Chapter 03 Pinelea Orbit
Pinelea orbit, 194 days out of Calissant orbit.
'Have it, Tilli,' I radioed, as I felt the cargo crane latch on to the shipping container. A green light on the console confirmed it.
'It's yours,' replied Tilli, releasing the container from the lighter's cargo arm and clearing the last red light.
We were over the night side of Pinelea, its cities glowing jewels in the velvet darkness beneath us. Through the clearsteel dome of the raised cargo tower I could see Tilli's lighter, bright in our flood lights, hanging in space above no.1 hold. It was a standard two box lighter, a stubby, delta winged craft with wingtip rocket engines designed to ferry two 4x4x24meter shipping containers between surface and orbit. She'd pushed the container out of the lighter's rear cargo doors and it now hung at the end of the spider-like cargo crane between the lighter and the ship. I carefully drew the container away from the lighter.
'You're clear.'
'Right. That's all I have for you,' she replied as the rear cargo doors of the lighter swung closed.
She'd just delivered the last of only five containers waiting for us on Pinelea, the Azminn system's most populous planet. Given the current shipping rates, the boxes would not cover their share of rocket fuel, so I wasn't very disappointed. Still...
'Ah, Til, can't you find a few more in the warehouse to bring up? Five boxes aren't going to have me swinging back around anytime soon. How will you get by without me?'
'Sorry, It's damn hollow downside at the moment. And I've other customers. I'll get by.'
'But I'll wager none of them are acting captains, my dear.'
'None of them are acting captains...' she laughed, adding, 'Still, five boxes are nothing to sneer at these days. Not that you seem to need them, Captain Litang. I haven't seen a tramp with so many boxes for ages. Even the liners are running half empty.'
'I'm good. But I'd be sadly misleading you if I didn't mention that Jann of the Comet King sent along his boxes with me.'
'He did, did he? That was nice of him. How many?'
'Forty-seven,' I admitted.
She whistled. 'He sent forty-seven boxes with you? That's not a cargo to sneer at these days. Why'd he give 'em to you? Knowing Jann, I doubt that it was out of the kindness of his heart.'
'It wasn't out of the kindness of his heart, that I can assure you!' I laughed.
'You have me curious. What's the yarn Wil? There's nothing waiting for me downside.'
'Well, with the death of Hawker Vinden, Calissant's Ministry of Death is now our acting owners...'
'Aye, I heard that somewhere.'
'Have you heard that the Ministry is laying up all Vinden's ships as they returned to Calissant?'
'A lot of tramps being laid up, that's not surprising.'
'Aye. But with the Ministry of Death it's simply a matter of policy. Profitable ships, unprofitable ships, it doesn't matter – pay'em off and lay'em up.'
'So Jann wasn't ready for the beach and he handed them off to you. I can see that clear enough. Where I'm in the drifts is why you'd take them. Unless it's out of the kindness of your heart.'
'Oh, I'm very softhearted, Til, but not that soft in the head. But it wasn't just Jann's idea, or at least wasn't his alone. It came down from Tallith Min, of Min & Co, who the Ministry employs to manage us, and I suppose my boss. So you see, I found myself between the Black Star and a quantum storm. There was a way out, though, because they were a bit too clever. I'd not been sent a direct order to take Jann's cargo, no doubt fearing that radio-packet might've somehow ended up arriving garbled or too late...' I said 'So I told him no way I was taking on his Neb-blasted boxes.'
'And he barked and you changed your mind.'
'Ah, Til, do you really think I'm that newly hatched?'
'Seeing that you arrived with forty-seven of Jann's boxes. I might be forgiven for thinking so.'
'Well, it's not the case. He growled and barked about following orders, being loyal and thinking about my future in the trade.'
'And you gave in.'
'No. You see, I knew how it would've been settled if Captain Miccall was alive and I wasn't about to settle for less. With no direct orders, I'd have gone on to Calissant without his boxes and damn the consequences. But what I really wanted was a chance to keep the Lost Star out of Calissant orbit.'
'Oh, my, Wil. I hadn't realized that a star badge could make a lorelion of a little grey ship-mouse.'
'Oh, that badge makes a difference, but in this case is wasn't a matter of turning a ship-mouse into a lorelion. I knew if I let Jann bully me into cutting my own throat and word got around, I'd be beneath contempt in the tramp trade. However angry Jann was, and he was very angry, he'd break me, just as readily for just accepting his boxes as he would for refusing them.'
'And yet somehow, you ended up with his boxes.'
'That we can blame on a three of stars. Seeing that I wasn't to be intimidated, Jann, the loyal Night Hawk Line skipper, reluctantly offered to cut cards to determine which ship would go on to Calissant. Which, as I said, he'd have done out of hand with Captain Miccall.'
'Hence the three of stars.'
'Exactly. We now had our chance to avoid the beach. So we gathered the crew on the awning deck and set up a com link to the Comet King so everyone could witness the cut to see everything was on the level. I cut my three of stars and Jann cut a twelve of comets.
'Jann gruffly ordered us to close with the Comet King and we worked non-stop for the better part of a day and a half transferring those blasted boxes ship to ship. And that, my dear Til, is how I came to have Jann's forty-seven boxes. The moral being, don't cut a three of stars.'
'I'd say you're lucky Jann gave in. Both he and Min would've had their plasma knives out for you if you'd just gone on in, tossing a spanner into their plan.'
'Maybe, well probably. Jann was still angry when we parted and how Tallith Min will take it is anyone's guess, though I'll know soon enough.'
'Ever find out how he ended up with forty-seven boxes for Pinelea and Calissant?'
I laughed. 'There never seemed a good time to ask. I didn't want to make an enemy of Jann.'
'You've a strange way of forging friendships,' she laughed. 'Well, I imagine you're eager to make a new one on Calissant, so I'd best not keep you a'yarning. Hope your orbits are clear.'
'Thanks Til. Until our orbits cross again, whenever that'll be, fair orbits.'
'Fair orbits, Captain Litang,' the last with a laugh.
And with that the steering rockets and the big wing rockets of Tilli's lighter flared, sending the lighter outwards in a shallow arc and plunging downwards for Pinelea and I was very much alone.
Well, the box dangling on the end of the cargo crane wasn't going to stow itself – though it would've eleven thousand years ago, before the sentient machines went on strike and eventual exile in the inner drifts, free to do what sentient machines do. Since then the Unity Charter not only limits machine intelligence to a level well short of self-awareness but requires active human participation in every operation. So, if I wanted to clear Pinelea, I'd best see to stowing that last box.
Using the control levers with a neurological link to the crane's sensors by the com link I wore on my wrist, I swung the box into position and guided it into its slot in the hold – operating the crane on the macro level with the manual controls while the crane's sensors and the ship's computer did the micro level adjustments preventing me from making a hash of it.
Containers are stored on end, locked on a movable docking bar at the bottom of the hold, which provides a sensor link and power to the boxes. Each box has its own environmental unit to keep it within the content's specified limits. I locked the box down, braced the hold's containers, lowered the crane and folded the hatch covers over the holds.
I paused for a moment before lowering the cargo tower to admire my ship. We'd swung around to the day side by this time and the scarred hull glowed rusty, formerly rub
y red, having been sanded thin and dull by centuries of plying the Nine Star Nebula. The low angle of the sunlight showed every dent, ding and patch starkly in its warm glare, the badges of the centuries knocking around the Nine Star Nebula's gas, dust, and debris filled space.
The Lost Star is a small enclosed-hold cargo liner designed primarily for service on low volume interplanetary runs but with its enclosed holds and heavily reinforced bow and stern, can sail anywhere within the Nine Star Nebula. She's not an elegant ship – a stubby dagger, 220 meters long with 56 x32 meters lens-like cross section – carrying 144 standard shipping containers in three hard vacuum holds. Since the ship is designed for orbit to orbit service, cargo is brought up by lighters and stowed by the ship's two cargo cranes. The hydrogen fuel tanks are packed ahead and alongside the main cargo hold.
Below the three main holds is a four box atmospheric hold, which, in all my years aboard has only been used as the ship's attic and a playing field. Below that are the five crew decks housing the ship's accommodations, control, engineering facilities. Since she was originally fitted with 12 passenger suites plus quarters for a crew of 20, she's a roomy ship as a tramp with my present crew of 11 (slightly understaffed).
Below the crew section is the engine room – a mechanical jungle of catwalks, struts, fusion piles, generators, environmental machinery, and fuel pumps serving one large main plasma rocket engine and eight smaller ones. The engines, like the hull, are constructed of D-matter, designed materials, artificially designed matter capable of withstanding thermal and electromagnetic energy far beyond the ability of naturally occurring matter.
Two sheltered boat decks on each side of the crew and engine room hull house a 17-meter-long boat and a 14-meter gig with room for several more. The ship's two gangplanks are located at the after end of the boat decks and beyond them are the launch tubes, our anti-meteor/defense missiles.
Sensor bars can be extended from both the upper and lower hulls housing radar, laser radar, radio, cameras and other sensors and aft of them are the ship's heat exchangers to remove heat generated within a ship sheathed in a perfectly insulated hull. Finally, the rocket tubes right aft.
Enough. It's past time for this narrative and this ship to get underway.
I lowered the cargo tower into the hull and stepped out onto a small platform in No. 4 hold. The deck was 12 meters on my left, with a bulkhead at my feet. Being in free fall I simply walked down the bulkhead with my magnetic boots and swung myself around when I reached the deck. I crossed the hold to the main access well set between two strong rooms. The access well is an open shaft to the engine room control platform five decks below surrounded by a semi-circle of stairs. It's the fastest way to move between decks in free fall. (It's even faster when under power, but the landing's unpleasant, hence the stairs.)
I stepped into space and with a thrust up on a handhold, dropped down one level to what we refer to as the 'awning deck' – the former social deck of the passenger section – which includes a small library and a media theater, the dining saloon and a small bistro stocked with self-serve boxed meals and beverages. Both the saloon and bistro open on a spacious commons area lined on two sides and the ceiling with grid of two-meter square holographic view-panels that give the illusion that the deck is open to the black marble sky of the nebula. Chairs, lounges and low tables are arranged under a thin fabric awning and hanging lanterns. The fourth bulkhead has a rock garden under a bank of warm lights, home to lush green foliage and cheerful bachelor birds who flit amongst the foliage and occasionally fly about the deck. As I entered, half the crew was sitting or floating about at ease, talking, reading or playing cards about the twilit commons.
'Skipper,' said Riv D'Van, our chief engineer, looking up as I walked over to his group. 'Cargo on board?'
'Aye, let's clear this orbit.'
'Not going to replace Uzi?'
Uzilane, our second pilot had decided to remain on Pinelea, his home world. It's easier to find employment on a world you know well, so I couldn't blame him. Better the beach you know...
'I don't think we need another pilot for the run home. Do you?'
'I'm not the one who'll be standing double watches. But I can't say we'd make very pleasant company for someone new...'
'That's what I'm thinking. Let's clear.'
Without Uzi, only Illynta Tin and myself were fully qualified pilots. However, our apprentice pilot, Molaye Merlun had been aboard for two years and was fully qualified to go before the Guild board and get her pilot's ticket when we reached Calissant, so we weren't in bad shape. She didn't need me looking over her shoulder. I'd have to pilot a watch and stand another with Molaye when under power, but that'd be only four or five double watches over the course of the run. I could do my desk work as easily on the bridge while attending Molaye's turn at the helm as in the office.
'In a rush to get home, are we?' said Riv, studying at his cards.
'Aye. I want things settled.'
Riv tossed the magnetic cards to the table and rose. 'In that case, Skipper, let's get this packet on its way.'
'Hey Riv, we can play this hand out,' protested Eljor Pantin.
'Haven't time. I've got to get my reactors wound up. Captain's orders,' replied Riv, heading for the well with me.
We heard Eljor utter a quiet curse as he turned over Riv's discarded cards.
'You have to know just when to break orbit,' Riv laughed quietly besides me.
I left Riv at the bridge deck while he continued down to his engine room, and began the process of getting the ship underway for Calissant and its uncertain fate.