Quarter Share

  My own skill with the coffee turned me into a kind of celebrity. After seeing just how much of the brew the crew consumed when everyone was aboard, it made Cookie’s words about it being the lifeblood of the ship make more sense. Still, I knew most people only from seeing them in serving lines. A mess deck attendant is not terribly high on anybody’s radar—even ones who knew how to brew. Bev, however, turned out to be a good bunkie. After recovering from my initial embarrassment, I discovered she had a wicked sense of humor, which I appreciated most when it wasn’t directed at me.

  The coffee urns were an albatross or, perhaps more appropriately, the stone of Sisyphus. Every other stan I had to make more. I learned to grind a full bucket of Arabasti at the start of the shift and measured it into air-tights. That gave me three full pots each morning and seven spares in the chiller. Most days I had to grind a second bucket in the afternoon. While it still wasn’t up to the standard my mother would have insisted on, it was better than that first cup of bitter sludge that Cookie had given me. Just cleaning the containers had made a big difference and I devoted time each day to scrub one of the three urns.

  I discovered techniques to minimize clean up time such as keeping the steam tables at the right temperature or lining the serving trays with peel-away whenever we served something sticky. This last trick meant items could go right into the upright san unit without having to be scrubbed by hand. Pip and I alternated sweeping and mopping chores and worked together to clear the mess deck after each meal until we had it down to a science. He showed me how to use the protective gloves, first sprinkling a bit of talc in each, and leaving an inch or so of the cuff folded back to prevent water from running up my arms. The insulation saved my fingers from the scalding water we used for dish washing. Something I counted as a good thing.

  As Cookie, Pip, and I began to mesh as a team. I found I could tell the time of day just by what the others were doing. Slowly, I found myself acclimating to the schedule and could stay awake for as much as two or three stans after work before nodding off.

  Of course, that brought another problem. There didn’t seem to be anywhere to go except my bunk, the galley, or the mess. I needed to find things to occupy my mind or I would begin wondering how soon before we got where we were going. With only a third of the passage to the jump behind us, I knew that dwelling on are we there yet would lead to no good end. Given that I had signed on for two stanyers, I really needed to find something to do with my time. Cookie found me in this mindset one evening after dinner.

  I was wiping down the counter in the galley and he surprised me since he usually spent his evening playing cards with the other senior crew. “Mr. Wang,” he started, but stopped and smiled at me. “Ishmael, you seem to be taking to life aboard very well.”

  I smiled back. “To tell the truth, Cookie, I’m not sure how well I’m really doing, but I’m trying. I really need to make this work. I don’t have a lot of options.”

  “Yes, Captain Giggone spoke with me. You seem to be adapting to your recent loss.”

  His mention of my mother’s death caught me out of the blue and I turned back to the pot I was scrubbing to give myself a tick to regain control. “Thanks. It’s been…” I paused to think, “over a month now. I spent almost three weeks on Neris trying to figure out what to do.”

  He patted me on the back. “You’ve done well and landed on your feet after a terrible blow. I’m sure she’d be proud of you.”

  I nodded my thanks, not trusting my voice to remain steady. I worked silently for a time.

  “What will you do now?”

  “Now? I just got here. You’re not planning to put me ashore in Darbat, are you?”

  “No, young Ishmael. You misunderstand me. You’re too good to stay at quarter share. I want you to think about going for half share as soon as you can.”

  “Will I be able to remain on the ship?”

  He pursed his lips and cocked his head in consideration. “Well, you’d probably have to change vessels. The Lois isn’t rated to carry a food handler, but you could switch to another division and stay aboard if a half share berth opens up.” He folded his arms and leaned against the prep table. “I want you to start thinking about those kinds of possibilities.”

  “Wait a minute. I’ve been on this ship, what? Ten days?”

  He smiled and nodded.

  “Pip is in his second stanyer and he’s still at quarter share.”

  “But you are not Mr. Carstairs. For you, staying at your current rating would be a waste. You have done more in your ten days than Pip has done in the seven months he’s been aboard. I gave him the same test I gave you and he failed.”

  “You didn’t give me a test—” I started to object, but then remembered. “The coffee?”

  “Yes.”

  “But that’s not fair. My mother was a snob when it came to coffee. She drilled that stuff into me. How was Pip supposed to know?”

  “You continue to misunderstand me, Ishmael. It wasn’t that you knew how to fix it. That, I confess, was a happy serendipity. What you did was take responsibility. You showed pride in a job well done and addressed the problems systematically. When you knew the solution, you acted. When you didn’t, you sought help. You’re contributions have made the ship a better place.”

  I’m pretty sure I blushed then. “But I don’t know anything. Pip knows how everything works.”

  “And he proceeds on the basis that things must always work as they have, despite what his intelligence tells him.” He raised an eyebrow. “Did Pip know the coffee was bad?”

  I nodded in reluctant agreement.

  “And his advice to you was to keep your head down and your mouth shut, was it not?”

  Again, I nodded. “But—”

  Cookie smiled and held up his hand to stop me. “But me no buts, Ishmael. Yes, you have knowledge he did not. And he knows things you don’t. The difference is you use yours to help us all. That is what I look for in a shipmate.”

  “This is unfair. He’s helped me so much and I don’t want to come in here and leapfrog over him.”

  “Then perhaps you can help him in return. You could be a good influence.”

  I thought about that as I rinsed the pot. “I don’t know that I can, but I’ll try.”

  “Good. Now, what specialty do you think you’d like to pursue?”

  “Specialty?”

  “Ishmael, you could be an excellent cook, but I’m afraid if you took that path your talents would be wasted. You need to consider all possibilities. Engineering, perhaps? Environmental? Maybe you’d like to become a deck officer or cargo specialist?”

  “Wait, Cookie, you’re going too fast for me.” I waved a soapy hand in the air to stop him. “Why would I want to do one of those things? Can’t I just be a cook?”

  Cookie smiled and gave a little shrug. “How you spend the time is, of course, up to you. As for cooking, it’s my life and I love it. My pleasure comes from creating the best meals I can and making life more pleasant for the crew. You would make an excellent cook, Ishmael.” He paused and considered me with pursed lips for a heartbeat. “But I suspect you would find that it loses its challenge rapidly.”

  “You might be right but I’m not even certain what the other choices are.”

  “Look in your handbook, young Ishmael and consider that your feet are already on a path. It might be wiser to select a branch before one is thrust upon you by circumstance.” With that, he strolled out of the galley.

  I stood there considering his words and he startled me by poking his head back through the door. “And we’re out of coffee out here. Please brew a new pot before you go.” With a playful grin and a wink he left once more.

  Chapter 6

  Neris System

  2351-September-16

  Pip was the closest thing to a friend I’d had since Angela Markova. It was weird. I’d only known him a couple of weeks. Granted, they were long weeks and we’d been working together almost non-stop every day. In many
ways it felt like he’d taken me under his wing, but he also seemed—I don’t know—adrift might be a good word. After Cookie’s visit I had a hard time looking at Pip the same way. Of course that same conversation also made me look at Cookie differently. He was taking the role of a wise uncle. I shied away from the notion of father since I wasn’t terribly sure what that really meant. As for Pip, he became the rascally younger brother and Uncle Cookie had made him my problem.

  Day nine out of Neris and I stayed late to help Pip clean up and to talk. The galley was the only place we had that approached any level of privacy, and even there we were interrupted by people dropping in at odd hours to grab a cookie, make a sandwich, or ask me to brew another urn of coffee. Cookie’s discussion weighed on me all day and Pip noticed as he started in as soon as Cookie had left for his card game.

  “Okay, Ish. What gives?”

  I knew better than to play dumb, but I didn’t want to confront this particular problem head on, either. “The walls are really starting to close in. There’s no privacy. We work, sleep, work, sleep, work, sleep…it just doesn’t end. Not to mention that every time I turn around there’s somebody looking for more coffee.”

  Pip grinned mischievously. “I warned ya about that. You’re the caffeine god now and it comes with a terrible price.”

  I knew he was teasing, sort of. “Yes, I know, but you’re in your second stanyer…I’m barely into my second week. How do you cope?”

  “Ishmael, my boy, it’s all about the journey. In this business, you never get there, wherever there is, so you better enjoy the trip. As an allegory for life, I kinda like it.”

  I looked at him, perhaps a bit strangely. It was so unlike Pip, I wondered who he was channeling.

  He looked a bit embarrassed and gave a half shrug. “I got that from the second mate on the Duchamp. Just before she threatened to put me ashore on Arghon.”

  I laughed. “So you were a troublemaker.”

  “Let’s just say, I got off on the wrong foot with that crew. The Duchamp had just put into Arghon and the Lois came in right behind it. Word got around the docks that there was a woman on the Lois who wanted to get into environmental but there weren’t any openings. By that time I had a miserable reputation and I really was afraid they were going to strand me. Alvarez, she was the second mate on the Duchamp, talked to Mr. Maxwell, and I gladly traded my space there for the opening in the mess here.”

  “Wow, luck was in your pocket that day, huh?”

  He chuckled. “So it would seem. I never did find out why Mr. Maxwell was willing to take the trade, but that enjoy-the-ride speech was the last thing Alvarez told me before she kicked me out of the lock. It stuck with me. I’ve fit in better here, certainly. It feels more like I belong. But I think part of it is because I have taken a different approach and enjoying the ride, as it were.”

  I nodded and we worked on the pans in comfortable silence for a time.

  “Cookie was here last night.” I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye.

  “That’s odd. What’d he want?”

  “Odd isn’t the half of it. He wanted me to select a specialty to pursue.”

  Pip snickered. “Great gods and small piscatorials, you haven’t been here a month and he’s already planning your future?”

  I shrugged and handed him a pot to dry and stow. “More like, he’s afraid I’m gonna get bored as a cook and I need to be working on my next step now so I’ll be ready when the opportunity comes.”

  Pip nodded and gave me a rueful grin. “Yeah, he’s always after me to pursue something, too.”

  “So…?”

  “So, what?” He looked at me blankly.

  “What are you pursuing?”

  He looked a little sheepish. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

  I crossed my heart, leaving wet, soapy smears on my shipsuit.

  He glanced over his shoulder before lowering his voice to a whisper. “Trade.”

  “What’s that mean? You’re going for cargo master?”

  “Shh, keep it down. No, I’m running some smaller deals of my own.”

  “You’re what?”

  He looked over his shoulder at the door before continuing. “I’m picking up goods in one port and selling them at the next. Private cargo. Everybody’s allowed to do it. It’s in The Handbook, section fourteen. So long as you stay within your mass quota and don’t break any Confederation regulations, you can bring almost anything you want aboard including trade goods.”

  I looked at him, dumbfounded.

  “It’s true. You can look it up.”

  “I believe you. It just never occurred to me.”

  He grinned. “Almost everybody does it to some degree. I’m just a little more serious about it than most.”

  “Then why the big secret?” He had me glancing over my shoulder as well.

  He looked at me exasperated. “What do you think got me off on the wrong foot on the Duchamp?”

  I shrugged. “I figured it was the scrubber incident.”

  He shook his head. “No, that was just the set up. When they found out I was serious about private trading, they started making fun of me. They teased me because I kept bragging about making a killing with private trade with just a quarter share’s mass allotment. I think they figured if I was too green to know about pull out I must be clueless about trade as well. It didn’t take long before I was a laughing stock.” He stowed a tray under the counter. “The more I tried to explain, the worse it got.”

  I stacked the last pot in the drying rack and rinsed out the deep sink. “Yeah, I guess I can see that.”

  Pip looked miserable. “It made my life difficult. Somebody was always ragging on me about what I had for trade goods and laughing at the things I brought aboard.” He sighed and looked a bit sheepish. “It sounds pretty petty now, but it was miserable to live through.”

  “So, you’re still trading, but you’re keeping it quiet.”

  He nodded with a little shrug.

  We finished the clean up, and I went to prep for more coffee. I called back over my shoulder as I measured grounds into the filter.

  “So, how’s it working out?”

  He grinned wolfishly. “Well, I’ve only made a few hundred creds, but I haven’t lost any yet.”

  “Did you pick up something on Neris?”

  He looked at me like I was much stupider than I usually felt. “What do you think?”

  “Come on, tell me.”

  He lowered his voice. “Granapple brandy.”

  “What?” I tried not to laugh. I didn’t want to be like those on the Duchamp but granapple brandy wasn’t exactly a luxury good.

  “Grishom’s, thirty-years-old and aged in the cask. I have four, one-liter bottles.”

  I practically choked. “But that’s a hundred creds a bottle,” I said in shock.

  He nodded.

  I just stared at him but then I made the connection. “That’s why you weren’t on liberty when I came aboard?”

  He nodded again. “It took all my creds to buy them. I made one trip down when we made port to pick them up from my Aunt Annie. She’d found and held them for me.”

  “Aunt Annie?”

  “Anne O’Rourke. She’s the Union Hall Manager. You met her, didn’t you?”

  “Small galaxy…hey, wait. How’d you get them under your mass limit? You must have almost nothing on board.”

  He laughed. “Probably more than you. Four liters is only a bit over four kilos. Even with the glass bottles and presentation cases, it was under eight. How much mass did you bring up?”

  He was right. “Less than ten kilos.”

  I realized I could have done the same thing, except I didn’t know anything about private trading and didn’t have four hundred creds to spare.

  “What will they bring you on Darbat?” I found the whole thing fascinating.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know for sure. It depends on the market. Last one sold there went for two hundred creds, but a lot
could have changed between now and then. I have a restaurant connection. He’ll give me a hundred and a quarter a piece. That’s my fallback.”

  “Nice margin.”

  Pip gave a self-depreciating shrug. “I doubled my money going into Neris.”

  “Wow! Really? What’d you carry?”

  “Computer memory chips.”

  My eyebrows shot up. “Is there that much market for them?”

  “You wouldn’t think so, but yeah. I was able to buy a case back on Gugara for almost nothing. Neris Company controls all the cargo coming into the stores there and they apply a hefty tariff. It means company people pay much higher prices there than anywhere else. It really makes it hard to live there and difficult to save enough to buy a ticket off-planet.”

  “I noticed.”

  “It also means that a case of memory chips, without the tariff, can be turned around with a pretty good margin. It’s lightweight, high demand, and practically liquid.”

  “How do you know all this stuff?”

  “I’m from a trader family. It’s in my blood.” He grinned.

  “You’re full of surprises tonight.” I raised an eye brow at him. “But what’s a trader family?”

  “Well, Aunt Annie has been a trader for going on forty stanyers. She’s been taking a little down time at the Union Hall, but I suspect she’ll be back on a ship within a few months. My father owns two ships now. I grew up analyzing trade and traffic patterns on the galley table on his first ship.”

  I knew I was gaping, but I couldn’t stop myself. “You grew up on a ship?” I tried to picture kids on the Lois. “How’d you get aboard?”

  He smacked me playfully. “Not all ships are like this one, buffoon. Dad and Mom are the owner-operators of a small hauler over in the Sargass Sector. It’s small, just a few hundred tons. They run light freight out to the hydrogen miners and asteroid prospectors. We kept up on the trade data from the surrounding area because sometimes it was actually cheaper to take a jump over to Deeb to pick up something the clients wanted than to go all the way in-system to trade on Sargass Orbital. Depending on the orbits, it could be as much as three weeks into Sargass, but only four standays out to the jump. Deeb maintained an orbital that was usually only eight standays in on the other side. We could get to Deeb, do the trade, and be almost all the way back before we could have made it to the Sargass Orbital.”