Ships of My Fathers (17 page)

Michael thought about it. There had been plenty of imperfections on
Sophie
, some they lived with, some they feared they might not live with. “What are we going to do about it?”

“Nothing for now. It’s never on the final down-tach, so Gabrielle and the navigation computers can always make any final adjustments. Wait, here comes the next one.”

“Stage three in fifteen… mark.”

Michael watched it more closely this time, and the sails pulled in smoothly, snapping into their smallest configuration immediately.

“See,” Zane said. “In six months we’ve got a three-week layover scheduled at Callista Prime. I suspect that will be a working holiday for us, but until then we’re keeping our eyes on it.”

“Transition set, drop sails in twenty… mark.”

Michael took a deep breath. He always hated this part. Transition was the point of letting go of all the tachyon wind and keeping whatever sublight momentum you wanted to pull off them. When everything worked out, you put yourself on a nice vector into the orbital traffic patterns, but if the navigator did it wrong, you could easily end up on a high-speed course into a very large rock. It had not happened for over forty years, but that was only because navigation math had gotten that good.

Yeah, math.

He only kept his eyes open to be able to watch the displays. Back on
Sophie
he usually had them closed when he could.

But the clock ticked down, and the sails dropped precisely on schedule.

The speaker was silent for a moment, and then Jake Norris came on. “Secure sails, prepare low power deceleration thrust.”

They flipped through the switches to take the sail generators offline and spun around in their seats to the consoles behind them. The sublight gravity pulse drives were not nearly so massive, but they would never take them far either. When they came online, Zane pointed him towards the status switch. “If you’ll do the honors, you can report us ready.”

Michael flipped it over to green and waited for the pilot’s controls to start flowing into the engines. Within a minute they did, and the hum of the gravity pulses started up, much softer and lower pitched than the sail generators.

The next voice they heard was the XO’s. “Estimate docking at eleven hundred. Cargo crew to load stations by twelve hundred. Crew liberty to begin at thirteen hundred. Check watch schedule for station duty rotation.”

Zane’s face took on a contented look. “Ah, liberty, sweet liberty.”

Michael nodded. “What’s station liberty usually like? I’m more used to groundside.”

He shrugged. “Depends on the station. I’ve got a lady friend on Ballison, so that makes this one particularly sweet, but Ballison is ok. Arvin’s a lot better, what with the navy base and all, but I don’t know any of the locals.”

A lady friend. He thought of Josie, and it stung. Even if they ever went back to Taschin for some reason, Josie would be down on the ground, not on the station. Not that it mattered. The
Heinrich
would likely never pass through Taschin again.

They all piled into the same hotel and rented out the bulk of one floor, only to find out that the crew of the
Windy Wilhelm
had bought out the floor below them. This brought about a raucous cheer from the rest of the crew.

“The
Windy Wilhelm
?” Michael asked.

Karen was the closest. “Our sister ship,” she answered over the cheers. “We usually intersect with her every few months. Always a big party.”

“To the Hopping Hole!” Gabrielle declared from the registration desk. “Leave your bags and pick up your keys later. It’s time to teach those windy windbags how to drink!”

And off they went. Ballison station was significantly larger than Taschin station, with three full rings, but most of the cargo vessels were clustered on the bottom one, and the Hopping Hole bar was not far from the hotel.

The bar looked big from the outside, mostly in that it was the only door for thirty meters in either direction. The crew lined up in front of the entrance as the bouncer waved them in. Karen went in just before him and immediately jumped on the back of another man in the blue and gray of the S&W uniforms. He laughed and staggered over to one of the bars where he dropped her off on a stool.

Michael was about to follow when the bouncer put out his hand. “Excuse me, can I see some ID?”

He reached for his pocket and then realized he had left his passport in his bag back at the hotel. “I’m sorry, man. I don’t have it.”

Charlie stepped up behind him. “What’s the problem?”

“Your friend doesn’t have any ID.”

“Well, I can vouch for him. He’s
Heavy Heinrich
like the rest of us.”

The bouncer shook his head. “He looks a little young.”

Charlie looked past them and waved his hand. “Gabrielle!” He turned back to the bouncer. “Don’t say I didn’t give you a chance, buster.”

The bouncer was opening his mouth to reply when Gabrielle came back, already with a mug of beer in her hand. “What’s the problem, Charlie?”

He pointed to the bouncer. “This guy doesn’t want to let Michael in.”

Gabrielle turned her eyes towards the bouncer, and in that moment, Michael saw his friendly cousin disappear. It was like looking at the XO, or worse, his uncle. She cocked an eyebrow and asked, “Is that so?”

“Look, miss, I’m not trying to cause any trouble, but the station regs say he’s got to be eighteen. If I’m not sure, I’m required to ask for ID.”

“Well, I don’t want to cause any trouble either,” she replied, “but I’m telling you that he’s with us, and he’s fine to come in.”

The bouncer looked back and forth between Gabrielle and Michael. Michael opened his mouth to say something, but Gabrielle silenced him with a glare. The bouncer summoned a passable smile. “Perhaps we can send someone for his ID, miss. I wouldn’t think it would take long.”

She shook her head and took a step closer. An older man with an officer’s stripe stepped up behind her. His name patch read Williams, and he was from the
Windy Wilhelm
. “Hey, Gabby, is there a problem?”

“No,” she replied. “I was simply explaining that either he lets my cousin in, or we all leave.”

The bouncer stammered. “I, um, I don’t think…”

She tapped at her name patch with one finger. “Do you know who my father is?”

He gulped. “I can guess.”

“Then I think you should know that there are fifteen other clubs on this station that would love to hold the tab for Schneider & Williams shipping. It’s up to you whether your bosses get to keep it.”

The
Wilhelm
crewman leaned forward beside Gabrielle. “You know,” he said with a little nod, “what she said.”

The bartender turned back to Michael, apparently to escape Gabrielle’s withering stare if nothing else. “I’m so sorry for the misunderstanding, sir. All Schneider and Williams crew are welcome here, of course. My mistake.”

Michael stepped past, and Gabrielle guided him to the bar. “Michael, this is Quincy Williams of the
Windy Windbag
.”

Quincy gave her a quick swat on the behind. “
Wilhelm
, you heavy heiny!”

Michael extended a hand, and Quincy took it. “So you’re Gabrielle’s cousin… on her mom’s side, right?”

“No,” Gabrielle answered. “Dad’s.”

Quincy’s eyes went wide. “Holy shit, you’re Pete’s kid.”

Michael nodded.

Quincy stepped forward and grabbed him by both shoulders. “My God, it’s like a time machine. You look just like him!”

Gabrielle stepped between them with a couple of beer mugs. “Except for the mustache, remember?”

Quincy took the mug. “Oh, that’s right. The Broom of Doom!”

Michael took his mug as well. “Broom?”

Gabrielle shook her head. “He had this incredibly bristly mustache, always tickled when he’d kiss me on the cheek.”

Quincy raised his mug to them. “To long-lost Pete and the Broom of Doom!”

Michael raised his glass and joined in the chorus.

Quincy drank it all back and slammed the glass down on the counter. He seemed about to say something to Michael when someone else caught his eye. “Maggie Nelson, you get your fine ass over here!”

Michael looked to see Maggie, their head chef, running into Quincy’s waiting arms. After a long kiss, Quincy threw one look back at them. “I’ll catch up with you two later.”

Gabrielle laughed and turned back to the bar, beckoning Michael to join her. “It’s always a good time when we run into another ship in the fleet, but the
Wilhelm
is a special treat.”

He nodded and took a sip of his beer. Further back in the club, he could see Karen sitting on a table talking to one of the men from the
Wilhelm
. “So, tell me, what are the rules?”

“What rules?”

He shrugged, trying to play it cool but failing. “You know, rules on fraterizing. Fratization. Dammit!”

“Fraternization?” she asked.

“Yes, that.”

“I say knock yourself out. I can think of several pretty gals on the
Wilhelm
.” She started scanning around. “I bet Suzie Milton would love to pounce you, but I haven’t seen her yet.”

“Oh, yeah, I guess.”

She turned back to look at him. “Oh, you meant within the crew, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. I’m curious.”

She shook her head with a smile. “It’s not disallowed, but don’t do it within your own department. Try it and you’ll both find yourselves on opposing twelve-hour shifts.”

He nodded. “Not much pickings back in engineering anyway.”

Gabrielle’s eyes lit up. “You’re already thinking about someone, aren’t you?

He sat bolt upright. “No, honest, I was only curious.”

She laughed at him and raised her empty mug for a refill. “You’ve got the hots for Karen Larkin, don’t you?”

“What? Why would you say that?”

She leaned over and lowered her voice beneath the din of the club. “Word travels, biscuit boy. Word travels.”

“Oh,” he replied and took another sip of his beer.

“Look, let her have her fun in port, and see what happens on board. Just don’t let it get too serious. Things can get messy. Understand?”

He nodded. “Thanks, and thanks for before.”

“What? That flunky at the door?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re crew, Michael. It comes with the territory, and despite what you might think, the name does have certain advantages.”

He grimaced. Advantages or not, he was not ready to swallow it.

Chapter 14

“They say the past always catches up with you, sooner or later. I prefer sooner, because by the time later rolls around, the past has picked up a lot of speed.” — Malcolm Fletcher

J
IMMY
A
NDERS WALKED INTO THE
Lucky Black and took a seat at the bar.

“What’s your poison?” the bartender asked.

He put a twenty-credit note on the counter. “Do you have any Ersut Vodka?”

The bartender raised an eyebrow but still reached under the counter for an unlabeled bottle. “You’ve been through here before, but I don’t recognize you.”

He watched the glass being poured and licked at his lips. “It’s been a while, but I remember my favorite local blend. It still has the root, yes?”

“I don’t make it. I just serve it.”

“Fair enough.”

The bartender took the twenty and pulled out a ten from the register.

“No, kind sir, you keep that.”

The bartender smiled at him and wandered off to leave Jimmy in peace with his drink. He took a sip and picked up a trace of that tonja root taste. It was not nearly as effective to drink it as to smoke it, but he knew he would have a nice low-grade buzz for the next hour or so. When he finished, Jimmy called him back over. “Can I get a beer to chase that? Whatever you’ve got on tap is fine.” He laid another twenty on the counter as the mug was delivered. “You keep that, too,” he said.

The bartender looked at him a moment. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Well, now that you mention it, I’m looking for a friend of mine, thought maybe he’d been through here.”

“A friend?”

Jimmy shrugged. “Friend, business associate. He didn’t make our meet-up out on Nasar, so I thought I’d check here.”

The bartender still held the twenty in his hand. “What’s your friend’s name?”

“Fletcher,” he said. “Malcolm Fletcher of the
Sophie’s Grace
.”

The bartender slid the twenty into his pocket. “Then I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, but your friend is dead.”

“Dead?” Jimmy asked in feigned shock. “Are you sure?”

He nodded. “We had the wake right here, maybe two months ago.”

“Well, damn, that is bad news. He was a good guy.”

“That’s what I heard.”

“I have to say, I didn’t know his crew very well, but I knew his boy Michael. Do you know where he is? It would be nice to stop in and pay my respects.”

“Sorry, I don’t know. The last I saw of him was at the wake.”

“Too bad,” he replied and lifted the beer to his lips before pulling it away. “I worry about him, a kid like that on his own.”

The bartender looked away for a moment. “You know, I think Fletcher had a girlfriend here in port. She might know. Annie… something, I don’t know.”