Quarter Share: A Trader's Tale from the Golden Age of the Solar Clipper (11 page)

Chapter 11

Darbat Orbital
2351-October-23

The morning grind was not just slow, it was practically non-existent. As usual, the watch stander woke me, but when I got to the mess deck, Cookie and I were the only ones there. While underway, there were always at least a couple people lounging about for first dibs on fresh pastries and coffee, but not that day. I got the urns going and started setting up the steam table, when Cookie stopped me.

“I would be most surprised if we have more than five or six people for breakfast, young Ishmael. We’ll just have omelets, I think. Would you like one?”

He was correct, of course, and his omelet was perfect. Mr. Maxwell and the captain each came down, collected some food, and left. A couple of the engineering standers came in at the watch change along with Brill Smith. None of them seemed very talkative although the two from engineering group had a desultory, “Yes it is, no it’s not,” back and forth about something that neither of them elucidated.

Brill smiled and brought her coffee to sit with me. “Quiet, eh?”

I nodded. “Not much happening this morning.”

“Rating exam in ten standays. Are you ready?”

“I think so, but…” I shrugged.

She chuckled. “You’ll do fine.” She leaned in and lowered her voice. “Did I hear you’re taking two tests?”

“Yeah, engineering and cargo. The cargo one looks pretty easy.”

“Then what? You gonna look for another berth?”

“No, I’m happy here and to be honest have enough to figure out without trying to unravel transfers. I’ve been aboard for less than two months and I’m still getting lost on my way to the head.” I was only half joking.

“What then? You’re just going to sit on your ratings?”

“Um, actually…” I started, but was a bit reticent about continuing.

Brill gave me a kind of sideways nod as if to say, Yeah?
Actually…
what?

“I’m going to study for steward and deck after that.”

Brill slapped the table, making the engineers jump but it didn’t stop their bickering. “I knew it.” She grinned fiercely at me. “I’m sure you can do it. Deck is the hardest because there’s so many things you have to know. I could never pass that myself. I’m just not wired that way. You’re already immersed in steward so that shouldn’t be too difficult.”

“You think so?” After weeks of studying the wide-ranging engineering material, I had a hard time imagining somebody who’d mastered them would believe that deck was hard.

“Yeah, I’ve got half share rating in steward myself, but environmental is my love. I never want to do anything else.”

“Then why did you take the steward test?”

“I started with that. I made the shift to environmental about five stanyers ago and I never regretted the change. The steward rating was useful. It got me up and going, but I’d never go back.”

Cookie brought her omelet and I went to the galley to help him set the bread for later. We didn’t cook that many meals when docked, but we did go through a lot of sandwiches, so he baked extra loaves.

“You’re getting to be well thought of, young Ishmael.” he smiled and nodded out to where Brill sat with her omelet. “I had no doubts, myself.”

The rest of the day was extremely low key. After we got the bread rising, I did the normal galley clean up but so little needed doing that I was done by 09:00. Cookie gave me the rest of the morning off. “Just be back by 11:00. We’ll be doing soup and sandwiches for lunch. I’ll have you lay out the meats and cheeses.”

I returned to my studies and went over air scrubber protocols once more before reviewing the regulations on disposing of used engine oil in an environmentally safe manner. Since we used it as reactor mass in the vacuum of deep space, I wasn’t sure what that was all about, but it was on the test so I studied it.

More than once I marveled at how differently I saw the ship then as compared to when it was docked at Neris. Before, I was overwhelmed by the blur of everything around me, but docked once again the ship seemed somnolent. The same level of activity happened around me but the experience of being underway tempered my own reaction to it. By comparison, being docked felt like a vacation.

Lunch was as quiet as breakfast. A few of the crew stumbled in, some still half drunk, Most just got coffee to take down to the berthing areas while they got cleaned up for the duty shift change. Pip hadn’t returned over night, but he had mentioned relieving me for the dinner shift so I wasn’t so concerned. I remembered Sandy saying she’d be on duty, but I hadn’t seen her. With the no serving line set up, she could have come in, eaten and left, and I might never have noticed.

After lunch, Cookie filled the void of activity by having me shift stores around. “Young Ishmael, I’m expecting some shipments and we need to rotate the stock.” He loaded a list of stores he wanted moved from one place to another onto my tablet. When done, I had completely emptied three pantries and one whole freezer. I wondered what he expected in the way of supplies but didn’t want to pry.

After the stock rotation, I mopped up and made coffee before going to berthing to get ready for my first trip to a new orbital. Pip would be back to help with supper and I’d be free to explore on my own for the first time. I looked forward to a meal in a real restaurant where somebody waited on me for a change. I didn’t really care what I ate so long as I didn’t have to serve it or clean up after.

Cookie bipped me on the tablet to return to the galley while I was brushing down my civilian boots. When I got there, Sandy’s words from the previous evening came back to me. Three Darbati officials stood, and a rather battered Pip slouched, at one of the mess deck tables. His right eye was practically swollen shut and his face had a bandage taped across his left cheek. His shirt and pants looked like he’d been used to swab a muddy deck.

Cookie caught my attention when I entered. “Mr. Wang, please help Mr. Carstairs to his bunk, if you would.”

I got him to his feet and we headed for the berthing area. He moved carefully, and winced with practically every step. He didn’t speak and neither did I. As we left the mess deck, I heard Cookie thanking the officials for bringing Pip back to the ship.

When we got to the berthing area, I asked, “Can you make it up to your bunk?”

He shook his head slightly. “Ribs cracked.”

I lowered him to Beverly’s bed while I made up the empty one under his.

I helped him out of his filthy civvies and rolled him into the fresh sheets. He didn’t say a word.

“Can I get you anything?”

He shook his head slowly. “Need sleep,” he mumbled a few more unrecognizable words and I think he was actually out before he finished speaking.

When I got back to the mess, the Darbatis were gone. I found Cookie in the galley. “I am sorry, Ishmael, but I must cancel your liberty for the evening.”

“Yeah, Cookie, of course. No problem. I didn’t have any big plans.”

I waited for him to say something more, but he drifted through the galley straightening and organizing. I went to the mess and got us both cups of coffee.

“Thank you,” he said in a quiet tone.

“What did the Darbatis say?”

“He was found in a cul-de-sac, beaten and robbed. He had no wallet, no id. Only the clothes he wore ashore. He regained consciousness just long enough to give the name of the ship. Fortunately, his injuries are not serious: a few cracked ribs, black eye, and the laceration on his cheek. He also has a knot on the back of his head, but no concussion. Pip will be fine in a day or two, but right now, he’s in rough shape.”

I wondered if Cookie knew just how bad off Pip was. I’m sure the physical injuries were nothing compared to the loss of the Grishom.

He looked at me apologetically. “You’ll have to cover his duty rotations, I’m afraid.”

I grinned at him. “Well, the show must go on. What’s on the menu for dinner?”

We each focused on setting up for dinner mess. Cookie had a pasta casserole baking in the oven. We pulled it out and set it up buffet-style with some of his crusty rolls. I put out a chafing dish with a green vegetable medley. There was pie and ice cream for dessert, but I left the ice cream in the freezer.

Word of Pip’s injuries had spread throughout the ship. The mood in the mess deck was even more subdued than what could be accounted for simply by being docked. Cookie baked bread earlier in the day, so I ran it through the slicer and bagged it. I prepared a meat and cheese tray for midwatch and placed it in the ready cooler. The familiar routine helped a little.

Cookie excused himself and disappeared for about ten ticks. When he returned, he gave me a quick report. “He is sleeping quietly. Beverly is there.” We went back to dealing with dinner, such as it was.

I was surprised at the level of concern for a quarter share screw up. Of course I didn’t think of him that way, but others on the ship might have, especially if his reputation had followed him from the
Duchamp
. I finished cleaning up and Cookie stayed to help.

Cookie and I were just about done for the evening when he broke what had been a nearly perfect silence. “He was lucky, for doing something so stupid.”

I just looked at him.

“He was on a trade run, was he not?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“It was a valuable cargo?”

I nodded again. “A lot for a quarter share. Five hundred creds.”

Cookie nodded. “Let this be a lesson to you, too, young Ishmael. Never trade alone.”

I thought about what Sandy had said and added, “And don’t let your friends go by themselves either.”

He smiled sadly at that, but nodded in agreement. We shut off the galley overheads and went our separate ways.

Back in the berthing area, Pip was still asleep but Beverly was watching him from her bunk. She gave a helpless little shrug and mimed sleep. I nodded but didn’t speak. Whatever he’d been through in the last day, it had obviously drained him. I couldn’t help thinking that the loss of the Grishom hurt as much as, if not more than, any of his physical injuries.

Back to square one. That was going to hurt.

Chapter 12

Darbat Orbital
2351-October-24

Rhon Scham was the duty watch stander the next morning and woke me. “How is he?” she whispered.

Before I could answer, I heard a hoarse, quiet voice from the other bed. “He’s awake, needs to pee, and is hoping somebody will help him get out of this rack.”

I clicked on the light and saw Pip looking up at me, his good eye open and a lopsided smile on his face. “You’re among the living then?”

He nodded and held up a hand to Rhon who helped him get untangled from the covers and clamber up. “I seem to be, but you’ll excuse me if I don’t stand around chatting?” He hobbled into the san leaving Rhon and I smiling and exchanging glances.

She waved and left me to get on with the day. Beverly kicked the bottom of my bunk. “If the family reunion is over, can I have a little peace?” I turned out the light and Bev said, “Thank you.”

It took only a couple of minutes to get myself cleaned up and into a fresh shipsuit. I left Pip in the showers and reported to the galley. I grinned at Cookie and he looked relieved.

“Pip is better, I presume.”

I nodded. “Yeah, he’s hobbling about a bit and needed help getting out of the lower bunk. He must be hurting.”

Cookie chuckled. “Some mornings, any of us can feel like you have to step up to get out of a lower bunk, young Ishmael.”

Pip shuffled into the galley right on cue. “This morning was just such a time, Cookie.” The bandage was gone from his face but his eye was still swollen shut. He moved tentatively with an arm held tight to his side. Pip lowered himself gingerly into a chair. “What’s a guy gotta do to get a cuppa coffee around this joint?” He grinned.

I smiled back at him. “You want the old pot or can you wait five minutes for the new?”

We all had a little laugh, the tension broken and I went out to get the urn going. By the time I got back, Cookie had poured Pip some fruit juice and was just flipping an omelet out of the pan. I finished setting up for breakfast service and pulled the biscuits out of the bread oven. Nobody spoke as the morning prep spooled out like a well-oiled cable. In just a few ticks Cookie, Pip, and I were left waiting for the crew to show up and looking at each other.

“All right, Mr. Carstairs,” Cookie prompted with a smile, “the time has come and you will tell us what happened or I will ask Mr. Wang to beat on your other eye.”

Pip chuckled. “Okay, okay. I went to sell the Grishom. My contact at Chez Louis gave me a hundred thirty a bottle because they were in the presentation cases. I didn’t think anything of it, but I guess carrying over five hundred creds in cash wasn’t the smartest thing I ever did. I headed back right away so I could contact my next deal.” He looked at me then and shrugged. “I had a line on some entertainment cubes, a lot of them in plain brown wrappers. We’re heading back to Gugara and there’s a good market for that there.”

I shrugged. Porn was porn and everybody had a preferred flavor, even ancient lit professors. Mom had quite an interesting collection of samples from various time periods. It still stung when I remembered her, but I could tell I was healing.

“Anyway, I tried to get to a depository and transfer the creds, but these three thugs were waiting near the lift to the docks. They backed me into an alcove so fast, I never saw it coming. I gave them my wallet and told them I didn’t have anything else. They were pissed that there were only a few creds.”

“Where was the cash from the trade?” I interrupted him.

“In my money belt. I’m stupid, but not totally ignorant.” He took a sip of coffee. “Unfortunately, they’d tagged me as I left the docks. One of the thugs had a digital of me leaving with the duffel. They didn’t believe me when I told them it was laundry. So the next thing I know, I’m waking up, stretched out flat in the cul-de-sac, beat to a pulp, and my belt is gone. That was sometime around morning watch yesterday as far as I can tell. Darbati Orbital Security found me, saw that I wasn’t drunk, and figured I’d been mugged. I was coherent enough by then to tell them I was stationed on the
Lois
so they took me to the local medical outpost. The medics patched me up, filled me with painkillers, and security brought me back here.”

Cookie seemed alarmed. “Did you file a report with the authorities?”

Pip shook his head. “No, they never asked for a statement and by the time the meds kicked in I was too out of it. I probably couldn’t have made one.”

“Could you recognize them, Mr. Carstairs?” Mr. Maxwell’s sudden appearance startled all of us.

“I—I don’t know, sar,”

“Would you like to try?” His lips curled in a wry smile.

Pip thought for a moment. “I’d be willing to give it a shot, sar.”

Mr. Maxwell nodded. “Have you learned anything from this experience, Mr. Carstairs?”

“I was stupid and I was lucky.” He unconsciously echoed what Cookie had said the night before. “I got cocky and didn’t take a wingman. I figured I could handle it and…” He petered out a bit but stiffened up and finished, “and I didn’t want to risk people making fun of me for trading.”

Mr. Maxwell nodded once, crossed his arms, and leaned into the doorframe. “Anything else?”

“The
Lois
isn’t the
Duchamp
.”

“Very good, Mr. Carstairs.” Mr. Maxwell swiveled his head to include Cookie and me in his consideration. “And since we’re all here and among friends, perhaps one or more of you gentlemen would tell me what in the Deep Dark is going on with ship’s stores?”

There was a heavy stillness in the galley for about three heartbeats.

Cookie spoke, “We’re trying out something to reduce the cost of supplies, sar.”

Mr. Maxwell nodded. “I presume that something explains the nearly full container of frozen food being delivered to the dock? And another one of canned vegetables?”

Cookie nodded. “Yes, sar.”

Mr. Maxwell didn’t speak for a while. “What if we were to change course and head back to Neris instead of Gugara?”

Pip stiffened and looked at Cookie. Cookie didn’t even flinch. “Well, sar, I’d say that’s good.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because the extra frozen food is cobia fillets. We got them to swap in Gugara for some beefalo. They’ll be worth more in Neris. We can trade some of them for fresh produce which, on our budget, we couldn’t otherwise afford.”

Mr. Maxwell didn’t say a word, but it looked to me like Pip was holding his breath. Cookie seemed calm and unperturbed. Finally, Mr. Maxwell spoke, “That’s an interesting notion. Do you have the extra mass allotment to carry stores for trading purposes?” He asked in a way that made it sound like he was really interested.

Cookie nodded. “Yes, sar, we do. The ship’s rated for a larger crew than we carry. By being a bit more careful in stowage, we can take on up to fifteen percent more mass in stores without sacrificing either ship performance or jeopardizing crew meals.” He paused for a heartbeat. “I believe we can reduce the cost of feeding the crew by close to twenty percent which would add a nice bit to our profit margin overall.”

“And the quality won’t suffer? We eat well on this ship. It’s a matter of pride.”

“No, sar, of course not. The whole point is to procure foods that we wouldn’t normally consider because of the expense. I have some projections if you’d like to see them.”

Mr. Maxwell nodded. “Yes, Cookie, I would like a look, but only out of curiosity. It’s your budget and you know what it takes to keep the crew well fed and satisfied. I trust your mass figures and if you say it’s going to save us money, then that’s your call.”

“Thank you, sar. I’ll have them in your in-box by mid day.”

Mr. Maxwell nodded and turned his attention back to Pip. “If you could put together a description of the thugs, and the general location where they attacked you, Mr. Carstairs, I’ll circulate it to the crew and to the Darbati authorities. We’ll be pulling out in a few days, but if you’re well enough for a short stroll later, we might be able to spot them.”

Pip smiled. “Thank you, sar. I’d be happy to try to help nail them.”

“You know the creds are probably gone, right?”

“Oh yes, sar,” he nodded, “but if we can keep them from hijacking anybody else, that’s a win as far as I’m concerned.”

“Thank you, Mr. Carstairs. Your efforts here are noted and appreciated.” Mr. Maxwell smiled—yes, smiled—and somewhat enigmatically, I thought. He turned and left the galley, but I heard him grab a mug from the rack and fill it with coffee on his way off the mess deck.

Nobody moved or said a word for a long time after we were sure he was gone. Cookie broke the silence. “I have known that man for over fifteen stanyers and it still makes me nervous when he smiles.”