Paolo Bacigalupi - Ship Breaker

Nita glanced over at the men, suddenly nervous, then shrugged. “Not yet. Soon I think.”

“Better hope so.”

She gave him a dirty look. As she turned away from him, he spied the manacle that connected her ankle to one of the big cypress trees. She caught the direction of his gaze. “They’re not taking any chances.”

Nailer nodded. A minute later Pima appeared, chaperoned by a third adult. Blue Eyes. The woman had scars carved into her arms and legs, bits of scrap steel embedded in her face and necklaces of scavenge twined around her throat. A long zipper of scar tissue in her side showed where she had made a devotional sacrifice to the Harvesters and the Life Cult. She shoved Pima forward.

Moby glanced over. “Hey, careful with the kid. She’s got my dinner.”

Blue Eyes ignored him, instead looked at Nailer. “He’s alive?”

“What’s it look like?” Moby answered. “ ’Course he’s alive. Unless he’s a zombie, walking dead. Woooooooo.” He laughed at his own joke.

Pima distributed metal tins to the adults, rice and red beans and ground sausage spiced. Nailer watched the food as it was passed around, entranced. It was astonishingly good eating. He didn’t remember the last time he’d seen so much meat passed around so casually. As the food was handed to Moby and Tool, Nailer found himself salivating. Moby started to eat even as Blue Eyes watched him. “You tell Lopez his kid is alive?” she asked.

Moby shook his head between mouthfuls of rice and beans that he shoveled in with his hand.

“What the hell does he pay you for?” Blue Eyes asked.

“He just woke up,” Moby protested. “Two minutes back in the world of the living, if that.” He elbowed Tool. “Back me up. The little rat just woke up.”

Tool shrugged, scooped up a handful of rice and meat chunks. “Moby isn’t lying this time,” he rumbled. “As he says, the little rat just woke up.” He smiled, showing sharp canine teeth. “Just woke up in time for dinner.” He popped the mass of food into his mouth.

Blue Eyes made a face. She took Moby’s tin away and handed it to Nailer. “Go get your own feed, then. Boss man’s kid eats first. And tell the boss he’s awake.”

Moby scowled at her, but he didn’t protest. Just got up and headed out. Pima crouched beside Nailer, spoke in a low voice. “How you doing?”

Nailer made himself smile even though he was already feeling tired again. “Not dead yet.”

“Must be a good day, then.”

“Yeah.” He dug into the food.

Pima jerked her head at Nita. “We need to talk. Lucky Girl’s people haven’t showed up yet.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Your dad’s starting to get jittery.”

Nailer glanced at the guards. “Jittery how?”

“He’s got his eye on her. Maybe like he wants to hand her over to Blue Eyes and the Life Cult. Keeps talking about how much copper he could make off her pretty eyes.”

“She know what he’s planning?”

“She’s not stupid. Even a swank like her can figure it out.”

Blue Eyes interrupted their conversation, squatting down beside them. “Having a nice chat?”

Nailer shook his head. “She’s just checking on me.”

“Good.” Blue Eyes smiled, hard and cold. “Then shut up and finish your food.”

Tool showed his teeth from where he sat on his stump. “Good advice,” he rumbled.

Pima nodded and slipped away without protest.

That was more telling than anything else. She was afraid. Nailer glanced at her hand, saw that her broken fingers were splinted on a bit of driftwood. Nailer wondered if it was their breaking or something else that had happened in the last three days that made Pima so wary.

Nita finished her food, said to no one in particular, “I’m getting pretty good at eating with my hands.”

Nailer glanced over. “What else would you eat with?”

“Knife, fork, spoon?” She almost smiled and then shook her head. “Never mind.”

“What?” Nailer pressed. “You making fun of us, Lucky Girl?”

Nita’s face turned careful, almost fearful, and he was glad about that. He scowled at her. “Don’t go looking down on us ’cause we don’t have your swank ways. We could have cut your fingers off and your damn knife and fork and spoon wouldn’t have been much good then, would they?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, sorry after you already said it.”

“Shut up, Nailer,” Pima said. “She’s sorry.”

Tool stared at Nita with his dead yellow eyes. “Maybe not as sorry as she could be. Right, boy?” He leaned forward. “Do you want me to teach your swank a lesson in manners?”

Nita suddenly looked very frightened indeed. Nailer shook his head. “No. Never mind. She gets it now.”

Tool nodded. “Everyone does eventually.”

Nailer shivered at the half-man’s flat words, the disinterest in his voice. This was the first time he’d been this close to the creature. There were plenty of stories about him, though. About where he got the vast webwork of scars that decorated his face and torso. About how he waded through the swamps, hunting for alligators and pythons. People said he wasn’t afraid of anything. That he’d been engineered so he couldn’t feel pain or fear. He was the only thing Nailer had ever seen his father talk about with careful respect rather than abusive authority. The half-man was damn scary, and watching the way Tool looked at the girl, he thought he knew why.

“Never mind,” Nailer said again. “She’s fine.”

Tool shrugged and went back to his food. They all sat in silence. Beyond the ring of their firelight, there was nothing except animal sounds and insects, the black wildness of the jungles and swamps, the swelter of the interior. From the distant sound of the surf, Nailer guessed they were at least a mile from shore. He lay back on the ground watching the flames flicker. The food had been good, but he was tired again. He let his mind drift, wondering what his father was planning, and why Pima looked so worried, and what was going on behind Lucky Girl’s swank eyes. He drifted off.

“Damn, boy, you’re awake, I hear.”

Nailer opened his eyes. His father crouched over him, smiling, his tattooed dragons and bright crystal slide amphetamine eyes on him.

“I knew you’d make it,” his dad said. “You’re tough like your old man. Tougher than nails, right? Just like I named you. Just like your old man.” He laughed and punched Nailer ’s shoulder and didn’t seem to notice Nailer flinch at the pain. “You look a lot better than a few days ago.” Richard Lopez’s skin was pale and sweating in the firelight and his grin was wide and feral. “Wasn’t sure if we’d be putting you down with the worms.”

Nailer made himself smile, trying to gauge his father’s crystal-bright mood. “Not yet, I guess.”

“Yeah, you’re a survivor.” He glanced over at Nita. “Not like the rich girl. She’d have been dead a long time ago, if it wasn’t for me saving her swank ass.” He smiled at her. “I’m almost hoping your dad doesn’t show up, girl.”

Nailer sat up and folded his legs under himself. “Her crew hasn’t showed?”

“Not yet.”

His father took a swig of whiskey and offered the bottle to Nailer. Pima spoke up from across the circle. “Doctor said he’s not supposed to drink.”

Nailer’s dad scowled at her. “You trying to tell me what to do?”

Pima hesitated. “Not me. Lucky Strike’s doctor said it.”

Nailer wanted to tell her to shut up, but it was already too late; his father’s mood had shifted, a storm gathering where there had only been clear skies before.

“You think you’re the only one who heard that damn pill man?” Richard asked. “I’m the one that brought that pill man out. I paid him and I got him to put my boy back together.” He went over to Pima, the whiskey bottle swinging loose in his hand. “And now you’re telling me what he said?” He leaned close. “You want to tell me again? Just in case I didn’t hear you?”