Tim's Arc

Chapter 10 of 11

The hatch lights blinked yellow along the rim. A soft voice from the ship announced the weight check in two minutes. Tim knew what that meant. The scanners would measure every kilo against the closed manifest. His sister was logged as a fake crate. The toddler was logged as nothing. One extra child, and the discrepancy would freeze the hatch and bring the crew running. "Two minutes," Jake said. He crouched beside the crates where the little girl hid. She clutched a flying toy to her chest, a bright thing with spinning wings. She beamed up at them like this was still a game. Tim's stomach turned. She trusted him. She had saved them all without knowing it. "The scanners check loose bodies against the floor," Jake said. "Four of us can't just stand here. We weigh too much." Tim looked at the hold. A rack of empty crates lined one wall, the kind marked already scanned and filed. Their weight was counted before the manifest closed. He grabbed Jake's arm. "Those. They're logged full. If we climb inside, the scanner reads the crate, not us." Riley signed fast, hands sharp. Max read it and nodded. We fit. We did it in the tunnels. They moved. Tim pried the lid off the nearest crate. It was packed with foam padding, light and loose. He dug it out in handfuls and stuffed it behind the rack. Jake did the same to a second crate. Riley and Max worked a third, small enough that both squeezed in together. "One minute," the ship said. Tim lifted the toddler. She giggled and reached for his collar. "New game," he whispered. "Hide in the box. Stay quiet for the baby, okay?" He set her in the crate beside his sister's hidden spot and tucked the flying toy into her arms. She curled small. Tim fit the lid down, leaving a gap for air. Jake climbed into his crate. Tim pulled his own lid over his head and held it. Through the gap he saw the hold go dark. A thin blue line swept the floor. It passed the rack slowly. Tim held his breath. The light touched his crate, measured it, moved on. The ship's voice came again, flat and calm. "Manifest confirmed. Hatch sealing." The ramp lifted. Metal groaned and clamped shut. The hold shook as the engines woke beneath them. Tim pushed his lid open and gulped the cool air. In the next crate, the toddler laughed, pleased she had won. They were sealed in. The scanners had passed them. But through a small port in the hull, Tim saw the loading bay shrink away, and past it, rising over Juniperfall, a huge grey warship swung into view. Its guns pointed down at the colony they were leaving. The ship they hid in was flying straight toward it.