Paolo Bacigalupi - Ship Breaker

Tool’s voice rumbled. “Perhaps a lesson for the girl, instead of a death. A gift of wisdom to the young.”

Nailer looked up at the half-man, surprised, and tried to press his advantage. “I’m just saying we owe her mom a blood quota, and everyone knows it. It’s bad karma if people think we don’t pay back.”

“Bad karma.” Nailer’s father scowled at him. “You think I care?”

“Balancing a blood quota shows no weakness,” Tool rumbled.

Richard looked from Nailer to Tool. “Well, look at this. I guess everyone wants the girl alive.” He smirked, then lifted his knife and drove it for her gut.

Pima cried out, but Richard stopped short of spilling blood. He grinned as he withdrew the blade’s point from where it dented her skin. “Looks like you get a free one, girlie.”

He took one of her hands in his and looked into her eyes. “We’re balancing the scale, ’cause of your mom,” he said. “But if you put a knife on me again I’ll strangle you with your guts. Got it?”

Pima nodded slowly, not blinking, eye to eye. “Got it.”

“Good.” Richard smiled and pried open her hand.

Pima gasped as he grabbed her pinky. Bone crackled. Nailer flinched at the sound. Pima screamed and then choked off her pain, whimpering. Richard took her ring finger. Pima’s breath came in ragged gasps. He smiled, getting his head down so they were eye to eye again. “Now you know better, don’t you?”

Pima nodded frantically, but still he wrenched her finger. Another bone snapped and she cried out.

“Learn your lesson yet?” he asked.

Pima was shaking, but she managed to nod.

Nailer’s father grinned, showing his yellow teeth. “Glad to know you won’t forget.” He examined her broken fingers, then got into her face again, his voice low with promise. “I was nice to you. I could have taken every finger you got and no one would have said I was wrong, even with a blood debt.” His eyes were cold. “Remember that I didn’t take as much as I could have.”

He stepped away and nodded at the half-man. “Let her go, Tool.”

Pima collapsed to the deck, whimpering and cradling her hand. Nailer forced himself not to go to her, not to try to comfort her. He wanted to curl up in a ball on the hot deck and close his eyes, but he couldn’t; he wasn’t done yet. “Y-y-you going to gut the swank now?” The shivering was uncontrollable.

His father glanced over at the bound girl. “You got something to say about that, too?”

“She’s damn r-r-rich,” Nailer stuttered. “If her people are looking for her, she’s worth something.” A wave of shivering overtook him. “M-m-maybe worth a lot. Maybe more than the sh-ship.”

His father evaluated the girl, considering. “You worth a reward?” he asked.

Nita nodded. “My father will be looking for me. He’ll pay to keep me safe.”

“That right? A lot?”

“This was my personal clipper. What do you think?”

“I think you’ve got an attitude.” Nailer’s father smiled, feral and pleased. “But you just bought your guts back, girlie.” He showed her his knife. “And if your dad won’t pay enough, we’ll pig-open you and see how you squeal.”

He turned to his crew. “All right, boys and girls. Let’s get the scavenge off. I don’t want to share too much with Lucky Strike. Everything light and valuable, off the ship.”

He turned and looked out at the sea. “And hurry. Tides and the Scavenge God don’t wait for anyone.” He laughed.

Nailer let himself lie back on the deck. The sun blazed overhead. He was freezing. His father crouched beside him. When he touched Nailer’s shoulder, Nailer cried out. Richard shook his head.

“Damn, Lucky Boy, looks like you’re going to need some medicine.” He looked out across the bay to the ship-breaking yards. “As soon as we get some of this scavenge off, we’ll go make a deal with Lucky Strike. He should have a ’cillin. Maybe even a suppressor cocktail.”

“I n-n-n-eed it s-s-soon,” Nailer whispered.

His father nodded. “I know, son. I know that. But when we show up, we’re going to have to explain how we can pay for your meds, and then there’ll be questions about how your old man got so much silver and gold.” One of Nita’s rings flashed in his hand. “Look at this here.” He held it up to the light. “Diamonds. Rubies probably. You found a swanky girl, all right.” He shoved the ring into his pocket. “But we can’t sell until we’ve got the muscle in place. Otherwise they’ll try and pull it all out from under us.”

He looked at Nailer seriously. “This was a lucky find, boy. We got to play it smart though, or we’ll lose it all.”

“Yeah,” Nailer said, but he was losing interest in the conversation. He was tired. Cold and tired. Another wave of shaking swept over him. His father yelled at his men to bring some blankets.

“I’ll be back,” he said. “Soon as we have the score secure, we’ll get your meds.” He stroked Nailer on the cheek; his pale eyes looked as bright and crazed as Nailer felt his own must be.

“I won’t let you die, son. Don’t you worry. We’ll get you taken care of. You’re my blood and I’ll take good care of you.”

And then he was gone and Nailer sank into fever.

“SO THAT’S YOUR DAD, huh?”

Nailer opened his eyes to find Nita kneeling beside him. He was lying on solid ground, the sound of the ocean far distant. A rough blanket covered him. It was nighttime. A small fire crackled beside them. He tried to sit up, but his shoulder hurt and he lay back again. Felt bandages, new ones, different from the ones Sadna had given him a lifetime before.

“Where’s Pima?”

Nita shrugged. “They’ve got her fetching food.”

“Who?”

She nodded over at two shadows who sat not far away, smoking cigarettes and passing a bottle of booze back and forth, their gang piercings twinkling in the darkness, rings running along the ridges of their eyebrows and studding down the bridges of their noses. One, Moby, pale as a ghost, stringy and angular from sliding crystal. The other, that huge loom of shadow and muscle, the half-man Tool. They smiled at Nailer as he moved.

“Hey, hey, looks like Nailer’s gonna live.” Moby waved his liquor bottle at Nailer in a sort of toast. “Your dad said you were a tough little rat. Didn’t think you were going to make it, though.”

“How long have I been down?”

Nita studied him. “I’m not sure you’re really up.”

“I’m up.”

“Three days, then, so far.”

Nailer tried to open his memories, seeking any recollection of the last three days. There were dreams, nightmares, but nothing solid, periods of heat and cold and shaking images of his father peering into his eyes…

Nita glanced back at the two men. “They were betting on whether you’d live.”

“Yeah?” Nailer grimaced and tried to sit up. “What were the stakes?”

“Fifty Red Chinese.”

Nailer looked at her, surprised. Those were big stakes. More than a month’s wages on heavy crew. The scavenging of her ship must have been successful. “Who bet on me living?”

“The skinny one. The half-man was sure you were dead.” She helped him sit up. He didn’t feel like he had a fever anymore. Nita pointed at a bottle of pills, swank pills by the lettering on the side. “We’ve been grinding those up and putting them in water. The other guy”-she paused, hunting for a name-“Lucky Strike. He sent a doctor.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re supposed to keep taking the pills, four a day for another ten days.”

Nailer eyed the pills without enthusiasm. Three days unconscious. “Your people haven’t showed up yet?” he asked. It seemed obvious that they hadn’t.