beyond his recollections. Sol trade—sounded half fanciful, until now.
Harder to run a scam here, if they were short and overcrowded. Or it might even
be easier, if station offices were too busy to run checks, if they were getting
such an influx on the strength of these rumors that a ship with questionable
papers could lose itself in the dataflow… no, it was just a matter of rethinking
the approach and the tactics…
“This is Pell central,” a sudden voice reached him, and the pulser stung him
mercilessly, confusing him for the instant which to reach for first. He shut the
pulser down, keyed in the mike, leaning forward. “You have come in at velocity
above limit. Consult regulations regarding Pell operational restrictions,
section 2, number 22. This is live transmission. Further instruction assumes you
have brought your speed within tolerance and keep to lane. If otherwise, patrol
will be moving on intercept and your time is limited to make appropriate
response. Query why this approach? Identify immediately… We are now picking up
your initial dump, Lucy. Please confirm ID and make all appropriate response.”
It was all ancient chatter, from the moment of station’s reception of his entry,
the running monologue of lightbound com that assumed he could have begun
talkback much, much earlier.
“We don’t pick up voice, Lucy. Query why silence.”
He reached lethargically for the com and punched in, frightened in this
pricklishness on station’s part. “This is Stevens’ Lucy inbound on 4579 your
zenith on buoy assigned lane. I confirm your contact, Pell central. Had a little
com trouble.” This was a transparent lie, standard for any ship illicitly out of
contact. “Please acknowledge reception.” In his ear, Pell was still talking,
constant flow now, telling him what it perceived so that he would know where he
was on the timeline. “Appreciate your distress, Pell central. This is Stevens
talking, of Stevens’ Lucy, merchanter of Wyatt’s Star Combine, US 48-335 Y. Had
a scare on entry, minor malfunction, put me out of contact a moment. I’m all
right now. Had a backup engaged, no further difficulty. Please give approach and
docking instructions. I’m solo on this run and wanting a sleepover, Pell
central. I appreciate your assistance. Over.”
Communication from Pell ran on, an overlapping jabber now, as the com board gave
up trying to compress it and created two flows that would drive a sane man mad.
He slumped in the seat which embraced him and held his aching bones, unforgiving
even in its softest places. He blinked from time to time, kept his eyes open, to
make sure the lines on the approach graph matched. He listened for key words out
of the com flow, but Pell seemed convinced now that he was honest—still
possible, another, dimmer voice insisted in his head, that some patrol ship
could pop up out of nowhere, meaning business.
Station op, in the long hours, began to send him questions and instructions. He
was on the verge of hallucinating. Once station queried him sharply, and he woke
in a sweat, eyes scanning the instruments wildly, trying to find out where he
was, how close—and too close, entering the zone of traffic.
“You all right, Lucy?” the voice was asking him. “Lucy, what’s going on out
there?”
“All right,” he murmured. “I’m here. Receiving you clear. Say again, Pell
central?”
Getting in was nightmare. It was like trying to line up a jump blind drunk. He
stared slackjawed at the screens and did the hairbreadth lineup maneuvers on
visual alone, which no larger ship could have dared try, but he was far too
fuzzed to use comp and read it out, only to take its automated warnings, which
never came. He was proud of himself with a manic satisfaction as he made the
final touch, like the same drunk successfully walking a straight line: only one
beep out of comp in the whole process, and Lucy nestled into the lockto dead
center.
He was so satisfied he just sat there. Dockside com came on and told him to open
his docking ports, and his hands were shaking so violently he had trouble
getting the caps off the switches.
“This is Pell customs and dock security,” another voice came through. “Have your