The Billion Dollar Boy

by Charles Sheffield

Shelby went raging off to find Grace Trask and murder her, but he didn't manage to track her down before ship operations closed for the night. And in the morning, another event made him forget anything as trivial as the origin of a person's name.

  Chapter Six

  SHELBY'S third day on the Harvest Moon, which felt more like his thirty-third, began with the desperate howl of a siren. Convinced that it was a new form of torture from Doobie, he pulled the pillow over his head and tried to ignore the rising and falling wail.

  After thirty seconds or so the noise ended. But Shelby's idea seemed to be correct, because very soon there was a hammering on his cabin door and Doobie burst in. "Shel, get up!" Shelby hurled his pillow at the tormentor. "Get out of here! You dummy, I don't have to get up. I'm free today 'til I go outside with Jilter Clute."

  "You have it wrong. We've received a Mayday—a distress call. Muv sent me to get you. She thought you might not understand what the siren meant. Come on!"

  Shelby tumbled out of bed. He was already—which is to say still—dressed. Pajamas and other sleeping attire were unknown on the Harvest Moon. When your clothes were dirty you just dumped them into a laundry machine, and within seconds a new set of the right size rolled out.

  "What happened?" he asked, as Doobie led the way at a run toward the main control room.

  "Don't know yet. We'll find out."

  Already Shelby could tell that something new was happening. He was held to the floor by an increasingly strong force. The Harvest Moon was accelerating, harder than he had ever felt it before.

  Lana Trask was at the control board and scarcely seemed to register their arrival. But she must have done so, because she said, "Good. Everybody's here. I'll give you an outline, then your assignments. This is going to be touch and go. Thurgood? Fine-tune us, would you?"

  Thurgood Trask nodded and took her place without a word at the board. His pudgy fingers ran over the array of switches with surprising speed and delicacy.

  "I'll keep it short," said Lana, "then if you need to you can ask questions. Ten minutes ago we had a distress call. It came from Dodman's Reef. One of the rakehells, the Witch of Agnesi, is in trouble. They went too near and they think they may have to thread the eye. Only two harvesters are anywhere close to them. Dodman's Reef is three hours away for us and for the Coruscation. I expect we will rendezvous there."

  "Whoo-whoo! Coruscation Doobie said, and stared at Grace.

  "Not now, Doobie." Lana Trask shook her head reprovingly. "Questions, anybody?"

  Shelby had a hundred. Almost every word that the captain had said was pure gibberish. The only thing he was sure of was the blush on Grace Trask's face, and he didn't understand that.

  "Assignments?" asked Jilter gruffly—the first uninvited words from him that Shelby had heard. It gave a feel for the seriousness of the situation.

  Lana Trask nodded, but she paused with rare uncertainty. "It's not what I'd like," she said at last. "I think we have no choice. Three corries. Thurgood, you'll take one. Jilter, you'll take another—with Shelby. Remember he's a novice. Grace, Doobie, and Logan will handle the third. Scrimshander and I will stay with the Harvest Moon and go wherever I think we might be needed."

  "Ah—excuse me." Scrimshander Limes raised a hand. His pale grey eyes were apologetic. "I would be more than happy to handle a fourth corry. Or perhaps go with Thurgood?"

  Thurgood Trask made a sound between a growl and a snort. Lana waved her brother-in-law to silence. "I know you would, Scrim, and I appreciate your offer. But this ship may be more than I can handle. I would be grateful if you would stay here and assist me."

  "Of course." Limes smiled placatingly at Uncle Thurgood, who grunted and subsided. "I will do whatever you think best."

  "Then move to stations, everyone." Lana Trask replaced Thurgood at the control board. "Doobie," she said over her shoulder, "you stay with Shelby until the corries go out. Answer his questions."

  "How did she know I have questions?" Shelby asked, as he and Doobie left the control room.

  "Beats me. Maybe because you've asked ten million already since you arrived here." Doobie was heading toward the cargo holds. "We might as well get into suits and be ready. Do you have questions?"

  "I guess so. What's your mother mean, threading the eye?"

  "Just that. You know what a reef is?"

  "It's a big, dense blob of gas and dust."

  "It is that. But it's more. Do you know why a reef can exist at all?" When Shelby shook his head, Doobie sighed and said, "What do they teach you, back on Earth? Nothing? If you'd been raised here you'd have learned all this when you were two. Not your fault, I suppose."

  "Thanks."

  "That's all right." Doobie missed the sarcasm in Shelby's voice. "In the middle of every reef—and it's the reason reefs are dangerous—there's a ring vortex. That's like a dense smoke ring of dust and gas, rotating in on itself. Electromagnetic fields hold the ring stable, and usually there's a big cloud of dust around it, so you can't see anything of the vortex ring itself. The eye of the vortex is the hole in the middle of the ring. If you pass through the exact center—that's threading the eye—you feel a big change in speed but you don't get hurt. If you go through even slightly off-center, your ship gets torn apart. Only the very best pilots in the whole Cloud dare even consider threading the eye. Muv says she wouldn't try it for a pension, and she's as good as they get. What makes it worse is that near the eye there are strange unpredictable forces that suck you in, and other weird things can happen inside it."

  "So why go anywhere near the reefs?"

  "For the goodies. You know about Cauthen starfires?"

  "Logan told me."

  "That's one thing you find around the reefs, and nowhere else. Then there's big lumps of jet-black stuff that the starfires come embedded in. Shwartzgeld, it's called, and it looks like glittery licorice but it's hard as rock. Even a smallish piece is worth a lot, because people Sol-side keep trying to analyze it and failing. A rakehell who stays clear of reef eyes and has a bit of luck searching will make as much in one season as the Harvest Moon makes in ten."

  "But why did the Witch of Agnesi go so close to the eye, if it's so dangerous?"

  "Hey, who knows? Rakehells are rakehells. They're weird."

  Doobie seemed to feel that was enough of an explanation. Shelby, struggling with his suit seals and watching with envy as Doobie closed his effortlessly and in seconds, was not so sure. Surely even a rakehell crew must have a sense of self-preservation? More than most people, you would think, if they had to operate in such dangerous places.

  "Final approach," said Lana Trask's voice over his suit radio. "Corry stations, please. We have visual and radio contact with the Coruscation, and we are patching our general communications systems into each other. Neither one of us is picking up anything from the Witch of Agnesi"

  "Which is bad news." Doobie headed through the lock for the corry parking level. "If the Witch was all right, the crew would still be broadcasting."

  The parking level had already been opened to space. The corries were in position. Jilter Clute was waiting. Shelby had more questions, a head full of them, all about Grace and the Coruscation and Scrimshander Limes. They would have to wait.

  He climbed onto the flat bottom of the corry and lay on his back looking up. He thought again how flimsy the birdcage struts above him looked, and how unsuitable a corry seemed as a rescue vessel. Then Jilter was at his side and the ship was moving upward, away from the comforting haven of the Harvest Moon. Nervous uncertainty took away all Shelby's ability for rational thought.

  He had seen them on his first trial run outside with Logan, those tiny swirls of rainbow color which helped the eye to plot out the structure of the Messina Cloud and map the great dust currents within it. The pinwheels had been remote, decorative, and harmless.

  Now one of those pretty playthings filled the hemisphere of sky ahead. There was infinite detail to be seen. Within the glowing blue eye of Dodman's Reef, bright
bands of green and white and turquoise knotted and braided and shifted as the corry moved closer. Shelby understood now, as words could never define it, the meaning of "threading the eye." At the very center of the bright iris ahead of them sat a black, lifeless pupil. Shelby recalled Logan's words: There are regions where Captain Trask will never take the Harvest Moon, no matter how the currents are running.

  Never, Logan had said. But Logan's faultless logic was wrong. A rescue mission changed the definition of acceptable risk, in a way that a perfectly logical being would never understand. The attempt to save the Witch of Agnesi might lead to the destruction of the Harvest Moon and the Coruscation.

  "Got a sighting," said an unfamiliar and laconic voice in Shelby's suit radio. "This is Saul Kramer of the Coruscation. Our corry Mary Mine has spotted what might be a ship's hull. No signals. We're heading there now. Coordinate and velocity estimates follow. I would appreciate Harvest Moon assistance."

  "We'll provide it," Lana Trask said quietly. And a few seconds later, "Jilter, you're best situated for direct assistance to the Mary Mine. Thurgood and Logan, I'm computing a spread pattern for you. Then we'll divide up the search region among all the corries."

  The corry that Shelby was in, to his great discomfort, changed course and headed straight for the staring black pupil. What was Jilter doing? Everyone agreed that the eye of a reef was to be avoided in every way possible.

  He must have muttered something, even if no more than a gasp, because Jilter Clute said gruffly, "Private circuit." And, as soon as Shelby had made the switch, "Saul Kramer has his younger brother on that rakehell. I wanted you to know that, so no matter what we find you'll be careful how you speak on open circuit."

  "I will." Shelby knew the answer to his next question, but he had to ask it. "Might be a hull, he said—the ship's been destroyed, hasn't it?"

  "Afraid so."

  "So all the people . . ."

  "Maybe, maybe not. They would have been in suits when the Witch entered the eye. Tidal forces pull a ship apart, but they're not so deadly on something small. A person in a suit might survive. Thurgood and Logan and the corries from the Coruscation will be searching for suits and survivors as soon as Captain Trask gives them the spread pattern. No more, now. We have to get back to open circuit."

  For Jilter, it was an astonishingly long speech. Shelby stared ahead of the speeding corry, and his heart sank. He could see it now, outlined against the deadly black eye, a broken thing that had once been a ship. Something had grabbed and crumpled the Witch of Agnesi like a paper bag. From the object in front of him Shelby could never have deduced its original appearance. All that was left was a twisted, flattened, and broken hulk.

  The Mary Mine, a coracle just like those of the Harvest Moon, was already hovering beside the wreck of the rakehell. Jilter moored next to them and headed into the debris. Shelby followed, feeling unusually useless.

  Two suited figures were already inside, in what had once been the ship's main control room. The chamber had been split all along its length, with the sides of the tear gaping outward through the main hull.

  It took Shelby a few seconds to realize that Jilter and the other two were talking to each other. He switched again to the private circuit, and caught the tail-end of an exchange.

  "—trapped near the engines when the side imploded," said a woman's voice.

  "Ben Kramer?"

  One of the suited figures shook her head. "It was Otto Wiessner. Just a kid, first trip out. I know his folks back in the Belt. We'll take his body."

  "How about forward?"

  "Don't know yet."

  "We'll take a look." Jilter grabbed Shelby's arm and helped him to ease through a corridor that had been squeezed in places to less than half a meter wide.

  "Crew of four," he said. "One body on board, so there's probably three out—"

  "No." Shelby's heart contracted in his chest. He had seen, up near the ceiling, a suited hand. He pointed.

  "Stay where you are," Jilter commanded. But Shelby was foolish enough to disobey. He followed close behind and saw what Jilter had already known they would find.

  The side passage had been crushed by some terrible force. The man who had been standing inside the passage had been flattened until his suited body was nowhere more than four inches thick. Only his extended left forearm had escaped. Everything else was crushed, and it must have happened instantly because an explosion of blood, freeze-dried and blackened by cold and vacuum, coated all the passage walls.

  Shelby swallowed and looked away. Jilter moved closer. The head was quite unrecognizable, but he was trying to see some form of identification on the suit. Finally he shook his head.

  "Found another body," he said over his radio. "I'm not sure we can do anything for this one without cutting the whole ship apart. This might have to be a space burial."

  "Is it Saul's brother?" asked the woman.

  "Can't tell. Too much damage to make an identification. We'd know who it was by elimination if we could find and identify the other two."

  "We're monitoring the open circuit and the other corries. They're scanning for suit beacons. Nothing so far. We're going to look again aft."

  "We'll try farther forward." Jilter turned to Shelby. "You all right?"

  Shelby again swallowed bile and nodded. "I'm fine." It was a big lie, but he forced himself to moved forward along the buckled corridor. He was dreading what other horrors they might find. His relief was indescribable when his radio came to life again.

  "Thurgood Trask here, of the Harvest Moon." Uncle Thurgood sounded not at all his bluff and blustery self. "I have located two suits, tied together." He cleared his throat. "Both are men. One is dead. But we have one alive. Lost an arm, but the suit sealed at the shoulder. I reckon he'll live."

  "Do you have IDs?" Saul Kramer sounded as though he himself had died.

  "I'm looking." There was a long, frozen silence, until at last Thurgood spoke again. "I have a definite identification. The survivor is Dieter Landauer. The dead man is Ben Kramer. I'm real sorry, Saul."

  "Not your fault, Thurgood. Dieter was a good friend of Ben's." Kramer's voice cracked on his brother's name. "We'll take Dieter on board here, nurse him 'til we go Sol-side for regeneration of that arm."

  "Right." Lana took over. "Thurgood, you head for the Coruscation. Saul, if the Mary Mine wants to head back, too, we'll handle everything else on what's left of the Witch."

  "I appreciate that offer, and I accept it." Saul Kramer spoke politely, almost casually, while Shelby marveled. He was used to screaming and wailing whenever he fell down and grazed a knee or cut a finger. How could Saul Kramer accept with such fortitude the death of his own brother? And how— the thought flew in from nowhere—how had Constance Cheever reacted at the news of Shelby's own death? He found it hard to imagine. After just a handful of days, life on Earth in the Cheever compound felt remote and unreal.

  "Come on," said Jilter gruffly. "Looks like it's going to be just you and me. Are you up to it?"

  "I'll have to be." Shelby was thinking again of Saul Kramer, and he wanted to be as strong. He learned that he was not a few minutes later, when he and Jilter were using an unsealer to separate hull plates and liberate the crushed remains of the dead person. Finally he could see the flattened head. It was not a man at all. The body was that of a woman, young and blond.

  The sex of a dead person ought to make no difference, but it did. Shelby found himself crying. A wave of nausea swept over him, and this time he could not hold it back. He began to vomit in his suit, gripped by a dreadful shame and a misery that was worse than the sickness.

  "Easy, now." Jilter Clute was standing at his side, his hand sympathetically on Shelby's shoulder. "Your suit will handle whatever you throw at it, so just let it come. I know how you feel. Twenty years ago, when I was still wet behind the ears, I shipped out on the Bellerophon. We were the first ship to reach the Great Northern after its auxiliary drive exploded. I lost everything when we started to
go through the wreckage, lunch and breakfast and dinner all the way to three days' back. I know how you feel. Take your time, and let it come."

  That was Jilter Clute, who never spoke unless he was spoken to. Shelby, doubled over in misery and anguish, knew what was happening and felt a powerful gratitude. He tried to thank Jilter between spasms, but all that would emerge were dreadful choking noises.

  Ten minutes later he felt well enough to continue with the work; but he didn't fully realize how much he owed Jilter until the corry was back at the Harvest Moon and the two bodies they had retrieved were stored away for eventual Sol-side return to the next of kin.

  "He did just fine," Jilter told Lana Trask. "No problems at all. I'd be happy to take Shelby out again this minute if you wanted me to."

  Lana stared at Shelby's pale and weary face. "Good. Well done, Shel. This wasn't what I expected for your first job outside the ship. But I promise you, everything you do after this is going to seem easy. Go and get some rest. And Jilter, would you take over for a few hours? I want to head over to the Coruscation and pay my respects to Saul. He and Ben are Mungo's second cousins. I plan to take Grace with me."