Capella was hell and away more fun than Miller Transship. Capella was a drug, a natural high—glitz flickered in the strobing lights, found patterns on her skin. The snake on her arm came alive and its eye on her wrist glowed metal red, leaving trails of fire. The bracelet of stars and Bok's Equation glowed green—they could do that in the tattoo shops on Pell.
It drew attention. One drunk sod with a Knightpatch on his sleeve wanted to dance with Capella, wanted to get up close, and there was damn all for her companion to do but object to that if Capella minded, but Capella grabbed the drunk and skipped away, contrived to maneuver him right off the dance zone and right into a tableful of Lodestar'sfinest, who didn't like their drinks spilled.
"Come on," Capella laughed, grabbed his hand and ducked for the door before the riot spread beyond Lodestar'svicinity.
Sunfirewas the next bar, all gold and neon reds, big glowing sun holo in the middle of the bar, and mirrors everywhere, sending the images up and down at angles to the original. The bar served up a specialty about the same colors, with a kick like a retro, and the dance floor was up a step, where if you weren't sober you'd slide right down the edge. They were doing this number that involved back to back and turn, and then front to front and up close—
Which between the dizziness of the mirrored suns and the warmth of bodies and the shortness of breath, made the slanting edge a precarious thing.
Out onto the dock, then, carrying a couple of drinks—he'd remembered to sign the tab, that sober, at least, but they knewdeep-haulers on leave, and they'd have tagged Corinthian, seeing the patch on him and on 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'twant 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 thatreminded 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'syour 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 andCapella," Saby said. "Deaf as rocks, both of you. Sprite'sinbound."
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 wasgoing to kill him. If worse didn't come down. "We got cans on the dock."
"Beatrice—" Saby began, but that was nonsense.
" FindBeatrice, 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 Corinthianand Miller Transship's warehouse with God knew what aboard, and he didn't want to guess.
Sprite.
Hawkinses.
He had a brotheron 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 or sober. "Cheaper than station brig, Chrissy-lad. Which we could all be in if we screw this. You got to sober up, spaceman. We got to get a watch on that ship when it comes in. Anybody comes around the dock, we just arrange a distraction."
"We get the cargo moving," he said. That was the absolute priority. Couldn't just leave those cans on the dock. Austin was applying personal diplomacy to the mechanics, he was willing to bet that— Corinthianwas as good as down-timed herself while Millers' transport was stalled, stupid half-ass company owned theirs, which was why they dealt with them, but they were creaking antiques—
Didn't want just any transport drivers inthat warehouse anyway.
Emergency had him sweating in the cold air. A ship showed up that he'd never expected to meet—one they'd taken care for years not to meet. The karmic feeling, things happening that shouldn't be.
And would Austin run, from Marie Hawkins? From a crazy woman? Hell. That wasn't the Austin he knew.
He used the next public phone. He called into ship-com. He hoped not to deal with Austin.
" Where the hell is your com?" Austin's voice came back to him.
"Sorry, I was in a noisy environment."
"/ have a damned good idea where the hell you were, Christian. Save it. Did you get the message?"
"Yes, sir.—But we've got a transport down. They're trying to fix it. I didn't think you wanted to be—"
"I'm awake. I'm bothered. I'm mad as hell and I'm calling Miller. We've moved the count up, we've got a serious problem, and I suggest you get your ass down there and get that cargo moved. Yesterday! I'm reassessing your file, mister, the same as any crew member who can't do his job! You doubt me? You want to tell me how I owe you a living?"
"No, sir. I will—I'm doing that. No, sir, I know you don't. " The nerves twitched. They remembered. Austin meant exactly what he said, and it wasn't necessary he have liberty again for the next three years if he pissed Austin any further. End report.