Bram Möller's Arc

Chapter 25 of 63

The tender leveled out below the squall and the pilot pointed east. Bram sat on the bench beside Parisa. Wendell filled the rear, knees against the cargo rail, red waistcoat stiff with frost. The pilot was one of Omondi's men. Bram leaned forward and asked where Omondi had taken the package. "Not with him," the pilot said. "He handed it off at the foothill harbor and turned back for you. The tender that carried it went on ahead of the storm." "To where?" The pilot shrugged. "Depot manifest. Ask him." Omondi was waiting on the harbor apron with Dr. Vex. Bram climbed down before the tender had stopped rocking. Vex met him first, red hair flat under a wool cap, hands black with grease from the tender's cowling she had been patching in the wind. "You look worse than the envelope," she said. She did not smile, but her shoulders dropped when she saw him upright. "Sit down before you fall down." "Where's my package?" Bram said. Omondi came around the tail. "Gone on. I put it with a runner named Kesh. She had a fresh bag and a clear window west." "West where?" "The last stop on your sheet. She'll set it on the platform and log it under your seal." Omondi held out a folded slip. "Her mark. Time out was two hours ago. She'll be down by now." Bram read the slip. Kesh's initials. His route number. The consignee stamp at the bottom, inked clean. His run was closed. Not by his hand. Parisa stepped up beside him. She had the compass in her palm, lid open, needle steady on Wendell now that Wendell stood behind her. "It counts," she said quietly. "The package moved under your name." "It moved under hers," Bram said. Vex took the slip from him and looked at it. "Seal's yours. Log's yours. Depot won't care whose hand set it down." "I will," Bram said. Omondi folded his arms. "You were inside a mountain, Möller. I made a call. The cargo made its window. That's the job." Bram looked at the tender, at the frayed patch on its cowling, at the mechanical owl clipped to his belt with its bent hinge and cold firebox. He had not landed the last package. Someone else had. The route was finished on paper and unfinished in the only place it mattered to him. He put the slip in his jacket pocket next to Parisa's compass. "Then I'm not done," he said. "I'm going to the consignee. I want my hand on it before I sign the book." Vex looked at Omondi. Omondi looked at the sky, where the squall was climbing off the ridge behind them. "Tender's yours," Omondi said. "One tank. That's what I've got." Bram climbed back aboard.