Ray Aldridge - The Orpheus Machine

He massaged blood back into them and looked around, oddly surprised by the change in the light. The sun drifted toward the western horizon behind them. The swells seemed shorter and steeper, as if they had come onto the shelf of the Dayerak Archipelago — and the sea was a different color, a murky green, wormy with floating brown weed. He looked at Gunderd questioningly.

“Yes,” said Gunderd. “We’ll make the shoals tonight. Ordinarily, I’d heave to and wait for daylight for our landfall, but in this case I’ll be grateful for darkness.”

Ruiz nodded. He found it difficult to concentrate. Perhaps, he thought, he should put the matter away and give thought to what might happen in the coming night. He resolved to do better, to go forward and act as if nothing were wrong, but he was still sitting in the stern when Gunderd shouted happily, stood up, and pointed into the water.

“Look! Neon demons,” said Gunderd. “Fine eating!”

Ruiz looked down and saw a trio of large fish, each a meter and a half long, swimming easily beside the boat, just under the surface. Two of the fish had brilliant blue and gold striations on their flanks, but the third had furrows of ugly scar tissue above and below its ventral line, sunk deep, as if the wounds had taken most of the muscle on that side of the fish.

Ruiz wondered how the fish had lived through such trauma. Gunderd saw the direction of his gaze. “Neon demons are the most vital fish that swim Sook’s oceans, Ruiz. But their flesh doesn’t keep, so when the margar hunters catch one, they just rip a filet off and throw the fish back. They like to swim with the boats, for some reason, and they can keep up until they’ve lost three of their four filets. Even when they’re just a sac of organs hung on a skeleton, they keep trying to follow…. It’s very strange.”

Ruiz felt a sudden rush of horror, an emotion wildly out of proportion to the ugly image Gunderd had summoned. The maimed fish rolled its golden eye up at the boat; it might have been looking at Ruiz. He had a sudden morbid fantasy — that its cold primitive brain held pity for Ruiz.

He shuddered and looked away.

“Take the helm,” said Gunderd. “I’ll get the fishing gear and we’ll eat well at least once before we get to the islands.”

“No,” said Ruiz, abruptly revolted by the idea of taking the last of the fish’s flesh. “We should rest, eat moderately. Be ready.”

Gunderd settled back, looking disappointed. “Perhaps you’re right. Yes, you’re probably right.” He looked wistfully over the side. “Yes.”

Ruiz got to his feet and went forward. Svin and the cook scurried aft. The cabin boy began whispering to Gunderd, throwing cautious glances over his narrow shoulder at Ruiz. Gunderd patted him and began speaking earnestly and reassuringly.

Ruiz settled himself beside Dolmaero — the Guildmaster was probably the least physically dangerous of the three, at the moment — though it occurred to Ruiz that if Dolmaero were Corean’s machine, he might be feigning his illness.

He shook his head, feeling a sour dry frustration. He looked across at Nisa, who returned his glance without expression. For the first time he wondered, would he still love her, if she were no longer human? Of course not, he thought, angry at his own foolishness.

But then he looked at her again and wasn’t so sure. If she turned out to be Corean’s creature, he might have to kill her, as much for the sake of the Nisa that had been as for their safety.

If it came to that, he would be killing his own heart, tearing away his own flesh.

“Why so grim?” asked Dolmaero. “Surely you don’t fear treachery; not on this civilized world.”

Dolmaero spoke with a terrible despairing contempt, and Ruiz couldn’t think of a response.

“No, Ruiz Aw is safe enough for a time,” said Nisa darkly. “We journey into more blood; true? Ruiz is our only weapon. Would you throw away your biggest gun and then go a-hunting dustbears? No.”

Dolmaero smiled a twisted smile. “A good point, Noble Person. Well, then, I am encouraged.”

“I, too,” said Molnekh, without a trace of irony.

Ruiz could think of nothing to say. His head still hurt, he was exhausted, his will was eroded. He decided to rest. He made himself as comfortable as he could and shut his eyes. He would rely on Nisa’s logic to keep the knife from his throat.

As he drifted into sleep, he felt a small trickle of amazement — that he now cared so little for his life.

When Ruiz Aw woke, the sky was black except for a few dim stars and the glittering pinpoints of the Shard orbital platforms. He felt a small cold surprise that he was still on Sook. Had he awakened from some unremembered dream of another, better place?

He sat up and happened to nudge against Nisa, who was huddled motionless by the gunwale, wrapped in a square of canvas against the night wind. She accepted the contact for a moment, then jerked away. Ruiz felt a disproportionate sense of isolation. “I wouldn’t hurt you, Nisa. Truly.” It seemed an awkward speech — he didn’t want to think it was necessary to reassure her of his good intentions.

“I know,” she said, in a soft neutral voice.

In the darkness he couldn’t see her expression.

“Truly,” he said again, but this time she didn’t answer.

He waited a moment longer; then, feeling foolish, he made his way aft, climbing carefully over the snoring forms of Dolmaero and Molnekh. Perched on a midships thwart, Einduix the cook nodded affably. It occurred to Ruiz that he had never seen the little orange man sleep.

Svin slept by Gunderd, looking so much like a puppy at its master’s feet that Ruiz smiled. The mate still held the boat on its course, though the wind had dropped and the boat moved sedately at best. “Ruiz Aw,” he said. “At last. For a while there I thought I’d have to send someone to wake you. I was wondering whose loss would be more bearable, should the messenger step on one of your vipers. A difficult decision: Svin is useless, of course, but at least he’s never tried to poison me.”

Gunderd seemed to speak with unforced geniality. Ruiz settled himself and took the tiller. He noticed that the course was south of east, an odd direction for their purposes. “What’s going on, Gunderd?”

“Look to the north. Do you see the loom of the bane-lights on Roderigo?”

Ruiz looked and saw a glimmer of cold pale green on the horizon, wavering at the edge of visibility. He felt a sudden hollowness in his stomach, and the curious sensation of sweat breaking out on his brow, though the air was cool. “Ah,” he said.

“Ah?” said Gunderd. “You’re a cool one. When I saw it, I resurrected my father’s gods and started to pray — hoping that perhaps they’d established a franchise on Sook. After all, they’re water gods, and we sail through a substance that resembles water, at least superficially.”

Ruiz was forced to laugh.

Gunderd’s discolored teeth gleamed in the darkness.

Ruiz looked again at the bane-lights. “How did we come so close? Your course appeared to give Roderigo a good offing.”

Gunderd’s smile disappeared. “The nav console is dead, Ruiz, but before it died, it seemed to show us well off. Two explanations occur: a strong uncharted current after the unit died — not improbable — or… the possibility that the Roderigo hetmen detected us and slaved the console to their purposes.”

“Oh no,” said Ruiz.

“Indeed,” said Gunderd. “Indeed.”

“What can we do?”

“Not much. Hope it was a current. Flee with as much alacrity as the wind allows. Get religion.”

“Ah.”

Gunderd snorted. “You’re no conversationalist, whatever your other talents. I go now to slumber; it may be my last night as a free man. Steer the course, and wake me at dawn, unless the wind shifts.”