Ship Breaker

by Paolo Bacigalupi

  The sea swallowed him in churn and roar. Every time he kicked, his ankle exploded with pain. He paddled frantically for what he thought was the surface. Waves tried to suck him down. He flailed, struggling to find air. Clawed at foam and came up gasping. Another wave sucked him down. He tumbled. He fought again to free himself from the hungry depths and came up coughing and sputtering. Sucked air. Kicked and gasped with pain.

  “Float it!” Nita shouted. “Let the current pull you!” She was riding the waves beside him. One curled over her and she dipped under and came up again, swimming strongly. “Don’t fight it!” she shouted. And then she was up beside him, supporting him. Helping him swim.

  He was surprised to see that she was smiling, and then they were swirling forward and the waves were all around and he could see there was a rhythm to them. They were past the Teeth and out of the vortex and now, suddenly, the current was on their side, pushing them forward, taking them exactly where they wanted to go.

  Dauntless loomed over them.

  Life rings sailed over the side, splashing into the swirl and froth. Nailer wondered briefly who controlled the ship and then realized that he didn’t really care. He and Lucky Girl paddled for the life rings, stretching for salvation.

  25

  “KILLING ALWAYS COSTS.”

  It was Pima’s mother, sitting beside him, both of them staring out at the sea. Nailer had told her what had happened on Pole Star, and was surprised to find himself crying, and then he had simply stopped. Now he seemed to feel nothing at all, just a strange hollow space under his ribs that refused to go away.

  “He was bad news,” she said. “I don’t say that about many people, but Richard Lopez left a lot of hurt behind him.”

  “Yeah,” Nailer agreed. But still, it didn’t feel right. His dad had been crazy and destructive and if he was honest, downright evil. But now that he was dead, Nailer couldn’t help remembering other times as well, times when the man hadn’t been high, when he’d laughed at jokes, when they’d roasted a pig on the beach, good times. Safe times, his father smiling and telling stories about people who had made big scores. Lucky Strikes every one of them.

  “He wasn’t all bad,” he murmured.

  “No.” Sadna shook her head. “But he wasn’t good. Not at the end. And not for a long time before.”

  “Yeah, I know that. He would have killed me if I hadn’t killed him.”

  “But that’s not helping you, is it?”

  “No.”

  She laughed sadly. “That’s good. I’m glad.”

  Nailer looked at her, puzzled.

  “Richard never felt a thing when he hurt people. Just didn’t give a damn. It’s good that you feel something. Trust me. Even if it hurts, it’s good.”

  “I don’t know.” Nailer stared at the sea. “Maybe you’re wrong. I—” He hesitated. “I was glad when I killed him. Really glad. I remember seeing all those levers and knowing just what I had to do. And I did it.” He looked up at Sadna. “As soon as I heard the machines kick on, I knew I’d won. I felt like a Lucky Strike. It was better than anything. Better than getting out of the oil room. Better than finding Lucky Girl’s wreck. I was alive and he wasn’t, and I felt strong. Really strong.”

  “And now?”

  “I don’t know…” Nailer shrugged. “Blue Eyes. Now him.” He looked at Sadna. “Tool said I was just like my dad when I pigstuck Blue Eyes—”

  “You’re not—”

  “Maybe I am, right? I don’t feel a thing. Not a damn thing. I was glad when I did it. And now I don’t feel anything at all. I’m empty. Just empty.”

  “And that scares you.”

  “You said my dad didn’t feel anything when he hurt people.”

  Sadna reached over and took Nailer’s chin, turned his gaze so he couldn’t look away. “Listen, Nailer. You’re not your dad. If you were your dad, you’d be down on the beach, drinking with your friends, looking for a girl to keep you company tonight, and feeling pleased with yourself. You wouldn’t be up here worrying about why you don’t feel worse.”

  “Yeah. I guess.”

  “I know. Believe me, if you don’t believe yourself. Getting over something like this takes time. It won’t be better today. Not tomorrow, either. Maybe in a year, though, it won’t be like this. Maybe in a year you’ll have mostly forgotten. But it will still be there. You’ve got blood on your hands.” She shrugged. “It always costs. It never goes away.” She nodded toward where Lucky Strike had started a Fates shrine in the trees. “Go make an offering to the Fates. Be glad you were lucky and fast and smart. And then go do something right in the world.”

  “That’s it? That’s all?” Nailer laughed. “Go do something good?”

  “You want someone to beat you? Have Lucky Strike take an eye for an eye, maybe?”

  “I don’t know.” Nailer shrugged. “At the end…” He hesitated, then let out a shuddering breath. “At the end, I think he was different. Like he came back to the way he was before. I think he could see me…” Nailer trailed off, then said, “He wasn’t all bad.” He shook his head. He kept circling back to that. He hated repeating it, didn’t know why he bothered.

  Why can’t I just be glad he’s dead?

  “It will get better.” Sadna gripped his shoulder. “Trust me.”

  “Yeah. Thanks.” He took a deep breath, watching the blue surf beyond. They were silent for a while.

  Pima came and squatted down beside them. “You two about ready?”

  Sadna nodded. “I’ve got a few people to talk to.” She clapped Nailer on the back. “Keep an eye on him, right?” She stood and made her way down to the beach.

  Pima settled in beside him. Not saying anything, just waiting. Patient.

  Together they watched the activity out in the bay. Dauntless was almost finished loading supplies. They’d be heading north, heading for Lucky Girl’s people. They’d made contact with her clan and the news of Nita’s survival and Pyce’s betrayal was already causing shifts in power. People loyal to Nita and her father were fighting to regain control of the company. Voting blocs were shifting, Nita said. Whatever that meant. She seemed pleased, so Nailer supposed it was a good thing.

  “It’s a damn strange world out there,” Nailer said.

  “Yeah,” Pima agreed. “You about ready to go see what’s in it?”

  Nailer hesitated, then nodded. “Guess so.”

  They stood and started down to the beach. Skiffs were ferrying loads of fresh water out to the Dauntless under Lucky Strike’s supervision. The man had been quick to make a bargain with the winners of the marine fight, and now, once again, Lucky Strike was looking pretty damn lucky. Nita said that he’d even made a deal for salvage rights on the sunken Pole Star, if he could figure out a way to raise her.

  Dauntless gleamed in the sunlight. Nailer could see Captain Candless standing on the deck. White bandages muffled much of his chest and neck. Reynolds claimed that the only reason he was alive was that he was too stupid to know when he was dead. The captain’s voice carried across the water as he shouted orders and supervised final repairs and preparations.

  A breeze kicked up, carrying a whiff of the ship-breaking business with it. Farther down the beach, the old-world wrecks still lay black on the sand like mangled bodies, still leaking oil and chemicals, still swarming with workers. But he wasn’t one of them. And not Pima. And not Sadna, either. He wasn’t able to save everybody, but he could at least save family.

  Pima followed his gaze. “You think Lucky Girl’s for real? About twisting Lawson & Carlson? Making them do something about this place?”

  “Who knows? If she gets control of her company, Patel Global’s a big buyer.” He nodded toward the Dauntless, where Nita had just emerged on deck. Her white skirts swirled around her, bright in the tropic sun. “Anyone with that much money must be able to do something, right?”

  “She’s damn swank, that’s for sure.”

  “Yeah.”

  Nita gleamed with gold and
silver, gifts of goodwill that Lucky Strike had miraculously located in order to curry favor with the Dauntless. Nita bent and said something to Captain Candless, then turned toward shore. Her black hair unfurled, a tangled banner streaming in the ocean breeze.

  Nailer waved, smiling. Nita waved back.

  Pima glanced over at him. “You can’t be serious.”

  Nailer shrugged, trying not to blush. Pima laughed. “A swank like her?”

  “You’ve got to admit she’s pretty.”

  “Pretty rich, maybe.”

  “Pretty good at gutting eels, too.”

  Pima laughed and jabbed him in the ribs with an elbow. “What makes you think some lower-deck grease monkey has a chance with a girl like that?”

  “Beats me.” Nailer glanced at Pima sidelong, then grinned. “Maybe I think I’ll just get lucky.”

  “Oh yeah?” Pima grabbed him. “You think so?”

  She tried to shove him into the sand, but Nailer ducked out of her grasp. He ran down the beach, laughing, and Pima chased after him.

  Out on the bay, Dauntless continued its loading, surrounded by sunshine and waves. Beyond it, the blue sea stretched to the horizon, beckoning.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  EVEN THOUGH MY NAME is on Ship Breaker’s cover, I owe a number of people for their help and inspiration. The crew at Blue Heaven Writer’s Workshop: Greg van Eekhout, Sarah Prineas, Jenn Reese, Cat Valente, Sandra MacDonald, Deb Coates, Paul Melko, and Daryl Gregory all provided valuable insights, particularly my first readers Sarah Castle—who knows far too much about drowning in oil—and Tobias Buckell, who provided much technical inspiration. An additional and very special tip of the hat to Charles Coleman (C.C.) Finlay for creating Blue Heaven, and inviting me to be a part of his writing community. I doubt Ship Breaker would have come to exist without it. I also owe a huge debt of thanks to my wife, Anjula, who continues to support this writing madness, even when I have doubts. And finally, I have to thank my father, Tod Bacigalupi. He introduced me to the wonders of science fiction when I was a boy, and it has made all the difference.

  Any mistakes, omissions, or failures in the book are mine alone.