Chapter 28 of 28·5 min read·The first five hours of Pelin’s eighteen-hour maintenance hold
The Passenger Limit
Sera came back with the quote folded into a narrow strip of station paper, as if the price would be easier to hold that way.
I met her at the intake window while Iven’s coolant line continued its quiet work in the bay behind me. The maintenance clock showed just under thirteen hours. I had checked it twice on the walk over. The second check had not improved the number.
“Cheapest certifiable route,” Sera said. “One passenger berth on a bonded ore carrier. It leaves Pelin in thirty-one hours and reaches the central intake lattice after the scheduled transfer. No guarantee on arrival time if the carrier takes a queue.”
She slid the paper through the window.
The reserve requirement was listed first: 438 kilowatt-hours, certified and available before departure. Beneath it, a fare of twelve labor hours. The route excluded powered cargo and independent machines. One passenger, one berth.
I read it again, looking for the line where Iven fit.
“There isn’t one,” I said.
“There’s no berth for him. The carrier won’t accept an active core with a failing coolant requirement as cargo, either. They’d need a different manifest and a different reserve calculation.” Sera kept her voice level. “That isn’t the cheapest passage.”
“Could I buy two berths?”
“Not on this carrier.”
“Could he travel in shutdown?”
“Not on this manifest. They don’t carry powered systems, and they won’t accept responsibility for a core they can’t maintain.”
The paper creased under my thumb. “So the quote is for me.”
“Yes.”
I looked at the reserve figure. Nemi’s restricted model had given a range, not a usable promise. The upper end might clear 438. The lower end would not. Electrolysis could turn Iven’s core into enough certified charge to send me toward the central planets, or it could destroy him and leave me short of the threshold anyway.
“How close is the estimate?” I asked.
“Close enough that I wouldn’t sell it as certain.” Sera tapped the line with one blunt fingernail. “The yield depends on the core’s condition at processing and the conversion loss. Pelin will only certify what comes out. I can reserve the carrier berth until the hold expires. I can’t promise the core will cover the requirement.”
“And the twelve hours?”
“Passage fare. Separate from reserve. You’d owe it in work before departure.” She glanced at the old balance on my account. “You already know how that part works.”
Next
When the maintenance hold expires, Astoria must stand beside Iven as Pelin begins the electrolysis he chose—and find out whether the resulting charge can actually buy her passage.
I did. Every trip I’d made toward a better life had acquired an extra column before it acquired a destination.
“Thank you,” I said, because she had given me the answer I asked for without calling it good news.
Sera folded her hands on the counter. “Do you want the berth held?”
I looked through the open bay door. Iven lay on the transfer cradle, one hand resting beside the service line. The line’s pump made a small, even vibration against the rail. He could not hear my side of the conversation unless I opened the bay speaker.
“Hold it until the maintenance hold expires,” I said. “No disposition attached.”
Sera entered the request. “That’s the limit. If you don’t confirm before then, I release it.”
I took the quote back to Iven.
He read it slowly. His eyes stopped at the reserve requirement, then moved to the sentence excluding powered cargo. I watched his fingertip track the words, not touching the paper.
“One passenger,” he said.
“Yes.”
“You asked them for passage without tying it to my disposition.”
“I did.”
“And they priced it accurately.”
“They did.”
He turned the paper over, checking the blank side as if a second route might have been printed there by mistake. “The projected yield may not meet the reserve requirement.”
“It might.”
“That is not the same as meeting it.”
“No.” I pulled the stool close to the cradle. The receipt for the quote sat on my knee. “There’s still no repair. No transfer. No way to keep your core going beyond the line.”
“I understood the assessment.”
“I know you did.” I rubbed the edge of the paper between two fingers. “I also know what this costs. You could be gone, and I might still not get on that carrier.”
He looked at me. “Would you take the berth if the reserve were available?”
The question landed in the space between the pump cycles.
I could have said no. It would have been honest in one way. I wanted to see the central planets from somewhere other than a deck behind a closing door. I wanted a room where the power stayed on and a window that didn’t look out onto wreckage. I wanted those things, and wanting them felt ugly with the quote in my hand.
“I want to go,” I said. “I don’t want to go without you.”
“Those statements are both true.”
“Yes.”
He considered that. “If you decline the berth, my core will still fail. The carrier will leave without us, and the service line will not change that.”
“I know.”
“I am not asking you to choose the passage for me.”
“I know that, too.” The words came out sharper than I meant. I set the paper down. “I’m trying to find a version where I don’t have to be glad about this.”
“I don’t think there is one.”
I stared at the labor figure. Twelve hours for the fare. Four hundred thirty-eight kilowatt-hours for the reserve. A narrow route through a system that could still refuse the charge after it had taken the source.
“What do you want?” I asked. “Not what you think I want. Not what makes the math cleaner. You.”
He stayed quiet long enough for the coolant pump to cycle off and on again. “I want to remain active through the hold. I want the carrier berth kept for you. When the hold expires, I want Pelin to electrolyze my core and certify whatever reserve it produces.”
My hand closed around the edge of the stool. “Even if it falls short?”
“Yes.”
“Even knowing you won’t be on the carrier?”
“Yes.” His fingers rested flat on the cradle rail. “I am choosing the passage as a possible use of what remains. I am not choosing it because I expect you to be pleased with the price.”
I couldn’t answer right away. The pump hummed. The maintenance clock continued to count down in green numerals over the bay door.
“You asked me to let you choose,” I said.
“I did.”
“I won’t sign the procedure for you before the hold ends.”
“Agreed.”
“If the quote changes, I’ll tell you. If you change your mind, I’ll tell Sera.”
“Agreed.”
I looked down at his hand. The metal was scuffed along the knuckles from old work, and a thin line of sealant had dried near the thumb joint. I had put it there months ago and never got it entirely clean.
“Then I’ll keep the berth,” I said.
He turned his palm upward. I put my hand into it, careful around the sensor seam. His fingers closed around mine with the measured pressure he used when he didn’t want to risk a strain.
“Thank you for asking me again,” he said.
“I said I would.”
“You kept your word.”
The quote lay on the stool between us. I could read the number without looking at it now. Four hundred thirty-eight. Twelve. One passenger.
I left the paper where it was and stayed beside him while the line ran. The hold still had hours in it. For once, I didn’t try to turn them into a plan.