Gordon Yorkie

From The Caves it took us ten minutes to get down to the plant in my Jackster. Ben Bear crammed himself into the seat next to me. While I drove through the night he was talking all the time on his teleportal. We pulled into the Old Ferry Parking Garage at the bottom of Under Bridge Lane and drove up the ramp and then down two levels to the boat dock. For windows there were oblong breaks in the concrete walls letting in glints of light from Bestburg's skyscrapers across the River Wide. The bulk of the Jackster Ferry began to loom large as we went down, tipped slightly on its side in the water. There were several Animals standing around looking over at the ferry as we pulled into the thrust. The sliding metal connector plate, which ties the ferry to the Parking Garage, was pushed askew on one side, to accommodate the tipping of the boat, and I was afraid we'd hang up the Jackster on it. I parked right there in the entrance, on the docking thrust, and we walked over. Gordon Yorkie, our Old Ferry manager, was standing waiting for us on the ferry writing something on a clipboard. The steep sides of the top level framed him and car ramps went up and down behind him. Small circular portholes were cut into the high grey metal sides.

"Has the inspection been made?" asked Ben Bear, walking up to him.

"I'm just checking everything off," Gordon mumbled through his whiskers. "But I can tell you that we've found nothing to explain the tilt. We're carrying a lot of extra water in the bilge. But we often carry extra water. The ferry's old. And there's twenty more Jacksters on the port side, so she's a bit unbalanced. But, still, that shouldn't make any difference. It's a mystery."

"Where were you headed?" I asked.

"Up river," said Gordon.

This seemed the right moment for me to say something. "Maybe you should go down the coast and have our crew at the West Cleanser dry dock take a look at her. They could run a full test of the stabilisation program on the ship's computer."

Gordon looked doubtful. "If we can get there," he said, "It could get worse. And you know we'll need special permission from the Coast Guard."

"We don't want the press to get wind of this if we can avoid it," said Ben. "A tippy ferry full of Jacksters floating right off Beastburg would look bad in tomorrow's Gazette. or on the TV news. Maybe if you moved those twenty Jacksters to the other side it might fix the problem."

"I don't think so," said Gordon. "This isn't a normal ballast problem. She's listing about fifteen percent. I'm not sure we can take her out like this. If we don't know what causes it we can't know what might make it better or worse. It's a problem."

"Open the door to the bilge and get some passing fish to look around," I suggested, "See if they notice anything strange. Meanwhile, I'll go up to the plant and call a Coast Guard Dolphin into the holding bay. When I send the message I'll say we just want to change the manifest. Then we can negotiate the change of destination in person. The Dolphin can sonar for permission. Those Coast Guard Dolphins are smart. They might even have an idea why we're listing."

"OK," said Gordon, "We'll just hold the fort until we hear from you."

I'd never thought of it before but the wide entrance to the Jackster ferry did look a bit like a fort. A floating metal fortress tilting 15 degrees in the lapping estuary water of the River Wide. I was supposed to be tucked up in Woody Spit by now and here I was on the River Wide. Holding the fort.