Bram Möller's Arc

Chapter 61 of 63

Bram woke before dawn to find the harbor already talking. Two dock hands went quiet when he passed the coal shed. A tender crew turned their backs at the fuel pump. By the time he reached the office, the harbormaster had a folded note waiting on the counter. "Wire came in at four," the harbormaster said. "From the west harbor. Says your bag's crown seam is field-stitched by an apprentice. Says no licensed mender signed off. Pilots on the circuit are refusing to service you until it's inspected." Bram read the wire twice. Kesh's name wasn't on it, but the phrasing was his. Reckless. Unfit. A runaway girl's stitching. If the next three harbors turned him away, the crew would sit on the ground until the bid clock ran out. "Who signs off an inspection here?" "No one. Nearest licensed mender is two harbors east. You'd have to fly to him. And no one will sell you fuel to fly." Bram walked back to the mast. Cora was on the crown platform already, checking her own stitches with a bent finger. Omondi stood at the tension gauge with his coat buttoned wrong. "They're going to strand us," Bram said. He pulled the journal from his jacket and set it flat on a crate. "So we prove it here. Now. In front of them." He turned to the page where he'd logged the repair, then to the pages behind it: Vex's build stamp, Omondi's tension readings from the depot loft, the two test flights with sand crates. He tore clean copies and stamped each with his depot seal. "Omondi. Rig the gauge on the mast. Full climb load, cold. In the open where they can watch." Omondi blinked once, then moved. He clamped the gauge to the crown line and cranked the load bar up notch by notch. A small crowd gathered at the rail. The harbormaster came out with his hands in his pockets. Cora climbed down and stood beside Bram. She didn't speak. She watched the seam. The gauge needle climbed past cruise, past climb, past the red line Omondi had painted at the depot. The seam ticked once. Held. Omondi read the number aloud. Twice. The harbormaster wrote it in his own log and stamped it. "That's above certified," the harbormaster said. He walked to the wire office and sent the reading down the circuit himself. By noon the fuel line was open. Two pilots who'd turned their backs that morning helped load the tank. The rumor didn't die everywhere, Bram knew. It would follow them west. But the harbors ahead now had a stamped number to weigh against Kesh's wire. Bram closed the journal and put it in his jacket. Kesh was still a full harbor ahead. "Launch," he said.