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Excerpt
3
“Go to the dock the long way,” Deena told Riley. “Along the shore. Don’t go through the crowd. The tender will meet you there.”
Deena pointed in the opposite direction of the barge with all the atmo-breakers on it, which was, we all noticed, moving out to sea now. The lights were on in the cockpits of all the rocket ships, their pilots fiddling around with various instruments, their exhausts simmering red. Only one ship was still dark at both ends.
“What about her?” Riley pointed at me.
I sat in the water and plucked the pieces of my broken Knuckle from the gator’s treads. I glanced at the shore again, just to make sure the prize was really gone.
“I’ll deal with her,” Deena said.
There is authority in stillness. I saw it often in my Gamma. The older Mourner, Maria, reminded me of her.
Deena was jumpy. She stepped toward me.
I flicked the little primer on the stunner of my working Knuckle and jabbed it into her forearm. The sea sprayed it a little and it shorted out, but she yelped and swore and jumped back, then reached into her jumper for a weapon of her own. Riley stepped between us.
“Hold on,” he said, then looked at me. “You said you need a doctor. What for?”
“My friend’s hurt,” I said.
“Where’d you come from?”
“My boat’s out in the yoreshore.”
“We got a medic. He ain’t much but if it’ll do some good I’m happy to lend him to you.” I nodded. He turned to Deena. “If we help her I’ll come quietly. Okay?” She glared at me but did nothing but shake out her smarting hand.
“Can you point your boat out to me?” Riley asked.
I was about to say that the Ghost was back on the other side of the cemetery, but when I looked up at the water in front of me I found her, to my surprise and alarm. She was much closer to the shore than she should be. It looked like she was trying to get closer.
“There.”
Riley squinted.
“I don’t see it. Come on, show me again.”
He pulled me up onto the gator’s corpse and we walked the length of it.
“Salvagia,” he said, loud enough for Deena to hear. “You ever hear of that, Deena?”
“No.”
“The Perezes have a collection. Pre-flood relics, pulled out of the yoreshore. Shoes or toys or silverware. Anything, really. Anything with a good story. That’s what makes the most money, right?” This he said to me.
“Sure,” I said, not really interested in extrapolating. The narrative of a salvagia piece was important somehow, yes. So was the way it decayed. Part of the reason I knew the Ked was so valuable was that it had only decayed on one side. There were both “before” and “after” elements to it, and I knew collectors liked that. But, truthfully, I just tried to keep up with the trades, I had no secret insight. Sneakers, for example, were hot right now, but I had no idea why.
“Sounds like trash,” said Deena.
He squinted. “I still can’t see it.” The surf came up to our knees. He climbed one of the big concrete pylons and pulled me up. “Show me again.”
I pointed at the Ghost. He leaned close, as if to see where I was pointing from my point of view. A big wave, big enough to swallow the pylon, hid the Ghost for a couple seconds.
“I have a job for you,” he whispered.
I did my best to remain still. “I have to get back.” I stepped away. He grabbed my arm. I heard Deena sloshing toward us.
“Sixty-five thousand kiloDollars,” he said.
“. . . Sixty-five?” I wasn’t sure I heard him right. That was enough to buy three Ghosts.
“At least. Could be more. You’re the expert. I’ll send the doc. Come back with him.”
“I can’t—”
“Bet you’re a strong swimmer. Odds are she’ll go for me, but if she can catch you she might try. Better get a move on.”
And with that he dove off, deftly hitting the middle of the big wave. He came up in knee-high water and started running parallel to the shore in the direction of the barge. He kicked up water like a sprinkler and moved much faster than I would have thought possible. He waved to the crowd and they cheered.
—
It did not take me very long to swim to the Ghost, because she had gotten so dangerously close to me.
She was rubbing her side against the ruins of an old building, screeching her fiberglass hull on the concrete. I climbed it and tried to nudge her away. Charlie would kill me for letting her make a mark like that on herself.
“I’m here, girl,” I said, patting her side. “I’m back.”
But she kept scraping.
I pulled myself aboard, and saw that her security measures were already disabled, and there were two strangers in the lounge.
Myra was lying on the couch instead of the floor, her head swaddled in white cloth. I recognized one of the strangers. His fingers were in his ears. The other one was at the helm looking helpless. I went to the aft deck and opened the glass door and pushed him aside and ran the routines that told her to “go.”
She pulled away and briefly resumed her return route, back up the yoreshore to Charlie. I told her to stop as soon as she was clear of the hazards, and she listened to that, too. I allowed myself to feel some relief, though she had moved a little closer to the breaker barge and its surface had just begun to smoke with priming engines. It was several hundred feet away, at least, but I had no idea what constituted a safe distance. If I told her to go again she would get even closer. So I tried not to think about it. I turned my attention to the intruders. They were feds. The one I recognized was Gomer Afti. He wasn’t supposed to be in the field. He was supposed to be at the front of the fed disposal queue, waiting for me to drop off my air conditioner quota so he could make the same quietly sad remark about how much paperwork I generated for him. He looked seasick.
The other one had the feeling of a fed about him, too, straight-backed and clean-cut. He also looked uncomfortable. Feds that spend all their time in the hyper-filtered Consolidated dome climate develop a kind of allergic reaction to the outside. His brow was moist and his shirt had stains around the armpits. They both wore the free federally provided ocular implants that marked you as a member of the placidly Consolidated: clear contacts with a visible barcode around the iris.
Myra took up the whole couch. The feds were nestled together on the loveseat. They were both drinking water. The great recliner in the corner lay empty. They’d chosen to be less comfortable and to be closer to each other. Interesting. ...
