Hacienda Estrella
Outyard Sinco
Jaileen—that was Captain Uldra-Joenz when she was in this tone o’mind—had put Karil forward as being willing to take a few pods over to Tinsori Light. Normally, that woulda been Orth on cargo, only Orth was on lend to Lady Graz for the long loop, Shelby having retired back down to the family holdings, planet-side, like she’d always said she would, and nobody’d believed her.
Which meant it was Norse who got pulled out of his comfortable nook on the station, and made cargo master by the captain’s say-so, which he was too old for, and that would’ve flown further if Jaileen hadn’t been his sister.
His older sister.
So, Norse was standing cargo master, which he liked a little better’n he let on, once old habits rose up and took over. Also, he had some considerable curiosity about Gho— Tinsori Light, always had—and that was about to get satisfied.
It coulda been worse was his position by the time they’d gotten the pods on and balanced, and the delicates stowed proper in the holds.
They had their flying orders from Hacienda Tower, and it was time—past time—for him to seal the loading bay.
He was on his way down the hall to do just that when the receiving bell rang.
“Too late for it,” he said, coming into the office. “Put it on next in line.”
“Gotta go first,” said the warehouser waiting for him. Not a stranger—Norse had dealt with him a couple times during the load-up. Not somebody he knew from being on the station, but the warehousers tended to keep to themselves.
He had a sled with him, and a crate on the sled—good-sized crate, triple sealed.
“Gotta and can it are two different things,” Norse said. “What is it?”
“Delicates,” the warehouser said, pointing at the label.
“Holds’re full,” Norse told him, which was true. “Got no place for it.”
The warehouser shrugged, pulled out his tablet, tapped it, and thrust it forward.
Norse took it and glared down at the lading slip.
The crate held specialized computronics, according to the slip, engineered special for systems in place at Gho— Tinsori Light.
“Well, where the mud am I gonna put it?”
The warehouser shrugged.
“Delicate one-offs? I’m thinking your quarters might do.”
Norse glared at him, but it happened the man was right. Grumbling, he pressed his thumb to the screen, got Karil’s interior sled, and the two of them shifted the crate, which wasn’t halfway light.
The warehouser nodded and went away. Norse sealed the bay after him.
He stood for a short minute, staring at the crate, then kicked the sled’s power on, and began to push it down the hall to one of the empty bunkrooms.