Debts of My Fathers (Father Chessman Saga Book 2) Page 3

  “So, perfect score,” she prompted him. “I haven’t seen one of those in a couple of years, and that was an old hand. Where did you study?”

  “On the lap of my father, I suppose. Malcolm Fletcher.”

  She nodded. “Yeah, I remember him. Shame about that. Accident, right?”

  “Bad thruster on a cargo loader,” he replied, amazed at how much the sting had faded. “One thing led to another, and he bled out in his suit.”

  She shook her head. “Well, these things happen, but at least he set you on a good course. Do you have any offers yet?”

  “Offers?”

  “Job offers. Are you going to stay in freighters or did some yachtsman snatch you up?”

  “Oh, nothing like that,” he replied. “I’ve got Dad’s old ship, the Sophie’s Grace, and I’m going to pick up where he left off.” He reflected on the Chessman files for a moment. He was picking up more things than he said.

  “Excellent. That should make things even easier for you.”

  He looked around again. Waiters stood attentively in the corners, but there was very little activity. “So, should we get started?”

  “I thought we would wait out here.”

  “Wait for what?”

  “Your sponsor.”

  Michael blinked twice before asking, “My sponsor?”

  “You know, the captain sponsoring you into the Guild.”

  He sat there with his jaw hanging open for a few breaths. If he had been facing off against Malcolm, he might have tried to bluff his way through, but he was out of his depth here. He did not even know which direction to bluff. “I … I didn’t know I needed one.”

  He had caught her mid-sip on her spritzer, and she almost choked. “Are you serious?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” he replied. “I mean, I never heard about needing a sponsor. I thought I only needed the license.”

  She set her drink down. “Oh dear,” she said. “I thought they would have told you groundside. The license is a legal requirement of the big three governments. Guild membership is on top of that.”

  His confusion was obvious. “Then why does everyone even join the Guild? I mean, no offense, but if it’s not required …”

  She reached out and put her hand on his forearm. “A lot of reasons. There’s insurance, collective bargaining with the stations, cargo management, legal representation …” she shrugged. “It’s everything you need to do business. The imprimatur of the Guild is our guarantee that your promises mean something. That more than anything is the reason for having a sponsor.”

  Michael shook his head. “So, what … it’s like an old boy’s club?”

  She sighed. “No, not like that at all, though maybe it started that way back in the early days of the old Republic. Old captains would vouch for new captains, but now it’s mostly a financial arrangement. Typically, your sponsor underwrites your bond.”

  “My bond?”

  She shook her head. “Let’s go back to my office.”

  He took one last gulp of his water and followed her back into the lobby, down through the administrative hallway, and into her office. The nameplate read J. Bower, Taschin Exec. The office was plush with wood paneling and an actual window looking out onto the docking ring. From the look of it, she was in charge, and there would be no appeal to her boss.

  She motioned him to a seat while she settled in behind her desk. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Captain Fletcher, but you must be bonded. The Guild makes guarantees on your behalf. We are the ultimate deep pocket in cases of liability, and your bond is how we pay for that.”

  He nodded blankly. It did make a certain amount of sense. “How much does this bond cost?”

  “It depends. The actual calculation is based on several insurance factors such as your region, your ratings, your age, and so on.”

  His face flushed red. “What’s my age got to do with it?”

  She raised her hands in defense. “I don’t mean to imply anything about your fitness to command, though there may be some additional risk attributed to your youth. It’s more about how long you’ll be a captain. Someone coming in at 50 only has another forty or fifty years left in their career, and so the bond only has to cover that many years, but at your age, you have at least seventy years ahead of you, maybe eighty-five or ninety. Even perfect captains run into bad luck, and ninety years is a long time to stay ahead of luck.”

  He nodded, thinking about Malcolm. If you count on luck, he had said, your days are numbered. Malcolm’s certainly had been. “So what are we looking at?”

  “I don’t have the numbers yet, but I suspect it will be in the range of eight or nine hundred.”

  He laughed as the smile spread across his face. “Well, that’s no big deal then.”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry. That’s eight or nine hundred thousand, Confederate credits.”

  His laugh fell to a grunt. “But I don’t have eight hundred thousand.”

  “I know. No one ever does,” she assured him. “You pay it down over ten to twenty years, and your sponsor guarantees the loan. If you can’t make the payments, it falls to them.”

  “But … how does anyone ever find a sponsor willing to take that on?”

  “In larger shipping lines, it’s actually the parent corporation that assumes the financial risk. It’s standard practice for the Navy to pay it for officers who have done their twenty-five years. For independents such as yourself, though, it’s often family.”

  He thought about his uncle Hans. He would probably be willing, but Michael had made his choice. He was not going to work for Schneider & Williams. He was going to make it as an independent. He had not exactly burned any bridges, but he was not ready to go crawling back to his uncle asking for favors. Then again, after Malcolm’s death, the only family he had left came from his birth father, Peter.

  “What about Malcolm’s bond?” he asked. “I mean, he was only 53. Can’t I just piggy-back on his bond?”

  “I’m sorry, but at the end of a captain’s career, the bond goes into the permanent fund to pay for general operations. It’s what allows us to maintain a Guild presence throughout the civilized universe.” She motioned to the office around her. “Without it, we wouldn’t even be here talking.”

  “I get it,” he said, “but Malcolm didn’t retire. His career didn’t end. He died. Isn’t there some rule for getting a discount on a legacy or something like that?”

  “I’m not aware of any,” she replied. “But I will look, and I can send a query to the sector office at Latera, but that will take a few weeks.”

  He shook his head at the irony. He had been at Latera a few months back. It was where he had foolishly jumped ship and hitched a ride with Elsa Watkins. Given how stupid that had been, it was hardly surprising that he had not thought to make queries at the Guild offices while he was there.

  “In the meantime,” she continued, “I suggest you look around for someone willing to sponsor you, and start planning your finances to make the ongoing bond payments.” She stood and held out her hand. “I’m sure you’re going to make a fine captain. It’s simply going to take a little extra to get you there. Be patient, and it will be worth the wait.”

  He took her hand and managed a weak smile. Patience had never been Malcolm’s strong suit, and Michael had not picked it up anywhere else.

  Michael sat in the corner booth of the Bright Leaf, watching the customers file in and out of the ordering line. This close to the port’s clearinghouse office, the crowd was a mix of ship crew and port officials. He had been nursing a tea for the last hour. He had never learned to like hot drinks, but at least the aroma of the tea bothered him less than the coffee.

  It was his third day watching the morning rush, and while he had met a few of Malcolm’s old friends from other ships, he had not found any captains he had been close to. He might have had better luck trying a spacer bar like the Lucky Black, but he was trying to avoid another run-in with Annie. He knew it was fooli
sh, but that did little for his motivation.

  He was about to give up for the day when he spotted someone he knew, Captain Jack Wallace. Michael stood up from his seat and waved. Wallace looked confused for a moment, but then smiled in recognition. He glanced back to the dwindling line, and Michael motioned back toward his table with a nod. After all, he wanted Wallace to be comfortable.

  Wallace brought coffee with him, but Michael did his best not to wrinkle his nose. “Captain Wallace,” he held out his hand. “It’s good to see you.”

  “And you, my boy. I was just talking to my first officer about Malcolm on the way in. Has it been a year already?”

  “Almost. It’ll be next Tuesday, but it would have been another week or so before we had the wake.”

  They both sat. “Well, the stars keep burning,” Wallace said. “How are you holding up? Have you been here this whole time?”

  Michael shook his head. “I did a stint with some relatives … on Mom’s side,” he added quickly. “But I’ve been back for a couple of months. And you? I heard you hired James Nellis when the old crew scattered. How’s he working out?”

  “He was good, but he and my first mate were like cats in a bag, so James left after about six months. I still miss those omelets.”

  “I remember them, with the peppers. I presume you already replaced him.”

  “Yeah, but I think there’s more burn marks in the kitchen now than on the hull. Why, you looking to hire on somewhere?”

  “No, actually I’m trying to get the Sophie up and running again.”

  “You kept her?”

  He nodded. “No way was I letting her go.”

  “Well good for you. Have you found a captain yet?”

  “Yeah, me.”

  Wallace burst out laughing. “No shit, you got your license?”

  Michael nodded. “Last week.”

  “Then where’s your new uniform? And hell, why are you hanging out here? I remember when I got my license I practically lived in the Guild Hall for a month.”

  He sighed. “To be honest, that’s what I was hoping to talk to you about. I need a sponsor to get into the Guild.”

  Wallace’s elation immediately collapsed. “Oh, Michael, I’d love to. Really, it would be an honor to do that for you and Malcolm, but I just can’t.”

  “If it’s the bond, I’ve been working on my numbers, and I’m confident I can make the payments.”

  Wallace shook his head. “It’s not that I doubt you, Michael. It’s that I’m already maxed out. I took out a second mortgage on the Johnny Rose a couple of years ago to replace the sail generators, so my credit is tapped out.”

  “But you wouldn’t have to pay anything.”

  “I know,” he replied, reaching out a hand to reassure Michael. “But they’re going to take one look at my debt ratios and kick me out the door. It’s not that I’m not willing. It’s that they won’t let me.”

  Michael sank back into the bench seat. “Damn. You were one of better options.”

  Wallace sat back as well. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “No, but we can still do something. You do have your license, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, you don’t actually have to be in the Guild to operate. There are a lot of unguilded captains out on the frontier, and you can even work the border regions near here if you want. You simply have to be more flexible on your cargo rates. I wouldn’t try anything farther in than Arvin, but out here you could scrape by.”

  “I’d thought about it, but it didn’t look like a long-term answer.”

  “It isn’t really, but it will get you up and going while you sort out the bond. As for the actual sponsor, I’m going to go talk to them on my way out tomorrow. It’s that Bower woman here, right?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, up on the station.”

  “Well, I can’t back the bond, but I can sure as hell back you. When the time comes, my signature will already be on the line.”

  Michael sat up. “Thank you, Captain Wallace.”

  “It’s Jack,” he replied. “Captain to captain, we don’t need the title.” He took a sip of his coffee. “So, Michael, what are you doing to find a crew?”

  Stefan Carrillo stepped off the shuttle. He had already cleared customs up on Taschin station. His new ID had worked as advertised. The agent did not even look up to compare the picture. It was getting late on the local clock, but he wanted to get to the port registry before they closed. It was time to find the Sophie’s Grace and her young captain.

  Chapter 4

  “I try not to worry about the small choices I make. After all, I can always change my mind later. Still, I find that the longer I wait to make that change, the harder it is.” -- Peter Schneider

  MICHAEL LOOKED UP AS THE NEXT applicant entered his cubicle. He had wanted a proper room, but evidently the port’s hiring hall reserved those for Guild captains. The walls were high enough to provide a little privacy, but they were not so high to have hidden this applicant when he approached.

  He was tall, trim, and still hung on to the remnants of an athletic build. He glanced around the sparse cubicle and sat down across the table from Michael. “When does your captain get back?”

  Michael shifted in his seat uncomfortably. It was metal with no padding. “Actually, I’m the captain.”

  The man cocked his head to the side and looked at him again. “Serious?”

  He nodded. “My new uniform is on order.”

  “Okay, what about your Guild membership? Is that on order too?”

  Michael gritted his teeth. “It’s pending, but I’m hiring on the crew to be ready when it comes through.”

  “And your license … that wouldn’t be pending, too, would it?”

  “No, I am licensed,” he replied, but he could still see disbelief on the man’s face. “Perfect score, first one in three years.”

  “Really? Do they give you a ship with that?”

  “No, they do not. I have my father’s ship.”

  “Ah,” the man replied with a broad smile. “I see. You’re a daddy’s boy.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean by that.”

  “Did Daddy give you a trust fund, too? Does he even know you’re down here, or should I be interviewing with him?”

  “You’re welcome to try,” Michael replied coolly, “but he’s dead.”

  “Aw, are you all alone? Is that your story?”

  Michael sighed. “I think this interview is over.”

  The man shook his head and snorted. “It never even started. A buddy of mine told me about you, and I had to see it for myself. Good luck hiring on a crew here, little boy. If you really want to fill up your clubhouse, try the nursery in the back.”

  Michael simply closed his eyes and shook his head. Mercifully, the man left without another retort. This one had been number eight, though from what he said, he should not have counted as an actual applicant. With a sigh, Michael pulled out his pad and started reviewing his trade projections. He had barely reached the second page when he heard a noise. He looked up to see another man waiting for him. This one was shorter, older, and any hint of athleticism had fled years ago.

  “Are you here to apply?” he asked. He might as well get that out of the way from the start.

  “Well, I don’t know. Mostly I’m curious.”

  “About what?”

  The man looked back out into the waiting area. “It’s just I’ve seen half a dozen guys come in here, and then storm back out after five minutes. I wanted to see what kind of standards you were using to reject them so fast.”

  “Well, to tell you the truth…”

  “You weren’t the one doing the rejecting, were you?”

  Michael frowned. “And what of it?”

  “No, I don’t mean nothing by it,” he replied. “I’m simply figuring it out. I’m Carlos Rodriguez, by the way. You’re the captain?”

  Michael nodded. “Michael Fletcher, but bef
ore you ask, no I don’t have my Guild membership yet.”

  “Heh, bunch of gasbags if you ask me,” he said with a smile, but hastened to add, “not to imply anything untoward, um, toward anyone who would want to join the Guild. I’m sure you’ll be good there.”

  Michael could not help but grin. “Hopefully so. Are you actually looking for something?”

  “Yeah, I parted ways with my last assignment a couple of months back and have been enjoying some extended shore leave, but after twenty-seven years in the deep, I can’t stay dirtside much longer. You wouldn’t be related to a Malcolm Fletcher, would you?”

  “He was my father.”

  “Was?”

  “He died last year. I have his ship now. Did you know him?”

  Carlos nodded. “I met him a few times. I used to be on the Johnny Rose some time back.”

  “Really? Captain Wallace was just through here a few days ago. How did he work out for you?”

  Carlos flashed a bit of a grimace. “Oh, Wallace is a good guy. I suppose ... well, it’s kind of complicated.”

  “Let me guess, you didn’t get along with his first mate.”

  Carlos laughed. “I wasn’t the first, and I won’t be the last.”

  “Fair enough.”

  He jerked his thumb back to the outside cubicle wall. “From the looks of your posting, you’re hiring on a full crew?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Got anyone yet?”

  Michael shrugged. “Only me so far. What do you do?”

  “Well, I’ve got an old drives rating and a few random skills here and there, but mostly I’m a navigator.”

  “A navigator?”

  “Yeah, but I understand a lot of small-ship captains like to do that themselves.”

  “No, not at all,” Michael blurted out. “I mean, I might sit a watch or two, but I wasn’t looking forward to it.”