“Is that my ‘liquid gold’, Kura?”
The ship’s Master, Aru Vakh, appeared in the Sick Bay’s doorway. Neither Kura nor Sagkal were especially happy about it.
“Worth more than gold, Master Vakh.” Canto Kura stood before the doorway and smiled broadly. “But only if I get it refrigerated.”
Vakh stood aside as Kura left the Crew’s Medical Bay.
“Wait, where are you heading? Are you going to the galley?”
“Sir, that is where the refrigerator is.”
“But that’s blood!”
Canto sighed. Understanding the squeamishness of some sophonts as beyond him. He changed the subject.
“Have we heard anything from the Admiralty Courts?”
Vakh straightened. “No, of course not. It’s only been three weeks.”
Canto grinned. “I’ve heard that it can take a court years to condemn a prize ship.” He couldn’t resist; the look on Aru Vakh’s face was worth it.
“Until that prize money comes in, we haven’t a shuttle. We can’t legally carry passengers without one, making a steward somewhat superfluous.”
“True.” Kura conceded. “Except for those moments when one of the crew sustains injury, like hitting their heads the cockpit glass, and you need a medic.”
Vakh, unsurprisingly, was not amused at the mention of his injury.
“I still suspect that was on purpose…”
“I agree, the missile attack from Impus was most definitely on purpose.”
“Mister Kura," Vakh's tone did not invite comment. "If we do not find a way to pay ship’s expenses without resorting to literally bleeding the crew dry, I’ll have no choice but to cut my losses. I may have to sell the ship.”
As Aru Vakh stalked away toward the cockpit and his stateroom, Canto could think of nothing to say.