Maitland.” I turned to Ms. Arellone .“Ms. Arellone? Would you be so kind as to go make a pot of coffee? I need to have a little chat with these two in confidence.”

Ms. Arellone narrowed her eyes. “Of course, Captain, but if it’s about her...” she nodded at Ms. Maitland, “I know who she is.”

Ms. Maitland arched an I-told-you-so eyebrow.

“Who is she, Ms. Arellone?” I asked.

“Christine Maloney, sar.”

“Thank you, Ms. Arellone. Why do you think that?”

“I recognize her from her photos, sar.”

“Do you know why she’s aboard?”

“No, sar.”

“Ms. Maitland, why are you going by that name?”

“For security reasons, Captain.”

“Do you think you need it aboard?”

“No, sir—sar, but I think it’s useful to keep my whereabouts from the newsies. I’m too visible to disappear for the next year, and Christine Maloney will be embarking on a grand tour of the Western Annex on the
SC Stellar Explorer
in the next few days.” She shrugged. “Ms. Maloney is in mourning for her late father, and will be incommunicado for the duration of her tour.”

I glanced at Kirsten who shrugged in return.

“How legal is the Maitland identity, Ms. Maitland?”

She looked confused. “I don’t understand the question. Sar.”

“You need to sign The Articles. One of the articles is that the information you’ve provided is complete and correct. Your Maitland identity is perfectly fine for our purposes aboard, but you’ll need to sign The Articles as Christine Maloney.”

We all looked at each other, temporarily stymied.

Kirsten looked at me with a shrug. “I didn’t think of that.”

“I didn’t either until I just read them. We don’t want to get into a perjury problem with the CPJCT, but I don’t want to expose Ms. Maloney’s security.”

Kirsten frowned. “You know, I don’t think it will matter.” Kirsten looked between Ms. Maloney and me. “The only thing that gets filed is that she’s signed The Articles. You’re a private company so your personnel records are not subject to scrutiny. As long as she uses Maitland when she goes ashore, nobody should be the wiser.”

I looked at Ms. Maloney. “Are you okay with that, Ms. Maloney?”

She frowned in concentration. “Yes, Captain, I believe that will be satisfactory.”

“Then, Ms. Maloney, if you’d be so kind as to read these articles, and fill out the block at the end. When you’re ready, thumb them, and we’ll get you settled.”

I stood and let Ms. Maloney have the chair so she could read in comfort. While she read, I turned to Ms. Kingsley. “All I need now is an engineer. Know of any?”

She grinned. “Actually, I think I do.”

The klaxxon made us all jump when it buzzed to signal somebody at the lock.

“I think that’s him now.”

“Ms. Arellone, would you go give Chief Bailey my complements, and let him know I’ll be down directly?”

“Aye, aye, sar.” She skedaddled down the ladder.

The klaxon sounded again—three short, impatient sounding blats.

“Yep,” Kirsten said. “That’s him.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven
Diurnia Orbital:
2372-December-26

It took until 1600 to check in our new crew members, and link Chief Bailey’s tablet to the ship’s systems. He brought a full trunk of his personal tools with him, along with a separate trunk of personal effects.

Ms. Maloney, for her part, maintained her reserve but pitched in readily enough. She took no initiative, waiting for an order to do anything.

“She’s going to have to do better than that, Skipper!” Ms. Arellone hissed to me as we passed in the passage.

“She’s still finding her feet, Ms. Arellone. Just because she’s rich, and her father owned a shipping line, doesn’t mean she knows what to do aboard.”

Ms. Arellone scowled.

“Would you want her to do something, and make a mistake out of ignorance?”

She sighed, and grumbled something unintelligible about rich people.

I patted her on the shoulder. “Buck up. Treat her like any other green quarter share, and make sure she knows what she’s supposed to do. You’ve worked with greenies before.”

She heaved a sigh but gave a half shrug, obviously not liking my response but accepting it. “Aye, aye, sar.”

As seemed to be the pattern with everything to do with ship ownership, I couldn’t do anything without a trip to the chandlery. The first and most pressing problem was a lack of coffee mugs.

I set Ms. Arellone and Ms. Maloney to work dragging the mattresses and bedding up to the various compartments which gave me a chance to visit Chief Bailey in the engineroom. I found him with his head in the scrubber.

“Hello, Chief.”

He looked over his shoulder at me and grunted then went back to examining the inside of the scrubber.

“Something wrong, Chief?

He pulled back from the cabinet and slammed the cover back on, slapping the latches down with the flat of his hand. “Yes, there is. This banging scrubber is the only piece of gear in the whole banging place that looks like it was tended by somebody what knowed something.” He peered at me from under his shaggy eyebrows. “And it hain’t you.” He paused. “Was it?”

I shook my head.

“I knowed it!” He slapped his hands together with a single sharp crack. “Who was it?”

“Chief Gerheart off the
Agamemnon
. She came over and inspected the ship with me a few days back. The filter cartridges were clogged and moldy.”

“Gaah!” His eyes squinted up and he made the most astonishing face. “That musta stunk up the place. Wonder it didn’t gas ya.”

“Let’s just say, I’m not too interested in repeating the experience.”

He chortled. “I dare say, Skipper. I dare say. You helped?” He looked at me sharply.

“Of course. So did Kirsten, although she probably ruined her suit. We were both pretty slimy when it was over.”

He pulled his head back as if in surprise. “Did she now? My Kirsten? Got her hands dirty?” “How banging special is that? I ask ya. How special!” His face lit up in obvious delight. He nodded his approval and pulled a rag out of the pocket of his jump suit, wiping his hands as he looked about the engineroom. “Gerheart. Gerheart. Blondish girl. Blue eyes? Pretty as a china cup?”

“That’s her.”

He eyed me dubiously. “And you let her get away? Somepin’ wrong with ya, Captain?”

“Stupid mostly, Chief.”

“Well, any captain that can admit that and mean it is already better than most.” He looked around and his eyes fixed on the sail generators. “She tell ya about the coils?”

“Oh, yes. And the fusactors.”

He squinted at me, and then looked at the generators again. “You got the replacements?”

I shook my head. “Not yet. I’m still trying to figure out how to get the ship restocked. Of course, I didn’t own it this morning and tonight I’ve got a crew.”

His chuckle was a bit alarming, being part cough and part squeak. “Not one to call the chandlery and let ’em solve yer problems, Skipper?”

“Lately it seems like all I’ve done is run down there four times a day for something. I can’t seem to get ahead of it.”