“How’s it going?”Tarras asked, breathless, teeth chattering, he could hear the rattle over the com.
“Everything’s clear,” he said. “Ker Tarras, are you all right?”
“ Cold. Just cold.”
There were transports coming, a lot of them, and there was nobody else loading at this section of the docks. The I6-carrier moved out with a whine of its motor, and the 14 moved in. Another 16-carrier moved into the waiting line and the automated handlers moved can after can out, instantly frosting on the surfaces, internally heated, but the insulation was so efficient they could sit in a cold-hold and keep their necessary conditions within parameters. Tarras had been scrambling about the latticework of walkways in the hold unhooking the connections and the hoses from the temperature-controlled cans. Alone, the captain said. No wonder she was out of breath.
Where had everybody else gone? He had no idea what time it was. He didn’t think it was a good idea to ask questions, especially on the comlink, outside-just do his job.
MaybeTarras would get some relief in there.
Meanwhile he consulted with the mahendo’sat and relayed Tarras’ suggestions about sequencing the offload, to minimize shifting the cans about from loader arm to loader arm. He was cold. He didn’t want to think how it was for Tarras.
Cl-ank. Cl-l-l-l-
Tarras said a word over com you weren’t supposed to say on com.
The loader chain had stopped. The loader arm was half extended.
“Can you back it up?” he asked Tarras. “If you can sort of rock it—“
“I know that!”
“It’s those 14-can transports.”
“What? “Tarras snapped.
“The 14-can—“
“What’s that to do with the gods-forsaken chain?”
“The loader arm. When it extends full out.”
“What’s that to do with anything?”
“It has to. The 14-can jobs, the old ones are a little low. The loader arm has to extend out, it cramps the leads, and it just—ties up. You back the loader arm up.”
“Are you serious?”
“Itworks with the Sun’s loader, ker Tarras. The loader arm tells the driver the chain’s hung. But it isn’t. The loader just thinks it is. Back the arm up and set it down about a hand short. —Wait a minute. You’re going to—“
Bang.
Into the carrier cab.
“Not that far,” he said.
“That’s where it goes!”
The mahen driver was getting out, yelling in his own language, and when people did that it scared him, like at Meetpoint, like when the fight started, and he didn’t want to fight anybody. He made a fast approach to the docker chief, but all the mahendo’sat were yelling, and the docker chief screamed, “Move damn cart! How for park there?”
He thought the chief meant him. He was by the single-can cart, it was no more than a lift vehicle they had to hoist the inbound cans, but they didn’t need it yet. He just stepped aboard and backed up out of the can-transport’s way so it could adjust position with the arm.
“Move damn thing!” the transport driver yelled at him. “Damn stupid park there!”
He didn’t know who had. He wanted to save his ship fault in the matter. He whipped it smartly around; and bang!—
Brought up short, with a transport there filling his view that just hadn’t been there before, a transport that was flashing yellow lights and shrieking alarm, with a writhing shape inside the purple-lit glass.
Methanetransport…. Explosive as hell.
He tried to go forward. The bumpers were hooked.
He cut the motor. He had that much presence of mind. Lights were flashing everywhere. Sirens were shrieking. The ten-story-tall section doors were moving shut, walling off their whole area of dock.
“Ker Tarras?” he said into the com. “Help.”
“Captain?”came the call on all-ship.
“Lower main,” Hilfy said, got the message, and something like three seconds later was on the downward access.
Colored lights were everywhere, sirens were blowing, there was a tc’a vehicle and a cargo lifter clearly in mortal embrace, with rescue techs swarming over the scene, and a knot of Urtur station police clustered about Hallan Meras, who was out of his vehicle and answering questions with the gods only knew what legally complicating admissions.