Nathan Lowell - Quarter Share

Over the next few days we kept having meetings figuring our way through all the various problems that could arise. The stickiest issue was the idea of consignment. Beverly brought the idea up about two standays out of Margary. “What if somebody has stuff to sell, but doesn’t want to sit around the booth? If we’re going to be there anyway, could we have an arrangement to sell for them? Maybe take a flat percentage for doing it?”

Rhon objected, “But we’re doing the work and they’re getting the benefit.”

We threw different ideas around including reduced fees for working the booth or an hourly stipend. That last idea wasn’t popular because it increased overhead without assuring revenue. We still had a lot to work out.

It seemed we’d barely got underway when suddenly we were at the St. Cloud jump point. We were still stymied over consignments, but we all agreed that we probably should find some kind of solution. I knew from my brief experience on Margary that we needed some kind of system of coverage so the booth would be available the whole time. It was important that this obligation should carry some benefit to those doing the work. My time selling had been fun, but if we were going to do this as a regular thing, I didn’t want to be stuck doing it all the time and I didn’t think anybody else would want that either.

We’d no sooner secured from transition stations in the afternoon when my tablet bipped with a request from the captain to meet with her, “at your earliest convenience.” I had been on the ship long enough to learn that the phrase was officer-speak for, “get your butt over here.” Pip had a similar message so we hustled to her cabin.

When we entered we found the captain, Mr. Maxwell, and Mr. Cotton seated around her small conference table. The captain indicated empty seats. “Sit, gentlemen. It’s time we talked.”

For my part, I was a bit nervous. I’d been eager to talk over what we had come up with her. I felt like we were on the right course but wanted to hear the captains opinions, based on her background and all. Seeing the First Mate and Cargo Chief made me think I was about to find out what some of her ideas might be. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Pip licking his dry lips and he kept wiping his palms on the sides of his shipsuit.

We sat tensely and waited.

The captain started right in. “So, gentlemen, how was the flea market?”

I glanced at Pip and he nodded so I started first. “Well, Captain. You saw our first day’s efforts and, besides being somewhat unprepared-” Pip snorted quietly, but I ignored him and continued, “we did really well. We traveled in pairs and the people who participated that first day were very satisfied.”

Pip picked up the story. “I took the second day along with three other crew and we all sold out of our trade goods. Ms. Sham and Ms. Murphy both indicated that they were pleased with the outcomes.”

The captain nodded. “And the third and fourth day?”

Pip motioned for me to answer that one. “We didn’t have any more goods to sell and since we weren’t aware of any other crew members who needed the booth, it went empty those days. Instead we used the time to research and purchase items for St. Cloud.”

Mr. Maxwell spoke quietly, “That included visiting a mushroom processing facility?”

I tried to keep my voice flat when I replied, “Yes, sar.”

The captain ignored the comment and continued, “And what have you learned about running the booth?”

Pip answered her with a rueful grin, “That it’s not as easy as it looks, Captain, and if we’re going to do this regularly, then we need to get better organized.”

The captain nodded with a small smile. “I see, and I concur. You’ve formed a steering committee to start this process rolling. Is that right?”

I nodded. “Yes, Captain. I can give you the names…”

She shook her head. “No, that’s not necessary. I’m more interested in what you’ve decided so far.”

I took a deep breath and let it out before continuing, “We realize that to be successful we need to be professional and systematic. Part of that is maintaining economic viability. We need to pay our own freight, as it were.”

Mr. Cotton spoke for the first time, “How do you propose to accomplish that, eh?”

Pip answered him, “By taking a commission, one percent of sales, capped at ten creds. You can sell as much as you like, but you owe the co-op one percent of what you get up to ten creds then after that you keep it all.”

“I’m familiar with the concept, Mr. Carstairs, ya.” A small smile played around Mr. Cotton’s mouth.

Pip blushed. “Of course, sar. Sorry, sar.”

The captain looked like she was suppressing a grin and addressed the next question to me. “And what have you decided about booth coverage and consignment sales?”

“Well, Captain, we know we need to split the days up. Our normal port stay is about four days. If we have four people as designated booth managers, we could either assign one of them each day or split the duty so no one gets too tired. We have four people but we need to check watch schedules against the volunteers to make sure we’re distributed properly among the watches.”

She nodded. “And consignments?”

Pip stepped in on that one. “We’re deadlocked on that one just now, Captain. We’re thinking an increase in commission, but the notion of we-work-and-they-profit is getting in the way. The problem is that the commission goes to the co-op but the people doing the work aren’t getting anything from it.”

She nodded. “So you’re not paying the booth managers?”

Pip and I both shrugged but Pip answered her, “That came up at the last meeting, Captain, but we didn’t come to any definitive answer.”

“How would your great-grandmother have done it, Captain?” The question just popped out of my mouth before I really considered what I was saying.

The captain smiled though and answered in a gentle voice, “She would have split the commission between the booth and the managers.”

It was so obvious. As soon as the words left her mouth I knew it was the right answer, and I suspect Pip was kicking himself as hard as I was.

Mr. Maxwell broke in at that point, “What will you spend the money on?”

Pip handled that while I untied my tongue. “We need to cover booth rentals, they won’t always be as straight forward as Margary, I suspect. We also need some booth fixtures to keep from looking like complete rubes.”

The captain appeared to sneeze quietly at that point and covered her mouth and nose with her hand.

Mr. Maxwell arched an eyebrow. “Rubes, Mr. Carstairs?”

“Yes, sar. Most booth vendors have display racks, signage, chairs, and such. The pros have them all set up on a grav-pallet and all they have to do is float it in, lock it down, and begin selling. That first day we wouldn’t have even had a tablecloth if not for the banner-”

The captain interrupted, “So you’re planning on purchasing all this with the proceeds from the booth?”

I sighed. “That’s our problem, captain. The creds we can cover. We probably can’t afford a grav-pallet right away but the other stuff is relatively easy to come by except for the mass.”

“The mass?”

Pip nodded. “Yes, Captain. All that stuff has mass and somebody needs to book it onto the ship. None of us have a mass allotment high enough to cover it all.”

Mr. Maxell swiveled his gaze back and forth between us. “How are you going to deal with that?”

I shrugged. “Well, sar, short term, we’ll make signs on station and leave them there. Boards and markers are cheap and disposable. Chairs we’ll rent as well as the tables. It’ll add to the overhead, but it’ll be worth it. We have a tablecloth now in addition to the banner and clips, so we’re good there.”