Owner's Share (Trader's Tales from the Golden Age of the Solar Clipper) (33 page)

“Stop and smell the bacon, Skipper.” He shot me another look, and then looked back at the sail generators. “Yeah, big job that coil change.”

“And I’m a banging pirate, Chief.”

He looked at me. “Eh? What’s that, Skipper?”

“Coil change is routine maintenance. I could do it myself with a spare set of coils and the right wrench. What I can’t do is certify the alignment.” I grinned at him.

“Do tell? Why’zat?”

“Because I’m not certified on those girls. Or this bad boy either.” I patted the fusactor beside us. “That’s why I need you, Chief, but not if you’re gonna blow smoke up my skirt.”

“Good man.” He said approvingly with a gentle nod of his head. He held out his hand. “Shall we get this lady moving then, Skipper?”

I shook the offered hand. “What do we need to shake the dust off this maintenance dock, Chief?”

“How far you wanna go, Skipper?”

“I want us off this dock, and back on the commercial side, as soon as we can get there. The fees here are monstrous.”

“That they are. What are we here for?”

“Far as I know? They pulled in here to do the refurb and sale.”

“What’re they refurbing?”

“According to the engineering reports, the only thing that looks serious is the fusactor. I think it needs a flush and reload, but I’m no engineer, Chief. What do you think?”

“You thinking of running fast or heavy, Skipper?”

I thought about it for a few heartbeats. “Rumor is this hull can’t really take nine and a half because the cargo bay lacks the volume. Figure a light cargo, shakedown cruise fast as we can to Jett and back.”

He chewed his mouth around a little, scowling at the engine room. “We need spares.”

“Yes, we do.”

“We need grub and I’m betting the banging buzzards picked the galley clean of pots and pans?” He looked at me.

“Yep. Right the first time.”

He surveyed the engine room again. “Scrubbers are good. Water’s good. Yer right about the fusactors. If we can get those flushed and reloaded tomorrow? We could be in a small craft dock the day after.” He looked at me. “You any kinda ship handler, skipper?”

“It’s been awhile, but I think I remember how.”

He grinned. “We could call a tug...”

“Kickers any good?”

His eyebrows flicked up and down once. “Should be, but we’ll only need maneuvering jets, unless you got something else in mind.”

“The ship’s a mess, Chief. I keep stumbling on things I want fixed, and Ms. Arellone and I spent two days making lists of things that need doing.”

“Oh, aye, Skipper. She’s been rid hard and put away wet. But sittin’ at dock ain’t the way to find out what’s busted, is it?”

“We think alike, Chief. I’m not quite ready to commit to a trip out to the Deep Dark yet, but what do you think about pulling us out and sailing around for a couple of days up high. See what’s what? Close enough to come back if we need to. I’ll plan on getting a cargo, and getting under way by when? You tell me.”

“We can get out of here in a couple of days, I think, Skipper. We go light and you’re looking at a ten-day run out and maybe a nine-day in run on Jett. I’m no banging astrogator, Skipper. A little sharp sailing, and you might be able to cut that down a mite on each leg.”

“What do we need to do, Chief?”

“Get spares. Stock the galley. I’ll get on the line to Sandy over in maintenance, and see if we can get a fusactor flush first thing tomorrow. Order the parts tonight, have ’em delivered in the morning. By the time they’re done with the dirty work, I’ll have the sails ready to run up as soon as we’re far enough out. Stay here tonight, tomorrow night. Plan on a pull out mid-day the day after, and then book a berth for us on the commercial side for the day after that. A day out there will tell us what we need to know, after that, grab some cargo and we scamper.”

I nodded slowly, reviewing his plan. “Yes. That works. Need anything special in the line of food?”

He thought for a couple of ticks. “I eat almost anything, Skipper, but I’m partial to good coffee.”

“I knew I liked you, Chief.”

“You need me to run a spares inventory, Cap?” He looked pointedly at the spares closet.

“Ms. Arellone and I did one. Come see what you think.”

We crossed to the engineering console, and I brought up the ship’s inventory, focusing on the engine room spares. The chief slipped into the console’s seat and scrolled down, filling in numbers as he went to set the requirements level. In less time than I thought possible, he’d run the list.

“Anything else?” I asked him.

“Yes. That banging console at the brow needs replacing, and we should have a couple of spares. ’Twere me?” He looked at me with frown.

I nodded for him to continue.

“I’d buy three brandy new ones. Yank the antiques on the bridge and put those into spare status. That’ll give us two full spares and we got a bunch of repeaters in the passenger compartments.” He looked at me sharply. “You’re not carrying passengers?”

“Not this trip. I wanna make sure we can survive it before I take a paying customer.”

“Nice plan, Skipper. Nice banging plan.”

“I wanna mount a big video screen on the mess deck. Something we can link our tablets to while we’re there. Think the bulkhead can handle it?”

His knobby fingers hammered the keys a few times and brought up the ship’s schematic. He focused on the bulkhead mess deck. “Where you thinking, Skipper?”

I pointed to the flat bulkhead forward of the doorway.

He checked the ship’s skeleton there and nodded. “Oh, yeah, no problem, Cap. You could hang a shuttle on that bulkhead.”

“Good. Now I just have to figure out what I need for pots, pans, and dishes and I can get that done, too.”

He snorted. “That reminds me. What are we doing for dinner mess?”

I sighed. “Guess I’m buying, but I’ve gotta get the ship stocked. I can’t traipse all over the orbital every time we need a meal.”

“Neither can, Christine. Probably nobody recognize her down on the docks, but she’s too close to home here.”

We looked at each other for a few heartbeats and he shrugged. “Inventory’s good, Skipper. Go file the banging replenishment order, and I’ll bip Sandy. Deal with dinner after we talk to the ladies.”

“Sounds like a plan, Chief.” I clattered up the ladder to the aft entrance to berthing and stepped through, dogging the door behind me. I opened the door to the chief’s compartment and saw the mattress on his bunk, nicely made up, and his grav trunk locked in the alcove. Behind me I heard women’s voices talking in crew berthing. I couldn’t make out any of the words but from the tone, it sounded suspiciously like two strange women trying to figure out if they’d like each other. I tiptoed quietly away down the passage toward the cabin.

The console in the cabin was the standard captain’s model and if it ran a little slower than I wanted, it still had the same system’s features that I had used on the
Agamemnon
.

I punched up the replenishment order for the engine room, adding the extra consoles and a large flat screen display from the chandlery’s catalog. It looked like the little brother of the monster that was in the hotel. I winced then the total came up, but it couldn’t be helped.

I ran some estimates in a separate window, and figured that the ship might conceivably carry twelve passengers and six crew. I rounded that up to twenty because the dishes, glassware, and flatware all came in bundles of ten settings. I ordered forty settings of the commonest pieces—plates, bowls, mugs, juice and water glasses, and tableware. I added twenty each of different sized goblets and wine glasses. It was good quality—not the top of the line but very nearly.

I added a collection of pots, pans, skillets, whisks, spatulas, and two sets of knives. Before I forgot, I added about two dozen sheet trays, six loaf pans, and another half-dozen pie plates. I was pretty sure that wasn’t enough, but I’d need some time to actually run some menus and see what I needed before I would be able to fill in. Reviewing it, I figured I had the most of it.

That left only the food. I glanced at the chrono, and found in was approaching 1730. I realized then, to my deepest chagrin, that I was still in my civvies from the signing. I blinked in confusion. Three and a half stans since signing the papers that launched the company in earnest. It didn’t seem possible.

I roused myself and hiked down the passage. I needed to feed my crew, and I felt like a small celebration was in order. I knocked on the door to crew berthing, and then on the chief’s door.

Ms. Arellone opened the crew’s door. I saw that she and Ms. Maloney hadn’t killed each other yet.

“It’s getting to be time for dinner mess and we’re going to have to go ashore to eat.” I told them. Ms. Arellone stepped back so I could talk to both of them without having to talk through her. “Ms. Maloney, you didn’t bring a dufflebag aboard...?”

She shook her head. “No, Captain. All I’ve got is what I’m standing up in. I was told that shipsuits and any other required materials would be provided.”

“Quite right, Ms. Maloney, except for a change of civvies to go ashore in. We’ll need to get you both enough shipsuits for the time being, and I suspect you don’t have a ship’s tablet?”

“Correct, Captain.”

“Good to know, Ms. Maloney. We’ll address both of those shortcomings when we go to dinner.”

She seemed a bit startled but Ms. Arellone’s mouth twitched in a way that made me suspect she was suppressing a grin.

“If we meet on the mess deck at 1800? That will give you ladies a chance to freshen up, and I’ll get into a shipsuit so we don’t have to argue at the chandlery again.” I grinned at Ms. Arellone.

“Aye, aye, Captain. 1800 on the mess deck,” she said, and with a polite nod, swung the door closed.

The chief hadn’t come to the door so I pushed through the air tight hatch and stood on the landing above the engine room. The chief had used the time to good effect, and I could see that he’d already cleaned the deck and was in the process of sorting out the trash from the treasure in the stores locker. He looked up when I leaned over the rail.

“Mess deck, 1800, Chief. Shipsuit is uniform of the day. We’ve got to go to the chandlery so we’ll grab something to eat on the oh-two deck.”

He nodded and waved. “Banging buzzards left a buncha crap down here. Did you get the replenishment order in, Cap?”

“Yup. I did. Should be here first thing in the morning. Flush and reload?”

“Barge’ll be alongside about 1000 tomorrow. Best I could do.”

“Thanks, Chief.” I waved down and he waved back.

I headed back to the cabin, and spent a few minutes lining up my main grav trunk in the primary alcove and parked the second at the food of my bunk. My shipsuits came out, and I remembered that the ship’s key was still in the console on the bridge. I sighed. There was always one more thing. I wondered if I could rent a safe deposit box at the bank. Just tossing it in a paid storage locker in the chandlery would be better than leaving it aboard, but I settled for hiding it under the drawer in the base of my bunk.

I skinned out of my civvies, and zipped into a shipsuit before scampering up the ladder to the bridge. I ejected the key from the console, and slipped it into my pocket. I stood there for a few heartbeats, looking around the bridge and gazing aft at the busy shipping lane.

I had a ship. I had a crew. We all needed a little work, but I felt a very real sense of accomplishment.

That thought set me back as I remembered one of my personal rules. As soon as you think you know what’s going on, that’s the first sign that you haven’t a clue. I frowned at that notion and, patting the key in my pocket, I headed down to meet the crew on the mess deck.

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

Getting four people together and ready to go at the same time should have been that big a deal. The process became complicated by having to pick some place for dinner that let us maintain a low profile, and wear shipsuits instead of civvies. We wound up at the Miller Moth, and my stomach clenched as we strolled through the door. The last time I been near the place, I peeked in the door to see my ex-wife serving at the bar. It had been months since, and I didn’t know if she still worked there. Glancing around, I didn’t see any of the staff I recognized, so I began to relax.

As a faux pub, the Miller Moth’s decor and ambiance left a bit to be desired. It was long on formica and short on wood and leather, tending more toward “diner” than “pub”, but they served a burger that was second to none. I hadn’t had better fries anywhere in the quadrant. They also brewed great beer. I ordered a pitcher and four glasses to go with our meal.

The group was a bit stiff yet. Chief Bailey seemed a bit bewildered by the two women. Ms. Arellone couldn’t seem to stop looking for targets and exits, while Ms. Maloney simply sat, watching everything attentively. When the beer came, I poured out four glasses and raised mine in a toast, waiting for them to follow suit. The chief grinned at me across the table, and we waited for the women to join us.

“To those we’ve lost.”

Chief Bailey looked a bit surprised, thinking maybe I would make a joke, perhaps. Ms. Arellone smiled, a bit sadly perhaps, but clinked her glass to mine. Ms. Maloney gave me a hard look but went along.