Chapter Four
Arriving Frenzel
“Arrival, in good order, requesting routing for a Frenzel trade berth. Bechimo, out of Waymart, Theo Waitley, First Class sitting Pilot on First Board, Clarence O’Berin, First Class, sitting Second. Laughing Cat Limited, independent operators, under contract to Tree-and-Dragon. Tree-and-Dragon berth call, if any.”
The message propagated properly through the ether, the wide-band electromagnetic waves spreading the news of them to those who might have missed their arrival, in fact to those who had probably missed their arrival in a system loud with two tightly packed, highly commercial worlds. Even their announcement would largely go unheeded, for most of the people here were busy with their own getting, spending, packing, shipping. Someone would pay attention, though, that being their job, and they would have to sort through the records to see what was due Tree-and-Dragon—if anything—and if fees were pre-paid some decade or two back that ought to be applied now, or if old taxes or bills had to be settled. And, yes, if there was a Tree-and-Dragon designated berth available for Bechimo’s use on port.
“Nerves, Pilot? Can’t say I’m without ’em. This is our first port o’call, after all!”
Clarence subtly moved his hand toward the packet sender…
Theo blushed and stabbed the button she ought to have pushed before starting her spiel, transmitting the CIP, the Compressed Info Package that would have the details the port expected—Bechimo’s public dimensions and mass, ground-port preferences, local docking needs, tow-points, even the on-board scheduling routine and call-offs on ships they should never be docked near.
Pharst! she scolded herself. You’d think this was your first time bringing a ship into port!
Well, at least their arrival in-system had been neat, with an appropriate elliptical orbit easily attained. There was nothing of note within a light second of them, and Frenzel was, as pre-calculated by all concerned, on the proper side of the Feraldo system.
Incoming comm lit and a pleasant voice addressed them.
“Bechimo, this is Frenzel control. We hear you but…thank you! Your CIP has arrived. We catch your number and will set-and-schedule within two hours. Approximate backlog, one point two standard days. Bechimo, you are registered. Complete locals follow.”
* * *
“Pharst!”
It wasn’t the first time she’d said it in the last hour, and if Clarence minded her cussing, he didn’t say so—he just looked to the main screen where Theo’d dragged the current item under consideration.
“Bechimo, can we check why these things are different? The packaging looks identical, but the weights are stupidly off and the…”
“Looks like a ship’s store supplier on number four, and number six, too,” Clarence said in his calm way. “They’ll be repackages of local consumer stuff, aimed at resale. Going by the price, I’d say Cloppers is offering actual local stuff, so there’s potential storage issues.” He spun his chair to face Theo. “Didn’t you have to deal with this for Arin’s Toss?”
She shook her head, indicating no, not moving her hands from the choice pointer.
“The Toss was stocked up when I got her, and I just sort of grabbed stuff when I was standing in front of it at the dock-stores. I don’t eat a lot and…”
Clarence sighed.
“What about the other—oh!”
“Right, Hugglelans kept us stocked through their subscription services. We’d dock or come to port and the automatics would already have the stuff on the loading pallets. Other than personal choices like tea or coffee, the whole process was automatic. I mean, we had overrides—I could have traded off for ice cream instead of mycomeat if I wanted—but it was just as well to go with the stuff they supplied. Hugglelans does know about food!”
“Bechimo?” Clarence looked to Number Six, where an image had firmed again. There still weren’t enough cues to say for certain that there was a face on the other side of that blue-green window, but there certainly was the intent of a face there.
“Less Pilot?”
“We need to talk supplies. Can you make a study of the current subscription services and compare our wish lists across them to see if we can choose one or two to start with? Happens we’re in a bit o’luck; Frenzel’s a prime spot for subscription suppliers, on account of it being a warehouse trade center.”
“I am able to mount such a study. To whom shall I report?”
Theo sat up sharply as insight struck.
“You’ve got a good head for admin,” she said earnestly.
Clarence blinked, then laughed.
“Do I, then, lassie?”
“Yes, you do,” she said, ignoring irony. “We need an Executive Officer—maybe not right here, right now, but we’re going to come to some port, sooner or later, where admin won’t deal with just-a-pilot, they’ll want the Exec—” Back on Primadonna, her and Tranza had taken turns being “Exec” at those kinds of ports.
“So, maybe you ought to be Executive Officer,” she continued into Clarence’s grin. “We’ll put it on your business cards, even! When we get them.”
“There—you hear that Bechimo?”
The pause was slight, and Bechimo’s voice laconic.
“I have noted that the Pilot has added business cards with Pilot O’Berin designated as Acting Executive Officer to the wish list. The list now encompasses three hundred and twenty-seven actions or items. The list will be added to the docking routine.”
“Do that,” Theo said. “I’ll make sure I keep my need list up-to-date and we’ll take a look at exceptions rather than order from scratch each time around. You’ll report to Clarence as Exec on the subscription study.”
“Yes, Pilot.” Bechimo’s pause was just a little too short, before he continued. “Catalogs continue to arrive; I will wait for a landing time and location before making any decisions. I will be grading offers on price, deliver-ability, stocking issues, and reported reliability ratings. Additionally, I will multisource unbranded staples, again with vendor reliability charts in mind. I will, upon request, test samples of food and other staples for suitability.”
“Well,” said Clarence, hand on his chin. “You know, not sure I’ve ever had a ship test my food for me, but it makes sense, come to think of it.”
“The Builders were clear on the supply needs of a ship on independent loop routes, Less Pilot. When this vessel was commissioned, the possibility of long-term exposure to low-to-mid-grade toxins was a concern. I directly sample and analyze in-coming air on world and docked, using the highest standards, in addition to generating base air at need. Our water supply and other potables are tested continuously and are maintained in multiple independent reservoirs with backups and filtration available.”
“I see we’re well-taken-care-of, then,” Clarence said, and inclined his head in full Liaden formal to Screen Six. “The pilots are aware of the ship’s vigilance, and sleep the better for it.”
* * *
Frenzel ground-port was radio noisy and crowded. Bechimo was tucked into an auxiliary “field” out of the way of the big and busy ships that out-massed them many times over. The landing itself had been uneventful, with Bechimo taking Theo’s cue to taken it easy, and not to exceed normal landing times by more than five percent.
Since Laughing Cat’s resources were thin in the universe, there had been no expedited landing or premium siting. It might have been different, if they come in carrying pods, or had a pick-up scheduled, but running empty and listing “business development” in their pre-landing customs declarations wasn’t enough to get them one of the better seats in the house.
They had a hotpad only because all of the pads at Frenzel Port were stand-alones a bare step above a tow-tie. They could pick up power and land-line optical, and if they wanted they could patch in for water—but the fees for water were phenomenal and the land-line optical was a sponsored link, meaning half or more of the flow would be incoming messages of enticement, and they were already getting more than enough of that, if the pink, blue, and grey streaks showing on Screen Six were any indication.
“Pilots,” Bechimo said, sounding every bit as harried as Number Six looked, “I have no less than seventeen attempts to set up open arrivals for items we have no need of; several for items which are on the wish list but which represent no outgoing request on our part. Two personal service companies report that they are responding to standing orders which do not exist and—”
Clarence spoke over him, in Liaden.
“Bechimo, forgive me! Commercial hubs are often over-busy, and there are ever those who seek to turn confusion into profit. Please, inform the personal services companies that our crew is on shift-hold and will make their own arrangements. To the chandlers say that we have supplies due in from other sources and are not at this time accepting samples or pre-approved signature offers. What others have you?”
It was, Theo thought, amazing how calming Liaden sounded—smooth and flowing, like the little stream in Father’s garden, back on Delgado.
“I have,” Bechimo said, answering as he was spoken to, “offers to wash the hull, to advise the pilots on the proper mode of dress, and those who offer decorative skin art.”
“Regretfully, utilization of such services requires pre-authorization from our office on Waymart. You may of course give them the Waymart call-box, so that proper inquiry may be made. You may receive inquiry from those seeking employment. Express to them the following ship’s policy: that we utilize certified pre-screened and pre-requested guild members only.”
“Thank you, Pilot; those instructions cover most of the incoming queries.” Screen Six was mostly grey now, shading toward blue at the left edge. Panic averted, thought Theo and gave a nod and a smile to Clarence.
“Pilot Theo? We have several requests specifically for yourself. Are you in need of companionship?”
Theo sputtered, and shook her head.
“Exec said it—and if anyone asks by whose orders, you tell them standing orders from the Executive Officer.”
“Yes, Pilot. We have also several security consultants applying for permission to discuss ground-side security, including one who specializes in new-world orientation. I see offices listed for them in several ports on-world. I also have two sources offering weapons renewal.”
“Please send anyone claiming security to me,” said Clarence, back in Terran. “I’ll vet ’em. Might as well do the same for weapons renewal, but buy me some time—say I’m in conference. Ask for contact info and say that the Exec, who’s in conference, will get back to them.”
Clarence turned to fix Theo with a quick eye.
“These aren’t the kind of things you’re going to get in established ships mostly, ’specially if they’re marked Hugglelans…and by damn I thought the weapons check people were so old-time that no one would try it anymore.”
Theo signed query, figuring she had it pegged as a variation Rig had warned her about.
Clarence shrugged. “New ship on port stuff. If they can get on board to do a survey, so-called, or a ‘consult,’ then they get a handle on our readiness, and on what weapons do we have. They’d be especially interested in Bechimo—not like there’s a ship of this exact class dropping in of a ten-day, is it now? Some of the security folk, they’ll even have a try at dropping bugs, picking up ship or trade rumor, what have you. We don’t show local affiliation yet, and that can count a lot on dealing with refraff. They ought to be put off by two First Class Pilots on the con, but hey, you can’t succeed if you don’t try, like my auntie usta say.”
He spun his chair to face her. “Other thing we ought to do, now we got an Exec, is name a Trade Officer. What might be encouraging some of these folks to be so bold is we got nobody listed, so they might figure we got no connections and no sense, even if we do claim contract with Tree-and-Dragon.”
Theo nodded, recalled that Rig Tranza had been strong on dealing with known affiliates…but he’d never needed to cope with anything except personals; buying wasn’t what he did, what he did was pilot. Like her.
“Trade Officer, huh?” She shook her head. “We’re going to have to improvise on that. Maybe list a name who’s always in a meeting?”
Clarence tipped his head, like he was considering that.
“Port request, on proper channels, Pilot Theo,” Bechimo said crisply. “Customs and port protocol officers will be arriving ship-side within the local hour. We are requested not to open hatches before they arrive and are informed that, for our protection we are under surveillance at all times on port.”
“Of course we are,” Theo murmured. “Where’s this kind of support when you really need it?”