Darbat Orbital
2351-October-24
Rhon Scham was the duty watch stander the next morning and woke me. “How is he?” she whispered.
Before I could answer, I heard a hoarse, quiet voice from the other bed. “He’s awake, needs to pee, and is hoping somebody will help him get out of this rack.”
I clicked on the light and saw Pip looking up at me, his good eye open and a lopsided smile on his face. “You’re among the living then?”
He nodded and held up a hand to Rhon who helped him get untangled from the covers and clamber up. “I seem to be, but you’ll excuse me if I don’t stand around chatting?” He hobbled into the san leaving Rhon and I smiling and exchanging glances.
She waved and left me to get on with the day. Beverly kicked the bottom of my bunk. “If the family reunion is over, can I have a little peace?” I turned out the light and Bev said, “Thank you.”
It took only a couple of minutes to get myself cleaned up and into a fresh shipsuit. I left Pip in the showers and reported to the galley. I grinned at Cookie and he looked relieved.
“Pip is better, I presume.”
I nodded. “Yeah, he’s hobbling about a bit and needed help getting out of the lower bunk. He must be hurting.”
Cookie chuckled. “Some mornings, any of us can feel like you have to step up to get out of a lower bunk, young Ishmael.”
Pip shuffled into the galley right on cue. “This morning was just such a time, Cookie.” The bandage was gone from his face but his eye was still swollen shut. He moved tentatively with an arm held tight to his side. Pip lowered himself gingerly into a chair. “What’s a guy gotta do to get a cuppa coffee around this joint?” He grinned.
I smiled back at him. “You want the old pot or can you wait five minutes for the new?”
We all had a little laugh, the tension broken and I went out to get the urn going. By the time I got back, Cookie had poured Pip some fruit juice and was just flipping an omelet out of the pan. I finished setting up for breakfast service and pulled the biscuits out of the bread oven. Nobody spoke as the morning prep spooled out like a well-oiled cable. In just a few ticks Cookie, Pip, and I were left waiting for the crew to show up and looking at each other.
“All right, Mr. Carstairs,” Cookie prompted with a smile, “the time has come and you will tell us what happened or I will ask Mr. Wang to beat on your other eye.”
Pip chuckled. “Okay, okay. I went to sell the Grishom. My contact at Chez Louis gave me a hundred thirty a bottle because they were in the presentation cases. I didn’t think anything of it, but I guess carrying over five hundred creds in cash wasn’t the smartest thing I ever did. I headed back right away so I could contact my next deal.” He looked at me then and shrugged. “I had a line on some entertainment cubes, a lot of them in plain brown wrappers. We’re heading back to Gugara and there’s a good market for that there.”
I shrugged. Porn was porn and everybody had a preferred flavor, even ancient lit professors. Mom had quite an interesting collection of samples from various time periods. It still stung when I remembered her, but I could tell I was healing.
“Anyway, I tried to get to a depository and transfer the creds, but these three thugs were waiting near the lift to the docks. They backed me into an alcove so fast, I never saw it coming. I gave them my wallet and told them I didn’t have anything else. They were pissed that there were only a few creds.”
“Where was the cash from the trade?” I interrupted him.
“In my money belt. I’m stupid, but not totally ignorant.” He took a sip of coffee. “Unfortunately, they’d tagged me as I left the docks. One of the thugs had a digital of me leaving with the duffel. They didn’t believe me when I told them it was laundry. So the next thing I know, I’m waking up, stretched out flat in the cul-de-sac, beat to a pulp, and my belt is gone. That was sometime around morning watch yesterday as far as I can tell. Darbati Orbital Security found me, saw that I wasn’t drunk, and figured I’d been mugged. I was coherent enough by then to tell them I was stationed on the Lois so they took me to the local medical outpost. The medics patched me up, filled me with painkillers, and security brought me back here.”
Cookie seemed alarmed. “Did you file a report with the authorities?”
Pip shook his head. “No, they never asked for a statement and by the time the meds kicked in I was too out of it. I probably couldn’t have made one.”
“Could you recognize them, Mr. Carstairs?” Mr. Maxwell’s sudden appearance startled all of us.
“I-I don’t know, sar,”
“Would you like to try?” His lips curled in a wry smile.
Pip thought for a moment. “I’d be willing to give it a shot, sar.”
Mr. Maxwell nodded. “Have you learned anything from this experience, Mr. Carstairs?”
“I was stupid and I was lucky.” He unconsciously echoed what Cookie had said the night before. “I got cocky and didn’t take a wingman. I figured I could handle it and…” He petered out a bit but stiffened up and finished, “and I didn’t want to risk people making fun of me for trading.”
Mr. Maxwell nodded once, crossed his arms, and leaned into the doorframe. “Anything else?”
“The Lois isn’t the Duchamp.”
“Very good, Mr. Carstairs.” Mr. Maxwell swiveled his head to include Cookie and me in his consideration. “And since we’re all here and among friends, perhaps one or more of you gentlemen would tell me what in the Deep Dark is going on with ship’s stores?”
There was a heavy stillness in the galley for about three heartbeats.
Cookie spoke, “We’re trying out something to reduce the cost of supplies, sar.”
Mr. Maxwell nodded. “I presume that something explains the nearly full container of frozen food being delivered to the dock? And another one of canned vegetables?”
Cookie nodded. “Yes, sar.”
Mr. Maxwell didn’t speak for a while. “What if we were to change course and head back to Neris instead of Gugara?”
Pip stiffened and looked at Cookie. Cookie didn’t even flinch. “Well, sar, I’d say that’s good.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because the extra frozen food is cobia fillets. We got them to swap in Gugara for some beefalo. They’ll be worth more in Neris. We can trade some of them for fresh produce which, on our budget, we couldn’t otherwise afford.”
Mr. Maxwell didn’t say a word, but it looked to me like Pip was holding his breath. Cookie seemed calm and unperturbed. Finally, Mr. Maxwell spoke, “That’s an interesting notion. Do you have the extra mass allotment to carry stores for trading purposes?” He asked in a way that made it sound like he was really interested.
Cookie nodded. “Yes, sar, we do. The ship’s rated for a larger crew than we carry. By being a bit more careful in stowage, we can take on up to fifteen percent more mass in stores without sacrificing either ship performance or jeopardizing crew meals.” He paused for a heartbeat. “I believe we can reduce the cost of feeding the crew by close to twenty percent which would add a nice bit to our profit margin overall.”
“And the quality won’t suffer? We eat well on this ship. It’s a matter of pride.”
“No, sar, of course not. The whole point is to procure foods that we wouldn’t normally consider because of the expense. I have some projections if you’d like to see them.”
Mr. Maxwell nodded. “Yes, Cookie, I would like a look, but only out of curiosity. It’s your budget and you know what it takes to keep the crew well fed and satisfied. I trust your mass figures and if you say it’s going to save us money, then that’s your call.”
“Thank you, sar. I’ll have them in your in-box by mid day.”
Mr. Maxwell nodded and turned his attention back to Pip. “If you could put together a description of the thugs, and the general location where they attacked you, Mr. Carstairs, I’ll circulate it to the crew and to the Darbati authorities. We’ll be pulling out in a few days, but if you’re well enough for a short stroll later, we might be able to spot them.”
Pip smiled. “Thank you, sar. I’d be happy to try to help nail them.”
“You know the creds are probably gone, right?”
“Oh yes, sar,” he nodded, “but if we can keep them from hijacking anybody else, that’s a win as far as I’m concerned.”
“Thank you, Mr. Carstairs. Your efforts here are noted and appreciated.” Mr. Maxwell smiled-yes, smiled-and somewhat enigmatically, I thought. He turned and left the galley, but I heard him grab a mug from the rack and fill it with coffee on his way off the mess deck.
Nobody moved or said a word for a long time after we were sure he was gone. Cookie broke the silence. “I have known that man for over fifteen stanyers and it still makes me nervous when he smiles.”