Quarter Share

Nathan Lowell Quarter Share

Praise for Quarter Share

'I feel compelled to provide this warning: If you decide to subscribe to Quarter Share, block off a serious amount of time to be listening to podcasts. Why? Simply because once you get started, you are going to get hooked, and there is no going back. You will end up mainlining all of Mr. Lowell's stories…Consider yourself warned. Must Listen' – View from Valhalla

'This is a marvelous story, I like coming of age stories and this is a mesmerizing one…The characters is at center in story, they are detailed, warm and easy to love…Quarter Share is a mesmerizing tale of a young man coming of age and finding his place as a crewman aboard a solar clipper.' – Cybermage

'Quarter Share is a love letter to science fiction, an authentic coming-of-age celebration of blue collar “lower decks” folk. Nathan Lowell tells a tale so real, you can practically smell the spaceship galley’s coffee- and almost see the engine oil beneath your fingernails. Hero Ishmael is clearly destined for great things. Thankfully for readers, so is Nathan Lowell.' – J.C. Hutchins, author of 7th Son: Descent and Personal Effects: Dark Art

'I wanted to read some classical-ish Science Fiction lately, and decided to dip my proverbial toes into this highly praised series of books. I read through the first book, Quarter Share faster than you can say “Planet Ahoy!“, and got stuck in the world like flies on dung.' – themosse.net

'I’ll get the rating out of the way first: I loved these books. I couldn’t stop listening…It’s clear that I found all the books very compelling, and I liked them very much, so I rate them YES!' – A Mammoth Undertaking

'It was just too good not to recommend…Nathan Lowell’s characters aren’t your typical space navy types either. Their more realistic for one. Their more dynamic than virtually any cosmic deckhands that I’ve spent time with in any other novel.' – SFFaudio

'Indeed, part of the charm of the Share novels, or “Trader’s Tales” is the sense of discovery that pervades them…For us land-rats the world of the Solar Clipper’s Golden Age has many wonders.' – Brother Osric’s Scriptorium

'Incredibly realistic. You would swear Mr. Lowell was writing a personal history of his youth on a deep space cargo ship. Stunningly eloquent and crisp prose takes you on a journey of discovery reminiscent of Dana’s classic Two Years Before The Mast. Only Dana had the advantage of taking such a voyage, Lowell will just make you believe he did, and with this book, he invites you to go with him.' - Michael J. Sullivan, author of The Riyria Revelations

To my wife, Kay

For 27 years she put up with my wanting to be a writer.

For the last 3, she put up with my being a writer.

Now I have to put up a book shelf.

Chapter 1

Neris

2351-August-13

Call me Ishmael. Yeah I know, but in this case it’s really my name: Ishmael Horatio Wang. My parents had an unfortunate sense of humor. If they had known what I’d wind up doing with my life, they might have picked a different one-Richard Henry Dana, perhaps. Exactly why they picked Ishmael Horatio is a long, and not terribly interesting, story that started with the fact that Mom was an ancient lit professor and ended with my being saddled with these non sequitur monikers.

That particular story was over eighteen stanyers before the two Neris Company security guards showed up at my door with long faces and low voices. Perhaps it was their expressions, or that they were looking for me and not Mom, but either way I knew their visit wasn’t good. I didn’t think they had come to drag me off to juvie or anything. I’d never been a troublemaker like some of the others in the university enclave. They had come for me though-to tell me she was dead.

“Flitter crash,” the tall one said.

They’re not very common but you do hear about them from time to time. You always expect it to happen to somebody else. It wasn’t even her flitter. It belonged to Randy Lawrence, her boyfriend.

“He’s dead too,” the short one explained.

They spoke gently, their words washing past me. Nothing seemed to stick. The security people weren’t going to put me in foster care or anything. Eighteen stanyers made me old enough to live by myself on Neris. Eventually they stopped talking, and I never even noticed when they left.

We had been on our own if you didn’t count the Randys, the Davids, and the occasional Dorises for most of my life. Dad was somewhere in the Diurnia Quadrant. He’d never been a big influence and I didn’t even know what system he was in.

With Mom gone, I was alone-really alone-for the first time in my life. It wasn’t the standard, I’ve got the apartment to myself for a couple of stans kind of thing, but a deep and utter sense of loss. For a time I just walked from room to room in a kind of daze. I woke the next day sprawled across the couch but didn’t remember even lying down. As bad as the night had been, morning brought something worse-lawyers.

First, the plantation attorney showed up and notified me that The Neris Company intended to sue for damages to the granapple vineyards where the flitter crashed. “We’re sorry, Mr. Wang,” she said although there was no hint of regret in her voice. “Mr. Lawrence had inadequate insurance to cover this kind of damage. In order to protect our client’s investment, we have filed liens to appropriate compensation.”

I glared at her. “So, what does this have to do with me?”

She examined her paperwork as she spoke, “We are in the unenviable position of placing liens against both estates since there is no way to determine who was piloting the craft. The flitter came apart in midair, you see. The falling debris and…er…remains damaged an estimated square kilometer of vines.”

That was really more detail than I wanted.

As she was leaving another company lawyer arrived with an eviction notice. Mom was-had been-a Neris Company employee and a member of the faculty at the university for years. Since I was no longer a dependent, I had just ninety local-days to find employment or leave the planet. Survivor benefits would have applied if she’d been killed on the job. Dying on her day off didn’t count.