Stepping Up (15 page)

“You know what? If it were me, I’d do just that.  I’d pay a
lawyer to handle that stuff and be done with it. I hear we are going to Sector
002 next, so it may be a while before we are back this way.  Unless you plan on
leaving the ship, and I hope you aren’t thinking of that.”

“Excellent idea—hiring the lawyer, I mean.  I’m going to
make a few calls.  Do you mind sharing a room at the hotel tonight?”

“Why, Miss MacTaggert, are you hitting on me?”

“You think I haven’t figured out you always let me walk
through doors first, so you can check out my curves?”

“And watch you waddle.” We both giggle a bit. “I won’t go
there, darlin.’ I told the boss I would keep it professional while working with
you. But I will be off duty in,” (she consults the clock on the wall,)
“thirty-two hours, and then you’re fair game.  That sounds like a great idea.
I’m guessing you mean one room, two beds? That’s fine with me.”

I respond with a full-throated laugh, accompanied by a snort
or two.  “I haven’t had those thoughts since junior high.  Let’s work on
‘friend’ first; fair enough?”

The bartender approaches. The shift must have changed; this
is a different fellow from who brought us tea and coffee. “What will you two
fine ladies like?”

Sherri looks at me, turning on her “flirt” face:  “Of
course, one room with one bed is okay too—sugar pants.”  I can feel the color
rushing to my face. To the bartender she says, “I’ll have whatever she’s
having.”  The bartender stares intently at the bar. He probably can’t decide if
he wants to laugh or go blind.

Oh, she is SO going to pay.
  “Stout, room
temperature.”  With a wink and a grin, the bartender is gone.

“Do people really drink it that way?” Sherri looks at me in
horror.

“Mister bar dude! A sidecar of your darkest rum with each,
please!” He gives me a thumbs-up.  Sherri looks as if she swallowed a toad.  Or
would prefer to.

I pull out my perCom and start researching. I make us a
reservation at a nearby hotel. The Holiday Rooster is a reasonably priced and
moderately safe hotel for sixty credits per night—one room with two beds.  I
also find a nearby estate lawyer’s office and give them a jingle.  To my
delight, I actually get a person.  And it’s the lawyer, not a receptionist.

“Hello. This is Jules Rickerback; how may I help you?”

“Mr. Rickerback, Sonia MacTaggert, Lead Engineer of
Night
Searcher
.  I need to make an appointment to secure your help with executing
a will.”

“Of course, Miss MacTaggert.  Will tomorrow morning, around
9 a.m. work? My office is at 45456 Mackenzie Circle.”

“Nine will be fine; I’ll see you then.”  I break the
connection.

The bartender arrives with our drinks.  Two tall glasses
filled with the opaque, warm stout, a sidecar hanging on each.  A tan froth
caps each glass. I pay for the drinks and tip the bartender.  Sherri marvels at
the drink sitting before her, “Wow, you have a high opinion of my tolerance. 
Or you’re trying to get me drunk and get into my pants. Which is it?”  She
giggles.  “I kid you, of course.”   I just grin wickedly at her.

We tink our sidecars and shoot them together.  I ask the
bartender, “Any chance you have anything to eat? Potato skins, mushrooms,
chicken wings?”

A guy comes in and sits on the other side of Sherri. We hear
him order a double Scotian.  He tries to act like he isn’t checking both of us
out in the mirror. He looks like he hasn’t slept—or bathed—in at least a week. 
I have to keep reminding myself how hot it is outside.  I don’t want to be
judgmental, but the man really skeeves me out.

“Rison’s tenders and stuffed Atlantean Crab Claws hit happy
hour prices in five minutes.  Both are the warmed up frozen stuff, but not
fatal. For you two lovelies? Samples of both on the house.”

“Well, aren’t you the generous one?” I say.  “Tell you what.
Bring us an order of the crab claws.  I’ll pay for those. If you want to put
the Rison tenders with them, I won’t gripe about it.”

Note to self:  buy a wedding band.

“You got it, m’dear. Another round?” The bartender leans in
to Sherri and adds, “On the house.”

“Give these beautiful ladies anything they want, and put it
on my tab,” says the creepy guy.

I coldly meet Mr. Creepy-Krawley’s gaze in the mirror and
send a “please go away” vibe. Sherri leans toward me and says, “Get a load of
frickin’ Jack the Raper over here. Shall we empty these glasses and find
another place?”

Our perComs bleep. We have received secure text messages
from Aria:
Complete your business in twelve hours. We must leave system
sooner than expected. Acknowledge.
  We each thumb the ACK buttons on our
perComs.

“I like the way you think.  Our activity window just got
narrower.  I’ll call the lawyer back and see if he can meet us at the inn.”

Sherri asks, “Mr. Bartender, sir, can you make that order to
go? And add two bottles of the stout in the bag, if you can and will.  Many
thanks!” 
She likes warm  stout now? A convert!

I look at the street guy. “Your offer is appreciated, but we
have an expense account we’re draining.  So thanks—but no thanks; it’s coming
off of Mr. Tedwether’s credit chip.”

The band has started up, so I step towards the ’fresher to
call Rickerback.  He answers on the third chime. “My time window has shortened
dramatically. Can you meet me in the lobby of the Holiday Rooster in an hour? I
understand it’s after normal hours, but, as I understand things, it’s still
billable time, and the rate is a bit higher after hours.”

“That’s not entirely accurate, but it’s not a problem. I’m
tying up a loose end here, and that’s just around the corner from my office. I
can be there in ten minutes.”

“You may get there before we do. But we’ll see you then.”

I get back to Sherri just in time to hear the creepy guy ask
her if she wants to step into the janitor’s closet, so they can have “good
clean sex.”  I’ve never heard a troll laugh, but I’ll bet it sounds like what
he just did.

I tap her on the shoulder. “Good news.  The guys got off
shift early.  They’re waiting for us at the Silver Saber.” At the mention of
the alleged “guys,” old creepy slithers away.  I can hear him ask someone where
the Silver Saber is.  I don’t know there to be such a place, but I sort of hope
there is.  And I hope it’s an alternative lifestyle bar.

“Mr. Bartender man, is that to go order ready yet?” I have
my credit chip in my left hand with my right near my pistol, just in case
Creepy decides to come back.

“Hold your horses, sugar. We’re just a little busy. Here it
is. Twelve credits.”

“Thanks, Mac.  You’re an ace. Take an extra two for your
trouble. By the way, is that guy a regular? You may want to keep an eye—and a
cricket bat—out for him.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him
before. Watch your pretty ass, lady.” Sherri glares at him.  I swear I feel the
temperature drop. “I meant to say, ‘watch your ass, pretty lady.’” He recovers
quickly.

The evening has cooled the day.  It’s still warm, but we
decide to walk to the Rooster.  It’s only a few blocks. As we enter the lobby,
we see a kid wearing a black suit and tie and holding a briefcase. He looks as
if he is fresh out of college. Or he raided Daddy’s closet and is playing dress
up.  We approach.

“Mr. Rickerback? I’m Sonia MacTaggert, and this is my friend
Sherri Watson.”  We extend our hands.

But instead of shaking them, he kisses them, and says,  “Oh
mercy me, I didn’t know my clients were such heavenly creatures. Please, sit
down. What can I get for you?”  We each ask for a glass of ice water. He orders
three of them from the wandering waitress.  We all sit around a coffee table. 

I give him the thumbnail version of the situation regarding
the inheritance and Catherine.  I end with the institution’s unwillingness to
work with me. “So what it comes down to is that I need you to either find the
grandmother and work things out with her or set up a trust fund type vehicle
which will be used to pay the daughter’s expenses—whichever option is more cost
effective for the inheritance.  I’m supposing that since I’m paying you by the
hour, you’ll be able to set up the fund quicker?  As to the house, Mack said it
goes to her, but if she’s unable to occupy, what’s the point?  Sell it and put
the funds in the account.”  I kick Sherri under the table.  She’s making “I
must have you” eyes at the lawyer.  To his credit, if he sees her salivating at
him, he doesn’t respond.

Rickerback looks at the table for a second. “I see. Let’s do
this. How about you set me up on retainer, and I do some research and footwork
for you? I will not charge any fees until there is an adequate resolution that
we agree on. These frog dog institutions are hard to deal with. They are
usually set up by the State and well guarded by law.  I’ll investigate the
house and see what’s what with it.  I think I may have to make a few trips to
Atlas, but there are relatively inexpensive shuttle trips that do that.”

“A fine idea except I’m leaving the planet in less than
twelve hours, and I have no idea when I’ll be back.  I’ll bring the chip to
your office in the morning. I appreciate that this will be a lot of work for
you, so I’m anticipating you deducting your fee from the principal deposit.”

“We can work it that way. I’ll actually set up the trust
fund so that a portion of the interest it generates will pay me a regular
stipend. The fund will continue to grow, but not at monstrous rates.  I will
send you a certified agreement and certificate of deposit before you leave
orbit, I hope. If not, I’ll send it to your ship’s destination.” He gives me a
business card chip with his certifications and contact numbers. Right now I
have no reason to believe he’s a shyster of any kind.  I suppose he could be a
very sophisticated thief.  Granted, it’s not my money and I’ll probably never
see the girl or her grandmother, but it would be a disservice to Mack not to do
any diligence.  We part company for the evening.

Once he’s gone, Sherri says, “Okay, Friend-Girl, let’s hit
the room, chow on some crab, and hit the hay in a big bed before we go back to
the ship.  What say you?”

I imagine I’m a bit tipsy from the enormous drink I ordered
at the bar.  Did the bartender put enough in the bag to send me into a nice,
cozy stupor?  I hope so.  “Roger that. I could use some rest.”

Before we tuck into the munchies and suds, I set the
alarm for 0700.  We spend a few hours talking, noshing, giggling, and drinking.
At 0130, I make the command decision: lights out.  And, of course, Sherri gets
the giggles.  I consider putting a pillow over her face.  Fortunately, it never
comes to that, as I’m not sure I could take her.

The alarm chirps at 0700.  I knock the perCom to the floor
looking for it, and then wipe a hand over my face.  “Sherri, you want first shower?”

She answers with a muffled string of words that I’m probably
happier not understanding.  So I get up and make my way to the ’fresher to take
a shower.  I’m halfway through my hair when the door opens.  I peek around the
curtain, just to be sure.  Sherri is sitting on the toilet, at least
seven-eighths asleep, still in her oversized tee.  The neck opening has slid
down to expose one shoulder.  I snicker to myself and go back to washing my
hair.  Having minimal boundaries must come from living in a barracks
environment.  I hear the toilet flush.  All’s well until the curtain moves
aside.  Talking trash is one thing.  Making a move is different.  I splash a
handful of water on her face.  That gets her attention.  “Oh crap, sorry,
girl,” she says. “I thought you’d be done by now.” 

I can only laugh. “I’ll be out in a few.” I rinse my hair
and look around the curtain at Sherri again.  She is sitting back on the
toilet, as naked as the day she was born. It’s all I can do not to stare.  I
was right—there’s next to no body fat on her.  I’m very jealous at how well
defined her musculature is. Her head is leaned back against the wall.  She is
fast asleep.  I rinse off, and step out to dry, leaving the water running for
her. “You’re up, sweet cheeks,” I tell Sherri.  She mumbles incoherently. Her
eyelids flutter, but she doesn’t move. “Stand to, Trooper!” I yell, and smack
the counter with the flat of my hand.  Her eyes widen and her whole body
twitches. “We have a schedule to keep,” I add quietly.

“Alright, alright.  I was just admiring the view.”  She
steps toward the shower. I’m toweling my hair when she pokes the side of my
breast with one finger.  “Firm. Are they real?”  I push her away, laugh, and
finish drying. I step out of the ’fresher. Then step back in and spin the hot
water tap to ‘off.’ 

“Bitch! You will pay!” Sherri howls in rage. 

I howl in laughter and peek around the curtain. “Awake now?”
She cocks her arm to throw a punch at me, but I move away before she can.

When Sherri is finished in the ’fresher, we pack up and head
downstairs for a continental breakfast, and then we’re off to the lawyer’s
office.  It’s another hot day.  Ten minutes outside and we both need another
shower.  Sherri continues to act like someone licked all the red off her candy. 
We hail a cab. We aren’t going far, but with the heat we don’t want to lug our
baggage. The cabbie agrees to take our luggage to the Ship’s Boat terminal.
Sherri gives him the entry code for the cargo compartment. He’ll be able to
stack our bags there but not access the inside of the boat. When the driver
delivers us to Rickerback’s office, I pay the fare, the fare for the baggage
drop, and tips for both trips.

Rickerback has traded his black and white suit for a light
blue shirt and a red bow tie with matching suspenders.  While he readies the
paperwork prepared for me, Sherri sends me a textCom:
All he might need
would be a big red shoes and a bulb nose.
  I have to bite my lip to keep
from laughing.  He says “excellent” more times than I can count.  If he really
is who his ego wall says, he must be a pretty good attorney.

Looking up from his holoCom, he says with a grin, “So I
stayed up late—looks like Miss Watson did too—and put the framework for the
financial vehicle together.”  Sherri shoots him a glare that would wither a
sequoia. “I should be able to finish it out with the details and get it to you
within a few hours.” 

“Very good, sir.  And your retainer?” I ask.

“I found a mutual fund that is currently returning about
fifteen percent annually.  That’s more than enough to cover my end and I’ll
reinvest the difference.  And timely withdrawals will cover Miss Sinnair’s
expenses. Provided the market remains healthy, estimates are she’s good for at
least forty years. And honestly, that could be the rest of her natural life.”

“Great, I’ll look you up the next time I’m on Goliath.”

“I hope you have a safe journey, ladies.”  We shake hands
and head back to the cabstand.

On the way down I can’t help needling Sherri, “‘Looks like
Miss Watson did too,’” I mimic.

“Zip it, you,” she says with a scowl.

We still have some time to kill.  I don’t want to leave
until we get all the documents from Rickerback. So we knock about town, hitting
a few boutiques, coffee shops and just window-shopping in general. The
certifications and documentation Rickerback talked about appear in my perCom
about an hour later, so we return to the launch.  The courier from the
incinerator is waiting.  He hands me a box; I hand him five hundred credits.
“Keep the difference.”  After all is said and done, there’s not a lot to a
person. I am holding the remains of an adult human male with one hand.  I still
have trouble wrapping my head around that.  I presume his ashes (“cremains” the
guy called them) were swept out before the tube was destroyed.  But the reality
of it is, there is probably some plastic mixed in with him.

Sherri preps the launch.  I sit in the seat, holding Mack’s
ashes in my hands.  I can’t…I can’t carry him back to the ship like that.  I
put the box containing his ashes into the luggage bin, securing it between our
two overnight bags.  I settle back into the seat, don my helmet, fasten the
belts, and give Sherri a thumbs-up.

“Y’alright?” Sherri asks as the launch cuts through the
sky.  She must have seen me wipe away the tear.

“I will be.” I look at her as I settle into my seat. I don’t
want to talk about Mack. “Still mad at me?”

She looks quizzically at me, “Oh, the shower!” She chuckles.
“No, of course not.  In hindsight, it was pretty funny, borderline hilarious. 
I wish I’d thought of it, but you may want to learn to sleep with one eye
open.  I think the world of you, but I have a reputation to protect.”

Soon, we hear Aria’s voice: “Launch 4, welcome home. You are
clear for ingress to small craft bay. Report to your Transit stations ASAP.
Night
Searcher
Transitions in thirty minutes.”

Holy crap!
I ask Sherri, “Can you stash my bag and
Mack’s ashes? I’ll collect them from you later, but I have to high-tail it to
Engineering.” 

“No problem.  I’m on deck D, 12-B.  I’ll take care of your
bags and…the other thing.”

Once off the launch, I literally run to Engineering. Gorb
hands me my helmet as I skid into the control cell.  A flight helmet is not
exactly a fitting substitute. Ginny is standing at the board.  She looks at me,
and I wonder if I looked that terrified on my first Transit. I double check the
readouts and ask, “What is your report?”

“Ma’am, I see a green board.”  I smile and give her a
thumbs-up. “I concur, but who else needs to know?”
Déjà vu. It’s much more
fun from this side though.

“Bridge, Engineering.  You are green for Transit,” she
reports.

“Engineering, Bridge.  Roger that.” At the appropriate time,
Night Searcher’s
engines roar, and the ship is off. The plan is we will
stop at Atlas to pick up two passengers, and then move on to the Neptune
clusters. Oddly enough, it’s good to be back aboard.  Once the checks are done,
I announce, “I’m going to the LEO.  I’ll need to speak with each of you in
turn.  I don’t have a preference on who is first.  Flip a coin; arm wrestle;
just figure it out.”

When I get to the LEO, I start a kettle for tea and wait for
whoever gets there first.  It’s Gorb. “Hey, buddy!” I say to him.  “Any problems
while I was away?  I brought you something.” I hold out a half-pound block of
chocolate.  “You’ll need to whack it with something to break it.  If you try to
bite off a piece, you’ll hurt your teeth.  Try not to eat it all at one time.”

“Thank you, Shownya!!! I mished you too!! Big Block Candy!!
B-b-but Doc says I can’t have more than one hundred grams per day. Is she
wrong?? Is she??”

“Well, I’m not going to argue with a trained medical
professional.  I’ll be right back.”  I take the chocolate back from him and
carry it and a clean coffee cup to a workbench.  I protect it with a rag,
hoping the cellophane doesn’t tear, and smack the covered block with a wrench a
few times.  Once it’s in roughly bite-sized pieces, I pour some (about an
ounce) into the cup and carry it back to him.  The rest, I wrap up and keep in
my desk drawer to dole out later.  “This should keep the doc happy,” I tell
Gorb when I hand him the cup.

“Oh, thank you, Shownya...I love you!! Can I do something
for you now? ‘Gorb always helps;’ everyone says so!” 

“So it must be true. You’re welcome, Gorb, I love you, too. 
Actually, can you check the door actuators for the small craft bay airlock? The
deck boss says they aren’t operating smoothly and they may just need
lubricating and filing.”

“I already done that, Shownya. The actuator piston had
warped. You need to inspect it, though.  The Lead Engineer must certify all
repairs that affect the ship’s integrity.”

“You are too far ahead for me sometimes.  Well, when you
finish with that brace you were working on...” I’ll give him something else to
work on.  I’ll hand Ginny something when she gets here.  I’ll also handle
something.  On a ship this size, something is always broken.  “Gorb, did you
see this fault report on maneuver drive four inboard? The thermal shield is
failing. Shouldn’t that have been fixed on our last maintenance overhaul?  We
can take care of that in the morning, though. Give it some more time to cool
down.”

“I got it, Shownya. I’ll get on it tomorrow.  Right now, I
have a little welding to finish.”

He skips out; I return to the status reports, making note of
what’s marked finished that needs inspection.  There’s a knock on my door. 
“Enter,” I say, not looking up until I finish the paragraph I’m reading.

A young engineer reports to me. She looks to be about
twenty-four, and just out of tech school.  “Hello, ma’am.  My name is Virginia
Berry. I have been assigned to you by order of the Captain. I know
Night
Searcher’s
drives. I have been in cold sleep for about six months, so I
just have to get used to being awake. I hope I can do a good job for you.”  She
looks like she’s afraid I’m going to shoot her.

“I’m sure you will.  Please have a seat. Tea?”  The kettle
is ready now, and I pour myself a cup, poised to pour a second.

“Yes, ma’am, thank you.”

I pour the second cup and set it on the desk.  I gesture to
milk and sugar and she declines.  I sit and wait for her personnel file to
display. “Now, let’s see what the database has to say about you.  One second…ah,
there you are.”  My holoCom illuminates with her
Night Searcher
past.
She looks doubly nervous now. It seems there was an engine mishap about ten
months ago.  No deaths, two serious injuries and one destroyed maneuver unit.
Following an investigation, she was demoted to mechanic, and transferred out of
engines, to Ship’s Systems other than Propulsion. After a quick retrain by
Mack, she was on a probationary status and allowed to remain on the crew. But
when the ship came to Tammuz, she was sent into TMOD “until and unless
absolutely needed.”  Whatever precipitated that decision isn’t documented. 
That explains why I haven’t seen her.  It doesn’t explain why I was hired
rather than keeping her.  I’ll have to ask around about that.  “Welcome to the
department.  Or, welcome back.  Don’t you prefer ‘Ginny’?”

“If that’s okay with you, ma’am.”

“It’s your name.  I’ll call you ‘Dixie’ or ‘Bruce’ if you
want. Sadly, it falls to me to be the bearer of bad news. If you haven’t been
told: Mack Sinnair has died.” She nods. She probably heard it in medical. 
“I’ve skimmed what happened before; I’ll digest it later.  That was before my
time aboard, much less as department head.”  I lean back in my chair, and she
visibly relaxes. “So you start with a clean slate as far as I’m concerned. 
Hear this now, and believe it at your leisure:  you aren’t being punished, but
to me it’s a question of seniority and confirmed ability.  For the time being,
you will be taking direction from Gorb.  If that’s going to be a problem, now
is the time to tell me.”
She relaxes even more.  I guess that’s not a
problem.
“Good.  The starboard outboard maneuver drive suffered some damage
recently.  We have it patched and functional, but it isn’t pretty.  That’s
going to be your first task.  Once it’s working, be sure you get the cables
tucked away and conduits sealed.  Get the panels that were damaged either
repaired or fabricate replacements.  For the mean time, I’m going to be
developing a prototype Strike Armor.  I’ll be available, but not close by.  If
you need help, go to Gorb first.  If he can’t help you, then come to me.  Have
you any questions or concerns?”

“No worries, ma’am. Gorb is my friend. I have worked with
him. As long as I make him think he is helping, he is a walking computer.”

“Excellent.  And, so you know, I do answer to ‘ma’am,’ but I
also answer to ‘Sonia.’  I’m sure you heard Mack’s philosophy; I adopted it
because I like it:  I’m easy to work with; I’m pretty tough to work for.”

“Yes, ma’am.  I mean, yes, Sonia, I mean…”

“You had me at ‘yes.’  And, if you feel more comfortable,
‘Boss’ is also acceptable.  Good cover on the engines pre-Transit, too.  Now if
there’s nothing else, get to work.  We’ve both got a lot to do and a short time
to do it in.” 

After she leaves, I find Gorb and fill him in on Ginny’s
tasks for the near future.  He nods.