by Anna Burke
“We’re done,” said Miranda.
I filed in behind Nasrin, and frowned. Had I forgotten the location of my seat? The cup where I thought I’d been sitting had several lots in it, which couldn’t be right. I looked to Miranda for guidance, but she was fingering the lots as she made her way around the table, counting.
“Two for Orca,” she said, setting the cup back down. “One for Kraken. And . . . four for Rose.”
••••
I stood like an imbecile, convinced I was hallucinating. This wasn’t real. I’d misheard. My head didn’t ache so much as whirl, and, fool that I was, I reached for north.
Nothing. No guiding star, no currents, just the tableau of faces in front of me. Nasrin looked nonplussed. The rest of the crew turned to me, and my brain refused to catalogue the expressions on their faces.
“No,” I said.
“No what, Captain?” asked Harper. Her smile was bittersweet.
“I’m a navigator.”
“Exactly. We need someone who knows where we’re going, for now,” said Finn.
“But I don’t.”
“You’ll figure it out,” said Kraken. He gave me a reassuring nod.
“But Orca—”
Orca shook her head. “You get to choose your first mate. I’d serve, if you asked, but it’s up to you.”
“I . . . I need a minute.” I cradled my head and sank into my chair, feeling the blood pound in my temples. I wasn’t a captain. I’d never wanted to be a captain. I followed orders; I didn’t give them.
Though you don’t follow them very well, my mind pointed out.
Shut up. There had to be a way out of this. Surely Miranda would see how insane this was and reclaim her position, perhaps with a wicked grin to show it was all a joke. I’d forgive her if she acted soon.
She didn’t.
I raised my head and surveyed my crew. Why had they chosen me of all people?
“What if I say no?”
“You can,” said Miranda. “But think about it first. It’s an honor. Don’t insult us.”
Us. Had Miranda cast her lot for me?
“Then . . . okay. I’ll think.” And say no later. “In the meantime, I guess go about things as usual?”
My crew shrugged and, just like that, it was over. Harper slid into a seat next to me. Her cheeks were flushed, and when she nudged me, her skin burned.
“Hey, Captain.”
“You have a fever.”
“Just my body fighting off Ching’s fuckery. Good thing she left me my middle finger so I can—”
“You should be resting.”
“Is that an order, Captain?”
Her tone was joking, but I wasn’t. “Yes. Your shift is over anyway. We’ll have antibiotics soon, and then—”
“Yes, yes, yes.” She waved my concern away. “Don’t let power go to your head.”
With that, she stretched and padded to her bunk, yanking her curtain shut behind her. Worry grew like a tumor in my gut. Fever meant infection. The penicillin cultures were doing well, according to Kraken, but we were still a few days away from anything that could help her, and there’d been no signs of ships to trade with. Even if I adjusted our course, there was no guarantee we’d find another ship in time, or that Ching wouldn’t be waiting.
And they’d made me captain.
I remained sitting at the scratched table, jamming my thumbnail into a crack in the plex, while the crew dispersed. A hand landed softly on my shoulder. I looked up, still numb from shock, and saw Finn. The shock dissipated and was replaced with the now all-too-familiar guilt I felt each time I met his eyes.
“Congratulations,” he said.
“I don’t want this.” The waver in my voice was dangerously reminiscent of tears.
“I know you don’t.” He propped his hip against the table and looked down at me. “But you’ll do it. You know how to make the hard choices.”
“What are you talking about? I always choose wrong.”
The Gulf. The bodies. Jeanine. If I’d been faster, stronger—
“Not always.” He gave me another sad smile. “You were the only one who tried to save her.”
“And I failed.”
“But you tried.” The smile on his face twisted into anguish. “I didn’t even know she was in the water.”
“Finn—”
“She would have died without you. You gave her a fighting chance.”
“But I didn’t—”
“I saw her body, Rose. I know what squid are capable of, and even if you’d had an armed team, she still might not have made it.”
“I still failed her.”
“Do you know what she’d say to you, right now, if she heard you?”
I shook my head.
“‘I don’t need some jelly saving my ass.’ She was tough. Don’t dishonor her memory by blaming yourself.”
“But you got only three months with her.” My voice splintered.
“Yeah.”
He didn’t say, But at least I had those months, or, Better to have loved and lost than never loved at all, or some other platitude. Just “Yeah.” I felt the chasm of his loss in the inadequacy of that single word.
“Is it hard to be back on this ship?” I asked, immediately regretting the words. Of course it was hard. I was an idiot.
“I’d rather be here than on Man o’ War. She didn’t die on this ship.”
“Finn . . . I’m so sorry.”
“Do me a favor.” He squeezed my shoulder. “Don’t let her haunt you. She wouldn’t have wanted that.”
“Will you promise the same?”
The eyes he turned on me were as lightless as the caves beneath the sea, but they were kind. “Not yet. But I have the luxury of being haunted. You have work to do, Captain.”
••••
“I don’t understand,” I said to Miranda when we were alone at the helm. “I can’t do it.”
“Why not?”
“All I know how to do is navigate, and I can’t even do that right.”
She tucked a knee under her arm and idly turned her chair. “You know how to make tough choices. That’s all command really is.”
“But Orca—”
“Deferred to you when it mattered, and everyone on this ship—except Nasrin—remembers that.”
“That was different.” And part of me wished Orca hadn’t, now. If we’d never found the channel, we might not be here, exiled.
“Was it?” asked Miranda.
“What about you?” Tears stung my eyes. “I can’t be your captain.”
She raised an eyebrow. It was the closest she’d come to flirting with me since our fight.
“Seriously, Miranda. I can’t.”
“You can.”
“Then will you be my first mate? I’ll do it, if you promise you will be.”
“I’m not first mate material.”
“You were Ching’s.”
“And look how that ended.”
“It’s you or Orca.”
Her lips thinned. “Orca’s a good first mate. You should ask her.”
“I don’t want Orca. I want you.”
“I got us into this. Choose someone else.”
I glared at her. The scar on my forehead pulled sharply with the motion. “Fine. I order you to be my first mate.”
“Or what?”
“See? You can’t take orders from me. I can’t be your captain.”
“I think I’m just as compliant as you were, once upon a time.”
“That—” was fair, annoyingly. “If you don’t serve as my first mate, I’ll assign you dish duty until you die.”
“I could live with that.”
“Miranda.”
“What? I could.”
“Please. Don’t make me beg you.” I was willing to beg. I’d begged her for far less.
“I’m sorry, Rose. I can’t.” She looked away from me and out the plex at the fading light. Nothing moved in the streaming sea. I thought a
bout screaming at her but didn’t want to risk making myself sick.
“Can I at least ask your advice?”
“Always.”
It was better than nothing.
••••
Harper’s fever rose through the night. Orca stayed up beside her as she tossed and turned and sweated through her clothing. The wound was puffy and inflamed, but no red line crept through her blood vessels toward her heart. We had time. Not much, but some. Kraken and Nasrin pored over the penicillin culture while Finn handled the engines, which were running smoothly anyway and didn’t require much of his time.
Meanwhile, I paced in front of Harper’s bunk.
“You’re disturbing her,” Orca said. Dark circles shadowed her eyes. She’d bound her braids back to keep them out of Harper’s sleeping face. I’d left Miranda at the helm, and it was just the three of us in the common room.
“I wish I was. She’s not even awake.” I gestured at her fitful sleep. “What do we do?”
Orca shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know.”
I knelt beside Harper’s bunk, careful not to touch her fevered skin. She needed sleep. It was the only medicine we could give her.
“Ching,” I said. I put all my hatred into the word.
“We’ll find her, one day. And when we do . . .” She smoothed a damp curl from Harper’s forehead.
“You really love her, don’t you?” I asked.
Orca met my eyes. “Yeah.”
“I’m glad.” It was a stupid thing to say, all things considered, but I meant it. “You need someone to keep you in your place.”
“So does Miranda.”
“I don’t think I’m the right person for that job. You should be captain, Orca.”
“No.” I couldn’t tell if there was resentment in her voice, or resignation. “And Miranda shouldn’t be, either.”
“That’s not—”
“You know it’s true. She was a good captain, once. But she’s fucked up right now.”
“So am I,” I said.
“Do you know the difference between you and Miranda?” she asked. When I didn’t answer, she continued. “You know you’re fucked up.”
“Thanks?”
“No problem. So, Captain. What the hell are we going to do now?” Orca asked the question as if she actually thought I might know the answer.
“I—” I stopped myself from saying I didn’t know. I did know. I’d known since I’d told Miranda we were going south, because what other options did we have left?
“We find the sea wolves.”
South
Captain’s Log
Captain Miranda Stillwater
Man o’ War
February 26, 2514
11°52’12”N, 4°28’48”W
Last log as captain of Man o’ War, written in my cell at the order of Amaryllis. Sorry. Ching Shih. You said you hated that name, but then again, when have you ever told me the full truth?
As you command then.
I remand my ship into the hands of Ching Shih, at the will of my crew, and make no further claims to her decks. All previous contracts will be renegotiated as her new captain sees fit.
May fair seas never find you, my friend.
Miranda Stillwater
Chapter Twelve
Harper lost consciousness on our fifth day of sailing. I returned from the helm as the sun broke the depths to find Orca shaking Harper’s shoulders and Kraken kneeling beside her bunk. I dropped beside him. Harper’s face and hair were damp with sweat, and the skin on her arm—which Kraken had extended into the light for examination—was mottled and bruised. The discoloration purpled her skin and extended toward her elbow.
“She’s going septic,” he said.
“Then fucking do something,” said Orca.
“The antibiotics should be ready today, but . . .” Kraken didn’t finish his words. Looking at Harper’s eyelids as they twitched in fever dreams, I heard them anyway. Even with antibiotics she’d be lucky to pull through.
“Go see to them,” I told him. And then, panicking, added, “Wait.”
He paused mid-rise.
“Is there anything we can do? Her fever—should we try to break it?”
“Cold water.”
“Okay.”
He left to go check on the medicine, and I touched the inflamed skin around Harper’s wrist. It felt tight and hot and sick.
Orca wrestled Harper’s pants off, but we left her shirt, not daring to disturb her arm. Orca lifted her gently. Harper’s head lolled on Orca’s shoulder and I hovered, wanting to help and sensing, too, the protective terror radiating from Orca.
There wasn’t really room for the three of us in the head. The restrictive size of the tiny shower, at least, helped keep Harper propped up when Orca settled her down on the floor. I turned on the water. Cold, briny spray misted Harper’s curls as the stream soaked her chest. I crouched beside Orca and held Harper’s wound out of the water while Orca made sure no water got in Harper’s mouth.
Her eyelids fluttered a few minutes in. Orca tensed beside me. I felt all the muscles in her body harden, as by necessity we were squeezed together, and I knew mine had done the same.
“Harp?” I asked.
A slit of pupil answered me. She tried to raise her head.
“Easy, girl,” said Orca. “Don’t move too much.”
The cold water had to be agony on her feverish skin. She groaned and shifted, but did not attempt to escape. I preferred to think of it that way—that she wasn’t trying to move, instead of that she was trying, but couldn’t make her body cooperate.
“How long do we leave her in here?” Orca asked.
“I don’t know. I’m not a doctor. Until she cools?”
“Neptune’s balls. Look at her.”
Harper began to shiver. “Tell . . . tell me a story,” she said in a rasp through her chattering teeth. Orca glanced at me.
“She’s heard all my stories,” I said. My heart leapt at the fact she’d been able to speak. “You tell one.”
“I’m not a fucking bard.”
“Try.”
Orca tucked a wet lock behind Harper’s ear. Her brow wrinkled as she thought, making her look younger.
“There once was a little—shit. No. Okay. When I was a kid, my da sailed under a man named Davy. I used to think he was Davy Jones himself. This fucker was scary. He wasn’t big, like Kraken, but when he looked at you it was like he could see every bad thought you’d ever had, and he liked it. My da kept me away from him, but I served as a runner until I was old enough to work on the other crews. This one time, I was bringing a message from one of the engineers to the first mate. Her name was Ali, and she was just as terrifying, but in a different way. She looks me over and says, ‘Take that message to the captain. Then come back to me and tell me what he said.’
“So I go, and I find Davy, and I tell him what the engineer told me, and he looks at me like he knows I’m scared of him and that I’m wishing my da would let me carry a knife. ‘What are you scared of, girl?’ he says.
“I don’t say anything. My da told me not to speak to the captain beyond relaying messages, and eventually he dismisses me with his reply. So, then I go to the first mate and tell her what he said, and she nods. But before I can leave, she says, ‘Word of advice, kid. Don’t fear death. Fear what comes before, and after.’
“She led a mutiny later that day. I hid with the other kids in one of the creches, and when it was over, my da was dead. I never knew who killed him—her side or his—but she came and found me later. ‘Do you understand?’ she asked me. I was nine. I was newly orphaned. That was all I understood, and so I said no.
“She adopted me. I moved into her quarters, and by the time I was fifteen I was joining her on raids. We sailed under Ching then. Ali was killed by an Archipelago sailor when I was seventeen, from a wound to the gut. It was messy and awful, and before she lost consciousness, she asked me again if I understood what she’d meant. This time
I said yes. I hated watching her suffer. I hated thinking about what would happen after. When death itself came, I wasn’t scared of it; she was free. I was the one who suffered. So, you can’t die on me.”
“Orca,” I said, stunned. I’d never asked her life story. I’d thought I knew it—she sailed under Ching, and then she sailed under Miranda, and that was all I’d cared to know. This picture of Orca as a little orphaned girl changed the way light fell across her gray eyes.
“Don’t.” She flinched away from the hand I put on her shoulder.
“I’m not going to die, assholes.”
We both turned to Harper. Her eyes were open wider, and some of the fevered brightness had dissipated.
“Damn straight you’re not,” I said.
“And you.” Harper tried to raise her good hand toward Orca. “You’re like a roach.”
“What?”
“Hard and spiny on the outside, but sweet and soft underneath.”
Orca smiled. The expression on her face as she looked at Harper was radiant, even as she scoffed. “Fuck off.”
“Are you her little rumpling?” I said.
“I’ll break your face if you ever call me that again. I don’t care if you’re the new captain.”
“Can I get out of the water, now?” asked Harper. She almost sounded like her old self.
“I’ll go check on Kraken, see if he has anything,” I told them as Orca shut off the water and began the process of drying Harper off.
Miranda stood just past the doorway. I nearly ran into her, and she steadied me with her hands on my shoulders.
“How is she?” Her eyes slid over my shoulder to Harper and Orca.
I shook my head. We walked together to the grow room, and I felt the drag, not of currents, but of Harper’s waning smile. I couldn’t imagine a world where Harper Comita didn’t exist, where her impish grin didn’t do its best to convince me to do something stupid, or where her small frame and imposing fists weren’t there to thrust themselves between me and trouble. She was more than a friend. She was the rock by which I measured the tides of my life.
Sea Cat’s grow room was lit by the morning sun. The thick plex overhead let in the rays that filtered down to our depths, and the tanks lining the walls fluttered with life. Different types of seaweed waved in the filtered current, and roaches prowled the sediment at the bottom, feasting on algae and the snails that crawled along the strands of nori. In the center of the room, greens grew in tiered beds, fed by the pipes winding around the algae vats. Kraken stood beside another vat, which also served as a table for smaller vessels. These were where he cultured our medicines, and the magnifying glass and slides—precious, precious gifts from Polaris—were dwarfed by his hands.