“Why would the crew leave?” Dallas said as they sat on stools at the bar.

“Captain Orkney kept a hold on his crew through the debts they had to him. Now that Captain Orkney’s dead, you’ve not only inherited his debts; those in debt to him are now also n det to you.”

“Sounds complicated.”

“Remember rule number one? Assume everyone’s as dishonest as you could be? Here’s rule number two, Dallas: nothing is simple. Everything is complicated. You’re naive, probably don’t know how things work, and your ‘crew’ know it. You have to move fast when you assume someone’s debts in this way. At least a quarter of the crew are going to skip and hope you’re too busy to try and track them down.”

“So why are we here, instead of trying to lock them down?”

“Because a crew who joins for pay is better than a crew of slaves. A slave’s always going to try and escape or get out of work. But a crew who joins for profit and pay will work, because you can fire them anytime you want at no cost to yourself. And they know that.”

Dallas was about to answer, but Gareth held up his hand in a ‘stop’ gesture, and snapped his fingers at the serving-bot. The bot’s torso slid along the track at the other side of the bar and put both hands on the bar and smiled at Gareth. “What can I get you, my friend?” she said, her two ponytails of artificial hair bobbing behind her.

“Two of your cheapest. This is my friend’s first legal drink in a bar.”

“What a wonderful occasion!” she said, reaching under the bar and producing two glasses. The bot pointed the index finger from her right and left hands as the glasses and an amber liquid flowed out from each digit until each glass was about a half-inch from being full.

“Here you go, honey,” Gareth said, handing her a paper TD bill. “Go buy yourself something pretty.”

“Aw that’s sweet, thanks, sugah!” she said as she put the bill under the bar, her voice suddenly shifting to the kind of voice Dallas associated with the outskirts of New Avalon.

“What’s this?” Dallas asked as the bot whizzed down the track to another customer.

“Beer,” he said. “And probably not very good beer at that. But we need a reason to be here while we prospect folks to fly the ship and get things done.”

“If we’re going to be mercenaries, won’t we need to hire fighters, too? Mech jockeys? Aeropilots?”

“Dallas, we’re going to have to build a seriously reliable rep before we can do that. We’re probably going to be docked here for a week at least rebuilding the crew enough so we can leave this little tub of a space station, much less start turning a serious profit by hiring jocks or pilots.”

“We can pay!”

“You’ll run out of TDs pretty darn quick if you start fast like that. You’ve got to learn to run a ship before you can run a merc crew. Learn to walk before you try to fly, or you’ll crash and burn.”

“So, how do we hire a crew? Put an ad on the stream?”

“Nope. That’s the worst thing to do. These guys don’t read much.”

“So, what do we do?”

“You take your drink, so,” Gareth said, curling his fingers around the glass, “then, you lean back on the bar, so,” he put his back to the bar, resting the elbow of his unoccupied arm on it, his ungloved hand holding his drink to rest slightly on his barrel-chest.

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

Dallas copied as best he could. Unfortunately, it wasn’t all that good. “Like this?”

“Kind of. Dallas, stop looking so damned eager. You want the sailors to believe they need you more than you need them.”

“Do they?”

“No. But you’ve got to get them to believe that, or else they’ll demand a higher wage than they’re worth. Or worse, they’ll walk all over you when we set out. Just- relax, Dallas. I know this is new to you, but you’re coiled tighter than a moneylender’s wallet-hand. Pretend- how did you get that last gal to fall in love with you?”

“I didn’t. She and her mother loved my title and Pater’s money and power.”

“Well, imagine she’s got a sister who isn’t a grasping little witch, and you’re trying to interest her. You’ve seen guys who try too hard? Well, don’t be that guy here. Understand?”

Dallas’ tension relieved about a quarter inch as he tried to imitate Gareth. A very long minute passed.

“How long does this take, Usually?” Dallas asked. “My back’s already getting sore.”

“As long as it takes, Dallas. Don’t start asking ‘are we there yet,’ or you’ll make it take longer.”

Another minute passed. A bald-headed man with dark skin came up to the bar, chatted with the serving bot and left carrying four drinks in his hands.

“Shouldn’t we ask guys like that if they want a job?”

“That’s a mech jockey, Dallas. You can tell by the pocketed vest and the patches sewn onto it. If you ask him, you’ll look desperate. He’ll quote a price you can’t match, and the whole bar will see you start the conversation, and him walk away, and we’ll both look like a couple of chumps and no one will come to us.”

Dallas sighed. “This is like a dance in Middle School. If you ask and the girl says no, everyone sees it and laughs at you afterwards.”

“I thought you had tutors.”

“Mater thought I’d be a better ruler if I understood other people from different backgrounds, so for my eleventh to fourteenth orbit I went to school with other kids.”

“Did it work?”

“Kind of. I learned to fight, kind of. And when to fight and when to take it and keep going.”

“And dance?”

“Again, kind of. This is just as complicated as letting a girl know you liked her back then, really.”

“How so?”

“You told your friends you liked her, so they went to her friends to ask her if she liked you back, then they went to her, and then she’d say…”

“Stow it, Dallas. You’re already giving me a headache.”

“Just as complicated as this. And just as useless.”

“Rule number two, Dallas?”

“Everything is complicated. I get it. But it really doesn’t have to be that way.”

“Well, there are always other options.”

“Like what?”

“Who was your Confirmation Saint again?”

“Nicholas. Patron Saint of sailors and Navigators. I always wanted to travel.”

“Well, kick up a prayer to him. Maybe he’ll have better luck than you.”

Dallas looked down into his drink, his lips moving silently. Gareth, surprised slightly by the sudden silence of his drinking buddy, looked over, saw what Dallas was doing and smiled as he tipped his glass towards his lips for a deep draught.

When he lowered it, he saw the bald-headed mech-jockey was standing in front of Dallas with a smile on his face and his right hand extended.

“Captain Dallas Morgan?” the jock said.

Dallas looked over at Gareth, smiled, and then looked back with a straight face at the man in front of him as he leaned back further. “Who wants to know?”

------

TO BE CONTINUED...