Quarter Share: A Trader's Tale from the Golden Age of the Solar Clipper Read Online Free PDF

the spices and scents of his home world that were peppery, sweet, and sharp all at once.
    We were in the mess and after brief introductions he walked me over to three, huge twenty-liter coffee urns that gleamed from a counter prominently mounted near the center of the mess. I’d never seen anything like them and I must admit I felt intimidated. They were resplendent in polished copper and stainless steel and had built in plumbing serving each one. The fact that my new boss spoke of them with a kind of solemn reverence didn’t help matters.
    “These urns provide the life’s blood of the ship,” he explained. “The whole crew worship at this shrine to caffeine.” The chef took a heavy mug from the rack, filled it from the valve at the base of the middle urn, and handed it to me. “What do you think, young Ishmael?”
    I peered into the cup. A rainbow sheen floated on the oily sludge in the pristine white china. A burned, musty smell wafted up. An irreverent thought about burnt offerings drifted through my head but I had the good sense not to say anything about that. I took a tentative sip. It was better than it looked, even black. “Not bad, Mr. al-M’liki, but I think it could be improved.”
    He smiled. His shocking white teeth flashing against his olive skin. “Just call me Cookie, that’s what everyone else does.” He pointed to the urn on the near end of the counter. “Alright Mr. Wang, let’s see what you’ve got. Use that pot. Do whatever you must to make me coffee to die for.” he instructed before retreating to the galley.
    When he was gone, Pip rushed over. “What in the name of anti and uncle matter do you think you’re doing, Ish?” His eyes were wide in shock.
    “Looks like I’m going to make some coffee. That’s what Cookie asked for.”
    “Don’t you think you’re taking a hell of a risk being critical on your first day?”
    I smiled. “I may be a greenie on the ship, but when it comes to coffee, I’m an expert. Even making it twenty liters at a time can’t change that.”
    With a kind of focused detachment, I rolled up my sleeves and started in. First, I dragged over the stepstool, clambered up on the counter, and examined the container. Sure enough, a dark and peeling film coated the inside. A quick investigation showed the plumbing included both hot and cold feeds, and worse, lukewarm water filled the pot.
    Nodding to myself, I clambered down, dragging the filter cone with me. I took it into the main galley and scrubbed it in the deep sink with a stiff brush and a mixture of hot water and white vinegar until it gleamed. I returned to the mess with a liter of vinegar and poured it into the urn. Cookie pretended not to watch, so I pretended not to notice, but I caught him glancing at me out of the corner of his eye.
    Pip, however, rubbernecked with a red face and eyes bulging in alarm. “What are you doing? Good gods, man, do you know what it’ll taste like if you use that?”
    “I’m not making coffee with it,” I clambered back up on the counter with my scrub brush. “I’m going to use it to scour the sludge out of this urn.”
    It took quite a while. I had to ask Cookie for a wrench and a bottlebrush and he showed me where to find them without comment. I took the level indicator tube off the front and scrubbed it as well. After more than a stan I finally got it sparkling inside and out to my satisfaction. I gave it a final rinse with scalding water and then shut off the hot water valve and cranked the cold tap all the way open.
    Pip showed me where to find the supplies. The high quality paper filters fit the cone perfectly. The coffee, on the other hand, was another matter. When I popped the lid off the air-tight, I found some pathetic crud masquerading as coffee. I dumped it into the waste disposer, and dusted out the air-tight with a towel.
    “This is too stale to brew properly. Where are the beans and grinder?”
    Pip just blinked at me. “Beans? Grinder? We just put