Free Inadvertent Adventures by Loren K. Jones Page B
Authors: Loren K. Jones
grabbed Sterling's right shoulder in a powerful grip. "I'd love to be able to continue talking, but Admiral Gacie is due to arrive in just a few moments. Stop in again before you leave the system."
Sterling smiled. "It was good to see you again, Sir, even under these circumstances." He braced to attention, then did an about-face and walked out the admiral's door as Captain Harrisson opened it to let Admiral Gacie enter.
* * *
Ann's out-processing took the rest of the day, but by dinnertime it was done. She was officially “retired on inactive duty” to mollify her politically powerful family, but they all knew she would never be recalled, and never again command anything even if she was. Now it was time to find a ship to buy that she could command.
They had browsed through three shipyards and passed on all of the ships before something odd happened. A man with a particularly upright posture and elegant bearing met them at Charleston Harbor Civil/Naval Shipyard. He looked at them and then focused on Sterling. "You say you're looking for a freighter in the twenty million credit range? It'd be a small ship for that price."
"We have some experience with a small trading vessel," Sterling said as he looked the man in the eye. There was something familiar about him.
The man stared at Sterling right back. "And which of you holds the captain's certificate?" he asked.
"I do," Sterling answered. "My wife and our navigator also hold current captain's certificates."
"What did you say your name was, sir?" the salesman asked. When Sterling had introduced himself and Ann, the man checked his 'Pad and nodded.
"I have something that might interest you, but you would need some very special qualifications to purchase her. She was just retired yesterday, as a matter of fact. Fleet Surplus."
"There's a lot of that going around," Ann all but whispered. "What class of ship?" she asked.
"Francine Webber."
"The Webber's are fleet supply ships," Olaf said from the back of the room. When everyone turned to look at him, he smiled sheepishly and continued. "I served on the Concorde when I was younger."
"What shape is she in, and which ship is it?"
"She hasn't been delivered yet, so she's in whatever shape the Navy left her in when they decommissioned her. As to the name," he paused and looked at Olaf, "she's the Concorde."
"Conny's been decommissioned? Oh, now I feel old." Olaf's expression made everyone laugh.
"How much?" Sterling asked, drawing the man's attention back to himself.
"Twenty-three million Confederate credits," he replied. "Unfortunately, the captain or owner, one or the other, would have to hold a reserve commission from the Navy."
"This is getting strange," Sterling muttered. "What's on your 'Pad that made you check my name a second time?"
"I am not at liberty to disclose that information, sir," the man said, and something about how he said it set off an alarm in the back of Sterling's mind.
"Am I correct in guessing that you wouldn't have offered us that ship if my name had been different?"
The salesman took a step away from Sterling, clutching the 'Pad to his chest. "Sir, I cannot…Really, Sir, I'm not allowed to…Would you stop… Oh, very well. We received a communiqué from Epsilon Quadrant Command asking us to extend 'special consideration' to a person with your name. The Concorde's decommissioning papers were with it, along with the requirement that it be sold to someone with a reserve commission. That's not usually the case."
"I--we--would like to take a look at her, if that's possible," Sterling said and the man took another step back.
"This way. Our shuttle has clearance to enter the Navy portion of the Yard." He turned around and led them through the offices to a shuttle-dock. Once they were on board and strapped in, he took the pilot's chair himself.
The trip was a short one, and soon they were staring at the enormous bulk of the CSS-NR Concorde, SVH3168, as she floated in orbit. She was nine-hundred
Sterling smiled. "It was good to see you again, Sir, even under these circumstances." He braced to attention, then did an about-face and walked out the admiral's door as Captain Harrisson opened it to let Admiral Gacie enter.
* * *
Ann's out-processing took the rest of the day, but by dinnertime it was done. She was officially “retired on inactive duty” to mollify her politically powerful family, but they all knew she would never be recalled, and never again command anything even if she was. Now it was time to find a ship to buy that she could command.
They had browsed through three shipyards and passed on all of the ships before something odd happened. A man with a particularly upright posture and elegant bearing met them at Charleston Harbor Civil/Naval Shipyard. He looked at them and then focused on Sterling. "You say you're looking for a freighter in the twenty million credit range? It'd be a small ship for that price."
"We have some experience with a small trading vessel," Sterling said as he looked the man in the eye. There was something familiar about him.
The man stared at Sterling right back. "And which of you holds the captain's certificate?" he asked.
"I do," Sterling answered. "My wife and our navigator also hold current captain's certificates."
"What did you say your name was, sir?" the salesman asked. When Sterling had introduced himself and Ann, the man checked his 'Pad and nodded.
"I have something that might interest you, but you would need some very special qualifications to purchase her. She was just retired yesterday, as a matter of fact. Fleet Surplus."
"There's a lot of that going around," Ann all but whispered. "What class of ship?" she asked.
"Francine Webber."
"The Webber's are fleet supply ships," Olaf said from the back of the room. When everyone turned to look at him, he smiled sheepishly and continued. "I served on the Concorde when I was younger."
"What shape is she in, and which ship is it?"
"She hasn't been delivered yet, so she's in whatever shape the Navy left her in when they decommissioned her. As to the name," he paused and looked at Olaf, "she's the Concorde."
"Conny's been decommissioned? Oh, now I feel old." Olaf's expression made everyone laugh.
"How much?" Sterling asked, drawing the man's attention back to himself.
"Twenty-three million Confederate credits," he replied. "Unfortunately, the captain or owner, one or the other, would have to hold a reserve commission from the Navy."
"This is getting strange," Sterling muttered. "What's on your 'Pad that made you check my name a second time?"
"I am not at liberty to disclose that information, sir," the man said, and something about how he said it set off an alarm in the back of Sterling's mind.
"Am I correct in guessing that you wouldn't have offered us that ship if my name had been different?"
The salesman took a step away from Sterling, clutching the 'Pad to his chest. "Sir, I cannot…Really, Sir, I'm not allowed to…Would you stop… Oh, very well. We received a communiqué from Epsilon Quadrant Command asking us to extend 'special consideration' to a person with your name. The Concorde's decommissioning papers were with it, along with the requirement that it be sold to someone with a reserve commission. That's not usually the case."
"I--we--would like to take a look at her, if that's possible," Sterling said and the man took another step back.
"This way. Our shuttle has clearance to enter the Navy portion of the Yard." He turned around and led them through the offices to a shuttle-dock. Once they were on board and strapped in, he took the pilot's chair himself.
The trip was a short one, and soon they were staring at the enormous bulk of the CSS-NR Concorde, SVH3168, as she floated in orbit. She was nine-hundred
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