Take The Star Road (The Maxwell Saga) (11 page)

His voice was very serious. "Make sure you never let pranks, or your response to them, escalate into a fight on board ship. Same thing goes for bullying, if you run into that. If you don't see any other way but to fight it out - and that happens sometimes - delay it to the next liberty period, then duke it out aboard a space station or planetside. If there's a fight on board, the person who started it will be confined to quarters - or brigged if he resists - and given a bad conduct discharge at our next port of call. That'll prevent him ever working again aboard any decent ship. I'd hate to see you wreck your career before it got properly started!"

Steve nodded. "I'll keep that in mind."

Tomkins straightened. "OK, let's stow your trunks in the cubby, then I'll show you how to use your terminal. This afternoon I want you to learn the basic layout of the ship, so you can find your way around, and also how to operate the robotic cleaning systems in this compartment. Their manuals and instruction vids are on the ship's net. Tonight you'll help the ship's cook dish up our evening meal - it's the only one we eat in common - and clean up afterward. Your initial daily routine will be to clean the common areas and freshers in all the crew compartments, and help the cook every evening. The rest of the time you'll be studying and doing practical lessons with me - like tomorrow night, for example, when we'll go to pick up our cutter from the service facility. In a couple of weeks, when you've learned enough to know more about what you're doing, we'll assign you to more productive work."

"Sounds good to me. When does the crew get back?"

"Everyone will be aboard tonight. It's tradition for us all to eat together after a liberty period like this, to swap stories and meet anyone new on board. The mates and warrant officers will eat with the Captain. You'll meet them over the next few days, as their schedules and yours allow. Until you're trained and assigned full-time to one of the ship's watches, you won't have much to do with any of them except the Bosun."

###

"So you're the new apprentice?" the ship's cook grunted. He was an older man, with a close-cropped gray-stubbled beard complementing his buzzcut. "I'm Tom Higgins. I'll be glad o' your help t' clean up in here. Gets old after the first few years!"

Tomkins laughed. "You've been saying that ever since I came aboard, but I notice you don't look for a different line of work."

"Stick with what y' know, son. That way you earn a place for yourself, 'stead o' gallivanting around between jobs until no-one knows who you are or what you can do. Remember what they say about rolling stones? Ain’t no moss in space for 'em to gather, but they still got no place o' their own." He turned back to Steve. "Done any cookin', son?"

"Yes. At the orphanage we all had to help out in the gardens, growing our own vegetables. We also raised chickens for meat and eggs, and cows for meat and dairy products. As we grew older we helped in the kitchens too. We started out washing dishes, then helped peel and prepare the vegetables, then the meat. By the time we graduated we all had to be able to supervise a shift in the kitchen, and prepare a three-course meal for a hundred students and staff."

"Good t' hear. Most folks today 'd burn water if they tried to boil it! Them pre-packaged meals have made it too easy. Unusual t' find someone who knows how to cook from scratch. Remember any recipes?"

"Sure. We followed our own recipe book. I've got a copy, complete with ingredient lists to feed a hundred."

"I'll take a look at it. If you got some good ones, an' if we can get th' ingredients in space, it'll be a nice change for the crew. For now you can help me dish up. I'll show you how to use our washers after the meal."

By the time the crew began to arrive, Steve had helped Higgins prepare the serving counter. He stood behind it, dishing up vegetables while the older man handled the meat. The spacers took compartment trays and cutlery from a rack, held them out to receive the food, then took them to tables and benches bolted securely to the floor. Steve and the cook waited until most of the crew had been served, then dished up for themselves and joined their shipmates, leaving the serving utensils in the food trays for latecomers to help themselves.

"You're new," a spacer commented as Steve slid onto a bench next to Dew Beeslie at Tomkins' table. He was tall, rangy and bony. The left sleeve of his utility coveralls bore two stars next to each other, the insignia of a merchant Spacer Second Class.

"This is Steve Maxwell," Tomkins introduced him. "He's our new apprentice. Steve, this is Dan Makin."

The man blinked in surprise. "An apprentice? Thought the Skipper didn't want any of them aboard?" He laid down his fork and held out his hand. "Not that you ain't welcome anyway, you understand."

"Glad to meet you." Steve suppressed a wince as the other's grip threatened to crush his hand, and tried to give as good as he was getting. "I guess I'll see more of you in cargo handling when I learn how to use a work spacesuit."

"See more of me? Not likely, son. When I'm wearing one of those, you can't see anything except my head!"

The other spacers at the table laughed. Some made raw, suggestive comments as to what might otherwise be displayed. Despite having been exposed to a space station environment for several months, Steve was mildly appalled at the rough-and-ready sexual innuendo, particularly after his fond memories of the petite, cuddly Maxine. He strove to hide his reactions.

There was a loud thud as a late arrival slammed the sliding door of the messdeck back against its stop, rattling it on its rails. A tall, burly Spacer First Class stalked in, looked around at the crew, and curled his lip in disgust. "Greedy sods! Couldn't ya have waited for me?"

"You know the schedule, Murrin," Tomkins pointed out. "We're in orbit routine and you aren't on the anchor watch, so there wasn't anything stopping you joining us in time, was there?"

"Aw, shaddup!" The spacer seized a meal tray and served himself heaping portions of food. Tomkins' lips pursed in irritation, but he refrained from further comment.

As the new arrival turned towards the tables, he noticed Steve. "Who's this?" he snapped.

"This is our new apprentice, Steve - "

Murrin didn't wait for Tomkins to complete his introduction. "An apprentice? Good! Clean my boots tonight, boy."

There was a sudden silence, many of the spacers looking at Steve, waiting to see how he'd handle the situation. He knew this was the first major test of his right to live and work among these hard men and women.

"Sorry, I've got to clean up in here. You'll have to deal with your own boots."

Murrin slammed his meal tray on the nearest table and bore down on Steve menacingly. "Listen, you dumbass apprentice, when I tell you to clean my boots, you damn well do it! That's all there is to it!"

Steve rose to his feet as the spacer loomed above him. "They're your boots. You clean 'em."

"Why, you - !" Murrin drew back his hand as if to strike.

Steve tensed, sudden fury coursing through him. He'd learned to hate bullies at the orphanage, and wasn't about to let this man or anyone else try that on him now.

"Hold it right there!"
he snapped, feeling the tension singing in his muscles. He glanced across at Tomkins. "Bosun's Mate, how do we arrange for one of those taxi shuttles to stop here to pick up passengers?"

"We place a call to OrbCon, and they take care of it."

"Thanks. Could we do that for this man and myself, please? If he wants a fight, he can have one, but not on board. I'm damned if I'll let him wreck my chance at a career, even if he doesn't care about his! We'll head for the Cargo Terminal. There are places down among the garbage tunnels where no-one cares about blood on the floor. They'll do nicely."

Steve looked back at Murrin. His hand was still hanging in mid-air, his mouth hanging open in surprise. He looked more than a little foolish. "You still want a fight, pack your bags. We'll head for the Terminal and fight there - then you'll go to the hospital. You'll need your gear with you, because I guarantee you won't recover in time to leave with the ship."

Murrin snorted in disbelief, but there was uncertainty in his tone now.
"Bullshit!
A scrawny newbie like you, put
me
in hospital? You're bluffin'!"

"He's not bluffing." Tomkins sat back, deliberately relaxed. "A few days ago, Maxwell helped his boss hold off six Tong bladesmen. All he got was a scratch on the arm, and he put down three out of the six in return. His boss took out another, and the last two ran for their lives. That's how the Bosun heard about him in the first place. This morning, the two survivors tried for evens. I watched Maxwell take out their leader, a guy with twin knives - more like short swords, actually. He put him down with his bare hands, without even raising a sweat. If you want to fight him, Murrin, it's on your head. I'll come, too. This should be worth watching!"

"Holy shit! Put 'er there, Maxwell." Another spacer held out his hand. "I'm Tod Dorley. When I got back to the ship this afternoon, I heard the Bosun say something about sparring with someone. Is that you?"

"Yes. He's ordered impact-absorbing mats and tiles to convert a compartment into a
dojo
for karate training. I'll install them over the next few days." Steve turned away from Murrin as he shook the man's hand. He knew the other would read it for the gesture of contempt it was. He was emphasizing with his body language, if not in words, that he didn't need to worry about what the other did, because he knew he could handle it.

"Ya gonna teach beginners too? If ya are, I'll help ya fix up the room."

"If you'd like to learn, I'll be happy to train you."

"Count me in."

A few others chimed in. "Me too!" "An' me!"

"I'll be joining him too," Tomkins added. "After seeing him handle that guy this morning, I want to learn how he did it." He turned back to Murrin. "Still want to fight him? Just say the word, and I'll make the call for the taxi shuttle while you pack your bags."

"You taking bets, Murrin?" Dew asked with a grin. "I got ten credits in my pocket that says you ain't as tough as a bunch of Tong bladesmen!"

"I got twenny right here sayin' the same thing," Makin added. "I wanna see this!" Hands dived into pockets as others checked to see how much money they had left after liberty.

"Aw, ta hell with all o' ya!" Murrin turned on his heel and stamped out of the mess compartment, leaving his meal tray on the table.

Steve exhaled slowly, feeling the tension ooze out of his body as he sat down, looking across at Tomkins. "Thanks for helping to keep things under control."

"That's my job."

"Do I need to watch my back?"

The Bosun's Mate hesitated. "I'm not sure. None of us have got to know Murrin real well. I'll talk to him after supper."

"Thanks again."

"De nada
. Now, let's stop worrying about him. Food's more important!"

Chapter 7: January 26th, 2837 GSC, evening

As they rocked gently, balancing on the long conveyor walkway leading to the Cargo Terminal's small craft service facility, Steve asked, "What about Murrin?"

Tomkins shrugged. "I spoke to him, as I promised. He's pretty sore about not being able to push an apprentice around - says it's the normal way of things on Midrash, which is his home world. Since that's a Commonwealth planet and subject to our merchant shipping laws and regulations, I'm doubting that, but I've no way of checking, of course. He says he won't take it further, but I guess you'll have to walk lightly around him for a while. He prides himself on having a tough-guy image. He looked foolish last night, and he knows it, and he blames you."

"I'd say he made himself look foolish."

"So would I, and I told him that. I'm going to leave it to you to handle it, but if you need advice, ask me anytime."

"Thanks."

No way I'm gonna do that!
, Steve promised himself mentally.
I've got to make my own way and build my own reputation among these spacers. Running to authority because I can't handle a conflict is no way to start!

He followed Tomkins as the Bosun's Mate checked them in at the service desk, then led the way to
Cabot
's Cutter Two where it lay in a docking bay. Steve followed him through the airlock.

"Couldn't the Terminal's Traffic Control have simply sent this cutter back to us under remote control?" Steve asked as they belted themselves in. "Surely the service people could have notified them when it was ready for collection?"

"Effectively, that's what they're doing. They'll control this flight from start to finish - we're just along for the ride. Even so, it's the ship's policy that our small craft must always have one of our own pilots aboard, just in case. You see, if an emergency blows up that needs all their attention, Trafcon's been known to put unmanned transient birds into a parking band around the Terminal and leave 'em there until the problem's fixed. Any ship waiting for its small craft will be S.O.L. until they get round to 'em again. This way, I can at least take control if necessary and ask Trafcon to let me return to the ship under pilot control, so we can leave tomorrow morning as scheduled." He began pressing switches and calling up menus on his console, preparing the cutter for flight.