Bad Advice

It felt like the middle of the night. Under Bridge Lane was empty as Ben Bear and I slowly walked up to the Jackster plant from the parking garage. Up at the end of the street cars were noisily rushing along the high overpass where Memorial Drive exits to Poultry Bridge. Behind us Poultry Bridge itself obscured half the sky. Hedged in down here the Under Bridge Diner was closed except for a neon sign in the window. Mary Lambkin was probably tucked up in her bed next door to the diner, with just her bedroom light on upstairs, reading her daily mystery novel. There was still a single light on at the back of the office of the Jackster Service Station. I could see it faintly through the window. Probably Wilma Bunny working late, watching TV and waiting around.

The flat concrete face of the Jackster plant loomed above as Ben and I went in through the little side door. High above us the ivy fluttered against the wall. We checked in at the teleportal dock and I looked over to the assembly line where I could see the Bats all launched on their night shift. Their supervisor, Billy Bat, up in his loft, had turned down the orange lights to low. Nobody noticed us. Ben ambled down to his office and I knocked softly on my own office door and tried the handle. It was open. I stepped into the dark. Through the window I could see the moon above Beastburg and the top cabin of the listing Jackster Ferry. The listing was getting worse by the minute. If by now no one across the river had noticed that the ferry was tipped at an angle it was because no one was looking.

"Sybilla?" I said.

"I'm up, Jack," she said and I looked across to her workstation where Sybilla Spider was hanging by a thread above her high rise. Her monitor glowed softly.

"Working late?" I asked.

"Why aren't you at Woody Spit, Jack?"

"One thing after another has kept me in town," I said, "Everyone has been onto me about it. I've got one more thing and then I'm gone."

"Have you talked to Jilly," Sybilla asked me and I could hear concern in her voice.

"She's still singing at the club. I'll call her before taking off. Anything happening here?"

"Jack, I'm a little worried about your plan to stay out at Woody Spit this week. This might not be the best time."

"Why?"

"We've got a lot going on at the plant and you're the public face. We have meetings all week. If you're not around you should get someone to speak for you at the meetings."

"Like who?" I asked. "Condon Duck maybe, or Einstat Chimp?"

"I was thinking Amanda Rabbit. She was in today with Hat and I know she's got a light week."

"No, not Amanda. She doesn't even work here. It wouldn't be appropriate."

"But everyone likes her. Those other guys are hopeless."

"She's great, Sybilla, and I know Jilly wouldn't get jealous or anything but they're known to be best friends and if Amanda stood in for me the Jackster Plant would talk. You may not have the right perspective, being a Spider, but Rabbits are known for an unfortunate tendency to being oversexed. I'm afraid she's too cute."

"I know that, Jack. What do you take me for? What do you think they say about us Spiders? Everyone talks about how in the old days us Spider girls had sex once and then killed our husbands."

"Not any more they don't, Sybilla. That's ancient history."

"No, not any more. Now we just divorce them."

"Like you divorced Harold. Maybe you'd better get Ben Bear to front for me," I said.

"I guess the old lug will have to do," and Sybilla drooped on her thread. "But don't just rusticate, Jack. Call me every morning from Woody Spit, first thing."

"Fine," I said. "That's a promise." Then, taking one more nervous look at the ferry, I left.

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.