Owner's Share (Trader's Tales from the Golden Age of the Solar Clipper) (58 page)

For two days I chipped away at filling the cargo hold and watched my in-box, willing each new inbound message to be the endorsement.

As each new priority cargo showed up in the available cargoes queue, I grabbed it. We could take a hundred and twenty cubes of cargo and still keep an open path down the center line of the ship. A hundred and fifty cubes would fill the hold solid. By 1600, I had amassed a hundred and seventeen cubes representing thirty different shipments, and I was ready to call it quits. I needed to give the cargo dispatchers time to aggregate my shipments and, get them ready to load in the morning. We needed to get underway for Diurnia, passengers or not, because we had priorities that were due on the other side of the quadrant.

I stood and stretched just as a tentative knock sounded on the cabin door.

“Come!”

Ms. Maloney opened the door and stepped in, her tablet in her hand. “Captain, may I have a word?” She kept her voice under a tight rein, and it showed in her face.

“Of course, Ms. Maloney.” I waved her into one of the two extra chairs.

She closed the door carefully behind her and took the seat, offering me her tablet as she did so.

“What do we have today? More photos?”

“Yes, Skipper, but you’re not the one in the spotlight this time.”

The image focused on Ms. Maloney, her head turned to speak to me. The façade of
Le Bifteck
was blurred but visible in the background. The emblazoned caption read, “Mourning Dove?”

“That’s not good,” I said, looking at Ms. Maloney.

Storms brewed behind her eyes, and she seemed less inclined to brush it off than before, although she didn’t respond.

“Read the article, Captain,” she suggested in a cool, smooth voice that belied the look in her eye.

I zoomed in to read the text—classic tabloid speculation and innuendo. The author hinted at the “eligible socialite who seems a long way from her cruise line” and how “recent losses appear to be healing rapidly”. I was about to give it back when the line, “Apparently, our little mourning dove is tired of eating her own cooking, choosing an upscale eatery for her first night in port...” seemed to jump off the screen at me.

“This is definitely not good,” I said, and handed the tablet back.

“Well, I didn’t do it, Captain, and I’m pretty sure you didn’t.”

I sighed. “You don’t suppose it’s a shot in the dark?”

“Somebody who knows who I am takes a random guess that I’m eating my own cooking aboard the ship? And they know I’m aboard a ship, in spite of the civilian attire.” She shot me one of the you-must-be-joking looks.

“Sounded weak to me, too.” I admitted.

She sat back and sighed, brow furrowed in concentration. “I have to admit it’s possible. Even a broken clock is right twice a day, so I suppose it is possible.” She looked up at me, brandishing the tablet. “This is awfully suspicious, though.”

“I agree, but the question I have is whether or not it’s enough to start accusing shipmates.” I paused before adding, “And whom?”

She bit her lip. “Well, Andy Leyman knows, but he’s unlikely to say anything. We talked about my being aboard and why. He and I go back too far, and have too much history for him to play this kind of game.”

“I’d hate to think Ms. Arellone would do it,” I said. “It pains me but it’s possible.”

“I feel the same way about Chief Bailey,” she admitted.

“We may have other issues with the chief, I’m afraid,” I told her.

She frowned. “Like what?”

“He’s not tending to his knitting here on the ship. Being your undercover bodyguard here is all well and good, but he’s also my chief engineer, and I need him to do that job.”

“And he’s not?”

I shrugged, my mouth twisting into a grimace. “Just the bare minimum. The scrubbers were about two stans from catastrophic failure when I finally had to change the filters out myself because he’d left the ship, and didn’t respond to his tablet.”

She nodded slowly. “And he claims he was in his compartment sleeping all day?

“He does, and I can’t argue because I didn’t look after Ms. Arellone said he’d gone ashore.” I sighed and shook my head. “I’m not sure I buy his story about returning while the cargo guys were unloading.”

“Why not, sar?” She cocked her head, curious more than defensive.

“Ms. Arellone and I were both standing right there in the lock watching them unload. He’d have had to walk right by us, and then down the length of the cargo hold and through the door to engineering stores, all the while dodging cargo lifters and in the line of sight where Ms. Arellone and I were looking.”

“Why couldn’t he have slipped up the ladder?”

“Because Ms. Arellone retracted the ladder to give the cargo lifters free access to the hold without having to worry about running into it.”

“What about Perc?” she asked after a few heartbeats.

“He seems the most likely to me, but it may just be that I don’t know him very well. He knows you’re incognito on the ship. He asked about the difference between the name on your suit and the name we call you.”

“But does he know who I am?” she asked.

“All he knows is you’re a Maloney. I have no idea if he realizes you’re that Maloney.”

She snorted and gave me a slightly strained smile. “You say that like it’s some kind of disease.”

I chuckled a bit and shook my head. “Sorry about that, Ms. Maloney, but you know what I mean. He knows your name but does he know who you really are? I don’t know.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know either, but we probably need to call me Maitland while aboard, too, Captain. It was one thing when we had Andy here, but when we start getting random passengers?”

“Do we need to vacate this quadrant? Take the ship over to New Caledonia? Even Gretna?”

She sat back and thought about it. “It might help but that’s a long way to go for a maybe.” She sighed and shook her head. “No, this is just an irritant. There’s really nothing new or different here. I don’t know why I’ve gotten the attention unless it’s because I’ve been seen in public with the newest most eligible bachelor in the quadrant.”

I nodded at her tablet. “That’s not about your being out and about with me, though. That’s about your being off the ship and eating dinner.”

She frowned. “You’re right. I didn’t catch that.”

“If they were playing the who’s the Playboy Flyboy Playing With Now angle—or even the Hieress and the Flyboy—they’d be playing up our being together, wouldn’t they?”

She nodded slowly. “I wonder why they’re not.” She frowned in concentration.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a perfect angle. They get to play all the money cards at once.” She shook her head. “But they’re not.”

I just looked at her, trying to figure out what she was driving at.

“Look, to them you’re the most eligible bachelor in the quadrant right now. Struck it rich, got a new company, the young clipper captain, all of it. You’re a perfect target. And I’m the tragic heiress, recently bereft of father but likely to inherit the reins of the largest shipping company this side of Venitz. They may or may not know about the codicil and all that, but I should still be worth some copy. Individually we’re decent subject material but we’ve had two or three photos where we’re together in the frame, starting all the way back on Diurnia.”

I got it then. “And they don’t link us.”

She beamed. “Exactly. Regardless of any kind of reality, that kind of fairy tale is prime territory for this kind of sensationalist junk.” She held up her tablet again. “True or not, they don’t care, because carefully worded there’s nothing we can do about it or the story.” She shook her head in wonder. “Gods! The who’s sleeping with whom angle alone would be worth millions in revenue. Add the corporate skullduggery angle—are you plotting to take over DST by pursuing the heiress apparent? Am I already working to expand the evil grip of DST on the throat of commerce by angling to blind you with my feminine wiles, and hoodwink you out of your company?” She paused to flutter her eyelashes at me vampishly before laughing and shaking her head again. “No, this isn’t adding up.”

We sat there and stared at each other for perhaps as much as a tick without speaking.

“It doesn’t make sense because we’re not seeing the full picture,” I said at last.

She nodded slowly in agreement. “I think you’re right, Captain. There has to be a reason. The newsies are not stupid. Somebody knows exactly what they’re doing and it’s not some silly oversight. It can’t be.”

“What benefit is there to highlight us individually? Is it the money angle?” I shook my head. “I don’t even have the money yet.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know, Captain, and I don’t think we can get very far on speculation. We need more information.”

I sighed. “You’re right.” I glanced at her tablet. “How do you want to handle this?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. Patching leaks was always Father’s job.”

“Well, let’s let it go for now. We’ll be out of here tomorrow afternoon. Maybe we’ll get more data points when we get back to Diurnia, and can try to connect the dots to get a picture.”

She thought about it, but eventually shrugged. “I don’t see anything else, short of trying to engineer some kind of trap where we let each of the three in on something different—something we keep from the other two. If we made it juicy enough, then perhaps it would get passed on, and we’d at least know where the leak is.”

“The trick will be to keep from cross pollinating. I don’t know how much Ms. Arellone talks to Mr. Herring. The chief doesn’t seem to talk to anybody unless asked a direct question.” I shrugged. “Can we even pull it off?”

“You’re right. Shall we plan on working this out on the trip back to Diurnia? See what we can come up with?”

I shrugged. “Seems likely. I doubt we’re going to come up with anything before we get underway.”

She stood. “Thank you, Captain. I appreciate the help and understanding.”

“You’re welcome, Ms. Maloney. I’d feel a lot better if I knew what was going on, though.”

“You and me, both, Captain. You and me both.” She headed for the door.

“Ms. Maloney?”

“Yes, sar?”

“What are we doing for dinner? Do you have something planned, or would you like to dine ashore tonight It’s the last night in port, and you won’t have much choice until we dock again.”

She opened the door, and stood in the frame for a moment while she thought. “Do you suppose there’s a decent Italian restaurant on the orbital, Captain?”

“I’ll find out, Ms. Maloney. Would you pass the word to muster in the galley at 1800?”

She grinned. “Aye, aye, Skipper.” She sounded almost jocular in spite of the news she’d just shared.

With a snort of laughter at myself, I turned to StationNet and dug into the local databases. I found three likely looking establishments but the one with the highest rating was the one on the oh-two deck.

I stood and crossed to the galley where I found Ms. Maloney bent over with her head in the ready cooler. “Lose your contact lens, Ms. Maloney?”

She looked back over her shoulder with a grin. “Just making sure there’s something in here for those that miss out on dinner, Captain.”

“Good planning. I found a restaurant. It looks like the oh-two deck is our best choice. There are two others but highest rated food is on the oh-two.”

She straightened and closed the cooler. “Excellent. Shall we go in shipsuits or civvies?”

“Let’s go casual tonight.”

“Aye, aye, sar.” She grinned. “I think I have just the outfit.”

I filled a mug with fresh coffee, and headed back to the cabin with a little wave. I didn’t want to think about how much I looked forward to dinner, and how much I wanted it to be just Ms. Maloney and me.

I sighed and latched the cabin door behind me.

Chapter Fifty-One
Ten Volt Orbital:
2373-February-1

The restaurant, Angelo’s
Casa di Pasta
, was not too far from the local dance club. Occasionally we could hear the bass beat of the music reverberating through the sounds of dining. Even at the relatively early hour, patrons waited in line for a seat, and I looked to Ms. Maloney’s lead for how much exposure she wanted to suffer, but she seemed quite content to tuck herself into a corner against the wall and let the chief block the view as best he could by the simple expedient of standing in front of her.

The line moved swiftly, and we really only stood outside for four or five ticks before we were able to slip inside the doors and stand in the lobby. In less time than I would have thought, we found ourselves up to our elbows in rich sauces, fresh and crispy salads, and hot bread sticks.

We made no mention of the newest newsie coverage over dinner. If Ms. Maloney and I were a bit more restrained than normal, neither of our companions said anything. The chief seemed oblivious to anything except his plate although I suspected he was just better at not being obvious in his watching. Ms. Arellone kept looking at me, and then at Ms. Maloney, with a curious frown on her face between scans of the room. She made no comment, but I realized that we needed to deal with the problem of a spy in our midst soon. The corrosive effect threatened more than our privacy.