Tim's Arc

Chapter 5 of 11

Tim stared at the manifest screen bolted to the hold wall. Jake was right. Every slot showed as filled. His sister lay tucked between two pallets, breathing slow, while the numbers told the ship she wasn't there. If the manifest closed like this, the scanners would flag the extra weight and open the hold. Tim had maybe ten minutes before the filing window shut. He found an empty line and tried to edit it. The screen flashed red. "Credentials required," it said. Tim's hands shook. He couldn't close the manifest. He couldn't even change it. The system wanted the dock worker's login, and the worker was down the ramp, holding a key and a scanner, watching the clock just like Tim. "We need him," Tim said. Jake shook his head. "He let us this far to save his own neck. Ask him to log false cargo, he's tied to a smuggled kid. He'll walk." Tim went down the ramp anyway. The worker stood near the pallets, arms crossed. Tim told him the truth. The hold read full. The manifest wouldn't close around his sister without the worker's credentials. The man's jaw tightened. "No. My name on a false line, I'm finished." Jake came down behind Tim. He didn't argue. He held up the changing station key and let it catch the light. "You gave me three scared kids to keep quiet," Jake said. "I did. They're locked up tight because I turned that latch. You trusted me with their silence. Now trust me with your name." He stepped closer. "If the hold opens during the sweep, they find all of us. Her, them, you. One edited line is the only thing between you and that." The worker looked at the small shelter by the wall, then at the ramp. Tim watched him weigh it, the same way he weighed cargo. Risk against risk. "One line," the worker said. "Then I never saw you." He climbed the ramp and leaned over the screen. His fingers moved fast. The red flash turned green. A new slot opened, and the hold count ticked down by one. He typed his code. The manifest showed a single open line, waiting. Tim lifted his sister and set her into the hollow the new line now covered. He pulled his jacket snug around her. The worker hit confirm. The screen locked. "Manifest closed," it read. The window had shut with her inside it, legal cargo now, logged as a crate that didn't exist an hour ago. Tim breathed out. Then the worker's scanner buzzed on his belt. He read it and went pale. "The sweep moved up," he said. "They're logging the changing stations by the wall. Every locked building. They'll open that door in minutes." Jake's hand went to the key. Riley, Max, and the baby's hiding place was no longer a secret. It was the next thing the authorities would unlock.