The Year’s Best Science Fiction: Seventh Annual Collection

by Gardner Dozois

  He seemed to shrink on himself a little. “I understand.”

  “Sara,” softly from behind her. “It’s not that big a thing.”

  Sara whirled on Sam. “Get off my boat, Sam. Don’t tell me how to raise my family. Get out of here.”

  Sam shook his head as if he’d been slapped. He stiffly turned and walked back towards his own boat.

  “Okay,” she said. “Okay now.” She turned to Jack and Ira. “Get inside and into bed. That’s enough. There ain’t going to be any more fireworks tonight.”

  * * *

  I was laying in the bunk an arm’s length from Jack. I could hear him breathing, snuffling sometimes and muttering. Damn. I don’t know what he was doing when we came back, but it was him, not Gray, that had ripped up the cabin. Him. And Gray’d lied for him. Gray would never lie for me.

  Gray’d never lied before.

  Before, that I knew about, I said to myself. How’d I know what was lie and what was truth?

  All my life, I’d been with Gray and now it was like something had been pulled out from under me. He wasn’t mine any more. I leaned over on my side and shook my head.

  “Ira?” said Jack softly.

  “What do you want?”

  He didn’t say anything for a minute. “I’m sorry I called Gray names.”

  Sorry. Yeah, right. Gray liked the son-of-a-bitch. Gray protected him. Christ.

  “Ira?”

  “I heard you.”

  There was a rustle in the cabin and I knew he was turned towards me. “I’ve been pretty mean to you.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  He leaned back and made some kind of a sound, like crying maybe. Like coughing. “I’m sorry.”

  Like that made it better or something.

  “You know.”

  I just wished he’d shut up. I didn’t want to hear him.

  “You know,” he said again. “I never knew my dad. He split before I was born. And with Mama the way she is, we never really had a family. Now, with you and Gray—it’s as if I had a real family.”

  I sat up and looked at him. “I ain’t your brother. Gray can be if he wants to. I don’t want any part of you.” I stood up. He didn’t move, just watched me. “I don’t want any part of your friggin’ mother. Or you. Or Gray. I just want to get shut of the whole friggin’ lot of you.” I finished getting dressed. “If the whole mess of you died, I’d piss on your grave.”

  I left, quiet like, so nobody’d be awake. I looked outside, but Gray was gone. Good riddance. I was on my own now. It was just me.

  I walked through the marshes toward the egg. Day was just coming around. The light was kind of a pale violet. I stopped in the marsh and watched it. My Mama stood with it and watched it with me.

  “You’re misjudging Gray,” she said.

  I looked at her. “I don’t want you telling me what to judge and not. You’re dead.” I turned back towards the wreck and didn’t wait to see if she disappeared or not.

  The ferry was the same. Sunlight was just pouring over the hull when I got there, golden and rosy. The egg was where we’d left it—where I’d left it. It was bigger yet. The skin seemed swelled almost to bursting.

  “You and me,” I said to it. And it seemed like it could hear me. “You and me. We’ll take a ride around the world. I don’t care if you’re a griffin or a dragon or anything.” Tears started to leak out of my eyes. I shook them away. “I don’t care. You and me. We’ll get out of this goddamn place.”

  The egg didn’t say anything and the tears started up again.

  * * *

  Sara got up too and sat in the head for a while. It had been a while since she had drunk that much. Her head felt hot and she rested it against the hatch to cool it. After a little while, she felt better. She went out into the main cabin, but didn’t want to go back to bed. The cold and lonely bed frightened her for some reason.

  Mike. I still want you to come back.

  The thought came to her out of the clear darkness in the back of her mind. Fourteen years and she hadn’t left it behind.

  She sat in one of the chairs in the galley and lit a cigarette. And Sam—did he know what he was getting into? What a snakepit. She wished she hadn’t snapped at him. He was only trying to be a good guy.

  Yeah. Right. She inhaled the cigarette savagely. Good guys. They’re all good guys. Sam was no different.

  “Mama?” came from behind her.

  She turned. It was Jack, half dressed and looking at her vaguely. Had Mike looked that young when they were in school? “Yeah, honey?”

  “It wasn’t Gray who ripped up the cushions.”

  He stood next to her and watched, his eyes dry and calm. As if he’d already cried until he had cried himself out but still had one thing left to do.

  “Who did it, honey?”

  “‘I did. Gray and Ira came back and I went crazy, ripping the place apart. I just went crazy.”

  She pulled him to her and held him. He submitted to it, leaning against her. So this is what it’s come to, Roni. I got to get rid of them. Gray for sure. Maybe Ira, too. Because, Roni, in the end, at the final curtain, nothing means as much to me as my little boy. Not you. Not Ira—certainly not Gray. Not Sam. Not even Mike, gone for so long. In the end, it’s me and him.

  “It’s all right, honey.” She held him tight. I’m sorry, Roni. That’s the way it is. “It’s all right.”

  After a while, he pulled away and looked at her sideways, then turned and shuffled back to bed. He closed the door after him.

  She stayed up and smoked another cigarette, thinking how to tell Gray. He was first. He would have to leave tomorrow. Then. Then, we would see about Ira.

  She must have sat there for at least an hour, thinking, dreaming. The sky began to lighten and the sun rose.

  There was an eruption of water outside and the entire boat shook as Gray landed on the deck. Dripping, he stalked into the cabin, ran past Sara and ripped the door open.

  “Jack! Where is Ira?”

  Sara stood and saw past Gray Ira’s empty bed. “Oh, my God.”

  Jack looked up at Gray. “I don’t know. He left a couple of hours ago.”

  Sara cried out. “Why didn’t you tell me, Jack?”

  Jack looked at her out of Mike’s blue eyes—different now, colder, stronger. “He wanted to go and he didn’t want me along. I wanted to protect him. Like Gray protected me.”

  “Loyal child,” said Gray. “But foolish. No. I am the fool.” He turned and began to leave the cabin.

  “Gray, wait!”

  “No time! The boy is in danger. I did not follow him, thinking he was too upset. It was time for him to be by himself. But he disappeared like a ghost to me. He is gone.”

  “Where are you going?” she wailed after him.

  “The wreck. The egg is hatching—I fear it.”

  “Wait—damn you, wait! We can take the dory. It’s got a good motor. It’ll get us there quicker than you can go.”

  He stopped for a moment, absolutely still. Looked down at her. “You are right. I will take it.”

  “You will not, you son-of-a-bitch! It’s mine, like Jack’s my kid and Ira’s my nephew.”

  Gray shook his head. “You are right. I will follow.”

  They climbed into the dory and thank God it started the first time for once. Gray sat in the middle and they left the dock and shot out across harbor at full speed.

  “What is this egg, anyway?” she yelled above the wind.

  “I don’t know. We found it in the wreck and it pleased the boy to hatch it. I thought it no danger—at first I thought it might be a centaur egg.”

  Sara felt befuddled. Centaurs? “A centaur?”

  “A species that would consider Ira a delicacy.” He held his hands together and even in that position Sara could sense the anguish in him. “But I asked the centaur bishop and the bishop said there were no eggs here. So I felt safe. No other egg species here is dangerous.”

  “So there’s
no danger.”

  “There is always danger, but I thought I could head it off and still let the boy play for a while. But now the thing hatches and Ira is away from me. I do not know what the thing is.” He fell silent. “His mother and father might protect him.”

  “What?”

  He turned to her. “He sees his mother and father at times. They speak to him. They may lead him away.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  “No.”

  “Ira sees ghosts? Christ. The poor kid. Making this up.”

  The wind cut through them and the spray splattered across them as Sara turned the boat inland. They could already see the Hesperus outlined dark against the beach and the rising sun.

  “I am not sure he is making them up.”

  “You’ve been encouraging this? I don’t believe it. They aren’t real.” She wished she had a cigarette. That’s it. Gray had to go.

  Gray looked at her out of those huge eyes.

  “How do you know they aren’t?”

  For her life, she could not answer.

  * * *

  The egg was moving a little now. Kind of wobbling side to side.

  I looked and found this old metal bar to help break the egg, help the dragon get loose. I stood next to it—it was smelling pretty ripe now—and didn’t do anything. I couldn’t decide. Even dragons might be fragile when they were still in the egg. I could hurt it. I chewed on my lip and put down the bar, sat back and watched it.

  “Ira? Ira!” called my father from the edge of the boat. I wasn’t going to go see them. They were just ghosts. They called again. Oh, well. The egg was going to be a little longer, I figured. I went to the edge and looked down. Both of them were there.

  “Come down here,” called Papa. Mama nodded. “Come down,” she said.

  I sat on the edge of the hull and shook my head. “I don’t want to listen to you any more. You’re dead. Gray’s gone weird on me. I don’t like Aunt Sara and Jack. Leave me alone. I got the egg.”

  They looked at one another.

  “Son?” said my father softly. “Gray and Sara are coming to get you. They’ll take you back. You know they will.”

  I could hear a motor on the other side of the wreck. “Are you trying to fool me?”

  Papa shook his head. “Absolutely not. They’re almost here.”

  “What about the egg?”

  “The egg can take care of itself. Come on!” yelled my mother.

  I jumped the three meters down to the beach and tumbled. It hurt my feet.

  Mama and Papa led me into the marsh. Deep into the swamp, hurrying me, urging me to go so fast I couldn’t see where I was going. I could barely breathe for running. The tall grass whipped my face and the mud was knee deep. Where the hell was I? Finally, they stopped.

  I sat down in the water. I couldn’t breathe. It was like nothing in the world was so important as breathing.

  “He’s safe now,” said my Mama.

  “What?” I said and looked up. They were gone. They were gone and I didn’t know where the hell I was. They’d tricked me. “God damn you!” I yelled after them. “God damn you to hell!”

  * * *

  Gray moved to the front of the boat, looking for all the world like a hound ready to leap in the water after fallen birds.

  “Back a little, for Christ’s sake,” yelled Sara. “Don’t swamp the boat.”

  “I can’t find him.”

  “Of course you can’t find him. We’re not there yet.”

  “You don’t understand. Since he was born, I have always known where he is. Now he is gone.” Gray turned towards Sara. “He is no longer a child. Perhaps that is why I cannot find him.”

  Sara shrugged. When this was over, Gray had to leave before he made her crazy. “That egg’s in the wreck, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then, that’s where he’ll be.”

  They beached the dory and moved around the side of the wrecked ferry.

  “Where is the egg?”

  “In the center of the wreck.”

  Sara looked at the rusty hull. “We’re going to have to climb that?”

  Gray shook his head. “There is no time,” he said. He picked her up and held her in two sets of arms, then leaped to the top of the hull. He released her and moved purposefully inward. She followed.

  In the center of the wreck, the sunlight had already made the area warm. The egg was moving.

  “Ira?” called Gray. Sara called also.

  “That thing’s going to hatch soon.” The thing was huge now, almost a meter broad and the surface was a writhing pink and green.

  “He is not here.” Gray turned towards her. “We had best back away from it.”

  The egg exploded. A shard caught Sara’s shoulder and knocked her down. Something brightly colored that seemed to be made chiefly of mouth and teeth and tail shot into the air and hovered over them. It moved jerkily—its huge, outsized mouth opening and closing mechanically. It quivered. Shook itself in the air. Pawed at its teeth, pulling shards of broken eggshell out from between its fangs. Sara watched it, frozen. Unable to move so much as her eyeballs from the thing. It was a dragon. Its feathers were bright orange. Its wings beat too fast to be seen—but she could feel the air from them. It looked around, cocked its head this way and that as if testing the air. Then, it saw her.

  It seemed to smile. And Sara wanted to scream but she had no time. As suddenly as it saw her it dove—faster than anything she had ever seen, faster than anything had a right to be. Something huge and massive and equally as fast shot over her and intercepted the dragon.

  The dragon screamed and its talons and teeth were a blur. Gray made a noise like a cry and tried to knock it away and it rolled away in the air, tumbling and screaming. It caught itself and shot above them, saw Gray and dove for him. Gray was more ready this time and there was a brief blur of movement, each slashing, the dragon biting, that seemed to take forever. Then, the dragon tumbled across the deck and slammed the hull so hard it rang. It shook its head and moaned. Gray leaped over to it, all over knives now. Each arm sprouted a dozen. He slashed it and the dragon screamed and tore off one of his arms. He picked it up with another arm and slammed it against the hull. The dragon tried to reach the hand holding it, but couldn’t. Gray slammed it against the hull again. He slammed it again. It sounded like a pile driver. The dragon clawed at him but had no strength. He slammed it again and again until it no longer moved and then he continued, methodically and mechanically.

  Sara approached him. The dragon was a bloody mess. “Gray?”

  Gray did not answer but slammed the dragon into the wall.

  “Gray? I think it’s dead.”

  Gray looked at her, then at the dragon. “Oh.” Then he looked at himself. “Oh.” He sat back and stared at the stump of his arm. “I am hurt.” There were slashes through the armor in his chest and arms. The hand at the end of one of his other arms was nearly chewed off. All of the wounds oozed something like tar.

  “What can I do, Gray?”

  “Do? Oh. Yes.” He looked over to where the egg had been. “One of those old mattresses. And the tarp.”

  She dragged the mattress to him and he tore out the padding and stuffed it in the slashes and the stump of his arm. The oozing stopped.

  He looked at her. “I will live. I have repair cement at home to cover this, then I will be better.”

  Sara sat back and shook her head, laughed tensely, softly.… Of course. “Repair cement.”

  He looked at her. “Spatiens do not heal. They must be repaired.”

  “You sound like you think you’re a robot.”

  “No.” He appeared thoughtful. “Not exactly. Spatiens were built thousands of years ago. Those that did this are dead or gone now. We are all that’s left.” He looked at her. “Think of me as an archeological find that has been somewhat damaged.”

  She laughed again. He moved and she saw the dragon, all needles and teeth. “What was it?”

 
; “An object of my stupidity.” He balled one fist and for a moment, Sara thought he was going to hit it again. Instead, he pushed the bedding tighter into his wounds. “Stupid. I thought only the centaurs would be creatures such as this. All things like to share their heritage. This is one of the centaurs’ pets.”

  “A pet. Dear God. A pet.” She pulled her knees up to her chin and felt very cold.

  Gray looked up. “That tarp. Get me that tarp. He’s coming back.”

  She brought the tarp to him and he wrapped his body into a sort of toga. “What are you doing?”

  “It is shameful to show wounds that have not been cared for. At least, it is shameful to show them to your children.”

  She looked at him. “Children?”

  “You did not know? You are all, all of you, my family. Why else would I follow him here? Why would I try so hard to understand you? Why would I spend my life for you? To me, what else could you be?”

  * * *

  I ran back toward the wreck until I couldn’t breathe. My side felt like somebody’d taken and shoved a hot poker in it. My face felt hot like I was going to cry. Tricked. By my own folks. By my own parents. I sat down next to a clump of Indian rice and cried and rested until I could breathe again. Christ. Christ!

  After a minute or two, I could move and walked back to the ferry. It was quiet. I climbed up on the hull and sneaked around to the center to see if the egg was all right.

  It was like one of those pictures you see in magazines, distant, not meaning anything until you see one little feature that hits you like a fist.

  They were sitting next to the hull, just watching me. The egg was all broken up. Gray was all tangled up in a tarp. The dragon—and it had been a dragon, after all—was all crumpled up next to the wall.

  I stepped towards them. They were just watching me. Gray wrapped up like that reminded me of when they brought Papa home, all bandaged up and covered with blood, the miners singing that mournful song. I’d never heard anybody but papa sing that song before, and I couldn’t forget it now. It just ran over and over in my head:

  I dreamed I saw Joe Hill last night,

  alive as you and me,

  I said Joe Hill you’re ten years dead,

  I never died, said he.