"The loader jammed. I backed the truck. It just-turned up in back of me."
Tc'a didn't exactly drive a straight line. It was the nature of their nervous systems. "Do you have a license to drive on dockside?"
"No, captain."
"Do you suppose there's a reason why you don't have a license to drive on dockside?"
"I think so, captain."
The police were coming back. They had the tow truck hitched. "Watch your mouth," she said. "Let me do the talking." Out of the tail of her eye she saw Tiar and Tarras on the ramp, and Fala behind them.
And the police were on their way back to them, with their slates and their recorders. Lawyers would be next — if it was an oxy-sider Meras had backed into. One could only wish it was lawyers.
"It reproduce," their chief said, with an expansive gesture involving his slate. "You responsible. Urtur station not."
She drew a long careful breath. "You write your report. I write mine."
"We got take him."
Tempting thought. "No."
"He not list with you crew."
"He's on loan. He's a licensed spacer. I put him on the dockside. I take responsibility for accidents."
"Captain," Hallan objected, brim full of noble and foolish objections — her claws twitched out and her vision shadowed around the edges.
"Shut up, Meras. — I'll need a copy of your report, officer, and I'll pay charges on the alarm."
Don't even ask if anybody was injured when the section doors moved shut. Disruption of business, inconvenience to traffic, time and services of rescue workers and police…
Say about 200,000 in damages… give or take.
She signed the report as Reserving the right to amend or correct, and so on, due to language barrier and lack of legal counsel, etc., and so on. She thanked the officers, thanked the rescue workers, gave the eye to her crew lurking up in the ramp access, and smiled sweetly at Meras.
"He try fix loader," the docker chief said.
Grant the fellow a fair mind and an inclination to speak out. She delayed for a look up at the mahe, and gave a bow of the head, and put the name in memory, Nandi, in the not unlikely event they needed a witness. "He thanks you for your support," she said, in her best mahendi, and gave a second bow, before she took Meras by the arm and headed him up the ramp.
"I feel awful it was pregnant," he said on the way up, and she threw him a disbelieving glance.
"They reproduce under stress," she said. "You're a father, gods rot you, to a tc'a! What's lord Meras going to say to that?"
He looked horrified. Appropriately. About the time they reached Tiar and Fala and Chihin.
"It spawned," she said, shortly. "Probably so did the chi. — Tiar, get up to the bridge. See to gtst honor!''
"Aye, captain."
Tiar went, at top speed. That left two. "Fala, down there and take over for Meras. — Chihin, you're on your own with the guest quarters. Get!"
The com was trying to get her attention with periodic, when-you-have-time beeps. She waited until she had gotten Meras into the airlock, and keyed into the ship's internal system. "Tarras. You all right?"
"Aye, captain."Chattering teeth. "Captain, the kid was giving me a fix on the loader. "
"Fix on the loader," Two and two weren't making four. "You get that gods-forsaken cargo out of there.
I'll hear it later." She grabbed Meras by the elbow and steered him through the lock and down the corridor toward her office.
"Captain, I'm really sorry. I'm really — really sorry you had to take responsibility…"
"We are in one gods-rotted mess, you understand that? You understand me?"
"Captain.”From the com again. Tarras. "I'd really like to talk to you about what happened…"
"Later!"
They reached her office and Meras followed her in. She sat, he sat, disconsolately, his big frame somewhat overflowing the chair that was designed to accommodate even mahendo'sat. She stared, he looked at the front panel of her desk, or somewhere in that vicinity. The loader had started again.
Presumably they had the go-ahead from the port authority. Clank-clank. Clank-thump.
"Meras."
"Yes, captain."
"Do you know what you've cost us in fines?"
"If there were any way I could take responsibility—"
"Would Meras like a 200,000 credit bill?"
"I don't think so."
"I thought your captain was reprehensible for leaving you at Meetpoint. I begin to feel a certain sympathy for her, you know that?"
"Yes, captain."
"I don't have a license to drive that cart. Tiar's been out here for forty years and she doesn't have a license to back that cart up. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, captain."
"I want you to understand something. We have a stsho passenger who's already in delicate health. They are not a robust species. This stsho is occupying the cabin around the corner from here. If gtst saw you, it could tip matters right over the edge. Do you understand that fact?"
"Yes, captain." A visible wince. " — Captain,—"
" Yes, Meras?"
"I really — really want to do right. I can do a good job-"
"Two hundred thousand worth. That's a gods-rotted steep hourly wage!"
I didn't know about the license! The loader was jammed, and they couldn't move the truck till somebody moved the cart—" "Until a licensed driver moved the cart!" "I didn't know that!"
"Well, there's a gods-be lot you didn't learn in your apprenticeship, Hal I an Meras, and you're not doing it at our expense. We've got to go on out of here to Kita, from Kita the gods only know where the gods-forsaken addressee has gone to, but gtst is on a mahen ship, and from Kita our choices are Not Good. Do you follow my logic? This is no trip and no place for any gods-rotted apprentice!"
"I'm not an apprentice — I've got my license—"
"Got your license — I'd like to know how in a mahen hell you got your license, I'd like to know doing what you got your license, because it sure as taxes wasn't on any dockside ops board, and it gods-rotted sure didn't entitle you to back a cart the length of this office! You're a papa, Hal I an Meras, you're a papa to a methane-breathing five-brained colony entity and probably to another chi who's crazier than it is — and mama or whatever you call it when you reproduce when startled is just capable of asking his, her, or its matrix what gods-be ship its offspring's papa is working on! Methane folk have this way of turning up in the deep dark empty and saying hello when you don't want to see them. Methane folk have this way of navigating that doesn't respect lanes in space any more than they respect lines on a dock! I've had them come near my ship when they weren't after anything, thank you, Hallan Meras, and I don't want to deal with them when they are! I by the gods sure don't want to meet that mama or its offspring in deep space! Do you remotely understand why I'm upset?"
"I could — I could try to have station get a message to them, station can talk with them…"
"That's a myth. That's a thorough-going myth. Station can approximate things like 'Open the hatch,' and
'That's a fire hazard!' It doesn't do gods-be well with, 'Hello, I'm Hallan Meras, I'm responsible for your offspring.' They've been in space long before we were, and we still don't know how to say 'Stop it you're in my lane,' and: 'My ship can't perform that maneuver.' You want to see a matrix brain communication? I can show you one…" She got into comp with two jabs of a key and voiced it:
"Matrix-corn!"
Matrix-corn came up, with the typical grid. Five rows across, output of each of five voices of its multiple brains. She hit vocal and knnn-voice wailed over the speaker, like a wind-organ, like pipes, and deep, deep bass vibrations.