Double Share: Solar Clipper Trader Tales

  “Are you familiar with the term insubordination, Mr. Wang?” he asked with a wolfish grin.

  “Yes, Mr. Burnside, I am. Insubordination occurs when a subordinate willfully and deliberately disobeys a legal order.”

  “And you do not consider this behavior insubordination, Mr. Wang?”

  “No, Mr. Burnside. It would be insubordination to refuse to answer your questions fully and accurately. The simple fact that you do not like my answers does not constitute insubordination. Furthermore, my failing to point out this violation of the rules, regulations, and common practices associated with quarterly drills might be construed as dereliction of duty, which would make me liable to being charged for infractions more serious than a claim of insubordination.”

  Mallory took this all in. His eyes never left the helm display but I saw it in his face.

  Burnside must have twigged that he had a witness present as well, because his expression lost some of its confidence.

  “That will be all, Mr. Wang.”

  “Aye, aye, Mr. Burnside,” I said and left the bridge.

  I wondered if I’d survive to see Diurnia. A lot of accidents can happen in the Deep Dark. I put it out of my mind as best I could. There wasn’t anything I could do until we got back to port. I’d probably already said too much, but the Billy was a catastrophe that was just waiting to happen—and already had happened to Penny Davies.

  When I relieved Arletta for the midwatch that night I asked her, “Have the drills always been like that?”

  “More or less. I think he was pushing the point a bit, just because you had made such a big deal out of it.”

  “He’s a menace,” I grumbled. “Treating drills like that is a dangerous practice.”

  “Ishmael,” she said with a patient tone, “he’s always been a menace. He was a menace before you came. He’s still a menace. And unfortunately he’s the first mate. There’s not a whole lot you can do to him out here.”

  “True,” I agreed. “Even a boot third knows that, but I can file a complaint when we get back to Diurnia.”

  She looked aghast. “You can’t!”

  “Why not? The logs are legal documents. He’s certified the readiness and safety of the crew in them. And the CPJCT’s specifications on drills are clear. You must have them every ninety days. You have to actually hold the drills!”

  “Yes, I know,” she said with a concerned look, “and you’re right. His slapdash approach is dangerous.”

  She looked at me carefully to make sure she had my attention. “Do me a favor? Look up the pertinent chapter and verse in the CPJCT regulation? See what it says about drills?”

  “You think he’s right?” I asked.

  “No, I think he’s wrong, Ishmael,” she said, “but I think he’s legal. It’s stupid but true. Check before you do anything really rash, okay?” She held me in her eyes until I had to look away.

  “Okay, I’ll look it up on watch tonight.”

  She smiled. “Good man. And in that case, ship is on course and on target…”

  I sat there with the Deep Dark all around after she had left. Juliett picked up on my mood, no doubt, because she had no comments for me. Even the redoubtable Ms. D’Heng had little to say. They were going over their last minute studying. The deck and steward divisions would test first and then engineering and cargo the following day according to the published schedule.

  There were no cargo handlers aboard so that part of the testing would be easy, but before I could deal with scheduling the rest, I needed to see if what Arletta had said was true.

  It took the better part of a stan to excavate the pertinent appendix from the Handbook, a kind of a everything-you-need-to-know about being a spacer guide, but eventually I found it. The drill needed to consist of a presentation of the correct audible alarm or signal, followed by the prescribed text, and ending with “this is a drill.” Rating and evaluation of performance during the drill was left to command discretion. The drill needed to be repeated every ninety days.

  I read it three times in disbelief.

  According to the CPJCT that travesty of crew safety had been perfectly legal.

  I wondered if Burnside had known that at the time.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  BREAKALL SYSTEM

  2358-SEPTEMBER-23

  Two days later, when I relieved Arletta for the evening watch, I was dizzy with lack of sleep and giddy with the results of the ratings exams. Between the watches, the testing, and the overall success rate, I felt like I was making a real difference. Of the fourteen crew, nine did a double step by going up two levels instead of one, and the other five took a solid single step.

  I was grinning when I came up the ladder and my only concern was staying awake until midnight when Burnside would relieve me. We now had a ship full of people who were qualified to move on to bigger and better things and I took some pleasure in my contribution to that. We were still twenty days from transition and another five weeks beyond that clawing back to Diurnia.

  “Congratulations, Ishmael,” Arletta said when she saw me coming. “I saw the results and they’re impressive.”

  “Nothing I did,” I told her. “The congratulations go to people like Mr. Betts here.” I turned to him and said, “Congrats, Arnold. That was a great jump from able spacer to spec two ship handler.”

  “Thank you, sar,” he said with a self-deprecating grin, “and begging your pardon, sar, but if it hadn’t been for you believing in us, and showing us how to do it, none of us would have even tried. So thank you, sar.”

  Arnold looked shocked that he’s said so much at once and even Arletta looked a bit taken aback.

  I was flattered beyond all belief.

  “Thank you, Mr. Betts,” I said. “That means a great deal.”

  Juliett came up over the ladder and I grinned at her. “Another potential ship handler!”

  She smiled at me.

  “It’s all in the wrist,” she said.

  She went to take her place by the helm and we got on with the business of changing the watch.

  Arletta and Arnie Betts went below for dinner and I took a few ticks to check the log status. Things looked normal with no changes to course or speed for our watch. Nothing to do but to sit back and bask in the glow of a job well done.

  I heard footsteps on the ladder and saw Ms. Jacobs bringing up my dinner tray. Even from across the bridge I could smell the delicate aromas of grilled fish in dill sauce and herbed rice. I was distracted by the smell and almost overlooked the floor show when Ms. Jacobs leaned down to place the tray on the console beside me.

  “There you go, Mr. Wang,” she said, leaning on the console longer than she had to in order to make sure I got the full effect. “Bon appetite.”

  She turned and sashayed back across the deck and down the ladder. Very slowly.

  Juliett sniffed. Loudly.

  “You have a comment, Ms. Jaxton?” I asked as I unlimbered the implements of ingestion and prepared for personal refueling operations.

  “Me, sar?” she asked. “Comment about what, sar?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I said, flaking off a bit of the pink fleshed fish. “Market conditions? Price of fuel? New mess mate?”

  “Well, sar,” she said, working up a head of steam slowly, “far be it from me to pass judgment on my shipmates, sar. I know we were all concerned that she might be the latest in a long line of prey and fall victim to certain members of the ships company who must remain unnamed.”

  “Indeed, Ms. Jaxton,” I said, savoring the herbed rice and marveling at how far Mr. Vorhees had come in such a short time. “And you now believe that those concerns are unfounded?”

  “Sar, that woman makes predatory take on all new meaning. If it wasn’t for the fact that he’d enjoy it so much, I’d suggest we sic her on that certain member of the ship’s company.”

  “My goodness, Ms. Jaxton, I’m glad you’re not one to pass judgment.”

  “I know, sar. It could get out of
hand.”

  Charlotte skipped up over the ladder and smoothly relieved Juliett for dinner.

  “Thank you, Ms. D’Heng. We’ve been comparing notes about certain new members of the ship’s company. Mr. Wang seems interested in how she’s fitting in,” Juliett said.

  “Fitting in? Yes, sar. She’s fitting in, and the general consensus among those who have reason to know is that she’ll fit just about anything in, sar.”

  I’d learned some weeks back not to drink coffee while Charlotte D’Heng was speaking. As it was, I nearly choked on a bit of fish.

  “Not a person we need to worry about becoming an unwilling victim, then, Ms. D’Heng?” I asked when I finally cleared my windpipe.

  “No, sar,” she said with a considering tone in her voice, “but I’d be leery about calling her a man-eater, sar.”

  “Really, Ms. D’Heng?” I really should have known better, but she got me off center.

  “Yes, sar. She’ll likely eat anybody.”

  “Thank you for that clarification, Ms. D’Heng,” I told her with what I considered heroic control. “And congratulations on making able spacer. Very nice job on the exam yesterday.”

  “Thank you, sar. The study sessions helped, and just knowing that we could jump grades like that made all the difference.” She gave me a glance. “You’re a nice guy, sar. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome, Ms. D’Heng,” I said and I felt like I was blushing. “What other news can you share with me?”

  “Well, sar, Ms. Cramer has inherited the attentions that were once lavished on Ms. Davies. She’s ignoring those attentions, including the late night invitations to a certain stateroom.”

  “Good for her,” I said with feeling.

  “It helps that she got her able messmate rating, sar. We can expect her to leave the ship in Diurnia. She’s always wanted to go to one of those passenger liners.”

  “I think we’ll probably lose a lot of people, won’t we?” I said, blatantly fishing.

  “It’s a long trip back, sar. That’s going to depend a lot on what happens between here and there, I think.”

  “Like what?” I asked.

  “Well, the food has gotten a lot better. The coffee, of course, improved almost as soon as you came aboard, sar.”

  “Those are things that have already happened, Ms. D’Heng.”

  “You’re very sharp for an officer, sar.”

  “Thank you, Ms. D’Heng. I try hard to keep up.”

  “Those are things that make people think it doesn’t have to be the way it’s always been, sar, which gets them thinking about how things might get better.”

  “Do I want to know what things might get better?”

  “Probably not, sar,” she said.

  “Well, given the success of the last round of testing, can we expect to see a little more participation in the afternoon sessions again?”

  “Oh, that’s very possible, sar. Not just for the studying but the fun of it. I don’t know if you’re aware sar, but those sessions were like a party, sort of.”

  “I hadn’t noticed, Ms. D’Heng.”

  “Remind me to have Ms. Jaxton remind you to keep practicing, sar.”

  “Practicing, Ms. D’Heng?”

  “Lying, sar. She assures me you’re working on credibility. You still need work, sar.”

  “Thank you for your critique, Ms. D’Heng. It’s always a breath of fresh air.”

  “You’re quite welcome, sar,” she said.

  “Having the ship clean and the crew working together has helped, sar,” she said after a moment. “We’ve had a bit of a shock with Ms. Davies and all. We know perfectly well who’s responsible and we know none of us can ever prove it.” She turned to look at me over her shoulder. “That sticks in the craw of a lot of people.”

  “Indeed it does, Ms. D’Heng,” I said. “But we don’t want to stoop that far. If we act like them, then we become them. I’m hoping for better.”

  “We all do, sar. But I’m willing to let a little of that pride go myself if it means we don’t have another Ms. Davies.”

  “Or Alice Stewart?” I added.

  “Or Teresa Jaffee, and it’s not just the blatant and obvious examples, sar. It’s the everyday pick-pick-pick. It’s everywhere, sar.”

  “Fish rots from the head,” I murmured.

  “What’s that, sar?”

  “Oh, an old saying, Ms. D’Heng. Sometimes I just talk to myself for no reason.”

  “I see, sar, and do you also answer, sar?”

  I smiled. “Sometimes, Ms. D’Heng.”

  “I don’t think you have to worry unless the answers surprise you, sar.”

  “Thank you, Ms. D’Heng. I think I’ve heard that before.”

  Juliett came back from dinner then, and we set into a quick clean up. In less than a stan, we had the bridge all shiny and clean again. Charlotte even ran the tray back to the galley and picked up three fresh coffees for us.

  When she returned and we got ready to settle down she asked, “What should I study, sar?”

  I shrugged. “What do you want to know about?”

  “Astrogation,” she said without any hesitation.

  “Then try the spec three in astrogation.”

  “Why not spec two, sar?” she asked.

  “Because you’ve never worked in astrogation and most of the concepts will be new and foreign. Try spec three and see how you do. If it seems too easy after a couple of weeks, trade up,” I suggested.

  “Logical, sar.”

  “I try, Ms. D’Heng.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  DIURNIA SYSTEM

  2358-NOVEMBER-6

  When nothing happens, it’s easy to begin to convince yourself that any suspicions you had held were all paranoid delusions. While the old syllogism about paranoia is undoubtedly valid, and they are all out to get you, the reality is that sometimes paranoia is just a state of mind. You see something. You jump to conclusions. It’s self-defense.

  We were still about ten days short of Diurnia, and it looked like we’d make it back without any further difficulties. Burnside found his attempts to woo Ms. Cramer ineffectual. I had it on good authority that remembering what happened to his last girlfriend made it easy to ignore his tablet bips. There had been no more assaults reported, and the Bumble Brothers had limited their hostility to a continual sneer punctuated with the odd glare for good measure. Mostly they were ignored when they weren’t actively shunned.

  We went through transition without any problems. The captain came out of the cabin for the half a stan that he needed to be on the bridge and then disappeared back down the ladder. For a mercy, he didn’t call me down to strip my hide for anything. I rather expected to hear about how many of the crew had earned their ratings advances, but he didn’t say a word.

  My tablet continued to turn on intercom transducers as I moved around the ship. The audio logs were an amusing map of my day and week. I only hoped I hadn’t said or done anything incriminating. The alarm that I’d placed on them had never been tripped. It was uncanny, although I suppose it made some sense considering that none of the crew had been aboard when the ship was commissioned.

  “Did you hear about Xiang?” Charlotte’s voice broke into my reverie.

  I looked up from the watch station and across the bridge. “No, what about Xiang, Ms. D’Heng?”

  “Seems he broke his arm,” she said.

  Juliett was on the helm and she snickered.

  “Unfortunate accident?”

  She shrugged. “Alone in the gym and reportedly fell off the treadmill.”

  I raised an eyebrow in her direction. “Does that seem likely, Ms. D’Heng?”

  “Absolutely, sar,” she replied.

  Footsteps on the ladder resolved into Mallory with Burnside not far behind. We relieved the watch and I went to bed very shortly after dinner. Normally I’d have run or done a couple sets of tai chi, but I was exhausted and really only wanted to crawl into my bunk. I stripped o
ut of my shipsuit and clambered in, pulling the covers over me and dropping into sleep like a rock into a pond.

  I dreamt about a wolf and a fox playing tag in the woods and a falcon soaring in a crystal sky. A graceful heron stood on the edge of a pond and flashed to snatch a silvery fish. It wasn’t a very clear or cogent dream but in the end a fierce owl with brilliant green eyes dived at my face, talons outstretched toward my eyes.

  I woke with a start, sure that I’d heard something. I lay there for a few heartbeats trying to place the sound. I half expected it to be the bip-bip-beeee of the tablet alarm. I blinked my eyes open enough to see the chrono’s glowing digits—00:36. The sound didn’t repeat so I sighed and snuggled back down into the bunk. I still had a few stans to sleep and I hoped the weird dream didn’t start up again. I closed my eyes and started to slip back into the warm darkness, the after images of my stateroom playing against the back of my eyelids.

  Just in time I recognized the shape of two people standing inside my door. Only their marginally darker shapes against the shadow of the door gave them away as the after images faded off the inside of my eyelids. I rolled off the bunk and onto the floor as the first fists slammed into the mattress where I’d been lying. Of course, that dropped me onto the feet of my attackers and with nowhere else to go, they fell on top of me in a heap when my weight and momentum caught them off guard. They were as tangled in themselves as they were in me, and that gave me a moment to wriggle out of the pig pile and scramble to the doorway. I flung open the door and slapped the light switch at the same time. The glaring overhead flared and cast a pool of light out into the dimmed passage. I turned to look over my shoulder and saw Apones and Mosler tangled in the narrow area beside my bunk, blinking from the sudden glare, and trying to find where I’d gone. Mosler had a hand up, rubbing the back of his head where he’d apparently found the edge of my desk as he’d fallen.

  I was still marveling at the stupidity of trying to get me in my own stateroom, when my training kicked in and I heard movement behind me. I stepped to the side and a hard fist, backed up by a burly forearm, flashed past my face and crashed into the bulkhead. I heard the distinct sound of small bones snapping even over the thud of the blow into the wall and the subsequent wail of pain.