Take The Star Road (The Maxwell Saga) (12 page)

"I get it," Steve acknowledged. "What if we get ordered to park anyway? How do we get back to the ship?"

"There are emergency supplies in that locker. We could stay on board for a week if we had to. We wouldn't be real comfortable, but we'd survive; and we'd be on hand to bring the cutter back to the ship, first chance we got." He grinned. "If we got lucky, we might even sneak back while TrafCon's attention was elsewhere - but you didn't hear me say that, right?"

Steve grinned back at him. "Say what?" He looked out of the viewscreen at the immense docking bay that surrounded them. "There must be three or four dozen small craft in here."

"Yeah, and there are lots more docking bays on the Cargo Terminal. 'Course, they've got enough traffic to warrant 'em in a huge facility like this." His face twisted wryly as he began to power up the cutter's fusion micro-reactor. "It's a lousy design, inefficient and bloated, but since that's what their bureaucrats wanted, that's what we have to put up with. It's one reason why most spacers don't like coming to Old Home Earth. We always have delays here, because things are so damn screwed up."

"Why is that?" Steve asked curiously. "I'd have thought it was in Earth's interest to make things as efficient as possible."

Tomkins snorted. "Depends on your perspective on efficiency! Earth produces goods on more than a dozen of the system's planets and moons, but it won't let 'em receive or ship goods directly. The bureaucrats reckon that'd lead to wholesale smuggling and evasion of import and export duties. Judging by what I've seen elsewhere in the settled galaxy, they're probably right! They solved a chunk of that problem by making everyone ship everything through Earth's Cargo Terminal. They can keep track of it all that way - at least, they think they can! It's more efficient from a control and taxation point of view, but it also causes a massive traffic bottleneck. That's why we ended up with an unexpected three-day crew liberty period here; it took that long to get our cargo processed and loaded. Of course, that's how you came to meet the Bosun, so I guess the bottleneck worked in your favor this time."

"I'll not complain about it, then," Steve assured him fervently. "Why does Earth use a Cargo Terminal in the first place? Why not load and unload ships in planetary orbit?"

"Most smaller worlds do that, but that's because they don't have much orbital traffic. Bigger planetary economies like Earth's have dozens of interstellar spaceships arriving and departing every week, plus all their local intra-system traffic. That's far too much to allow everything into planetary orbit, where you've already got power, comm and weather satellites, elevators, shuttles, and all the rest. A planet can run out of usable orbits real fast that way, not to mention the buildup of space junk and the risk of collisions. To avoid that, all the major planets have built Cargo Terminals in Lagrange orbital points, where freighters and cargo shuttles can load and unload. It keeps all that traffic far away from planetary orbit."

"But if they have to send freight to the planet from the Terminal, and fetch it, doesn't that cause just as much of traffic problem, and add a transshipment overhead as well?"

"It's not as bad as it would be if we all parked in orbit." A muffled whine came from beneath the floor as Tomkins engaged more of the cutter's systems. He continued, "A lot of traffic is transshipment rather than delivery, so you cut that out of the orbital overload for a start. After Customs processes planet-bound containers here, they load 'em into elevator pods, then ship 'em to the planet using special tugs that can tow a couple dozen pods at once. The shuttle leaves 'em at a 'down' elevator, where the operators clamp 'em to the cable and send 'em on their way, then goes to the 'up' elevator next door to pick up a string of pods that have come up from the planet, and brings them back here." He shrugged. "If you're dealing with only one planet's traffic, that's more efficient than allowing freighters to clog the orbitals. Earth's problem is that the traffic from all the system’s other planets and their moons snarls up everything here. Our cargo's come from Mars, for example. It would have been a lot quicker and easier for us to pick it up there."

"What did we load here?"

"A shipment of high-end limos and aircars. We're taking 'em to the Bismarck Cluster. I wouldn't waste my own money on 'em, but the folks in the Cluster are real big on buying products with good Deutsch labels on 'em - ancestral pride and all that, you know? These aircars carry brand names and badges that scream 'luxury' to the right crowd, even if they're so shoddily made nowadays that they spend half their time in the workshop!"

Steve frowned. "Surely most planets made their own vehicles these days?"

"They do, including the Bismarck Cluster, but some people will always pay over the odds for something with a 'Made On Earth' label on it - not that most of it's actually made
on
Earth at all, you understand! The gravity well and orbital congestion make planetside manufacture far too expensive for most spaceborne commerce. Most of it's made in orbital factories, or in plants in the asteroid belt where they're close to raw materials. Mars has a bunch of 'em, including the one that produced our cargo." He switched the comm panel to the traffic control channel, producing a muttered squeal of background noise. "Give me a moment to tell TrafCon we're ready for them."

He waited for a break in the traffic, then pressed the 'Transmit' switch. "LMV
Sebastian Cabot
Cutter Two to Cargo Terminal Traffic Control, over."

There was a brief pause, then a man's voice answered. He sounded harassed. "Trafcon to
Cabot
Cutter Two, go, over."

"Cabot
Cutter Two to Trafcon, we're ready to depart Service Bay Two, Dock Nineteen at your convenience for return to
Cabot
, over."

"Trafcon to
Cabot
Cutter Two, you're in luck; there's a slot open in three minutes. You are now designated Delta-Seven. Slave your systems to Trafcon and stand by. Upon exiting the service bay, monitor Channel 217 for further instructions. Over."

"Delta-Seven to Trafcon, understand departure in three, then monitor 217. Thank you. Standing by."

Instead of a reply, there were two brief clicks on the channel. Tomkins pressed a series of controls on the console. "There. I've just given Trafcon remote control of our systems."

As they waited, Steve asked, "Why do you call this type of small craft a 'cutter'?"

Tomkins shrugged. "It's named for a type of wooden boat powered by oars or sail, once used by wet-water ships to ferry passengers and cargo to and from shore. Don't ask me why the name was applied to a spaceship, even a tiny short-range boat like this. More tradition, I guess."

Steve looked around the interior, which appeared cavernous to him. "Doesn't seem 'tiny' to me, but then I haven't got much against which to compare it."

The Bosun's Mate laughed. "I'd forgotten how things seem to a newbie. A cutter can transport forty to fifty personnel and a hundred tons of cargo, internally and underslung on tractor beams. By comparison,
Cabot
can load up to half a million tons of freight - what we call her net register tonnage - in standard containers and in break-bulk cargo. We have two cutters, plus a smaller gig for the Captain - that's another boat name from the days of sail - and two much larger ten-thousand-ton cargo shuttles. Any of them will be lost in one of our holds.
Cabot
's not all that large, either, as freighters go: the biggest can accommodate ten times as much as we can. That's why I say this is tiny."

Steve blinked. "I see. I guess I've got an awful lot to learn!"

"Yes, you have, but you will. All it takes is time and hard work."

"I know I've still got to learn the basics of being a merchant spacer, but after I've done that, how difficult is it to learn to pilot one of these things?"

"It's a lot quicker and easier to learn than it was with the heavier-than-air or space vehicles they used in the old days. Nowadays, the computer does almost all of it. They call me a 'pilot', but in reality all I do is issue instructions to the artificial intelligence systems. They control everything. If they think I'm telling them to do something that isn't safe, they won't do it. All modern small craft work that way, just like private vehicles planetside. You can fly 'em hands-off from start to finish if everything's routine. A pilot's really only needed because computers sometimes go wrong. Also, no matter how smart an AI system gets, sometimes it comes up against a situation that hasn't been foreseen or pre-programmed. That's where we come in."

Steve nodded. "What made you decide to become a pilot?"

"Several reasons. For a start, I had the aptitude - not everybody does. It's a well-paid specialization, because pilots are always in demand. No ship ever has enough of them, and if you want to settle down in one place for a spell pilots are always needed planetside, or in orbital work, or for asteroid mining. There's plenty of variety to keep things interesting. Also, I get to see outside a spaceship, which for me personally is a real plus, although many spacers aren't interested. Last but not least, I sometimes get to sit comfortably in a pilot's chair aboard a shuttle or cutter while everyone else is handling cargo!"

Steve couldn't help chuckling. "Sounds good to me. How long does the training take?"

"It's a process. Before taking the course for a Lancastrian Commonwealth license, you have to pass an aptitude test, then do a minimum of two hundred hours of initial hypno-study and simulator training. We've got all that aboard
Cabot
, if you're interested, although you'll have to complete your apprenticeship before the Bosun will let you tackle any other training. You'll also need to log at least two hundred hours as a crew member aboard small craft. Once you've got those minimums - most people end up with quite a bit more - your ship certifies you've completed them. That qualifies you to attend a full-time small craft school for two months, where you'll earn a license for a single type of small craft, usually cutters."

"What about gigs and cargo shuttles?"

"Your basic license is for a single type. Your ship will add others as type endorsements on your license over time, first as second pilot and then as P.I.C."

"What's a P.I.C.?"

"Pilot In Command. You need at least five hundred hours as second pilot before you earn that rating in the merchant service. The Fleet wants a thousand hours, but then they do a lot more with their small craft than we do with ours."

"How much does small craft school cost?"

"Plus-or-minus fifteen thousand credits. Your ship normally pays for it, in return for which you sign a contract to stay with her for a given period, usually two or three years."

"But if you've got the money, there's nothing stopping you paying for the training yourself, right?"

"No, but why would you want to?"

Steve explained his ambition to join the Commonwealth Fleet to earn citizenship. "Seems to me that if I've got a qualification like that, it'll make me more attractive to the Fleet. After all, there's bound to be a lot of competition to join."

Tomkins nodded emphatically. "There sure is; even more so for the Foreign Service Program, because it's restricted to no more than ten per cent of the available recruit slots each year. The competition for them is fierce, because earning Commonwealth citizenship in other ways isn't easy, so there are always twenty or thirty applicants for each FSP vacancy. Still, if you're a qualified small craft pilot, I reckon you'll have a good chance to be selected. The Fleet has the same problem as the merchant service. It never has enough pilots."

A chime sounded softly, and a light on the console changed from amber to green. "Hold that thought," Tomkins added. "I'll say more once we're under way."

Steve waited as tractor and pressor beams thrust the newly-serviced cutter from its dock, then Trafcon took control and directed the cutter out of the service bay in a long, smooth curve away from the Terminal. He looked back at its fifty-kilometer length as it receded into the distance.

"The Terminal looks mighty big from this perspective," he observed.

"Yes, it's one of the biggest in settled space, thanks to having to handle traffic for the entire solar system."

Steve leaned forward in his seat against the pressure of his harness, craning his head to look around the immense blackness of space, studded with the bright sparks of stars and the lights of merchant ships parked near the Cargo Terminal. He couldn't hold back his smile.

"This is just...
beautiful!
I can't understand why some spacers don't like to look at it."

Tomkins shrugged, smiling himself. "I guess some people like it, and some don't - but I don't pretend to understand that, either. To me, this is one of the best parts of a pilot's job. You get to look around."

"Uh-huh." Steve sat back reluctantly, and looked across at the pilot. "You were going to say more about pilot training?"

"Yeah. The ship's due for a reactor and propulsion system overhaul next year. We do a twenty-year maintenance cycle, and this comes up every ten years. It'll take three months. Most of the crew will take leave and go home, but I'm going to stay at Bedford - that's the planet where we've booked the overhaul - and teach at their Small Craft Academy to gain more experience as an instructor. With that, plus what I get from teaching you, I'll be qualified for Bosun's Mate First Class by the time the ship's ready for space once more.