Read Take The Star Road (The Maxwell Saga) for Free Online

long time - he'll trust my judgment. He always does when it comes to hiring spacers. How can I reach you to let you know his decision?"
    "I'll give you my comm code, Sir."
    Steve blinked as he focused on the contact lens in his right eye. His Personal Intelligent Assistant, tucked behind his right ear, displayed a series of icons representing other PIA's within range. He picked out one tagged as 'Cardle, V., Boatswain, LMV Sebastian Cabot ', wrinkled the muscles around his eye socket to drop a cursor onto the name, then blinked again. In a few microseconds, the exchange of information was accomplished.
    "Got it, thanks," Vince acknowledged. "There's something else you've got to bear in mind. We're a tramp freighter. We go where our cargoes take us, and we're seldom sure where we'll be in three months' time. We may reach a Lancastrian Commonwealth planet fairly soon, or it might take us a year or more. If you want to talk to a Fleet recruiting office, you'll have to be patient."
    "Sir, if you offer me the chance to get there, and earn my keep while doing so, and learn skills I'll be able to use there, I'll be the most patient man on board!"
    Louie laughed as he placed a shrimp tail on the side of his plate. "In that case, you'll be the first patient teenager I've ever met!" Steve had the grace to blush. "Vince, what about his outfit? Will he need any special gear?"
    "I forgot to mention that. Steve, some cheap-ass ships let you come aboard in street clothes and build up your personal gear over time, but our standards aboard Cabot - aboard almost any Lancastrian ship, for that matter - are much higher. You'll need a lot of stuff: uniforms; a general purpose spacesuit - the ship provides the heavy cargo-handling suits; working utilities and protective gear; a pretty comprehensive toolkit and some other bits and pieces, plus personal items. Do you have an outfit like that?"
    Steve dropped his eyes, his voice chagrined. "No, Sir."
    Louie said, "Steve, the Dragon Tong hasn't got back to us yet about the 'compensation' they were going to extract from the Lotuses, but they will. Once they make a commitment they keep it, no matter what, so I know it's coming. You may never get an opportunity like this again, 'specially not aboard a Lancastrian merchant ship - they're top-rated everywhere in the settled galaxy - or under a Bosun as good as Vince here. I'd hate you to lose it because you aren't properly equipped. If Vince will give you a list of what you need, there's a good spacer outfitter two levels up. I'll stake you to a starter outfit, and recover the cost from your share of what the Dragons give us when it gets here. Make sure you get quality stuff, not cheap crap!" He glanced at Vince. "Put down everything he's likely to need, not just the essentials. He may as well start out fully equipped."
    Hesitation warred with gratitude on Steve's features. At last he surrendered. "Thanks, Mr. Brackmann, I'm obliged to you. Of course, it may not be necessary, if Cabot 's Captain turns me down. Better wait and see."
    Vince added, "Thanks, Louie. That's big of you." He set down his knife and fork, surveying the empty plate with satisfaction. "I'm going to have to give your cook a fat tip. That was great!" He looked up. "OK, Steve. You'll hear from me tomorrow morning."
    "Thank you, Sir!"

 
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 3: January 23rd, 2837 GSC
     
    Steve tore his gaze away from the display window of Spacer Supply long enough to rub his weary eyes. He hadn't got much sleep after his conversation with the Bosun. He was on tenterhooks, waiting to hear whether this was the lucky break he'd been hoping and praying for, or whether he'd have to possess himself in patience a while longer.
    He couldn't keep his eyes from returning to the wares on offer. Spacesuits, protective work gear and an array of gleaming tools were artistically arranged in the window, interspersed with tri-dee holopics of nubile young men and women, wearing very little indeed,