Alexandra Duncan - Salvage

“The women and smallones of Candor’s ship were much afraid. Mikim gathered them together in the belly of the ship and bid everyone sing to drive away their fear. But once their voices joined, their song grew so loud, it rang through the decks and out into the black of the Void itself.

“And the corsairs pricked up their ears.

“Candor hurried below. ‘Please,’ he begged. ‘Quiet your voices. The raiders stalk above, and only silence will save us.’

“Candor’s other wives fell silent at once, but Mikim laughed. ‘Husband, how little you know! Our voices will never reach their ears. The Void is vast.’

“‘All the same,’ Candor, ever patient, said. ‘I beg you, obey me this once and keep silent, for the sake of our sons and your sister-wives.’

“But Mikim did not mind her husband. When Candor left, again she raised her voice and sang. Her song drove through the ship’s hull and fell on the corsairs’ ears. And before Candor could fix his craft and bring her up fighting, the raiders fell on him. They laid open his ship and snatched away all his wives and smallones, including Mikim and her sons. Candor they mocked and left for dead on the barren moon.

“Candor’s heart filled with grief and rage. With what few of his men remained, he rebuilt his ship, stronger and faster, made it a machine of war. And with it, he chased down the raiders who had stolen his family, and one by one, reclaimed his wives and sons, all except Mikim. Candor harried the corsairs out into the deep, blank edges of the Void, but he never found his secondwife. The Mercies saw fit to humble her and keep her from her kin until the end of her days. So her name hangs as a banner of warning to all who harbor rebellion in their hearts.

“In memory of Mikim’s fault, his other wives gathered together and agreed. From that day, though a woman might hear the sacred songs, she would no more sing them, nor lift her voice above her husband’s. So the songs and scrolls of the Word were given over to men’s keeping, and there they rest safe to this day.

“This pleased the Mercies well, and they blessed Candor with many sons. By faithful Saeleas, he fathered the great Neren, whose deeds are ever sung. In time, his children numbered so many they took up their own ships and spread to every reach of the Void. So Candor’s name is ever spoken, and all his children bless him.”

I fold my hands on the metal table and smile, lost in the sweet rhythm of the story and the memory of my mother’s voice reciting it.

“That’s ridiculous,” Miyole says. “No one could have heard her.”

I blink away my reverie. “What?’

“It wasn’t her fault,” Miyole says. “That isn’t how sound works in space. Don’t you know?”

“It’s . . . it’s the story,” I stammer. “That’s just the way it is.”

“It’s stupid the way it is,” Miyole says. “Candor and them were out to find someone to blame, that’s all. They wanted to make themselves feel better ’cause they couldn’t find her in the end, so they made her the bad guy.”

“No . . .”

“Ava,” Miyole says in a voice that brings all my arguing to an end. “That Mikim lady was right. Sound doesn’t travel in space.”

My mouth hangs open. The Void is my home. Surely that’s one thing I should know more about than Miyole. Still, she every day trots out words and ideas I’ve never run across before—canopy and combustion engine and extinct. I can’t even hold down the letters that roll so easily from her tongue. She could be right. She’s most like right.

“I don’t . . . ,” I begin.

A shirtless smallboy with a thick cap of straight black hair and skin like browned butter comes hurtling through the door. “Miyole!” His eyes are wide. “You got to come down and see!”

Miyole swivels in her chair. Her face comes alight. “Kai!” But then she glances at me and her smile drops. “I can’t. I’m not s’posed to leave her.”

Kai takes me in with a quick look. “You’re that Ava girl, huh?”

“Right so,” I say.

“Bring her with you,” he says to Miyole. “You’ve got to see this.”

I do my best to keep up with them. They clatter down Perpétue’s steps and streak across the swinging driftwood bridges connecting each low-slung barge to the next. By the time I reach the bottom, they’ve disappeared. I pause. All the Gyre is quiet around me in the heat of the day. The barges creak as they bob in the water and the pontoon deck burns my bare feet.

To my right, the doors over the insulated well where Perpétue locks up her sloop at night stand closed. I edge out over them and peer down into the gap between Perpétue’s barge and the next. Two meters down, the gap turns to a deep, sloshing pit of seawater. Miyole and Perpétue told me the depths are full of sharks, awful black-eyed fish with rows of jagged teeth. I shudder and back away.

“Ava!” Miyole waves to me from the top of the neighboring barge. “Hurry up!”

I pick my way over the rickety footbridge. The sea moves, blue and bottomless, beneath my feet. I try not to look down.

Miyole grabs my hand as soon as I reach the other side and pulls me into a fast walk. I wish she would slow down so I could take in more of Gyre—there’s so much more to see than I could make out from the roof—but she’s anxious to catch up with Kai and reach the brink. My first real brush with the city is a blur of music blaring tinny from the upper levels of barges, faded paint peeling from the walls, a boy with a pole full of dangling fish balanced over his shoulder, and sweat-sheened men and women building new walls or lookouts on their roofs. One of the barges has a glass bottom, clear down to the sea and all the dark shapes moving in it. I pull Miyole to a halt when we step up onto it.

“What’s wrong?” She frowns at me.

I look down.

She laughs. “What, this? It’s solid.” She jumps up and down to demonstrate. “Don’t worry. We go over it all the time.”

“Please.” I close my eyes. “Don’t do that.”

Miyole sighs and stops. “You sound like my manman.” She tugs at my hand again. “Come on. We’re almost there.”

As we near the brink, the raised pontoons give way to a broad shore of wood and plastic platforms built level with the water. Rafts and small, aluminum boats with oars rest at their moorings. Beyond, the waste plain extends, flat and bleached by sun and salt, to the horizon. A clump of people has gathered by the very tip of the shore. Kai spots us from the back of the crowd and waves. We hurry to him.

“It’s a monster,” Kai whispers in hushed awe as we sidle to the front of the crowd. “Miko and her boys found it washed up in the middle of the plain. They say it’s fresh. Maybe a shark killed it.”

At the water’s edge, a stout woman with short-cropped black hair and wrinkled, sun-browned skin stands over the dead beast. Its grayish, rubbery body splits into eight puckered arms, all twined around one another in death. One glazed eye looks on us.

Miyole shoves Kai’s shoulder. “That’s no monster, fishbrain. It’s a squid.”

“A giant squid,” the woman—Miko, she must be—standing over it corrects. She nudges its body with the butt of a hooked spear. “Forty footer.”

“Did a shark kill it?” Kai asks eagerly.

Miko shakes her head. “No. No marks on it, see?”

“Those don’t come up to the surface, not on purpose.” Miyole looks to Kai and me and the people standing behind us. “They’re deep creatures. I read about it.”