that Pip almost single-handedly threw an extra two hundred ten kilocreds into the profit pool. Not all of that would be distributed to share, but still, everyone would benefit from Pip’s astute trading skills.
Just then, the timer beeped and I started setting out dinner on the buffet. Comforting feelings washed over me carried by the warmth of the pasta and the wonderful smell of the garlic bread. Cheerful greetings from the crew who came for dinner added to my good mood-I could sure do worse.
Right near the end of dinner Pip came in, wearing a shipsuit that had seen better days. He grabbed some food and sat down with me.
I eyed him with a frown. “What did you get into?”
“Wet paint,” he said between bites. Holding up his hands he showed me black splotches and dirty fingernails. “It’ll be dry by morning, though.”
“So, how does the flea market look?”
He slurped a little coffee before answering, “Excellent. Just perfect. There’s a lot of fleece items but also some very nice leathers-goat as well as sheep-and a good supply of carved wood. I didn’t see any stonemasons or metal workers so the buckles and gems should sell well. The clientele seems to be pretty upscale, but I guess that’s because shepherds can’t afford the ticket up on the shuttle.”
“Sounds about like we anticipated.”
He nodded again and sat back with his drink in hand. “Cookie has his stores lined up and they should be coming in over the next couple of days. The empty container may stay that way leaving here. We really can’t make much on raw wool and there are no commercial quantities of textiles available.” He shrugged. “Sometimes winning involves just getting to the next port.”
Dinner mess ended and Pip helped me clean up. I brewed a fresh half urn of coffee before we headed for the gym. I had a good work out, but it occurred to me that I hadn’t seen Sandy since just before the deck exam, and she wasn’t on the track. Pip and I had the sauna to ourselves as well. First nights in port really made the
The next morning I got up when I heard Pip heading for the galley. I didn’t need to leave for the flea market quite that early, but I wanted to go with the first group. Pip and I had packed all our goods into a duffel the night before. We had permission from the co-op to pool our sales for the purposes of the cap since neither of us had individual items. It’s not like the bag weighed much, but I had planned to use the grav-pallet just because it would feel posh.
I headed down to the galley and while Pip set up the omelet station I made fresh coffee and put some biscuits in to bake. When Cookie showed up, he was smiling broadly. “Good morning, gentlemen. You do my old heart good by coming in and setting up perfectly without being told.” He sighed happily. “It’s been a long time since the galley has been such a well-oiled machine.”
“Did you have a nice evening out?” I asked.
“Yes, young Ishmael, it was lovely. I visited one of my countrymen who has an establishment on level five. We had grilled lamb, couscous, and strong tea. We talked until the early morning. I feel tired but am glad I went. Did all go well here?”
I nodded. “Oh yeah, dinner was easy. No problems.”
“And today is the official commencement of your new trading empire?”
Pip and I laughed. I shook my head. “Well, perhaps not a trading empire, but we’re at least going to try to turn a little profit.”
Pip made me an omelet and I poured coffee for everybody. I still had a few minutes before the mess deck opened officially so I settled down with my breakfast. It would probably be a while before I would have another chance to eat.
By the time I’d finished a few of the crew had lined up at Pip’s station so I took my plate and cup out to the dishwasher and stacked them there.
Cookie called to me as I was leaving, “Best of luck.”
Pip looked over his shoulder and saluted with his spatula. “Keep me posted.”
I was still chuckling as I reached the berthing area and changed into my civvies. My clothes were getting-not worn exactly-but certainly tired. My
I put them on because that’s all I had, but I started to realize why people
I saw the boy toy belt hanging in the back of the locker and, with a sudden burst of daring, stripped off my old, perfectly adequate belt and buckled on the supple leather with its gold metal and black dragon. I looked at myself in the mirror, and if I were being perfectly honest, the new belt looked out of place. It didn’t go with the rest of the outfit at all. It did, however, go with me. So I kept it on.
I scooped up the duffel, slammed my locker, and headed for the cargo lock. I got there just after 07:00 and found a crowd had gathered. I walked up to see what they were looking at and burst out laughing.
When we first received the grav-pallet from Mr. Cotton, I could see why it had been slated for salvage. It had been pretty torn up and would only lift about half its rated capacity. Not that it would matter for our purposes, since its normal load was measured in kilotons and we only needed it to carry a few dozen kilos. Freshly painted a rich, matte black, the pallet looked almost new. A uniform layer of pristine, gray skid-grid covered the top, which had been scarred by dropped loads and untold cargo calamities. It was the same nubby, rubbery matting used in cargo entries and engineering spaces where good footing was important. Along the skirting on all four sides, somebody had stenciled McKendrick Mercantile Cooperative in gray paint that matched the skid-grid. Judging from the smudges on Biddy Murphy’s cheek, I knew who’d done that. The black told me where Pip had found wet paint the day before. A stack of gear already waited on the pallet, including a basket with the banner and table coverings. I added my duffel to the pile and we all stood there looking at it for a few ticks before Rhon, the morning’s booth manager, took the tow handle and pushed the pallet out the lock.
I stood there watching them go and really didn’t know what I felt. This crazy group of people headed out on an adventure that was no more exotic than a yard sale. The gray-haired members of our merry band seemed to be having as much fun as the younger ones. The scene felt all the more surreal when I considered that in their
“You’d better hurry, Ishmael, or they’ll leave you behind.”
I turned to see the captain standing there watching the parade streaming out of her ship and across the orbital’s dock. “Aye, aye, Captain. By your leave?” I saluted for what might have been my first time since signing The Articles.
The captain grinned and returned the salute. “Carry on, Mr. Wang. Carry on.”
As I stepped through the lock, I swore I heard Lois laughing.
