by J. C. Staudt
“Offer her fee-and-a-half,” Vilaris said. “The highest I want to go is double.”
I spun on my heel. “This much, plus… half this much,” I announced, pointing to the number on my wanted poster.
Sable considered this. “How far do you want to go?”
“Get us to the northern fringe. Word doesn’t spread so fast out there.”
“I wouldn’t bet on it, but… throw in another five thousand and you’ve got yourself a deal,” said Sable. “Half upfront, the other half on delivery.”
I waited for Vilaris to nod. “We have an agreement.” I extended my hand, and Sable slid hers into mine. Her grip was firm, but the bones were like twigs.
“Let me introduce you to the rest of the crew,” she said.
The others had gathered on deck to get a look at us. I counted them out. Seven in all, including Sable and Mr. Scofield, the first mate. The other five were just as tattered and thin, but hard and scrappy-looking for all that. There was the paunch-bellied boatswain, Dennel McMurtry, graying beneath his black top-hat, with two gold teeth and tobacco stains over the rest; half-blind rigger Thorley Colburn, a patch-eyed hulk of a man with a hook nose and silver rings through his ears, his clear blue eye shining through a curtain of blond hair; Eliza Kinally, a redhead with wide hips and sharp green eyes, stout and plain; and little Neale Glynton, the dark-haired cabin boy of no more than twelve, bug-eyed and scrawny as a starved cat. The fifth was a skittish little creature called a duender, hardly taller than a child, with a broad hunchback and pointed ears that curved out from the sides of its head like fishing poles. It had a wide, flat nose, and teeth like mallet heads. It was a ‘he,’ they said, and they called him Nerimund.
The crew helped us aboard and showed us to our bunks. The ship had a surprising amount of room to spare below, and I got the impression that their crew had once been much bigger. They were a ragged lot, and it was clear they needed our money as much or more than we needed their boat. I tossed my things into the hammock little Neale had pointed out to me and climbed above to watch us lift off. I felt no sense of safety, not even packed away on a little ship and bound for a slower part of the stream. I wouldn’t feel any more at ease until we’d gone airborne.
I joined Mr. Scofield on the quarterdeck and stood by as Sable took the helm. Thorley Colburn was unfurling the sail while Eliza Kinally and Dennel McMurtry made ready to lash it down. Sable gave the lift controls a tug, and I heard the familiar, repetitive clink-clink of the gravstone counterbalances being released. We heaved upward, not smoothly, and Sable blushed as she spun the wheel and turned us leeward. The sail billowed, then snapped tight, and the wind pulled us away from Mallentis.
Mr. Scofield shivered. “Permission to go below, captain.”
“Granted,” Sable said.
I stayed with her, watching while the dim airfield fires and the bright city lights of Eulaya and Hibantya faded into the clouds. I knew I might never see either of those cities again, but somehow I didn’t mind. We were about to go sailing, and suddenly it was all I could think about.
There are lots of things people seem to think are essential to living a full life. They’ll say things like, ‘you haven’t lived until you’ve done this.’ Feeling the clouds in your hair on driftmetal runners is one of those things. It’s an experience like nothing else. It’s like walking on a cloud that’s as hard as stone and lighter than the very air you’re breathing. Drifting through the darkness on the Galeskimmer that evening, I felt as alive as I’d ever been.
“Why did you ask me for my name if you already knew it from the posters?” I asked, turning toward Sable.
“I wanted to know what kind of person you were.”
“And what did my answer tell you?”
“That you’re a coward and a criminal, just like your wanted poster says.”
“Guilty on both counts,” I admitted, shrugging.
“You don’t seem to mind being an outlaw. Doesn’t it ever bother you, knowing you’re the scum society has to scrape off its shoe?”
“I haven’t always been like this. I used to make an honest living. Then one day, the Regency came along and took my dad’s shop. Didn’t say why, just shoved a bunch of chips in his face and told him to get lost. We built a boat together, and I aimed to leave home and make my own way in the stream. Problem was, my parents decided they had nothing better to do and came with me.”
Sable took a deep breath, the corner of her mouth crinkling. “There are worse problems to have,” she said.
“Not for me. My parents are a couple of law-loving… they’re traitors. I would’ve gotten away clean if it weren’t for them. They took my boat and handed me over to the Civs. Thinking I could trust them not to get in my way is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”
“Taking you aboard is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. I wouldn’t have even entertained the idea if we didn’t need the chips so badly.”
“You all look like you could use a few chips,” I said. I looked around. “So does your rig.”
“It’s been hard times these last few months.”
“Why’s that? There’s always plenty of hauling to do where I come from, lots of people who need to travel.”
“A few months back, we got caught in a big thunderstorm. We lost half our cargo and the storm disabled the Galeskimmer. When we showed up late and without the full haul, we ended up losing money on the trip. A lot of money. Uncle Angus was captain before me. He had to go and ask our patrons for some extra time to pay them back. They’re not the most savory characters, and instead of giving it to him, they just… took him. Put him in their own debtor’s prison of sorts. We’ve been trying to earn enough to keep the boat working, put food on the table, and save up every extra chip so we can pay off the debt and get Uncle Angus back. It’s been hard enough just making ends meet.”
There was pain brewing beneath the surface of Sable’s eyes. The big white feather was struggling against the wind to stay in place on her hat. I pursed my lips and rubbed the back of my neck, unsure what to say.
“My uncle has always put the crew first, and business second,” Sable said. “He took that job because we were all behind him. We knew how dangerous it would be if things went wrong.”
“Your uncle is a better man than I,” I said.
“You don’t much want to be a better man, do you?”
“No, not really,” I said.
Sable smirked. “I might be among the minority, but I’m of the opinion that people can change. You’ve done some bad things, but there’s no reason you can’t turn yourself around.”
“Yeah… I wish the Civs shared your benevolent spirit. I’ve done a few too many bad things to convince them I deserve anything but a conviction.”
“Don’t treat yourself like a lost cause,” said Sable. “Too many people get stuck letting their mistakes define who they are. However bad your situation might be, you’re not powerless. You just have to ask yourself what it’s going to take for you to stop playing the role of the delinquent and start having more respect for yourself. To know you can be better.”
“I think it’s a little too late for that,” I said.
Sable disagreed. “It’s not up to you, or the Civs, or anyone else, to decide how many misdeeds are too many. Do you think an abundance of small wrongs ever adds up to one big one? Does telling a thousand lies ever become worse than taking someone’s life?”
I wasn’t much for philosophizing, so I just shrugged.
“Did you ever consider the kind of position you put your parents in, asking them to choose between you and the law? That was your first mistake, the way I see it. You’ve got to start thinking about how your actions are affecting the people around you.”
“I don’t gotta do jack,” I said. “And I’m not paying you for morality lessons, either.”
“You’re not paying me at all—your friends are. Friends who obviously see something in you, to stick around.”
They see a meal ti
cket in me, same as you, I almost said. But I couldn’t go any further without telling her about Pyras and Gilfoyle and the gravstone—much more than I wanted her to know. So I shrugged again and said, “Yeah. I guess.”
Mallentis was long gone over the stern, lost in a sea of swirling clouds.
“Well… I’d better get some shuteye. ‘Night,” I said, clunking down the stairs to the main deck.
“Mulroney,” said Sable.
I stopped, trying not to grin. As far as she knew, the full name on the wanted poster was what I went by all the time. “Yeah,” I said.
“The minute you step off this boat, you can be whatever kind of person you want to be. While you’re aboard, spare me and my crew the ordeal of having to babysit you.”
I turned back to her, annoyed but trying not to let it show. “Call me Muller.”
Sable’s eyes were cold, but not unkind. She gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod.
I trudged below and flung myself into my hammock, exhausted. A chorus of snores and strange smells engulfed me as I lay staring at the ceiling, my bed swaying gently as the ship staggered through the sky. I wondered if every day from now on would be like this one had; filled with the constant stress of running away from a series of narrow escapes. I’ll run from the Civs ‘til the day I die, I promised myself. The day they catch me is the day Muller Jakes loses. I fell asleep trying not to think about my life’s grim prognosis or the impossible tasks that faced me. Most of all, I tried not to think about what Sable had said.
7
I woke with a drumming in my head. I opened my eyes. A finger was tapping the middle of my forehead, slow and rhythmic, like drips from a leaky faucet. I grabbed the hand and pulled it away. Neale Glynton, the cabin boy, was standing there with a stupid grin on his face, bits of food still stuck in his teeth.
“What the hell, kid?”
“You missed breakfast,” Neale said. “Time for chores.”
“I’m a passenger,” I said. “Passengers don’t do chores.”
Dennel McMurtry, the top-hat-wearing boatswain with all blackened teeth except his two gold ones, was standing behind Neale at the bottom of the stairs. “You paid us enough to keep your identity to ourselves, Mr. Nordstrom,” he said in his gruff morning voice. “Sleep costs extra.”
I rolled over in my hammock so I was facing the wall, lifted a hand to swat them away. “You heard him, Vilaris. Pay the man.”
“Mr. Vilaris and your other friends have been awake since dawn,” said Dennel. “They’ve been learning their knots and getting a primer on the Galeskimmer’s rigging, sails, and steering. They would’ve swabbed the decks too, but I insisted they leave that job to the last one awake. On your feet, sailor. Start now, and you may finish before lunchtime.”
I lifted my hand again, this time using it to make a less polite gesture.
“Is that so, Mr. Nordstrom? If we have a problem, I’m sure I can make an inquiry as to Mr. Scofield’s mood this morning. You’ll soon find out how he feels about freeloaders.”
“I’m sleeping,” I said. “Get lost.”
I heard them leave.
I was just beginning to drift off to sleep again when a hand collared me and hauled me out of my hammock. I hit the floor with a thud, the planks smacking my elbow and tailbone a good one each. I craned my neck as the big hand and its owner dragged me across the cabin and up the stairs without stopping to give me a chance to stand. Half-blind Thorley Colburn tossed me onto the deck and stepped on my chest when I tried to rise. Everyone was there, to my chagrin; the whole crew, along with Chaz, Blaylocke, and Vilaris.
“This is the one who thinks he’s earned himself a free ride.”
Old Landon Scofield stood in front of the crowd, thoughtful, the razor-thin filaments of an electroscourge dangling from his wrist port. “I’ll give him what he’s earned, alright.”
I sighed. “Okay, this is all very theatrical of you, but I catch your drift now. Will you stop?”
“Lash him to the mast,” said Scofield.
Thorley lugged me to my feet and shoved me toward the center of the boat. Now I was angry. I decided I’d give them one last chance to give up the prank.
“I said… I get it. You can lay off.”
Thorley pulled my arms around the mast and began to bind my wrists with a length of thick rope. When I tried to back away, a shoulder pinned me to the mast from behind. I knew it was Dennel McMurtry by the sweet tobacco stench of his breath.
I triggered my wrist spikes and slashed the rope, bringing my elbow back in the same motion to smash Dennel’s jaw and drive the spike into his thigh. He hollered and fell over, holding his leg.
I swung myself around the mast like a pole dancer and thrust a foot toward Thorley’s face, aiming to blacken his good eye. Instead he caught my ankle between two muscled forearms and dragged me to the ground.
The rest of the crew was on me before I could get to my feet. A weight drove my face into the deck. Someone gathered my legs together and began to bind them. I was under a pile of bodies, kicking and swinging at any flesh I could sink a blow into. Where are Chaz and Vilaris? I thought. Why are they letting this happen? I figured Blaylocke had been aching to get a few shots in on me, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d decided to help the crew. People were trying to restrain my limbs. When I struck out with my climbing spikes, they grabbed my arms and pinned them to the deck. Soon I heard voices over the din.
“Let him up. Let him up,” Vilaris was shouting.
“Get off him,” Chaz said, shoving the cabin boy off my back.
I rolled over and pushed myself up, backed away so there was no one behind me. “I’m not part of your blasted crew,” I said, wiping away the sting of sweat and wood splinters. “Fly your own ship. Swab your own bloody deck.”
It wasn’t until I’d gotten a good look around that I realized it wasn’t me everyone was staring at. It was Blaylocke. Sometime during the melee, the sleeve of his jacket had been ripped open. I still didn’t know whether he’d been on the crew’s side or mine, but blood was dripping from a wound in his arm. Primie blood, the deep scarlet color of a ripe red apple. Dennel McMurtry’s pants were stained a dark blue-violet from the wound I’d given him—the color of a techsoul’s blood.
The crew was aghast—Sable most of all. She was scalding me with those thin hazel eyes, skeptical. “Is this why the Regency is after you? You’re primitives? No, that can’t be… you have augments.” She touched a finger to her wrist, recalling my spikes. There was a broad knifeblade jutting out from her wrist, an augment of her own. “Which of you are primitives? Just you?”
Vilaris spoke up. “If it’s money you want, we can pay you more chips to—”
“This goes beyond what chips can cover,” Sable said. “This is treachery of the highest order.”
“The highest,” Nerimund chimed in, peeking out from behind Sable’s arm.
“Primitives are people, living their lives, just like you are,” I said. “So what if they bleed a different color? So what if they’re not synthetic? Does that make us any better?” I hesitated. “Alright… so technically, we’re better, speaking from a purely physical perspective. I’ll concede that point. But we’re still the same species.”
I didn’t know why I was standing up for them. It’s not like I cared about primies all that much. Maybe I’d started to like Chaz and Vilaris somewhere along the line without realizing it. I’m many things, but a genocidal maniac isn’t one of them.
“Do you have any idea how much more danger we’ve unwittingly put ourselves into by harboring primitives?” said Sable. “Aiding a wanted felon is one thing. Filling the ship with primitives is another gamble entirely. There are people who would slaughter us all if they found out we were primie sympathizers.”
“Yeah, we do know the risks,” I said. “That’s why we were trying to keep it a secret.”
Sable let out a sigh. “You know the Regency’s stance against primitives. I cannot, in good conscience, su
bmit my crew to a situation as unsafe as this.”
“Then stop listening to your conscience,” I said. “And listen to your gut.”
Sable gave me a mocking smile. “They’re the same thing.”
“Wrong. Your conscience tells you what you’re supposed to do. Your gut tells you what you know is right.”
“I always do the right thing,” she said. “And the right thing is keeping my crew and my ship intact, whatever it takes. As much as I want to get Uncle Angus back, the Galeskimmer is our home. I won’t allow you to stay in our home if it’s against the crew’s wishes. We’ll let them decide.” Sable’s wrist blade shwicked away into her arm. “All in favor of keeping our passengers onboard, raise your hand.”
No one did.
Sable waited a long moment, looking over each of her companions to be sure. “All opposed?”
Every hand shot up, including Sable’s.
Vilaris sighed and ran a hand through his greasy hair. Chaz hung his big white bandaged head. Blaylocke was clutching his arm, his jaw set tight. I imagined their stomachs were sinking, like mine was.
“You have your answer, Muller Jakes. We’ll let you off at the next stop. I’ll refund the unused portion of your deposit then, minus expenses.”
“Who has your Uncle?” I said.
Sable narrowed her eyes at me. “Maclin Automation,” she said.
Interesting, I thought. This has some legs. Literally. “The augmentation research and development company?”
“You’re familiar with them, I’m sure.”
“Are you kidding? Half the tech in my body is Maclin stuff. Well, not anymore.” I gave Chaz an apologetic look. “But I used to have lots of Maclin-made augments. They kidnapped your uncle? Really? What’s a big conglomerate like that doing maintaining its own off-the-record debtor’s prison?”
“I don’t know the extent of Uncle Angus’s business relationship with Maclin. But they told me if I reported them to the Regency, it was the last time I’d ever see him. There’s nothing we can do about it except pay them what they ask.”