After Brooke returned Zanshin’s shuttle, she retired to her typically unused quarters in the forward spine to prepare for dinner. Lochlain could scarcely contain his grin when he met her at the airlock to walk to the restaurant.
She wore form-fitting dark blue leggings with zippered pockets running down her thighs. Her top was the barest shade lighter than the sleek pants with sleeves that covered her arms. Over the shirt was a loose-fitting brown vest. Black cargo boots completed her apparel. She flashed Lochlain a smile as she approached him, aware of the significance of her attire. It was the same outfit she had worn her first day aboard On Margin.
Lochlain and Brooke stepped into The Lighthouse shortly before 18:00. The orbital restaurant rose several stories in a small footprint with an ornate, winding staircase providing access to its multiple levels. The vibe of the place was decidedly upscale and made Lochlain wish for his formal wear instead of his current green shipsuit.
As the hostess escorted them to a table near the entrance, Lochlain leaned close to Brooke’s ear and whispered, not for the first time, “You truly do look amazing.” He pulled out her chair and continued, “Any woman can wear a thousand credit dress and look spectacular but not many can do it in freightermen’s clothing.”
Brooke blushed at the compliment. She sat down without a word and watched the hostess return to the front of the restaurant. Finally she said, “I like this ensemble because it makes my Mark Six easy to conceal.” She ran a hand down the front of her loosely hanging vest.
They ordered drinks but decided to hold off on food until after completing the interviews. As they waited for the first applicant, Lochlain rapped his fingers impatiently on the table. “I think we’re going to end up sailing to Carinae,” he predicted candidly.
Brooke looked up from the restaurant’s menu on her datapad and growled, “That’s absolutely crazy. You can’t take Zanshin into the Izari Nebula in the condition she’s in.” She fixed him in place with a stern gaze. “Not only would navigation be nearly impossible but the shielding won’t keep up with the radiation in t-space. It’ll fry our systems and we won’t be able to exit the tunnel.” She kept her dark eyes focused squarely on him to ensure she had driven her points home.
Lochlain shrugged. “I don’t want to go either but after Vulsia there aren’t many options unless we backtrack to Ancera and that’s just wasting the fuel cells.”
Brooke snarled in protest, “Reece—”
“Excuse me,” a pleasant voice interrupted, “are you two Captain Lochlain and Chief Engineer Brooke?”
Brooke dropped her rebuke but gave Lochlain a final, scolding glower before looking up.
The person before them looked barely into his twenties. Spotty, patchwork facial hair around his mouth and chin served only to highlight his youth. Despite the innocence of his age, he wore clothes more suited to a powerful executive. Lochlain recognized the brand of his coat and took a casual glance at the man’s shoes. This young man spent considerable credits on his attire. He seemed more like a mark than a ship hand.
“Yes,” Lochlain answered with a smile. “I’m Reece Lochlain and this is Mercer Brooke.” He offered his hand to the interviewee.
“Casper Naslund,” the young man stated with pointed emphasis as he shook each of their hands.
“Excuse me, Casper,” Brooke asked while he took a seat, “have you finished engineering school?”
Naslund nodded enthusiastically. “Both tech and upper from the University of Nimiset in Cardiff. I have a complete license for anything smaller than 500,000 tonnes and an apprentice’s certification on the bigger stuff.” He smiled confidently as he added, “My cert cruise was with Joyshow.”
Lochlain whistled approvingly. Joyshow Freight was one of the biggest shipping companies in the coreward sector. “Isn’t it nearly impossible to get trainee slots with them?”
“Well,” Naslund said with a sly smile, “my father gives them a lot of business.”
Brooke’s eyes widened at the comment. “Wait. Your last name is Naslund. As in Naslund-Holm Agronomy?”
“Guilty,” he confessed.
Despite the light tone in Naslund’s voice, Lochlain thought he detected an undercurrent of resentment. He took a sip from his beer before asking, “With your father’s influence, why aren’t you working at your pick of any major freighter company?”
Naslund seemed ready, almost eager, for the question. “Because I don’t want to end up just like my dad.” His voice turned fully sour. “He has it all planned out, down to him starting his own shipping line with me as its CEO.”
“Is that so bad?” Brooke asked.
The young man’s eyes darted toward her and he hung his head. “I’ve lived my whole life how he wants it to be. The best schools, the most enriching programs… he even picked which sports I could play. I attend only the social functions he schedules.” He hesitated uncomfortably before adding, “I meet only the girls he approves. He’s actually hired three chaperones to follow me and if I show any interest in something he doesn’t condone, he always blocks it from me. He once paid for a friend’s full tuition provided she attended university away from Ancera.” During his diatribe, his face had turned into a deep, red scowl.
“Is a chaperone with you tonight?” Brooke asked uneasily. She resisted the urge to look around.
“No.” Naslund pushed back the cuff of his suit coat and looked at a chronometer embedded into his wrist. The high-value hardware cost more than Lochlain’s last five datapads combined. “I’m attending an art exhibition in an hour where Dad will force Regina Ostby of Ostby Propulsion on me again. I agreed to attend because I knew it would give me some free time before his spies latched onto me.” The man looked between Lochlain and Brooke. “I’m truly trapped.”
“Maybe so,” Brooke admitted, “but you still have the pick of nearly any freighter that sails, uh, outside of normal shipping practices.”
Lochlain shook his head and explained the young man’s predicament. “Probably not, Mercer. What ship captain is crazy enough to risk the wrath of someone as controlling and powerful as his father?” He offered a sympathetic glance to Naslund after hearing his own, harsh words. “Sorry.”
The man wilted slightly but said to Brooke, “He’s right.” He looked around before leaning toward the middle of the table and whispered conspiratorially, “My contact, a man named Peter Eldin, said there’s nobody he knows that would take me.” He glanced around again nervously.
Lochlain stifled a smirk. Naslund’s paranoid scanning and his breach of protocol in revealing his “contact” were rookie mistakes. Lochlain knew of Eldin, the little worm had peripheral dealings with Isett. He wondered how much Eldin had charged Naslund for this meeting.
Naslund looked up to Lochlain with eyes filled with hope. “You’re the only captain that’s contacted me. Please, I’m desperate to leave. I’d work for free in the beginning if I had to.”
Lochlain’s eyes lit up but Brooke shut him down. “You would be paid, Mr. Naslund,” she insisted. “Do you have proof of your credentials?”
The man scrambled to pull his datapad from the inside pocket of his jacket. It was an Eternity 3500, the bleeding edge of technology. He flicked his finger across the screen toward the datapad Brooke had produced. An instant later, she had his information and began to examine it.
“Assuming your certification is acceptable,” Lochlain said, “when would you be ready to leave?”
“I have to show up at the exhibition tonight,” Naslund answered remorsefully. “I could go as soon as tomorrow though. Dad’s schedule doesn’t have anything for me until the day after tomorrow.” He looked up pitifully at his would-be captain. “Please wait for me.”
Lochlain looked over to Brooke, who nodded approval. He reached across the table to shake the young man’s hand. “Standard crew share for the first run. If we both like what we see, you get increased to a second engineering officer’s share.”
Naslund eagerly reached out but Lochlain pulled his hand up and warned, “Zanshin is just getting started, Casper, and we have a lot of initial operating costs. You’re not going to be earning much from your shares for a while.”
“I don’t care, Captain. I just want the opportunity to grow into the trade.”
Finally they shook. “Done. We’re leaving tomorrow evening. Please board at noon so Mercer can give you the tour before we cast off.”
Naslund suddenly struggled to contain his excitement and he looked as if he might explode. “Thank you! I’ll be there exactly at noon, Captain!” His head jerked toward Brooke and he practically shouted, “I’m looking forward to working with you, ma’am.”
Both Lochlain and Brooke cringed but let the enthusiasm slide. They watched him nearly vault from his chair and run toward the exit as if he were afraid they might change their minds.
* * *
“He’s going to be a handful,” Lochlain said. “He’s barely potty-trained.”
“I appreciate his zeal,” Brooke replied. Energetic engineers were happy to work longer hours.
“That’ll fade quickly enough.”
Brooke watched Naslund’s breakneck pace toward the restaurant’s foyer. He nearly ran over another man headed in the opposite direction. The man, older than Naslund by at least a decade and dressed casually in fashions more popular in the trailing portion of the Federation, deftly avoided the collision and watched with a slight smirk as the hurried man disappeared out the exit. When the new arrival turned back toward the dining area, he made immediate eye contact with Brooke.
She felt a chill run down her spine under the handsome man’s stare. She felt he did not intend his glare to be intimidating but the man in the unusual garb carried an authority beyond his thirty-odd years. He strode directly for their table and Brooke noticed that even Lochlain had been set on edge. Some unseen trigger had brought him to attention. Brooke squeezed her left arm to her vest to lightly brush against the sidearm nestled underneath. The contact was a comfort against the man’s predatory approach. When he reached their table, he surprised Brooke with a truly affable smile.
“I guess I’m the next contestant?” the man surmised, still beaming at the pair. His accent further clouded Brooke’s initial impressions. She could not place the unusual blend of cultures.
“Yes, please take a seat,” Lochlain answered. “Although we’re actually looking for two hands so the other guy wasn’t your competition. He isn’t even a deck officer, just an over-enthusiastic engineer.”
The man looked back toward the exit and offered wistfully, “To be young again, eh?” He returned his gaze to the table and to Brooke. “So if he’s Captain Lochlain, then you are…?”
She felt herself blush at the man’s singular attention. He did not seem to be flirting but the air he carried was certainly exotic. She combatted her initial reaction and turned on the cold professional inside her. “Mercer Brooke, Chief Engineer. What was your last ship, mister…?”
“Please, call me Jack, Miss Brooke. My last command was the brig, Wrathful.” He made a trifling gesture as if commanding a ship was no big deal.
Brooke’s eyebrows shot skyward. “A warship? You sailed in a corporate navy? Which one?” Doubt flooded into her as her intuition sounded warning claxons. Her first instinct had been correct. This was a dangerous man and if he was involved with Appiation or Tengying, it would be no coincidence. The weight of her sidearm felt immensely reassuring.
Seemingly unaware of her trepidation, he shook his head and turned melancholy. Long, brown hair escaped a low ponytail to brush the sides of his face before coming to rest just below his jaw. He fit the bill of pirate more than naval officer.
From across the table, Lochlain took the man in and immediately struck upon the obvious answer. “You were a privateer.”
“Yup, Captain,” the other man affirmed with a short upward jerk of his chin. His demeanor held no disrespect but Brooke detected a deep familiarity with being in the company of important people.
“But not anymore?” she urged him on with the question.
“I finally got tired of war,” came the answer after a short pause. Brooke hoped more explanation would follow but the wistful look had returned.
“It’s a respectable business,” Lochlain pointed out. “Even if you’re finished fighting corporate battles, why aren’t you joining a regular freighter crew?”
The suddenly pensive man cast eyes over the tables nearby before leaning back and folding his arms. “Because I’m a sensor-comms guy at heart and nobody in the Federation wants the voice of their ship to have a Brevic accent.”