Capella—there had to be a hundred Corinthians on the dock at the moment, and somebody’d have signed the tab, if they’d have blown it, or they’d have gone to Austin, which you didn’t want to happen…
Meanwhile he’d gotten crazy enough he was linked arm in arm with Capella and trying to do her skip-step and pattern down the deck-plates.
“Chris!” someone female yelled from behind him.
Which confused his navigation, since the female he was with was beside him.
Which let him know he wasn’t thinking clearly, and that reminded him…
“Hell. I haven’t called Millers.”
“Christian!”
Familiar voice. Crew. Cousin.
“Oh, screw it,” Capella said, as he veered about. “She’s no fun.”
He blinked, sweating in the cold chill of dockside. A drop of condensation came down, splat ! off some pipe overhead. That was Sabrina, ten years senior, and dead, dead serious, he saw that on her face.
“Christian, where in hell’s your com?”
He felt of his pocket. Pulled it out, and disengaged his arm from Capella.
The red light was on. God knew how long. Must have been beeping from time to time—somewhere under the music in the bar.
“You and Capella,” Saby said. “Deaf as rocks, both of you. Sprite’s inbound.”
Took him a couple of heartbeats. He was at a low ebb.
“Shit all,” Capella said, in the same second he placed the name and realized this was a definite emergency.
“Austin know?”
“Austin’s on it. What’s this about Miller? What’s this about a transport down?”
“They’re next-shifting it, I’ve been trying to move them. “ His navigational sense was shot to hell. He was on green dock, he could figure that. He ran a hand through his hair, blinked at Saby’s righteous sobriety. “Electrical problem, they tagged it, they know what it is. It’s the damn Viking unions, Miller could do the job themselves, except nobody can touch it.”
“We may be pulling out of here,” Saby said. “Austin’s furious, nobody can find Beatrice. I’d just get your rear down to Miller and tell them get the next shift up early, put it on our tab. We’re on recall, everybody with no business out. I’ll call in, say I’ve found you.”
“We’ve got cargo on dock,” he said, in the beginning of a cold, sober sweat. Austin was going to kill him. If worse didn’t come down. “We got cans on the dock.”
“Beatrice—” Saby began, but that was nonsense.
“ Find Beatrice, if you can, and good luck—Capella, you get down to Miller and tell him his trade is on the line, don’t tell him why, tell him it’s major trouble, and if we get screwed we’ll take him with us.”
“Where are you going?”
Visions of cans in the warehouse, half of them re-labeled and half not. Visions of a broken transport stalled God knew where between Corinthian and Miller Transship’s warehouse with God knew what aboard, and he didn’t want to guess.
Sprite.
Hawkinses.
He had a brother on that ship. Half-brother, at least.
He was, on one level, curious. On another, he wasn’t. Not until they got those cans labeled.
“Tell Austin,” he said to Saby, “I’ll be in the warehouse, I’ve got the com on, I’m listening. Just let me straighten this out.”
“Christian,—”
“I’m fine, I’ll fix it.”
“Hell,” Capella said. “Listen to the woman.”
“Christian,—”
“We are exposed as hell,” he said to Saby, walking backward, a feat proving his sobriety, he decided, considering his recent alcohol intake. Austin didn’t want excuses. It was his watch.
He couldn’t screw this. “I’ll fix it. Tell Austin I’ll fix it, there’s no problem.”
“Answer your damn com after this!” Saby yelled at him. A loader was working somewhere. Human voices were very small, on the dockside, easily overwhelmed by the clash and bang of metal.
Capella caught his arm and spun him about.
“Better bribe the mechanics,” Capella said, with her curious faculty for realism, drunk
Meanwhile he’d gotten crazy enough he was linked arm in arm with Capella and trying to do her skip-step and pattern down the deck-plates.
“Chris!” someone female yelled from behind him.
Which confused his navigation, since the female he was with was beside him.
Which let him know he wasn’t thinking clearly, and that reminded him…
“Hell. I haven’t called Millers.”
“Christian!”
Familiar voice. Crew. Cousin.
“Oh, screw it,” Capella said, as he veered about. “She’s no fun.”
He blinked, sweating in the cold chill of dockside. A drop of condensation came down, splat ! off some pipe overhead. That was Sabrina, ten years senior, and dead, dead serious, he saw that on her face.
“Christian, where in hell’s your com?”
He felt of his pocket. Pulled it out, and disengaged his arm from Capella.
The red light was on. God knew how long. Must have been beeping from time to time—somewhere under the music in the bar.
“You and Capella,” Saby said. “Deaf as rocks, both of you. Sprite’s inbound.”
Took him a couple of heartbeats. He was at a low ebb.
“Shit all,” Capella said, in the same second he placed the name and realized this was a definite emergency.
“Austin know?”
“Austin’s on it. What’s this about Miller? What’s this about a transport down?”
“They’re next-shifting it, I’ve been trying to move them. “ His navigational sense was shot to hell. He was on green dock, he could figure that. He ran a hand through his hair, blinked at Saby’s righteous sobriety. “Electrical problem, they tagged it, they know what it is. It’s the damn Viking unions, Miller could do the job themselves, except nobody can touch it.”
“We may be pulling out of here,” Saby said. “Austin’s furious, nobody can find Beatrice. I’d just get your rear down to Miller and tell them get the next shift up early, put it on our tab. We’re on recall, everybody with no business out. I’ll call in, say I’ve found you.”
“We’ve got cargo on dock,” he said, in the beginning of a cold, sober sweat. Austin was going to kill him. If worse didn’t come down. “We got cans on the dock.”
“Beatrice—” Saby began, but that was nonsense.
“ Find Beatrice, if you can, and good luck—Capella, you get down to Miller and tell him his trade is on the line, don’t tell him why, tell him it’s major trouble, and if we get screwed we’ll take him with us.”
“Where are you going?”
Visions of cans in the warehouse, half of them re-labeled and half not. Visions of a broken transport stalled God knew where between Corinthian and Miller Transship’s warehouse with God knew what aboard, and he didn’t want to guess.
Sprite.
Hawkinses.
He had a brother on that ship. Half-brother, at least.
He was, on one level, curious. On another, he wasn’t. Not until they got those cans labeled.
“Tell Austin,” he said to Saby, “I’ll be in the warehouse, I’ve got the com on, I’m listening. Just let me straighten this out.”
“Christian,—”
“I’m fine, I’ll fix it.”
“Hell,” Capella said. “Listen to the woman.”
“Christian,—”
“We are exposed as hell,” he said to Saby, walking backward, a feat proving his sobriety, he decided, considering his recent alcohol intake. Austin didn’t want excuses. It was his watch.
He couldn’t screw this. “I’ll fix it. Tell Austin I’ll fix it, there’s no problem.”
“Answer your damn com after this!” Saby yelled at him. A loader was working somewhere. Human voices were very small, on the dockside, easily overwhelmed by the clash and bang of metal.
Capella caught his arm and spun him about.
“Better bribe the mechanics,” Capella said, with her curious faculty for realism, drunk
Similar Books
