By Darkness Forged Read online

  “What?” I asked.

  “Whatever lit a fire under you.”

  “Al,” I said. “She wants to retire.”

  “We knew that.”

  “Soon as I can find a replacement,” I said. “Here in the Toe-Holds.”

  The chief’s eyes widened. “That’s new. Did she say why?”

  “Not really. Just that there’s nothing to take her back to the High Line so she may as well stay in the Toe-Holds.”

  The chief pursed her lips. “I’ll see if I can sound her out. One old woman to another.”

  “I don’t necessarily want to convince her to stay,” I said. “But if there’s something wrong, I want to know if we can help.”

  The chief nodded. “Understood, Skipper.”

  I stood. “I have to go see Ms. Sharps about a coffee mess. See you at dinner.”

  When I got to the galley, I found Ms. Sharps looking over the steam kettle.

  “Something wrong?”

  She looked up and shook her head. “Hi, Captain. No, nothing wrong. Well, nothing serious. This could be cleaner.”

  I crossed to where she stood and looked. “I hated cleaning these.”

  She stared at me. “Did they make you do galley duty at the academy?”

  “Yes, actually. They had these huge vatlike steam kettles in the galley there. I’ve seen smaller bathtubs. Not important. What are they missing? The fitting on the foot?” I leaned down to look at the underside where the steam came up from the boilers below.

  “That’s always a problem,” she said. “The kettles stay warm for a long time. Getting down under there while the kettles are hot is a safety hazard. We do a weekly cleanup evolution there along with degreasing the range hoods.”

  “Then what?”

  “The brushes we got are too stiff. I’m afraid they’re scoring the inner surface.” She leaned into the big stainless tub with a small hand light. “See the scratches?”

  I leaned in and saw what she was looking at. “The scratches collect contaminants?”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of. These things aren’t cheap. Getting it clean and keeping it clean is a priority.”

  “How much do you use it?” I asked, thinking back over the menus.

  “Couple of times a week.”

  “We’ve only got what? Thirty crew?” I asked.

  “I plan for thirty, but I think the actual count is only twenty-eight. Yes.”

  “What if this wasn’t here?”

  “What do you mean, Skipper?”

  “Cap it. Don’t cook anything that needs it. What does that do to your menu planning?”

  Sharps looked at me and then stared at the kettle. I could see the gears turning in her head.

  “Not that much,” she said after a few long moments. “They’re really too big to make a full kettle of anything.”

  “You could use the big stock pots, couldn’t you?” I asked, nodding at the heavy cookery lined up under the prep counter.

  She laughed. “Normally, I do.”

  “What would you use this space for if the kettles weren’t here?”

  “Cabinet and prep counter,” she said. “But we just came out of the yards.”

  “That’s my problem, not yours. Don’t you have enough counter space?”

  She laughed again. “You worked in a galley. Do you ever have enough?”

  I looked around and grinned. “No,” I said. “And never enough cabinets.” I looked around again, really looked. “We can’t do anything right now, but secure the kettle for now. Don’t use it unless you absolutely have to. See what that does to your meal prep and planning. There’s yards where we’re going. Let’s see what we can do.”

  “You’re serious?” she asked.

  “Yes. First principles, Ms. Sharps. Feed the crew. Feed them well. The ship can’t sail if the crew can’t sail her. If the gear isn’t working, or isn’t right, I want it fixed.”

  “Well, thank you, Skipper.”

  “Is there anything else I should know about?” I asked.

  Sharps looked around as if taking inventory. “Not that I can think of. The kettle has been a problem from the beginning, but I never considered it might be a problem to be fixed.”

  “Fresh eyes sometimes see better,” I said.

  “Can’t argue that,” she said. “You wanted something, sar?”

  “What?”

  “Was there something you needed, sar? I don’t see you in here very often.”

  “Oh, yes. The engineering division would like to have a coffee mess for the watchstanders. You know anything about that?”

  “Nobody’s asked for one.”

  “Chief Stevens seemed to think there might be a tray here. Something about this big?” I measured out the size with my hands. “Room for a carafe, some creamer and sweetener, and a few mugs?”

  “Oh, sure.” She crossed to a cupboard on the far side of the galley and pulled out a handled tray that looked pretty close to the size I remembered. She set it on the counter and pulled out a carafe, snapping it into a dimple in the surface. “Nonskid,” she said. “There’s a magnet in the base so the carafe won’t sail away if there’s a gravity failure.” She reached under the counter again, pulled out a smallish box, and clicked that down beside the carafe. “I’ve got creamer and sweetener packets that’ll fit in this. Room for half a dozen covered mugs.”

  “Do the mugs have magnets?” I asked.

  “The ones we have don’t, but I can get some that do.”

  “How many of these trays do you have?” I asked.

  “Three in this size. I use a smaller one to deliver to the cabin.”

  As soon as she said that, I recognized the tray.

  “How much of a pain is it to set this up?”

  “Filling the carafe is the worst. Other than taking it down the length of the ship.”

  “What if the watch picked it up and returned the dirties when the watch changed?” I asked.

  “Midwatch is the only time there’s no staff here. There’s always somebody here every other time.” She grimaced. “If I were on the mid, I’d really want coffee.”

  “Can you prep the tray so they only have to fill the carafe and go?”

  “Oh, sure. That’s autopilot and a tail wind.”

  “Perfect,” I said. “Show me how this goes?”

  “What? Now?”

  “Yes, please, Ms. Sharps.”

  She shrugged and pulled the carafe off the tray. “Here. If you’d fill this at the urn, Skipper?”

  It only took a tick to fill the carafe and snap the safety lid down. By the time I got back into the galley, Ms. Sharps had placed six clean cups on the tray and filled the box with creamer and sweetener. I snapped the carafe into its spot.

  “That’s it,” she said. “It’s ready to go.”

  “Thank you.” I picked up the tray and headed out. “If you’d have another ready for the watch change, I’ll make sure somebody picks it up and brings this one back.”

  “No problem, Skipper.” She gave me a quizzical look. “You’re going to take coffee to the engineering watch?”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “You’re the captain, sar. Shouldn’t you have people to do that for you?”

  I paused at that. “No, Ms. Sharps. It needs doing. I’m here. I’m able. Nobody else is available. They’ll have to keep up with it going forward, but this time’s on me.”

  Sharps smiled. “You’re the captain, Captain.”

  “Damn straight,” I said and took the tray aft to engineering.

  Chief Stevens saw me as I passed in front of her door and followed me down to the watch station.

  “Here?” I asked, lowering the tray onto the cabinet she’d pointed out before. It fit perfectly and even clicked down onto the surface with a magnetic tug.

  “Yes, Captain. Exactly there.”

  The watchstanders all looked at me like I’d grown a second head. Bell’s jaw hung from his face.

  “Here
’s the deal,” I said. “Providing this meets with Chief Stevens’s approval.” I looked at her and she nodded, waving a hand for me to continue. “All right. Here’s the deal. This tray, along with the carafe, any litter, all the cups—clean and dirty—goes back to the galley when you’re relieved. The incoming watch will find a fresh tray just like this one on the counter just inside the galley door. Midwatch has to fill their own carafe. So long as nobody forgets to return the tray or pick up the fresh one, you’ll have coffee available here. Questions?”

  “Covered mugs only,” the chief said.

  I picked up a mug and flipped the handle on the lid a couple of times. “These mugs, not the normal galley mugs.” I handed the one I held to the chief. “There’s even enough for you.”

  She grinned at me and took the mug. “If you empty the carafe before the end of your watch, junior watchstander refills it,” she said, eyeing Dent.

  “Aye, aye, sar,” he said.

  “Pass the word to the other watch sections,” the chief said. “I’ll post a memo. Police yourselves because you don’t want one of us doing it.”

  A round of aye-ayes went around the room and I followed Chief Stevens back to her office.

  “You didn’t fill it,” I said, nodding at the cup.

  “I’ll let them have first draw,” she said. She looked at the mug and then at me. “That was unexpected.”

  “I know, but it shouldn’t have been,” I said. “I’m going to try to fix that. Nobody should be afraid to ask for what they need on this ship. Even if they need to come to me to ask for it.”

  The chief nodded slowly. “Yeah. I need to deal with that here. I’m pretty distressed by it.”

  “You are a pretty big deal in the engineering world,” I said. “You wrote the book. Among other things.”

  Her lips tightened. “Other things that they shouldn’t even be aware of.”

  “Trust me when I assure you, writing the book is more than enough.” I shrugged. “You still have Mr. Go, right?”

  She grinned. “He’s a peach.”

  “See if you can enlist him in making you human.”

  “You telling me how to run my division?” The question came with a smile instead of a sting.

  “Not me, Chief. He just seemed like a good choice since he’s clearly a fan but not star-struck.”

  She nodded again. “You’re right.” She glanced at the cup and then looked at me with pursed lips. “You wanna tell me what happened?”

  “I’m not sure. Something Mal Gaines said.”

  “The culture thing?” she asked.

  I shook my head. “How did it make you feel?”

  Chapter 6

  Mel’s Place: 2376, February 1

  The docking clamps chunked onto the ring just before the lunch mess. The chief said, “Shore ties established. All engines secured and safeties set.”

  “Thank you, Chief,” Al said. “Mr. Reed?”

  “Station authorities recognize the vessel and grant unlimited visa.”

  “It seems we have arrived, Captain,” Al said.

  “Log it and let’s get some lunch,” I said.

  Al clicked a few keys on her console. “Logged, Captain.”

  “Any further business?” I asked.

  “We’re done, Skipper,” Al said.

  “Secure from navigation stations. Set all normal portside watch throughout the ship. Declare liberty for 1300,” I said, unbuckling my seat belt and standing to stretch.

  Al pulled the mic up and I heard her voice echoing through the passageways under my feet.

  “Thank you, people. Well done.” I slid down the ladder to clear the way for the bridge crew to depart and ducked into the cabin to wash up before lunch.

  When I came out of the head, I found Pip sitting in front of my desk. “Eating aboard or would you like to go ashore?” he asked.

  I checked the chrono and settled into my chair. “Let’s go out for dinner. I need to make some inquiries for yardwork.”

  “The steam kettle?” he asked.

  “Yeah. The chief doesn’t think it’ll be a big thing. We have the personnel to pull it out ourselves. We can patch and paint, but I’d just as soon pay for a local yard to do it so the engineering crew can get liberty.”

  “And if something goes pear-shaped, you already have outside help aboard,” he said, finishing my thought for me.

  “Yeah.” I paused. “I also need to start figuring out how to recruit crew out here.”

  His eyebrows rose. “We losing somebody?”

  I gave a little shrug. “Not immediately, but soon-ish.”

  “Al?” he asked.

  “Keep it under your hair, but yeah. She wants to retire and would prefer to retire out here. How’d you know?”

  “Lucky guess. If it had been engineering, the chief would have brought it up in the wardroom. Al would have done the same with deck division. It’s not Tom. He’s having way to much fun to leave us. Kim took the second-mate exam. I’m pretty sure she passed, so she’s likely to move when she finds something she likes the look of.” He shook his head. “We’re going to lose the chief as soon as we find whatever it is she’s looking for, but we haven’t found it yet.”

  “Can we bump Kim’s pay up to second mate?” I asked.

  “Probably be smarter to just move her to the top tier of third,” he said. “She’s making so much in shares that pay is probably the last thing on her mind.”

  “You been studying up?” I asked.

  “What? You think I don’t know how to manage a crew?”

  “Could have been somebody in Sharps’s area,” I said.

  He shook his head. “That whole division is still recovering from being beached for too long. The yard availability didn’t help restore their financial resources. We’ve got them for another few months. At least.”

  “Speaking of the chief,” I said. “You have any insight on why she’s still here?”

  He shook his head. “I thought she’d leave after Telluride. That was a pretty big deal.”

  “She says she’s not through with us yet,” I said.

  “Clearly.”

  “She said she wouldn’t leave without lining up a replacement for us,” I said.

  He grinned. “I’ll admit that I’m looking forward to seeing how she pulls that rabbit out of her afterburner. Chief engineering officers, fully qualified CPJCT-rated chief engineering officers, are hard enough to come by in the High Line. Out here?” He shook his head. “If she can do that, she’s a real magician.”

  The chrono ticked over to noon and I stood. “Come on. Let’s not keep the rest of them waiting.”

  He stood, following me out of the cabin and down the ladder toward the mess deck. “I have a new cargo,” he said. “Handlers will pull the current can tomorrow morning. We’ll have the new one in the afternoon.”

  “That’s fast.”

  “They contacted us three days ago. Can of mining spares. Nice delivery bonus.”

  “What’s the catch?”

  He shrugged. “None that I can see.”

  “Where’s it going?”

  He stepped to the side to make way for a couple of the crew in civvies to pass us. “You’ll love this,” he said. “Telluride.”

  “That doesn’t seem suspicious at all,” I said.

  “It makes a certain amount of sense,” he said. “A decades-long embargo gets lifted, new trade routes are going to happen. Mel’s Place is the closest of the large stations. The most likely to have the kinds of stuff Telluride might be interested in.”

  “Oh, I grant you that. If I were trying to keep a low profile, that’s exactly what I’d do. Arrange a shipment from someplace logical and wave a bonus in front of the crew I wanted with me.”

  “You’re thinking the chief?”

  I shrugged. “Either her or the people she works for. It wasn’t you, was it?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “Would you tell me if it was?” I asked, stoppin
g in the passageway again to look at him.

  He nodded. “Yes. I would.” He made a crisscross gesture over his heart and held up his hand, palm out. “If I know, I’ll tell you.”

  The skepticism must have shown on my face.

  “I know,” he said with a grin. “It’s a work in progress.”

  The mess deck only held a few of the crew. Glancing around, I felt pretty sure they were almost all the duty watchstanders. We filled trays and joined Ms. Fortuner at the unofficial officers’ table.

  “You pulled first watch?” I asked, sliding into a seat beside her.

  She shrugged. “Volunteered.”

  “Volunteered or voluntold?” Pip asked.

  “Teered.” She took a swig of coffee. “It’s the short watch. We’ll change again at 1800 and I’ll be free for two days.”

  “I’m surprised Al didn’t take it,” Pip said.

  “I’m not,” she said. “She wanted to go pick up some art supplies this afternoon. She’ll be back in time to take the watch at 1800. She’s looking forward to some quality art time.”

  “Have you ever seen any of her work?” I asked.

  Both of them shook their heads.

  “Curious,” I said, addressing my lunch tray.

  “Why’s that?” Pip asked.

  “Al isn’t usually one to hide her light.”

  “Art’s different,” Ms. Fortuner said. “It’s often private. Personal.”

  “Voice of experience?” Pip asked.

  She grinned and shook her head. “Not directly. I had a girlfriend who was an artist. Before the academy. She got all squicky if somebody wanted to see a piece before it was done.”

  “According to Christine Maloney, Al is a known quantity in the Diurnia art scene,” I said.

  “She’s damn good, then,” Ms. Fortuner said.

  “You know that scene?” Pip asked.

  Ms. Fortuner gave a noncommittal shrug of the shoulders. “A little. Enough to recognize that Christine Maloney is one of the best curators of art in the sector—probably the Western Annex. She’s got the money to do it right, the aesthetic sense to recognize talent when she sees it, and the knowledge to bring it all together. She runs an annual arts gala that draws the very best from all over and funds an artist-in-residence program for under-recognized talent.”