Driftmetal (12 page)

I joined Mr. Scofield on the quarterdeck and stood
by as Sable took the helm. Thorley Colburn was unfurling the sail
while Eliza Kinally and Dennel McMurtry made ready to lash it down.
Sable gave the lift controls a tug, and I heard the familiar,
repetitive
clink-clink
of the gravstone counterbalances
being released. We heaved upward, not smoothly, and Sable blushed
as she spun the wheel and turned us leeward. The sail billowed,
then snapped tight, and the wind pulled us away from Mallentis.

Mr. Scofield shivered. “Permission to go below,
captain.”

“Granted,” Sable said.

I stayed with her, watching while the dim airfield
fires and the bright city lights of Eulaya and Hibantya faded into
the clouds. I knew I might never see either of those cities again,
but somehow I didn’t mind. We were about to go sailing, and
suddenly it was all I could think about.

There are lots of things people seem to think are
essential to living a full life. They’ll say things like, ‘
you
haven’t lived until you’ve done this
.’ Feeling the clouds in
your hair on driftmetal runners is one of those things. It’s an
experience like nothing else. It’s like walking on a cloud that’s
as hard as stone and lighter than the very air you’re breathing.
Drifting through the darkness on the
Galeskimmer
that
evening, I felt as alive as I’d ever been.

“Why did you ask me for my name if you already knew
it from the posters?” I asked, turning toward Sable.

“I wanted to know what kind of person you were.”

“And what did my answer tell you?”

“That you’re a coward and a criminal, just like your
wanted poster says.”

“Guilty on both counts,” I admitted, shrugging.

“You don’t seem to mind being an outlaw. Doesn’t it
ever bother you, knowing you’re the scum society has to scrape off
its shoe?”

“I haven’t always been like this. I used to make an
honest living. Then one day, the Regency came along and took my
dad’s shop. Didn’t say why, just shoved a bunch of chips in his
face and told him to get lost. We built a boat together, and I
aimed to leave home and make my own way in the stream. Problem was,
my parents decided they had nothing better to do and came with
me.”

Sable took a deep breath, the corner of her mouth
crinkling. “There are worse problems to have,” she said.

“Not for me. My parents are a couple of law-loving…
they’re traitors. I would’ve gotten away clean if it weren’t for
them. They took my boat and handed me over to the Civs. Thinking I
could trust them not to get in my way is the stupidest thing I’ve
ever done.”

“Taking you aboard is the stupidest thing
I’ve
ever done. I wouldn’t have even entertained the idea if
we didn’t need the chips so badly.”

“You all look like you could use a few chips,” I
said. I looked around. “So does your rig.”

“It’s been hard times these last few months.”

“Why’s that? There’s always plenty of hauling to do
where I come from, lots of people who need to travel.”

“A few months back, we got caught in a big
thunderstorm. We lost half our cargo and the storm disabled the
Galeskimmer
. When we showed up late and without the full
haul, we ended up losing money on the trip. A lot of money. Uncle
Angus was captain before me. He had to go and ask our patrons for
some extra time to pay them back. They’re not the most savory
characters, and instead of giving it to him, they just… took him.
Put him in their own debtor’s prison of sorts. We’ve been trying to
earn enough to keep the boat working, put food on the table, and
save up every extra chip so we can pay off the debt and get Uncle
Angus back. It’s been hard enough just making ends meet.”

There was pain brewing beneath the surface of
Sable’s eyes. The big white feather was struggling against the wind
to stay in place on her hat. I pursed my lips and rubbed the back
of my neck, unsure what to say.

“My uncle has always put the crew first, and
business second,” Sable said. “He took that job because we were all
behind him. We knew how dangerous it would be if things went
wrong.”

“Your uncle is a better man than I,” I said.

“You don’t much want to be a better man, do
you?”

“No, not really,” I said.

Sable smirked. “I might be among the minority, but
I’m of the opinion that people can change. You’ve done some bad
things, but there’s no reason you can’t turn yourself around.”

“Yeah… I wish the Civs shared your benevolent
spirit. I’ve done a few too many bad things to convince them I
deserve anything but a conviction.”

“Don’t treat yourself like a lost cause,” said
Sable. “Too many people get stuck letting their mistakes define who
they are. However bad your situation might be, you’re not
powerless. You just have to ask yourself what it’s going to take
for you to stop playing the role of the delinquent and start having
more respect for yourself. To know you can be better.”

“I think it’s a little too late for that,” I
said.

Sable disagreed. “It’s not up to you, or the Civs,
or anyone else, to decide how many misdeeds are too many. Do you
think an abundance of small wrongs ever adds up to one big one?
Does telling a thousand lies ever become worse than taking
someone’s life?”

I wasn’t much for philosophizing, so I just
shrugged.

“Did you ever consider the kind of position you put
your parents in, asking them to choose between you and the law?
That was your first mistake, the way I see it. You’ve got to start
thinking about how your actions are affecting the people around
you.”

“I don’t gotta do jack,” I said. “And I’m not paying
you for morality lessons, either.”

“You’re not paying me at all—your friends are.
Friends who obviously see something in you, to stick around.”

They see a meal ticket in me, same as you
, I
almost said. But I couldn’t go any further without telling her
about Pyras and Gilfoyle and the gravstone—much more than I wanted
her to know. So I shrugged again and said, “Yeah. I guess.”

Mallentis was long gone over the stern, lost in a
sea of swirling clouds.

“Well… I’d better get some shuteye. ‘Night,” I said,
clunking down the stairs to the main deck.

“Mulroney,” said Sable.

I stopped, trying not to grin. As far as she knew,
the full name on the wanted poster was what I went by all the time.
“Yeah,” I said.

“The minute you step off this boat, you can be
whatever kind of person you want to be. While you’re aboard, spare
me and my crew the ordeal of having to babysit you.”

I turned back to her, annoyed but trying not to let
it show. “Call me Muller.”

Sable’s eyes were cold, but not unkind. She gave a
slight, almost imperceptible nod.

I trudged below and flung myself into my hammock,
exhausted. A chorus of snores and strange smells engulfed me as I
lay staring at the ceiling, my bed swaying gently as the ship
staggered through the sky. I wondered if every day from now on
would be like this one had; filled with the constant stress of
running away from a series of narrow escapes.
I’ll run from the
Civs ‘til the day I die
, I promised myself.
The day they
catch me is the day Muller Jakes loses
. I fell asleep trying
not to think about my life’s grim prognosis or the impossible tasks
that faced me. Most of all, I tried not to think about what Sable
had said.

7

I woke with a drumming in my head. I opened my eyes.
A finger was tapping the middle of my forehead, slow and rhythmic,
like drips from a leaky faucet. I grabbed the hand and pulled it
away. Neale Glynton, the cabin boy, was standing there with a
stupid grin on his face, bits of food still stuck in his teeth.

“What the hell, kid?”

“You missed breakfast,” Neale said. “Time for
chores.”

“I’m a passenger,” I said. “Passengers don’t do
chores.”

Dennel McMurtry, the top-hat-wearing boatswain with
all blackened teeth except his two gold ones, was standing behind
Neale at the bottom of the stairs. “You paid us enough to keep your
identity to ourselves, Mr. Nordstrom,” he said in his gruff morning
voice. “Sleep costs extra.”

I rolled over in my hammock so I was facing the
wall, lifted a hand to swat them away. “You heard him, Vilaris. Pay
the man.”

“Mr. Vilaris and your other friends have been awake
since dawn,” said Dennel. “They’ve been learning their knots and
getting a primer on the
Galeskimmer
’s rigging, sails, and
steering. They would’ve swabbed the decks too, but I insisted they
leave that job to the last one awake. On your feet, sailor. Start
now, and you may finish before lunchtime.”

I lifted my hand again, this time using it to make a
less polite gesture.

“Is that so, Mr. Nordstrom? If we have a problem,
I’m sure I can make an inquiry as to Mr. Scofield’s mood this
morning. You’ll soon find out how he feels about freeloaders.”

“I’m sleeping,” I said. “Get lost.”

I heard them leave.

I was just beginning to drift off to sleep again
when a hand collared me and hauled me out of my hammock. I hit the
floor with a thud, the planks smacking my elbow and tailbone a good
one each. I craned my neck as the big hand and its owner dragged me
across the cabin and up the stairs without stopping to give me a
chance to stand. Half-blind Thorley Colburn tossed me onto the deck
and stepped on my chest when I tried to rise. Everyone was there,
to my chagrin; the whole crew, along with Chaz, Blaylocke, and
Vilaris.

“This is the one who thinks he’s earned himself a
free ride.”

Old Landon Scofield stood in front of the crowd,
thoughtful, the razor-thin filaments of an electroscourge dangling
from his wrist port. “I’ll give him what he’s earned, alright.”

I sighed. “Okay, this is all very theatrical of you,
but I catch your drift now. Will you stop?”

“Lash him to the mast,” said Scofield.

Thorley lugged me to my feet and shoved me toward
the center of the boat. Now I was angry. I decided I’d give them
one last chance to give up the prank.

“I said… I get it. You can lay off.”

Thorley pulled my arms around the mast and began to
bind my wrists with a length of thick rope. When I tried to back
away, a shoulder pinned me to the mast from behind. I knew it was
Dennel McMurtry by the sweet tobacco stench of his breath.

I triggered my wrist spikes and slashed the rope,
bringing my elbow back in the same motion to smash Dennel’s jaw and
drive the spike into his thigh. He hollered and fell over, holding
his leg.

I swung myself around the mast like a pole dancer
and thrust a foot toward Thorley’s face, aiming to blacken his good
eye. Instead he caught my ankle between two muscled forearms and
dragged me to the ground.

The rest of the crew was on me before I could get to
my feet. A weight drove my face into the deck. Someone gathered my
legs together and began to bind them. I was under a pile of bodies,
kicking and swinging at any flesh I could sink a blow into.
Where are Chaz and Vilaris?
I thought.
Why are they
letting this happen?
I figured Blaylocke had been aching to get
a few shots in on me, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d decided
to help the crew. People were trying to restrain my limbs. When I
struck out with my climbing spikes, they grabbed my arms and pinned
them to the deck. Soon I heard voices over the din.

“Let him up. Let him up,” Vilaris was shouting.

“Get off him,” Chaz said, shoving the cabin boy off
my back.

I rolled over and pushed myself up, backed away so
there was no one behind me. “I’m not part of your blasted crew,” I
said, wiping away the sting of sweat and wood splinters. “Fly your
own ship. Swab your own bloody deck.”

It wasn’t until I’d gotten a good look around that I
realized it wasn’t me everyone was staring at. It was Blaylocke.
Sometime during the melee, the sleeve of his jacket had been ripped
open. I still didn’t know whether he’d been on the crew’s side or
mine, but blood was dripping from a wound in his arm. Primie blood,
the deep scarlet color of a ripe red apple. Dennel McMurtry’s pants
were stained a dark blue-violet from the wound I’d given him—the
color of a techsoul’s blood.

The crew was aghast—Sable most of all. She was
scalding me with those thin hazel eyes, skeptical. “Is this why the
Regency is after you? You’re primitives? No, that can’t be… you
have augments.” She touched a finger to her wrist, recalling my
spikes. There was a broad knifeblade jutting out from her wrist, an
augment of her own. “Which of you are primitives? Just you?”

Vilaris spoke up. “If it’s money you want, we can
pay you more chips to—”

“This goes beyond what chips can cover,” Sable said.
“This is treachery of the highest order.”

“The highest,” Nerimund chimed in, peeking out from
behind Sable’s arm.

“Primitives are people, living their lives, just
like you are,” I said. “So what if they bleed a different color? So
what if they’re not synthetic? Does that make us any better?” I
hesitated. “Alright… so technically, we’re better, speaking from a
purely physical perspective. I’ll concede that point. But we’re
still the same species.”

I didn’t know why I was standing up for them. It’s
not like I cared about primies all that much. Maybe I’d started to
like Chaz and Vilaris somewhere along the line without realizing
it. I’m many things, but a genocidal maniac isn’t one of them.

“Do you have any idea how much more danger we’ve
unwittingly put ourselves into by harboring primitives?” said
Sable. “Aiding a wanted felon is one thing. Filling the ship with
primitives is another gamble entirely. There are people who would
slaughter us all if they found out we were primie
sympathizers.”