Ships of My Fathers Page 7

  Charlie nodded. “Your mom, too. I was at the wedding.”

  Gravity seemed to shift a bit, but nothing was wrong with the ship. It was only Michael. The idea of the wedding was a little too surreal, his mother in a gown exchanging vows with someone other than Malcolm.

  “You okay?” Charlie asked.

  “It’s a lot to take in.”

  Harry had returned with a small crate filled with clothing, boots, toothpaste, and so on. “You didn’t know?”

  Michael shook his head. “So these are my uniforms?”

  “Nah, just a rough fit from stores. I have to make some adjustments, so it’ll be a shift or two before I can get you your real uniforms, but this ought to get you through today.”

  He took the crate from her. “Thanks. It was good to meet you, Harry.”

  She patted him on the shoulder. “See you around, Michael, and don’t worry.”

  He nodded, already starting to worry. “Yeah, a week, right?”

  “You’ll be fine.”

  Charlie led him back, past the stairs, down another turn, and pressed a button on the wall. “Ladders are a bitch if you’ve got something to carry, so it’s ok to use the lift.”

  “Say, Charlie, is everyone in on this whole ‘week until they test you’ joke?”

  “Oh, it’s no joke,” he replied as the lift chimed and slid open.

  Michael followed him in. “You’re serious?”

  “Deadly serious,” he answered. The lift showed five decks. Charlie selected deck four. “The crew is a team, a family in a very real sense. Say we have some emergency and we’re all running around in our environment suits, we can’t have people guessing at who’s who.”

  Michael bit back his panic. “But that’s over sixty people.”

  “Sixty-four, actually, and you’re one of them. Trust me, you’ll do fine.”

  Michael nodded and took a deep breath. “If you say so.”

  Hans strolled into his first officer’s ready room and signaled the door to close behind him. “He’s aboard,” he announced with satisfaction.

  “No trouble with the locals then?” Felicia Corazon asked. She had been reviewing a systems report, but she set it aside.

  “Nothing significant. I got a little brush back from one of his old crew, but I dangled the possibility of employment in front of him, and he knuckled under.”

  Felicia raised an eyebrow. “Are you posting him here?”

  “Oh heavens no,” Hans replied. “One of Fletcher’s thugs? No, I flagged him through the entire company network, but I suppose I should arrange something for him. Maybe we can foist him off on Takasumi Lines with some kind of doctored-up recommendation. We still owe them for that fiasco last year. Berkshire was it?”

  She nodded. “Benny Berkshire. If only he had been as competent as his forged ratings. Do you need me to take care of it?”

  He waved it off. “I’ll file something myself when we reach Cenita. No, for now I want you to focus on Michael. Have you had a chance to review his personnel jacket yet?”

  “I downloaded his public file from the standards registry before we left Ballison. If it’s accurate, he’s got an impressive set of ratings for someone so young.”

  “It might be. He’s got Peter’s ambition, I’ll grant you that, but I don’t know if it has translated into as much skill as his jacket would imply. Fletcher is the signatory on most of those ratings, so I don’t put much faith in them.”

  Felecia shrugged. “I’ll see to it he’s put through his paces. The department heads should be able to sniff out any fishy ratings.”

  “Good enough, but for now let’s try to treat him some respect. He may still have the stink of Fletcher on him, but he’s a Schneider. I want him to know that means something.”

  “Understood, sir. Will you be killing the fatted calf for dinner tonight? Prodigal son and all that?”

  Hans chuckled. “Excellent idea, Ms. Corazon. He is indeed our prodigal son, once lost, but now he is found.”

  Michael finished unpacking in his quarters. He actually had his own stateroom. It was small, probably no more than six or seven square meters, but he had figured that coming in on a ship with this many crew he would have been in a bunk or at least had roommates. His room back on Sophie had been a little bigger, but this one was laid out better.

  The bed was against the side wall, snugged up between the far wall and the side of his desk. The bed had a padded slope by the wall, letting it double as a sofa. His desk chair was on a forked groove, letting him reposition it several ways. It also reclined, which was an unexpected bonus. The room even had a fold-down bench seat across from the bed for a visitor. He had a sink by the door, and plenty of storage in the closet and the cabinets above and below his bed. He started to wish he had brought more of his things from Sophie, but he imagined he could fill up the space with other things soon enough.

  The only amenity he missed from his old room on Sophie was his own toilet and shower. Those were at the end of this hall, and he had to share the banks of them with the other twelve crewmembers on this wing. Still, given the spread of shifts and the number of stalls, it seemed unlikely to cause a bottleneck. Plus, he mused, at least he would not have a toilet in his room if the gravity went out. He had had to clean up that mess too many times back on Sophie.

  The rest of the tour had gone well, but he still had no firm feel for his way around the ship. At best, he could remember the decks. The bridge and control systems were up on deck one. Crew quarters, mostly the officers, were up on deck two. Deck three was the largest with the galley, the gym, the theater, and access to the long shaft running down the cargo section to the drives. It also had the main airlock and a ring of escape pods.

  Michael’s quarters were down on deck four with the bulk of the rest of the crew. It turns out no one was in bunks. Two crewmembers were paired up as roommates, but it was voluntary. “Mark and Sylvia Carruthers got married last year,” Charlie had explained, “so we reconfigured a couple of staterooms to give them a double.”

  Deck five had laundry and a couple of other support systems, but mostly it was dominated by the forward environmental systems. “CO2 has a tendency to sink, so there’s a slight efficiency to be gained putting the scrubbers down here at the bottom of the gravity gradient. Plus, the water treatment stinks,” Charlie had said with a grin, “and this puts it as far from officer country as practical.”

  They had paused at the galley long enough to get Michael a sandwich, and they had ridden out the pushback from the station and the initial maneuvers while he ate it. It all felt very smooth. He could not explain it, but he had always assumed that the larger ships would be full of creaks and shudders when they moved. Apparently not. The transition to tach drive had been so seamless that had it not been for the announcement, he would never have noticed it during his unpacking.

  Reluctantly, he hung up his old uniform in the closet with the Sophie’s Grace arm patch facing out. His new Heavy Heinrich uniform was nice but largely unadorned. The blue and gray were vaguely reminiscent of the one in his mother’s portrait, but the only symbols were the “S&W” logo for Schneider and Williams and the Heavy Heinrich arm patch featuring an overly muscular arm holding a hammer against a starscape. Still, he put it on. Charlie had passed along word that the captain and first officer were hosting a dinner in honor of his joining the crew. The least he could do is wear their uniform.

  Chapter 8

  “You’ll meet a lot of new folk as the years go by, son, but don’t think all of them are gonna be your friends.” — Malcolm Fletcher

  THE WOMAN WALKED INTO THE Solid Rock on Ballison station and scanned her eyes across the various patrons, the dancers on the stage, and the tattooed bouncer. Her gaze settled on one man sitting at the far end of the bar where he could watch the entrance. He raised his glass to her and took a sip.

  She crossed the room, winding her way through the tables. She waved off a waitress trying to help and settled herself on the seat ne
xt to him. “What do you have for me, Jimmy?”

  He slid a data card across the bar to her. “Wreckage of the Argus Twin. I already salvaged the cargo, but her drives and one reactor are still intact.”

  She took the card and tucked it into the inside pocket of her jacket. “And the computer core?”

  He shook his head. “The whole forward section was slagged, so I doubt it, but you can always have your boys try for it.”

  The bartender approached, but she waved him off. “All right. Standard fifteen percent finder’s fee, and if we manage to pull any data, I’ll try to get you a copy. It’s what… four years old?”

  “Something like that, but you never know what you’ll find in those records. You should know that better than any, Elsa.”

  She stiffened. She hated when anyone used that name. “Anything else?” She had places to be.

  “A bit of good news. You remember Malcolm Fletcher?”

  “Wish I didn’t,” she replied. “I only wish he could forget about me.”

  “Then your wish is granted. He’s dead.”

  She turned to face him. “You’re serious?”

  He downed the rest of his whiskey. “Got squished last month loading cargo out at Shorthorn.” He made a pinching motion with his fingers.

  A smile crept across her face. “That is good news, good enough to drink to.” She waved the bartender to come back. “Two of whatever he’s having.”

  He nodded and turned back to get the bottle back down from the shelf.

  “Pity it didn’t happen sooner,” she said.

  Jimmy shrugged. “I suppose. He was a decent fence, you know, for salvaged goods. Discreet.”

  “I’m sure you can find someone new. What about his old crew, his ship? Maybe one of them.”

  “Maybe,” he replied. “I think the ship might be going to his boy.”

  “I don’t need to tell you that that’s a computer core I’d like to get my hands on.”

  Jimmy gave a little grin. “It had crossed my mind. I may head on down to Taschin and check it out.”

  The bartender returned with their drinks, and Elsa threw a couple of bills on the bar.

  She raised her glass. “To Malcolm Fletcher, not just a mother-fucking bastard, but a dead mother-fucking bastard.”

  Jimmy clinked her glass and slammed his back. “Ahh! I’ll be sure to take a piss on his grave if I get the chance.”

  She poured her whiskey back more slowly, savoring it. “Send me the location. I know a lot of people who would want to have their turn as well.”

  The dinner was served in the officers’ wardroom on deck two. There did not seem to be a kitchen, only warming trays, so Michael gathered that the stewards brought the food up from the galley on deck three. The table was set for twelve, but it looked a little cramped.

  Charlie was there again, as was Karl Roth from the docks. An attractive young woman stepped forward and introduced herself. “Gabrielle Schneider,” she said with a smile. “I’m your cousin, first cousin actually. Peter was my uncle.”

  He shook her hand. “So you’re the captain’s daughter?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, but don’t think that’s how I got the alpha navigation slot. I earned that rating one year out of the academy, but Dad made me qualify again under his own test.”

  He smiled in amusement. Malcolm’s tests always seemed unnaturally more difficult than the official exams in the book. “I completely understand.”

  The introductions continued. It seemed like most of the watch leads were present, including two of his second cousins, one of the first cousins once removed, and a woman named Terri Schwartz. “I married in,” she explained, “so technically I’m an in-law.”

  A few others introduced themselves as being no relation, and he kept looking back and forth between faces and name tags. The assurances that he still had a week to learn them all kept up until they were all saying it in unison. One of them, a man in his early thirties, arrived in his dress uniform, complete with the shoulder braids and the gold-embossed name pin reading Walter Brookstone.

  Gabrielle knocked his hat off when she saw him. “Wally, the XO said no dress uniforms. Michael doesn’t have his yet.”

  Wally shrugged. “Sorry, Gabby, I didn’t get the memo.” He glanced around and spotted Michael. “Even then, I had to show young Mr. Schneider how fabulous he’s going to look when his is ready.”

  “Then you should have gotten a prettier face to demo it with,” Terri shot back at him. “Right, Michael?”

  Michael managed a weak smile at them. “Actually, it’s not Schneider. It’s Fletcher.”

  The door opened and his uncle Hans walked in followed by a red-headed woman. A round of “sir” and “ma’am” swept through the room as they came in. Hans went right to the head of the table, while the woman took up position on his left. She looked around the room and settled in on Wally.

  “I like your utilities, Mr. Brookstone,” she said. “Remind me to assign you some special duties in them.”

  Wally swallowed audibly in the silence. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Hans gave a chuckle. “I think we can dispense with the discipline tonight, Felicia. It’s a night to celebrate. Michael,” he motioned him over. “I’d like you to meet my first officer, Felicia Corazon. She keeps all the wheels turning for me so that I can keep an eye on the larger picture.”

  She extended her hand across the table, and Michael took it. “It’s a pleasure, Ms. Corazon.”

  She gave his hand a firm shake and released it. “I look forward to working with you, Mr. Schneider.”

  Michael set his jaw. This time he said it more clearly. “Actually, it’s Fletcher, not Schneider.”

  Hans shot him a brief glare, his nostrils flaring in a quick breath. He cleared his throat and announced to the room. “Places everyone. Let’s enjoy ourselves.”

  People began to shuffle, and Michael looked down at the table. Right before him was a formal name card with the Heavy Heinrich logo in a light gray background. The name on it read Michael W. Schneider. The rest of the diners started settling into their seats, and it became clear that swapping was not allowed. He bit back his response and sat to the right of his uncle, directly across from the XO.

  The stewards stepped forward from the corners and began to fill the wine glasses with an amber bubbling liquid. Michael sniffed at it. It was seemed light and sweet, not at all like Malcolm’s celebratory drinks. He was about to take a sip when a foot poked at him under the table. Gabrielle glared at him from across the table next to the XO. He set it back down and she nodded with a smile.

  When all the glasses were filled, Hans stood with his glass and faced Michael. “To Michael, in remembrance of lost family and in appreciation of joyful returns.”

  Everyone else stood and raised their glasses. “To Michael,” they said.

  He felt rather self-conscious from the attention, but he knew enough to stand and nod. “Thank you,” was all he could think to say.

  They drank, and he sat back down and took a discreet sip for himself. It bubbled across his tongue and down his throat, the scent wafting back up into his nose. It almost tickled. “What is this?” he asked.

  “You’ve never had champagne before?” Gabrielle asked.

  He shook his head.

  Hans patted his arm. “I imagine there are a number of luxuries our young cousin has yet to sample.”

  “Of course, it’s not technically champagne,” Wally chimed in. “That only comes from a certain region on Earth.” He took another sip. “I suspect this is from the vineyards on Latera, north of Stonefall.”

  Hans nodded. “That’s a good nose, Wally. I actually have some true champagne back at the home office. I only wish I’d brought it with me.”

  The stewards came in with a soup course, and Michael fumbled through the spoons, keeping a keen eye on Corazon across from him, and the conversations began to flow. Eventually, the champagne was switched out with a red wine for the main course, a mouth-w
atering rib-eye with crisp green beans still steaming.

  The talk at his end of the table predictably turned to his own past, and he did his best to glamorize his own spacer life. He recounted many of those trips deep into the frontier, his first space walk at seven, the near-fatal accident when old Hammerhead’s tach drive blew out, his first time piloting Sophie, and of course, the time he and Malcolm had been arrested on Nestor.

  “It was all a case of mistaken identity,” he assured them. “The man they actually wanted was some local, a gambler’s thug.”

  “And you?” Charlie asked from down the table.

  “Well, I was only nine, but it turned out the thug had a midget for a partner, so there you are.”

  Hans smiled at him blandly. “It’s a shame you didn’t have Peter looking out for you. You would have had a much less turbulent childhood.”

  Michael shrugged. “I don’t know. I kind of liked all the excitement.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you enjoyed it. I was only saying that Peter would have focused you more on your school work and less on gamblers and midgets.”

  Michael set his fork down, the green bean dangling limply. “I think Malcolm Fletcher did a good job. He was a good captain and a good father to me.”

  Hans screwed up his face tightly and seethed for a moment, his breath hissing out through his nose. “Your father was Peter, my brother, and he was a good man.”

  Michael became aware that the rest of the conversations had stopped. “I’m sure he was, Uncle, but at least Malcolm Fletcher was there for me. Your brother wasn’t.”

  Hans made a fist and pounded it once on the table. “My brother…” he trailed off and lifted his head up to the ceiling with closed eyes. He took two breaths and returned his glare to Michael. “Look, Michael, I don’t know what that man told you about your mother and father, but you’re back with your real family now. Peter loved you very much, and this is the life he wanted for you. You’re a Schneider, and the sooner you accept that, the better.”

  Michael looked away, down the table at all the eyes looking at him, cousins of all stripes that he never knew, and finally his gaze landed on the name card before him. Michael W. Schneider. He picked it up and held it out in front of his uncle. “My name is Fletcher,” he said, and tore the card in two. “And Malcolm Fletcher is not ‘that man’. He was—”