Paolo Bacigalupi - Ship Breaker

When he had himself under control he yelled, “What’d you do that for?”

“Crew up, Nailer.” Lucky Girl made a face. “You can’t collect a reward for saving me if you’re dead. Let’s get your ass down to my ship and get you fixed up.”

“Crew up.” Pima laughed and hit Lucky Girl on the shoulder. “Swank’s starting to talk like us.” She grinned again, then gave Nailer a serious look. “She’s got a point. Your mom would have been damn glad to have money for some ’cillin. You want to go out like she did?”

Sweating and sobbing. Skin like fire. Her neck swollen with infection. Eyes red and pus-filled.

Nailer shivered. “Okay, you want to play doctor, go for it.” He snagged an orange as he started down the hillside. “I’m not going out like she did, though. Won’t happen.”

Despite his words, it was hard to get down to the water, and it was worrying. His arm and shoulder and back were all on fire. Lucky Girl and Pima guided him down, going slowly, both of them helping, reaching out to support him like he was an old lady made of sticks.

As he made his way farther down the hill, Lucky Girl’s words lingered, unwelcome. A reward wouldn’t do him any good if he was dead. He forced down his rising fear, but still it tickled at the back of his mind.

He’d seen other people’s wounds turn nasty, sick with rot and gangrene; seen their stumps crawling with maggots where they’d gone bad after having an amputation. Despite his bravado, a trickle of fear ran strong in him. His mom had prayed to Kali-Mary Mercy and she’d died in a haze of flies and fever pain. A superstitious part of Nailer wondered if the Scavenge God was balancing the scales of his Lucky Strike with a sickness that would kill him before he got to reap the rewards. Sadna was right. He should have made more offerings to the Scavenge God and the Fates after he got out of the oil room. Instead, he’d just spit on that luck.

They reached the ocean. The ship had rolled during the night, turning itself nearly upright; it made it harder for them to climb aboard. Pima finally hauled Nailer up, groaning, her muscles flexing as she dragged him up like a dead pig, then left him lying on the carbon-fiber decking while she and Lucky Girl went below.

When they finally came back, they were both shaking their heads.

“It’s all broken open,” Lucky Girl said. “The ocean must have gotten it.” She surveyed the wreckage of the ship. “I don’t see anything in the water.” She shook her head again. “It’s all lost now.”

Nailer shrugged, making a show of nonchalance. “When your people get here, they can give me medicine.” But even as he said it, he wondered how much time he had. He was shaking now, and even though he sat in hot sun, he felt chilled.

“With your satellites it won’t be long, right?”

“Yeah. Sure.” Lucky Girl sounded uncertain.

Pima nodded at the girl’s jewelry. “With your gold we could buy medicine from Lucky Strike, no problem.”

Lucky Girl looked up from her study of Nailer. “This Lucky Strike has medicine?”

“Sure,” Pima said. “He’s crewed up with the boss men. Gets them to bring things on the train.”

“No.” Nailer shook his head. “We can’t let anyone know about the wreck. They’ll pull the scavenge.” He shivered. “We need to keep low until Lucky Girl’s people show up. Then we can do whatever we want. We let people know now, and they’ll come after our scavenge with everything they got.”

“It’s not your scavenge,” Lucky Girl said fiercely. “It’s the Wind Witch, and it’s my ship.”

Pima shook her head. “Just a wreck now. And you’re only alive because Nailer’s nicer than most of our people. Had himself some kind of religious experience out there. Got the fever eye, now, for sure.”

Nailer shook his head. “I don’t have fever eye.”

Pima shot him a glance. “You don’t think you’re paying the price for all your luck?”

“What’s fever eye?” Lucky Girl asked.

Pima stared at her. “You don’t know fever eye?”

She shook her head. “Never heard of it.”

“When dying people look into the future? Last look before the Fates take them?”

“I don’t have fever eye.” Nailer felt tired. He sat heavily on the canted deck, perched in the sun. “Maybe if I wash it, it will make it better.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Pima spat. “Nothing’s going to make that better except medicine.”

Nailer put his head on his arms. “How long? Till your people come?”

Lucky Girl shrugged. “The GPS tracker will bring them. Soon, I think.”

“You’re that important?”

She seemed embarrassed. “Pretty much.”

“Who’re your people?” he asked. “You’re cagey about it.”

She hesitated.

“We’re crew,” Pima reminded her.

“My name’s Chaudhury. Nita Chaudhury.”

They shrugged. “Never heard the name.”

“I have my mother’s name, until I inherit.” She hesitated. “My father’s name is Patel.” She waited expectantly.

There was a pause; then Pima said, “Patel? Like Patel Global Transit?” Pima and Nailer exchanged glances as shock rolled over them. “You’re a boss girl?” Nailer asked. Pima’s face turned furious. She lunged at Nita and shook her. “You’re one of the damn blood buyers?”

“No!”

“Patel Global buys all kinds of scavenge down here,” Pima said. “We see their logo all the time. Them and General Electric and FluidDesign and Kuok LG. Everyone’s always talking about keeping quota so the blood buyers won’t find another supply. Go across to Bangladesh or Ireland. Lawson & Carlson won’t even supply filter masks because they say they’ve got to keep costs low.”

“I don’t know.” Nita looked embarrassed. “It’s a corporate priority… to source from recycled materials vendors.” She hesitated. “Ship breaking would be one possible trade source for raw components.” She looked away. “I’ve never really followed that side of the company.”

“You goddamn swank.” Pima’s face had turned harsh. “You’re lucky we didn’t know who you were when you were still lying under your bedroom furniture.”

“Leave her alone, Pima.” He was feeling worse, feeling tired and nauseous. “We got bigger problems.” He pointed to the horizon. “Check it out.”

Pima and Nita turned. All three of them stared across the sand flats to where the last of the tide was trickling away. From the direction of the ship-breaking yards, a crew of people was headed toward them-eight or ten, all in a knot.

“That your crew coming for you?” Pima asked. “Maybe your blood buyer people?”

Nita ignored the jibe and craned her neck to stare across the waters. “I can’t tell.” She scrambled into the ship and came back with a spyglass. She trained it on the distant walking forms. “I’m seeing a lot of scars and tattoos. Your people?”

Pima took the glass and peered through.

“Well?” Nita pressed. “Is it one of your scavenge crews?”

Pima shook her head. “Worse than that.” She handed the spyglass to Nailer.

“What do you mean worse?” Nita asked.

Nailer cradled the spyglass in his good hand and peered at the distant beach. The view slid over reflecting sand and salt water pools until he found the figures hurrying across. He focused on the faces, found the leader. “Blood and rust,” he cursed softly.

“What’s wrong?” Nita asked again. “Who is it?”

Pima sighed. “His dad.”

RICHARD LOPEZ WAS FAST, coming across the sand flats where the water had run out. He had a surprisingly big crew with him as well, all his hungry ones, the ones who did rough work, kept the yards in line when it suited them, did nothing the rest of the time. They glinted with scavenge jewels, with steel necklaces and copper twists on their biceps. Crew tattoos snaked over their skin. Men and women who had done heavy crew work and then slipped out of the yards and into the twilight life of the beach with its nailsheds and gambling dens and opium holes.