Starliner(47)

* * *

"Another truck's arrived," Mohacks announced over the radio. He was somewhere in the loading area, invisible behind a curtain of dust.

"Release Section Thirty-three," Ran called from the head of the Third Class gangplank.

Babanguida, scowling over the respirator which concealed his lower face, trotted up the outside of the walkway. The Staff Side ratings weren't pleased to be doing the job of ground personnel, but there didn't seem to be a lot of options on this run.

A gust of wind rocked Ran against the hatch coaming. Emigrants on the walkway staggered. They looked like dim ghosts in the yellow dust. During a momentary lull, Ran heard the wails of children . . . and of some adults.

The Empress's ventilation system ran at redline to provide positive pressure within the huge bay, but occasionally gusts overpowered the fans. Fine dust covered the last five meters of the corridor like a blond carpet, and drifting motes made the emigrants sneeze almost as soon as their sleeping quarters were unsealed.

The sky was a saffron haze, brighter toward zenith. It must be close to noon, but Ran wasn't sure how many standard hours a day was on Biscay. Section 33—females and children—processed past him, led by one of Wanda Holly's ratings. Each of the emigrants stumbled at the hatchway when she saw the choking waste beyond.

Ran waved them onward stolidly. "It'll be better in the trucks," he said. His voice was thickened by his respirator. "The air in the trucks is filtered."

A woman clutched him with both hands, jabbering in a dismal, high-pitched voice. The translator on Ran's shoulder caught a few words, but most of the complaint was as inarticulate as the wails of a trapped coyote.

The line halted. Babanguida and Wanda appeared to either side of the woman. The rating loosened her hands from Ran's utility uniform while Wanda touched the emigrant's cheeks and murmured consolingly. The two of them, officer and emigrant, walked a few steps down the gangway before Wanda patted her and returned to the hatch.

"They're the last," Wanda said to Ran. "Poor bastards."

Babanguida began edging away from the officers.

"Babanguida!" Ran snapped before the rating could manage to disappear. Technically, Third Watch was off-duty, but Babanguida knew better than that. "Change your uniform fast and report to Commander Kneale. Don't go off on your own till he releases you or I do."

"Sir," the big crewman muttered. He didn't sound angry, just regretful that he'd been caught

Wanda hadn't been wearing her respirator as she opened sections down the corridor. She put it on now.

"Is it always like this?" Ran asked, gesturing into the haze.

"No, but often enough," she replied. Then she added, "It isn't right to bring people here. It isn't moral."

Ran looked at her. "How so?" he asked. "I thought there was an ocean of ice bigger than the Pacific under this loess. In twenty years, Biscay's supposed to be supplying food for the whole Am al-Mahdi system. Isn't that so?"

"In twenty years, maybe," Holly said. "Look at these people now."

The last of the emigrants were out of sight in the yellow blur. Several figures staggered up the gangway toward the ship.

"They come from western China," Ran said. "Do you think this is the first time they've seen a dust storm, Wanda?"

"I don't think they knew—" she began.

"They signed up because they thought it was a better life," Ran said. He was shocked at his own fierceness. "And it will be a better life, if they work at it and because somebody worked at it."

"They thought it would be better now!" Wanda said. Their respirator-muffled faces were close together in the hatchway.

"Did you ever survey the Empress's Cold Crew?" Ran demanded. "Did you ever ask them if they knew what sponge space was like? Because sure as God, Wanda, they didn't know when they signed on. And we're here because they keep the engines fed and trimmed while we ride inside the envelope. That's worse than a dust storm, lady. That's worse than Hell, if there is a Hell besides sponge space."

Mohacks and a stranger in unmarked coveralls stopped at the hatchway. Wanda's two ratings followed them up the gangway at a slight distance.

"They're all on the trucks, sir," Mohacks said. The Second Officer aimed her transceiver toward the receiving lens and relayed the message to Commander Kneale. Dust in the air fuzzed the IR signal.

The stranger stuck out his hand. "Tom Urdener," he said. "Latimer Trading. We're the contractors on this lot."

"Why the hell didn't you have your people in place?" Ran demanded. "You barely provided enough to drive the trucks! By the contract, our personnel aren't responsible for the emigrants once we've opened the berth sections on the ground!"