Kneale’s transceiver was attached to a pilaster that would recess into the gangplank when it finally opened. “Holly, what’s your estimated completion point?” he demanded.
“Another twenty minutes and we’ll have it, sir,” answered Colville, not Holly. “The contractor’s short, real short.”
“You’d better have it!” Kneale snarled in a whisper.
He raised and smoothed his voice to say, “Ladies and gentlemen? I’ve just been in touch with the authorities here on Biscay. They hope to have the problem squared away in twenty minutes, but it certainly won’t be sooner than that. If any of you would like to wait in your rooms or the lounges, I’ll be making a general announcement just as soon as we’re allowed to open the ship.”
There were groans and sighs from the crowd. A few people actually turned and left the hall.
Kneale took a deep breath. The trouble was that almost none of the First and Cabin Class passengers had Biscay as a final destination. These folk simply wanted to get off and view the sights. They didn’t have to worry about luggage and all the other normal delays of disembarking.
On the other hand, more than eighty percent of the Empress of Earth’s forty-two hundred Third Class passengers were on Biscay at least until they’d served out their labor contracts. Many years before, there’d been a nasty incident when emigrants from the King Wiglaf saw their new home for the first time—and the main gangplank was lowered, with only a few surprised crewmen to try to halt the stampede back aboard the starliner. Mind, the wealthy, privileged folk here in the Embarkation Hall weren’t going to spend long on sightseeing themselves. Thirty seconds of Biscay was a bellyful for most people. . . .
“Another truck’s arrived,” Mohacks announced over the radio. He was somewhere in the loading area, invisible behind a curtain of dust.
“Release Section Thirty-three,” Ran called from the head of the Third Class gangplank.
Babanguida, scowling over the respirator which concealed his lower face, trotted up the outside of the walkway. The Staff Side ratings weren’t pleased to be doing the job of ground personnel, but there didn’t seem to be a lot of options on this run.
A gust of wind rocked Ran against the hatch coaming. Emigrants on the walkway staggered. They looked like dim ghosts in the yellow dust. During a momentary lull, Ran heard the wails of children . . . and of some adults.
The Empress’s ventilation system ran at redline to provide positive pressure within the huge bay, but occasionally gusts overpowered the fans. Fine dust covered the last five meters of the corridor like a blond carpet, and drifting motes made the emigrants sneeze almost as soon as their sleeping quarters were unsealed.
The sky was a saffron haze, brighter toward zenith. It must be close to noon, but Ran wasn’t sure how many standard hours a day was on Biscay. Section 33—females and children—processed past him, led by one of Wanda Holly’s ratings. Each of the emigrants stumbled at the hatchway when she saw the choking waste beyond.
Ran waved them onward stolidly. “It’ll be better in the trucks,” he said. His voice was thickened by his respirator. “The air in the trucks is filtered.”
A woman clutched him with both hands, jabbering in a dismal, high-pitched voice. The translator on Ran’s shoulder caught a few words, but most of the complaint was as inarticulate as the wails of a trapped coyote.
The line halted. Babanguida and Wanda appeared to either side of the woman. The rating loosened her hands from Ran’s utility uniform while Wanda touched the emigrant’s cheeks and murmured consolingly. The two of them, officer and emigrant, walked a few steps down the gangway before Wanda patted her and returned to the hatch.
“They’re the last,” Wanda said to Ran. “Poor bastards.”
Babanguida began edging away from the officers.
“Babanguida!” Ran snapped before the rating could manage to disappear. Technically, Third Watch was off-duty, but Babanguida knew better than that. “Change your uniform fast and report to Commander Kneale. Don’t go off on your own till he releases you or I do.”
“Sir,” the big crewman muttered. He didn’t sound angry, just regretful that he’d been caught