Corbin tossed his scrib over Ashby’s desk. The thin, rectangular pad sailed through the mist-like pixel screen and clattered down in front of Ashby. Ashby gestured to the pixels, instructing them to disperse. The news headlines hovering in the air dissolved into colored wisps. The pixels slunk down like swarms of tiny insects into the projector boxes on either side of the desk. Ashby looked at the scrib, and raised his eyebrows at Corbin.
“This,” Corbin said, pointing a bony finger at the scrib, “has got to be a joke.”
“Let me guess,” Ashby said. “Jenks messed with your notes again?” Corbin frowned and shook his head. Ashby focused on the scrib, trying not to laugh at the memory of the last time Jenks had hacked into Corbin’s scrib, replacing the algaeist’s careful notes with three-hundred-and-sixty-two photographic variations of Jenks himself, naked as the day he was born. Ashby had thought the one of Jenks carrying a Galactic Commons banner was particularly good. It had a sort of dramatic dignity to it, all things considered.
Ashby picked up the scrib, flipping it screen-side up.
Attn.: Captain Ashby Santoso (Wayfarer, GC tunneling license no. 387-97456)
Re: Resume for Rosemary Harper (GC administration certificate no. 65-78-2)
Ashby recognized the file. It was the resume for their new clerk, who was scheduled to arrive the next day. She was probably strapped into a deepod by now, sedated for the duration of her long, cramped trip. “Why are you showing me this?” Ashby asked.
“Oh, so you have actually read it,” Corbin said.
“Of course I have. I told you all to read this file ages ago so you could get a feel for her before she arrived.” Ashby had no idea what Corbin was getting at, but this was Corbin’s standard operating procedure. Complain first, explain later.
Corbin’s reply was predictable, even before he opened his mouth: “I didn’t have the time.” Corbin had a habit of ignoring tasks that didn’t originate within his lab. “What the hell are you thinking, bringing aboard a kid like that?”
“I was thinking,” Ashby said, “that I need a certified clerk.” Even Corbin couldn’t argue that point. Ashby’s records were a mess, and while a tunneling ship didn’t strictly need a clerk in order to keep its license, the suits at the GC Transportation Board had made it pretty clear that Ashby’s perpetually late reports weren’t earning him any favors. Feeding and paying an extra crew member was no small expense, but after careful consideration and some nudging from Sissix, Ashby had asked the board to send him someone certified. His business was going to start suffering if he didn’t stop trying to do two jobs at once.
Corbin folded his arms and sniffed. “Have you talked to her?”
“We had a sib chat last tenday. She seems fine.”
“She seems fine,” Corbin repeated. “That’s encouraging.”
Ashby chose his next words more carefully. This was Corbin, after all. The king of semantics. “The Board cleared her. She’s fully qualified.”
“The Board is smoking smash.” He stabbed his finger toward the scrib again. “She’s got no long haul experience. She’s never lived off Mars, as far as I can tell. She’s fresh out of university—”
Ashby started ticking things off on his fingers. Two could play at this game. “She’s certified to handle GC formwork. She’s worked an internship at a ground transport company, which required the same basic skills I need her to have. She’s fluent in Hanto, gestures and all, which could really open some doors for us. She comes with a letter of recommendation from her interspecies relations professor. And most importantly, from the little I’ve spoken to her, she seems like someone I can work with.”
“She’s never done this before. We’re out in the middle of the open, on our way to a blind punch, and you’re bringing a kid aboard.”
“She’s not a kid, she’s just young. And everybody has a first job, Corbin. Even you must’ve started somewhere.”
“You know what my first job was? Scrubbing out sample dishes in my father’s lab. A trained animal could have done that job. That’s what a first job should be, not—” He sputtered. “May I remind you of what we do here? We fly around punching holes—very literal holes—through space. This is not a safe job. Kizzy and Jenks scare the hell out of me with their carelessness as it is, but at least they’re experienced. I can’t do my job if I’m constantly worried about some incompetent rookie pushing the wrong button.”
That was the warning flag, the I can’t work under these conditions flag that indicated Corbin was about to go nonlinear. It was time to get him back on the rails. “Corbin, she’s not going to be pushing any buttons. She’s not doing anything more complicated than writing reports and filing formwork.”
“And liasing with border guards, and planetary patrols, and clients who are late on their payments. The people we have to work with are not all nice people. They are not all trustworthy people. We need someone who can hold their own, who can bark down some upstart deputy who thinks he knows regulations better than us. Somebody who knows the difference between a real food safety stamp and a smuggler’s knock-off. Somebody who actually knows how things work out here, not some blank-eyed graduate who will wet herself the first time a Quelin enforcer pulls up alongside.”
Ashby set his mug down. “What I need,” he said, “is someone to keep my records accurate. I need someone to manage our appointments, to make sure we all get the required vaccinations and scans before crossing borders, and to get my financial files sorted out. It’s a complicated job, but not a difficult one, not if she’s as organized as her letter of recommendation makes her out to be.”
“That’s a standardized letter if ever I saw one. I bet that professor has sent the exact same letter on behalf of every milquetoast student that came mewling through his door.”
Ashby arched an eyebrow. “She studied at Alexandria University, same as you.”
Corbin scoffed. “I was in the science department. There’s a difference.”
Ashby gave a short laugh. “Sissix is right, Corbin, you are a snob.”
“Sissix can go to hell.”
“So I heard you telling her last night. I could hear you down the hall.” Corbin and Sissix were going to kill each other one of these days. They had never gotten along, and neither of them had any interest in trying to find a common ground. It was an area where Ashby had to tread very lightly. Ashby and Sissix had been friends before the Wayfarer, but when he was in captain mode, both she and Corbin had to be treated equally as members of his crew. Moderating their frequent sparring matches required a delicate approach. Most of the time, he tried to stay out of it altogether. “Should I even ask?"
Corbin’s mouth twitched. “She used the last of my dentbots.”
Ashby blinked. “You do know we’ve got huge cases of dentbot packs down in the cargo bay.”
“Not my dentbots. You buy those cheap hackjob bots that leave your gums sore.”
“I use those bots every day and my gums feel just fine.”
“I have sensitive gums. You can ask Dr. Chef for my dental records if you don’t believe me. I have to buy my own bots.”
Ashby hoped that his face did not reveal just how low this tale of woe ranked on his list of priorities. “I appreciate that it’s annoying, but it’s just one pack of dentbots we’re talking about here.”