Where the Ships Die

by William C. Dietz

  The view, on the infrequent occasions when she'd felt well enough to consider it, consisted of dingy ceiling tiles, 179 of them, since one had fallen, leaving blobs of adhesive to mark where it had been. The light fanned from wall fittings and pooled along the floor. And this was one of the finest rooms in the hospital, light years better than the humanity-packed wards that lay fifty feet beyond.

  The otherwise still air swirled as the door opened and closed. Ari knew who it was. Thanks to the dirt-cheap labor available on New Hope, those fortunate enough to occupy a private room had benefit of a full-time attendant as well. Two, actually, since one handled the day shift, while the other stayed through the night. It was dark within the air shaft, so this was Rosa, a kind-hearted individual, who, through her very cheerfulness, set Ari's nerves on edge. The voice arrived first. "Buenas noches! How are we tonight? Better, much better. Rosa can see that."

  Ari, who had long ago become immune to Rosa's rough-and-ready psychology, waited for the woman to come into view. She was plump, the way poor people can be plump, with black hair and matching eyes. She had perfect teeth, and they flashed when she smiled. "Dinner will arrive any moment now."

  Ari, who had been feeling nothing but nausea at the mention of food, felt her stomach growl. She was hungry! An excellent sign indeed. She pushed herself into a sitting position. "That sounds good, Rosa. Here, lend me your arm."

  Rosa nodded agreeably and offered a substantial arm. Ari took hold of it, wiggled her way to the edge of the bed, and allowed her feet to dangle over the side. It wasn't the first time she'd gotten up, but it was the first time she'd felt like getting up, and that made it special.

  The smoothly finished concrete felt cold beneath her feet. She released Rosa's arm and tottered toward the bathroom. The door stood open and bore a half-length mirror. Ari shrugged, and the nightgown fell away. She was shocked by what she saw. Lean to begin with, her body looked skeletal now. Enormous eyes stared back from deep-set sockets. Her breasts had nearly disappeared, and her ribs, each one of which was clearly delineated, tapered to a waspish waist. That was as far as the mirror went, and as far as her eyes wanted to go.

  The shower was good, and dinner was even better. Meat, vegetables, and rice. Ari ate two servings of each, belched, and demanded her clothes. Rosa, proud of her patient's recovery, yet uncertain of what the doctor might say, stalled for time. The stratagem worked, and the doctor appeared before Ari's patience expired.

  He was young, as were most of Oro's physicians, since the plagues killed most of those willing to work with the poor. He was prematurely bald, had a hooked nose and tired eyes. They came alive at the sight of a patient who was up and around. His hands were warm, and the stethoscope was cold. "Two servings, you say? Wonderful! Just wonderful! I'm proud to say you're cured, Miss Gozen... a statement we make all too seldom in this hospital."

  "So, I can leave?" Ari said hopefully.

  The doctor shrugged. He hated to admit it, but the hospital was a dangerous place to be. Patients who survived one disease risked contracting another. His answer reflected that reality. "Yes, so long as you take your medications, eat properly, and get moderate exercise. It's important to rebuild your strength."

  Ari assured the doctor that she would, thanked him for all he'd done, and requested her clothes. They were new and fit perfectly, a seemingly impossibility given the weight she'd lost. Ari took a turn in front of the mirror. She looked as good as a scarecrow could. "Rosa? Where did the clothes come from?"

  Rosa was stripping the bed. Another patient would arrive soon. She spoke without turning. "Miss Kara had them made. From measurements I gave her."

  Ari had assumed that the street waif had disappeared the moment the money stopped flowing. The fact that she had stood by her came as a shock. "Kara? She's been here?"

  "From the day you arrived. I saw her when I came to work this evening."

  "She never visited my room."

  "The guards wouldn't allow it. Each patient is allowed one visitor, if they can pay for weekly checkups, and few can. That's how we keep disease from entering the hospital."

  Ari nodded thoughtfully, packed her belongings, and gave Rosa what amounted to a month's wages. An equal amount was placed in an envelope for the daytime attendant. Then, on legs that felt like rubber, she made her way down onto the street.

  The air was cold and clammy. Fires, fueled with scraps of wood, and medical waste burned here and there as relatives waited for their loved ones. Ari looked for Kara but found it difficult to see. A boy approached and held his hand out for money. "Could ya spare some metal, miss? Daddy's got the plague, and me mom and me is hungry."

  Ari slapped a number three washer into the street urchin's hand. "I'm looking for a teenage girl. About this tall. She calls herself Kara and doesn't take shit from anybody. Have you seen her?"

  The boy nodded earnestly, gestured for the bodyguard to follow, and headed into the murk. Ari's hand rested on her gun butt as she stepped over and around blanket-clad bodies. Eyes followed her, but no one moved. The kid led Ari down a side street and along a wall. And then, just outside an alcove behind some stairs, he pointed to a tightly rolled blanket. "There she is, that's her. Can I go now?"

  Ari peered into the darkness, confirmed the girl's identity, and dropped a second disk into the boy's hand. His sandals clattered as he ran away. The decision should have been easy. She needed a guide and Kara filled the bill. So where was the problem? Wake the girl and go. It was that simple. Or should have been. But something, she wasn't sure what, kept her from touching Kara's shoulder. Did it have to do with the fact that she liked the girl? That for all Ari had been through, and for all the chances she'd taken, she was no better off than she had been? Not in the ways that counted, anyhow ... since money was essentially meaningless. How would Kara end up if they stayed together? Doing what she did? For assholes like Orr?

  Ari sighed, turned on her heel, and walked away. Kara, her fingers wrapped around a dead man's gun, continued to dream.

  Dee Dee waited until a sufficient period of time had passed, and La-So's breathing had stabilized, before sliding out from under her covers. The black woman had sworn that Dorn knew what he was doing, and would reappear the next morning, but the girl wasn't so sure. Everyone knew the rules: Don't steal from the man, but if you do, don't expect to survive. That meant Dorn was in trouble, deep trouble, and was going to need help. Her help, since the adults didn't seem ready to provide any.

  Quietly, gathering clothes as she went, the little girl slipped out of the cargo module, paused to fasten her sandals, and half walked, half ran downhill. A pair of boys, the very ones Dorn had cautioned her to avoid, waited by the fence. The towers seemed huge as seen against the stars. Searchlights winked as they rotated and swept adjoining quadrants of sand. "Here she is," a voice whispered. "Just like I told you."

  "Yeah?" another replied. "So, big deal. Bet she doesn't go under the fence."

  "You're on," the first Voice said. "Let's see the color of your metal."

  "Cut the crap," Dee Dee said, skidding to a halt. "Just open the tunnel and keep your mouths shut."

  "Not before we get paid," the second voice insisted, his face a blur. "Show us what you got."

  Dee Dee was going to be in deep trouble when La-So discovered her theft, but that didn't matter. Not while Dorn was in danger. She took a chunk of angle iron from her pocket and handed it over. "Now, show me the tunnel."

  The boys, who had bragged about their tunnel for more than a week now, and had used it to glean a half-pound of aluminum from the shallows, motioned her to the ground. Dee Dee followed as they low-crawled to the fence. The first youth, who was named Ahmad, gave the briefing.

  "Timers control the lights. To stay out of their way you gotta memorize which way they go and for how long. The guards are real lazy. They don't do half what they're supposed to. But the dogs are dangerous. Dig a hole if you see 'em coming, stick a straw in your mouth, and pull sand on top. Who knows? It might w
ork. We been through three times and never had to try it."

  "Too bad," Dee Dee replied dryly. "And how do I get a straw?"

  "No prob," the boy answered cheerfully. "You can borrow mine. Here ... mind you don't lose it now. And don't forget to sweep your tracks."

  Dee Dee accepted a length of plastic tubing, shoved it into a pocket, and watched the second boy clear some trash. The tunnel lay below. "Thanks, Ahmad. You're okay for a pimple-faced, good-for-nothin' piece of camp trash."

  "You too," the boy said with a grin. "You sure you gotta do this? I was lookin' forward to strappin' you on when you got old enough."

  "In your dreams," Dee Dee replied tartly. "And when I do the wild thing, it'll be with someone who takes a shower once in a while. Now, remember what you promised?"

  "Yeah, yeah," the second boy said irritably. "We'll be here come sunup .. . but not a minute longer."

  "Good," Dee Dee replied, '"cause leave before then, and I'm gonna kick your butts."

  The boys laughed. Dee Dee plunged into the tunnel and wormed her way toward the beach. The clay felt cold under her fingers and brushed against her back. The knowledge that the unsupported ceiling could collapse, and bury her forever, hurried her along. She bumped the other end, pushed a sheet of fiberboard out of the way, and stuck her head out. Night turned to day as the searchlight swept across her section of beach. Dee Dee pulled back, knew it was too late, and waited for the shouting to start.

  Seconds passed. A minute. Nothing. Heart pounding, Dee Dee looked again. The way was clear. The previously dangerous tunnel felt like home now and she was reluctant to leave it. There was no other way, however, so she grabbed the sawed-off broom and backed onto the sand. It retained some of its daytime heat and crumbled around her toes. She didn't want to sweep but had no choice. If a guard happened along, the tracks would be a dead giveaway.

  The lights, still on a distant part of the beach, turned and started the inexorable journey back. Dee Dee worked faster. The sand became increasingly firm and harder to sweep. Finally, as the tide lapped around her feet, and the lights hop-scotched up the beach, she turned and ran. Water splashed away from her sandals, the smell of the sea filled her nostrils, and Dee Dee wished she knew how to swim. Dorn wanted to teach her, and would have too, had workers been allowed on the beach. Dorn... where was he? The question filled her thoughts as a wave rolled past her knees and she dived forward.

  Light swept over the child's head as she held her breath. Sand gave under her fingers. Then, as quickly as it had come, the illumination was gone. Dee Dee surfaced like a whale, blew water out through her nostrils, and rolled as a wave hit. She turned to get her bearings. The camp lay to the east, and the Mary Voss, her work lights inexplicably burning, made a smear to the southwest. That's where Dorn had gone—so that's where she'd go as well.

  The incoming tide made the water deeper. Unable to swim, and eager to move, Dee Dee returned to the shallows. About calf-deep in water, she moved parallel to the beach. The lights weren't a problem since she could submerge whenever she chose. The broom got in the way, but Dee Dee hung on. She'd need it on the trip back.

  The little girl was about halfway to the Mary Voss when something strange happened. A man appeared on the ship's main deck, stood silhouetted against the work lights, and staggered to the rail. He sat, or fell, she wasn't sure which, and disappeared from view. Was it Dorn, returning from whatever errand he'd set for himself? Or one of the security guards patrolling the wreck? There was no way to be sure. She continued to move, her eyes firmly fixed on the Mary Voss.

  As Dee Dee continued to stare into the darkness, she saw movement followed by a loud splash. Dorn! It had to be Dorn! A security guard wouldn't fall into the water, would he? Well, maybe, but it felt like Dorn—and that was good enough.

  She attempted to run, but the water made it difficult. Her legs pumped and got nowhere fast. Still, the girl made some progress, and aimed for the point where Dorn was most likely to come ashore. He'd be angry with her, Dee Dee expected that, but knew he'd relent when he saw the tunnel. Wait a minute ... what was that? A log? Like those that came ashore sometimes? Whatever it was seemed lifeless, rolling with each successive wave.

  Dee Dee forced herself through the water, recognized Dorn, and grabbed what remained of his shirt. She saw blood, a slit where something had penetrated his back, and more blood. Of more immediate concern, however, was the fact that he was face down in the water. The girl rolled Dorn over, and gasped when she saw the damage done to his face. "Dorn! Wake up! Please wake up. You're too heavy to carry."

  There was no response.

  Dee Dee frowned, drew her hand back, and slapped Dora across the face. His eyelids fluttered, then opened. Dorn coughed. "Wha? Where am I?"

  "In deep shit," Dee Dee replied earnestly. "Come on, Dora, you've got to help."

  Dorn groaned, fought to establish some sort of footing, and felt a hand tug at his waistband. "This way, we've got to go this way, so we can hide when the light comes."

  Everything seemed to sway, and the words had no particular meaning, but Dorn followed where the child led. Something told him she shouldn't be here, that he ought to be angry, but he couldn't remember why. Walking was difficult, very difficult, and he fell, over and over again. Each collapse, each disaster, felt like it would be the last. But Dee Dee wouldn't hear of it. Not for a moment. She never stopped pushing, cajoling, and prodding. Begging Dorn to rise, ordering Dorn to rise, praying for Dorn to rise.

  And rise Dorn did, until the lights came, and Dee Dee pulled him down, forcing his face into the water, calling him names. The names made him so angry he pushed the bottom away. In fact, the light was still in the process of passing over their heads when he rose dripping from the water and lunged forward.

  Dorn wanted to wrap his fingers around Dee Dee's neck. That would shut her up, oh yes it would, and he could hardly wait. She backpedaled and he staggered forward. He came close at times, extremely close, but not close enough. Dee Dee kept walking backwards and waving a broom in his face. The nightmare seemed to go on and on, and he had decided to call it quits when she pushed on his chest. "This is it! Stop! We're opposite the tunnel."

  "Tunnel?" Dorn asked stupidly. "What tunnel?" He could have grabbed her at that point, could have cheerfully drowned her, but he didn't care any more. He tried to tell her something, forgot what it was, and collapsed in a heap.

  Dee Dee swore, slapped Dorn's face, and got no reaction. Then, while she was still thinking about what to do next, the siren burped three times, two of the spotlights converged on the Mary Voss, and shouts were heard. Dee Dee stood, saw movement to the south, and ran toward the fence. "Ahmad! Dougie! Come through the tunnel! I need your help!"

  There was no response at first. Had the boys broken their word and gone home? But then a head appeared, quickly followed by another. "Dee Dee? Are you crazy? They're after you!"

  "No, they aren't," the girl responded urgently. "They're after someone else. See? The action's down there. Come on! I need your help!"

  "For what?" Dougie asked suspiciously.

  "The biggest piece of aluminum you ever saw," Dee Dee said enthusiastically. "Help me, and a third of it belongs to you."

  "Half," Ahmad said pragmatically. "Let's go."

  To the south of them, just opposite the Mary Voss, voices shouted and guards ran every which way as the boys followed Dee Dee down to the water. Dougie was first to note the obvious. "Shit! That ain't metal! You lied!"

  "Yes," Dee Dee said calmly. "Grab his armpits and drag him to the tunnel. I'll sweep the tracks."

  "Why the hell should I?" Dougie demanded defiantly. "Drag him yourself."

  "Do it," Ahmad growled, "or I'll tell your brother what happened to his knife. You know, the one in your pocket."

  Dougie glared, swore under his breath, and did as he was told. Dorn's heels left two parallel grooves in the sand. Dee Dee backed up the bill, sweeping as she went. Ahmad entered the tunnel first, and was in the process of dr
agging Dorn through, when the dogs started to bark. Dee turned and saw an all-terrain vehicle bounce onto the beach. Guards walked to either side, and an exoskeleton brought up the rear. The fence blocked an escape to the east, and the water was too far away. Dougie took one look, shouted, "Dig!" and went to work. He was six inches down before Dee Dee started. The headlights, which had been tiny at first, grew with each passing second.

  Carnaby Orr liked to pilot his own yacht, especially when it required some skill. Which was fine unless you happened to be his pilot and were forced to sit by as he dropped through the stratosphere like an ore barge on autopilot, then grinned and leveled out. "That was fun. No wonder you pilots like your work. Not bad for an amateur, huh?"

  "An excellent entry, sir," Lawson lied, "just excellent. Shall I take her in?"

  "Sure, why not?" Orr answered magnanimously. "You have the controls."

  "I have the controls," Lawson agreed thankfully, and surreptitiously dumped speed.

  Orr, his mind already on other things, released the harness and made his way toward his quarters. His wife had supervised their design and decor, which meant he didn't care for them. Maybe Ari would try her hand at some redecoration. The thought brought a chuckle as he sat behind his desk. "Voice communication—ship to surface."

  The computer acknowledged the command in a husky voice, a voice Orr liked so much he had launched an effort to find the woman it belonged to only to discover that it was synthesized. Still, he liked the way it sounded, and would ensure that it survived. The computer, unaware and uninterested in its owner's thoughts, responded to its programming. "Please provide a number, name, or other identification sufficient for linkage."