Quarter Share: A Trader's Tale from the Golden Age of the Solar Clipper (26 page)

Chapter 28

St. Cloud Orbital
2352-February-17

We docked at the St. Cloud Orbital right on schedule and the captain declared liberty almost immediately. By prior arrangement, Pip took Biddy and Rhon to scope out the flea market and rent a locker so we could have secure storage nearby.

Cookie and I made a pasta bake and garlic bread for the evening buffet. We suspected that few people would be aboard for dinner except the few who had to be. Everything was ready by 16:00.

“Cookie? When was the last time you went out for dinner?”

He stopped wiping down the counter and thought for a long time. “I confess it has been a while, young Ishmael. Why do you ask?”

“Because tonight would be a good opportunity for you to go. Dinner is all prepared and just needs to be put out. The dessert is already warming in the oven. You deserve a night out. You should go. I can solo one dinner service especially on a first night in port.”

Cookie cocked his head to one side as he considered the proposition. After a couple of ticks he smiled. “You are correct, young Ishmael, and there is an old friend who has a restaurant here. I’ll do it,” he said enthusiastically with a little nod of his head. “This is very thoughtful. Thank you.” With that, he strolled out of the galley and left me alone with the pasta.

About then Bev stuck her head in the galley door. “Hey, Ish? You know you ran out of coffee out here, don’t ya?”

I laughed and went to the mess to start a fresh urn of Sarabanda Dark, while we still had it.

When I finished I went back to the galley. It felt good to be there on my own and I took a few minutes to check out the stores Cookie and Pip had reserved for trade on St. Cloud. Almost all of the Sarabanda Dark was on the block as were about half of the mushrooms. In return we were restocking Arabasti and some root crops which stored well in any cool, dark space as well as a lot of fresh greens. They decided to fill the extra freezer with lamb and a local fish called munta. It was sort of a cross between a salmon and a sea bass in flavor. The lamb would give us a welcome break from the beefalo, and had the added benefit of being Cookie’s favorite meat. He was sure to have many recipes that would feature it prominently.

Pip had calculated that after all the trades cleared and the ship was restocked we would break even with consumption, basically eating free since Margary. Cookie thought we were actually down about a kilocred. Either way, their trading turned out to be a marvelously effective way to feed the crew well, while still reducing overall costs.

The ship’s container turned out even better. Pip’s assessment had been right on the mark. Mr. Maxwell stocked up on four different mushroom varieties, not just one. The value of almost a full container netted the ship more than two hundred kilocreds. They even sold the beefalo rugs for another ten. I wondered if the crew knew that Pip almost single-handedly threw an extra two hundred ten kilocreds into the profit pool. Not all of that would be distributed to share, but still, everyone would benefit from Pip’s astute trading skills.

Just then, the timer beeped and I started setting out dinner on the buffet. Comforting feelings washed over me carried by the warmth of the pasta and the wonderful smell of the garlic bread. Cheerful greetings from the crew who came for dinner added to my good mood—I could sure do worse.

Right near the end of dinner Pip came in, wearing a shipsuit that had seen better days. He grabbed some food and sat down with me.

I eyed him with a frown. “What did you get into?”

“Wet paint,” he said between bites. Holding up his hands he showed me black splotches and dirty fingernails. “It’ll be dry by morning, though.”

“So, how does the flea market look?”

He slurped a little coffee before answering, “Excellent. Just perfect. There’s a lot of fleece items but also some very nice leathers—goat as well as sheep—and a good supply of carved wood. I didn’t see any stonemasons or metal workers so the buckles and gems should sell well. The clientele seems to be pretty upscale, but I guess that’s because shepherds can’t afford the ticket up on the shuttle.”

“Sounds about like we anticipated.”

He nodded again and sat back with his drink in hand. “Cookie has his stores lined up and they should be coming in over the next couple of days. The empty container may stay that way leaving here. We really can’t make much on raw wool and there are no commercial quantities of textiles available.” He shrugged. “Sometimes winning involves just getting to the next port.”

Dinner mess ended and Pip helped me clean up. I brewed a fresh half urn of coffee before we headed for the gym. I had a good work out, but it occurred to me that I hadn’t seen Sandy since just before the deck exam, and she wasn’t on the track. Pip and I had the sauna to ourselves as well. First nights in port really made the
Lois
feel large and empty.

***

The next morning I got up when I heard Pip heading for the galley. I didn’t need to leave for the flea market quite that early, but I wanted to go with the first group. Pip and I had packed all our goods into a duffel the night before. We had permission from the co-op to pool our sales for the purposes of the cap since neither of us had individual items. It’s not like the bag weighed much, but I had planned to use the grav-pallet just because it would feel posh.

I headed down to the galley and while Pip set up the omelet station I made fresh coffee and put some biscuits in to bake. When Cookie showed up, he was smiling broadly. “Good morning, gentlemen. You do my old heart good by coming in and setting up perfectly without being told.” He sighed happily. “It’s been a long time since the galley has been such a well-oiled machine.”

“Did you have a nice evening out?” I asked.

“Yes, young Ishmael, it was lovely. I visited one of my countrymen who has an establishment on level five. We had grilled lamb, couscous, and strong tea. We talked until the early morning. I feel tired but am glad I went. Did all go well here?”

I nodded. “Oh yeah, dinner was easy. No problems.”

“And today is the official commencement of your new trading empire?”

Pip and I laughed. I shook my head. “Well, perhaps not a trading empire, but we’re at least going to try to turn a little profit.”

Pip made me an omelet and I poured coffee for everybody. I still had a few minutes before the mess deck opened officially so I settled down with my breakfast. It would probably be a while before I would have another chance to eat.

By the time I’d finished a few of the crew had lined up at Pip’s station so I took my plate and cup out to the dishwasher and stacked them there.

Cookie called to me as I was leaving, “Best of luck.”

Pip looked over his shoulder and saluted with his spatula. “Keep me posted.”

I was still chuckling as I reached the berthing area and changed into my civvies. My clothes were getting—not worn exactly—but certainly tired. My
good
boots weren’t anything compared to some of the footwear I’d seen in the last six months. My jacket was little more than an outdated windbreaker. My pants weren’t special either, what my mother called, “good, solid trousers.”

I put them on because that’s all I had, but I started to realize why people
dressed up
when changing into their own civvies. As nicely made and practical as shipsuits were, months of wearing them on a daily basis made putting on anything else kinda special. If I got new clothes I’d have to get rid of these, or take a hit to my mass allotment. I understood now why so many people did exactly that.

I saw the boy toy belt hanging in the back of the locker and, with a sudden burst of daring, stripped off my old, perfectly adequate belt and buckled on the supple leather with its gold metal and black dragon. I looked at myself in the mirror, and if I were being perfectly honest, the new belt looked out of place. It didn’t go with the rest of the outfit at all. It did, however, go with me. So I kept it on.

I scooped up the duffel, slammed my locker, and headed for the cargo lock. I got there just after 07:00 and found a crowd had gathered. I walked up to see what they were looking at and burst out laughing.

When we first received the grav-pallet from Mr. Cotton, I could see why it had been slated for salvage. It had been pretty torn up and would only lift about half its rated capacity. Not that it would matter for our purposes, since its normal load was measured in kilotons and we only needed it to carry a few dozen kilos. Freshly painted a rich, matte black, the pallet looked almost new. A uniform layer of pristine, gray skid-grid covered the top, which had been scarred by dropped loads and untold cargo calamities. It was the same nubby, rubbery matting used in cargo entries and engineering spaces where good footing was important. Along the skirting on all four sides, somebody had stenciled McKendrick Mercantile Cooperative in gray paint that matched the skid-grid. Judging from the smudges on Biddy Murphy’s cheek, I knew who’d done that. The black told me where Pip had found wet paint the day before. A stack of gear already waited on the pallet, including a basket with the banner and table coverings. I added my duffel to the pile and we all stood there looking at it for a few ticks before Rhon, the morning’s booth manager, took the tow handle and pushed the pallet out the lock.

I stood there watching them go and really didn’t know what I felt. This crazy group of people headed out on an adventure that was no more exotic than a yard sale. The gray-haired members of our merry band seemed to be having as much fun as the younger ones. The scene felt all the more surreal when I considered that in their
real life
, when not selling trinkets at a flea market, they sailed a deep space leviathan between the stars. It sounded romantic, but it wasn’t exciting because that was just their job.

“You’d better hurry, Ishmael, or they’ll leave you behind.”

I turned to see the captain standing there watching the parade streaming out of her ship and across the orbital’s dock. “Aye, aye, Captain. By your leave?” I saluted for what might have been my first time since signing The Articles.

The captain grinned and returned the salute. “Carry on, Mr. Wang. Carry on.”

As I stepped through the lock, I swore I heard Lois laughing.

Books in the Golden Age of the Solar ClipperSeries

Trader Tales

Quarter Share
Half Share
Full Share
Double Share
Captain's Share
Owner's Share*

Shaman Tales

South Coast
Cape Grace*

Fantasy Books by Nathan Lowell

Ravenwood
*Forthcoming

The Golden Age of the Solar Clipper

If you enjoyed this novel, you will be happy to learn that…

Quarter Share is the first in the six book
Trader
series from The Golden Age of the Solar Clipper. Nathan's series tells the tales of everyday men and women, real people doing ordinary things and forging bonds of friendship while traveling the stars in the Deep Dark. It is a coming of age story of Ishmael Horatio Wang—a broke, uneducated, orphan from a backwater planet at the edge of no where. He’s not a “hidden prince” and he wasn’t adopted. He’s just an average Joe trying to make a living.

This series was originally released as Podcasts, an audio format distributed for free (donations accepted and appreciated) where chapters are released serially. The next four podiobooks in the series are available now and can be listened to at
www.podiobooks.com
. Ridan Publishing plans to publish each book in the Trader series in both printed and ebooks formats and editing is underway. If you wish to be notified as the books are released please send an email to:
[email protected]
and we'll let you know when they become available.

Nathan's stories are some of the most popular out of the hundreds of offerings from
www.podiobooks.com
, and as of May 2010 he held 6 out of 10 Top Overall Rated (#3 Ravenwood, #4 Quarter Share, #5 Double Share, #6 Captain's Share, #7 Full Share, #10 South Coast) and 5 out of 10 Top Overall Ratings by Votes (#2 Double Share, #3 Quarter Share, #4 Full Share, #7 Half Share, #10 Captain's Share).

About the Author

Nathan Lowell has been a writer for more than forty years, and first entered the literary world by podcasting his novels. His sci-fi series, The Golden Age of the Solar Clipper grew from his long time fascination with space opera and his own experiences shipboard in the United States Coast Guard. Unlike most works which focus on a larger-than-life hero (prophesized savior, charismatic captain, or exiled prince), Nathan centers on the people behind the scenes--ordinary men and women trying to make a living in the depths of space. In his novels, there are no bug-eyed monsters, or galactic space battles, instead he paints a richly vivid and realistic world where the “hero” uses hard work and his own innate talents to improve his station and the lives of those of his community.

Dr. Nathan Lowell holds a Ph.D. in Educational Technology with specializations in Distance Education and Instructional Design. He also holds an M.A. in Educational Technology and a BS in Business Administration. He grew up on the south coast of Maine and is strongly rooted in the maritime heritage of the sea-farer. He served in the USCG from 1970 to 1975, seeing duty aboard a cutter on hurricane patrol in the North Atlantic and at a communications station in Kodiak, Alaska. He currently lives in the plains east of the Rocky Mountains with his wife and two daughters.