Dorn chinned the voice off, ordered his body to roll over, and felt something fall away from his back. It clanged against the floor. The wrecking bar! He'd fallen on his L-shaped wrecking bar, and the end-piece had punched a hole through the suit. It would've been funny if it wasn't so stupid.
Dorn stood, fought the dizziness that threatened to push him off his feet, deactivated the safety, and hit the release switch. The much-abused suit made a horrible grinding noise as it clamshelled open. Dorn half stepped, half stumbled out and fell to his knees. The pain was so intense it made him retch. Nothing came up. He couldn't see the wound and wasn't sure that he wanted to. He had to reach help.
Dorn pushed the deck away, made it to his feet, and simply stood there. The vertigo seemed to lessen after a minute or two. The trip to the main deck took forever. The bulkheads, the gratings, the lights seemed to crawl by.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of pain, he stumbled into the lift. It made the trip upward relatively painless, and the cool night air smelled wonderful. Weaving like a drunken spacer, Dorn made his way to the port side and sat on the deck. It took an enormous amount of effort to turn, lower himself to the point where his feet rested on a cross rope, and start the laborious trip downward.
Dorn had made it a third of the way down the netting when a wave of dizziness overcame him, the strength left his hands, and he fell backwards into the sea. He was aware of the impact, felt the pain as salt water entered his wound, and wondered if what they said about needlefish was true. Did they
really
know when something was dying? And home on it? He knew he should care, but couldn't muster the energy. Darkness beckoned, and Dorn followed as the sea carried him toward the shore.
20
Be careful what you ask for, you may just get it.
American folk saying
Circa 1996
The Planet New Hope
Ari awoke to the ancient odors of vomit and diarrhea. Lemon-scented disinfectant tried to cover them but never quite made it. The smell was bad enough, but the knowledge that she, invulnerable to all but the occasional head cold up till now, had fallen victim to a microbe was even worse. Plague Derivative NH7462-5, to be exact. Ari remembered becoming dizzy at the slave pens and seriously ill after that. She'd been admitted to the hospital sometime during the night. That had been what? A week ago? A month? She wasn't sure any more. It seemed as if the room, and the routines associated with it, had been her universe for a long, long time.
The view, on the infrequent occasions when she'd felt well enough to consider it, consisted of dingy ceiling tiles, 179 of them, since one had fallen, leaving blobs of adhesive to mark where it had been. The light fanned from wall fittings and pooled along the floor. And this was one of the finest rooms in the hospital, light years better than the humanity-packed wards that lay fifty feet beyond.
The otherwise still air swirled as the door opened and closed. Ari knew who it was. Thanks to the dirt-cheap labor available on New Hope, those fortunate enough to occupy a private room had benefit of a full-time attendant as well. Two, actually, since one handled the day shift, while the other stayed through the night. It was dark within the air shaft, so this was Rosa, a kind-hearted individual, who, through her very cheerfulness, set Ari's nerves on edge. The voice arrived first. "Buenas noches! How are we tonight? Better, much better. Rosa can see that."
Ari, who had long ago become immune to Rosa's rough-and-ready psychology, waited for the woman to come into view. She was plump, the way poor people can be plump, with black hair and matching eyes. She had perfect teeth, and they flashed when she smiled. "Dinner will arrive any moment now."
Ari, who had been feeling nothing but nausea at the mention of food, felt her stomach growl. She was hungry! An excellent sign indeed. She pushed herself into a sitting position. "That sounds good, Rosa. Here, lend me your arm."
Rosa nodded agreeably and offered a substantial arm. Ari took hold of it, wiggled her way to the edge of the bed, and allowed her feet to dangle over the side. It wasn't the first time she'd gotten up, but it was the first time she'd
felt
like getting up, and that made it special.
The smoothly finished concrete felt cold beneath her feet. She released Rosa's arm and tottered toward the bathroom. The door stood open and bore a half-length mirror. Ari shrugged, and the nightgown fell away. She was shocked by what she saw. Lean to begin with, her body looked skeletal now. Enormous eyes stared back from deep-set sockets. Her breasts had nearly disappeared, and her ribs, each one of which was clearly delineated, tapered to a waspish waist. That was as far as the mirror went, and as far as her eyes wanted to go.
The shower was good, and dinner was even better. Meat, vegetables, and rice. Ari ate two servings of each, belched, and demanded her clothes. Rosa, proud of her patient's recovery, yet uncertain of what the doctor might say, stalled for time. The stratagem worked, and the doctor appeared before Ari's patience expired.
He was young, as were most of Oro's physicians, since the plagues killed most of those willing to work with the poor. He was prematurely bald, had a hooked nose and tired eyes. They came alive at the sight of a patient who was up and around. His hands were warm, and the stethoscope was cold. "Two servings, you say? Wonderful! Just wonderful! I'm proud to say you're cured, Miss Gozen... a statement we make all too seldom in this hospital."
"So, I can leave?" Ari said hopefully.
The doctor shrugged. He hated to admit it, but the hospital was a dangerous place to be. Patients who survived one disease risked contracting another. His answer reflected that reality. "Yes, so long as you take your medications, eat properly, and get moderate exercise. It's important to rebuild your strength."
Ari assured the doctor that she would, thanked him for all he'd done, and requested her clothes. They were new and fit perfectly, a seemingly impossibility given the weight she'd lost. Ari took a turn in front of the mirror. She looked as good as a scarecrow could. "Rosa? Where did the clothes come from?"
Rosa was stripping the bed. Another patient would arrive soon. She spoke without turning. "Miss Kara had them made. From measurements I gave her."
Ari had assumed that the street waif had disappeared the moment the money stopped flowing. The fact that she had stood by her came as a shock. "Kara? She's been here?"
"From the day you arrived. I saw her when I came to work this evening."
"She never visited my room."
"The guards wouldn't allow it. Each patient is allowed one visitor,
if
they can pay for weekly checkups, and few can. That's how we keep disease from entering the hospital."
Ari nodded thoughtfully, packed her belongings, and gave Rosa what amounted to a month's wages. An equal amount was placed in an envelope for the daytime attendant. Then, on legs that felt like rubber, she made her way down onto the street.
The air was cold and clammy. Fires, fueled with scraps of wood, and medical waste burned here and there as relatives waited for their loved ones. Ari looked for Kara but found it difficult to see. A boy approached and held his hand out for money. "Could ya spare some metal, miss? Daddy's got the plague, and me mom and me is hungry."
Ari slapped a number three washer into the street urchin's hand. "I'm looking for a teenage girl. About this tall. She calls herself Kara and doesn't take shit from anybody. Have you seen her?"
The boy nodded earnestly, gestured for the bodyguard to follow, and headed into the murk. Ari's hand rested on her gun butt as she stepped over and around blanket-clad bodies. Eyes followed her, but no one moved. The kid led Ari down a side street and along a wall. And then, just outside an alcove behind some stairs, he pointed to a tightly rolled blanket. "There she is, that's her. Can I go now?"
Ari peered into the darkness, confirmed the girl's identity, and dropped a second disk into the boy's hand. His sandals clattered as he ran away. The decision should have been easy. She needed a guide and Kara filled the bill. So where was the problem? Wake the girl and go. It was that simple. Or should have been. But something, she wasn't sure what, kept her from touching Kara's shoulder. Did it have to do with the fact that she liked the girl? That for all Ari had been through, and for all the chances she'd taken, she was no better off than she had been? Not in the ways that counted, anyhow ... since money was essentially meaningless. How would Kara end up if they stayed together? Doing what she did? For assholes like Orr?
Ari sighed, turned on her heel, and walked away. Kara, her fingers wrapped around a dead man's gun, continued to dream.
Dee Dee waited until a sufficient period of time had passed, and La-So's breathing had stabilized, before sliding out from under her covers. The black woman had sworn that Dorn knew what he was doing, and would reappear the next morning, but the girl wasn't so sure. Everyone knew the rules: Don't steal from the man, but if you do, don't expect to survive. That meant Dorn was in trouble,
deep
trouble, and was going to need help.
Her
help, since the adults didn't seem ready to provide any.
Quietly, gathering clothes as she went, the little girl slipped out of the cargo module, paused to fasten her sandals, and half walked, half ran downhill. A pair of boys, the very ones Dorn had cautioned her to avoid, waited by the fence. The towers seemed huge as seen against the stars. Searchlights winked as they rotated and swept adjoining quadrants of sand. "Here she is," a voice whispered. "Just like I told you."
"Yeah?" another replied. "So, big deal. Bet she doesn't go under the fence."
"You're on," the first Voice said. "Let's see the color of your metal."
"Cut the crap," Dee Dee said, skidding to a halt. "Just open the tunnel and keep your mouths shut."
"Not before we get paid," the second voice insisted, his face a blur. "Show us what you got."
Dee Dee was going to be in deep trouble when La-So discovered her theft, but that didn't matter. Not while Dorn was in danger. She took a chunk of angle iron from her pocket and handed it over. "Now, show me the tunnel."
The boys, who had bragged about their tunnel for more than a week now, and had used it to glean a half-pound of aluminum from the shallows, motioned her to the ground. Dee Dee followed as they low-crawled to the fence. The first youth, who was named Ahmad, gave the briefing.
"Timers control the lights. To stay out of their way you gotta memorize which way they go and for how long. The guards are real lazy. They don't do half what they're supposed to. But the dogs are dangerous. Dig a hole if you see 'em coming, stick a straw in your mouth, and pull sand on top. Who knows? It might work. We been through three times and never had to try it."
"Too bad," Dee Dee replied dryly. "And how do I get a straw?"
"No prob," the boy answered cheerfully. "You can borrow mine. Here ... mind you don't lose it now. And don't forget to sweep your tracks."
Dee Dee accepted a length of plastic tubing, shoved it into a pocket, and watched the second boy clear some trash. The tunnel lay below. "Thanks, Ahmad. You're okay for a pimple-faced, good-for-nothin' piece of camp trash."
"You too," the boy said with a grin. "You sure you gotta do this? I was lookin' forward to strappin' you on when you got old enough."
"In your dreams," Dee Dee replied tartly. "And when I do the wild thing, it'll be with someone who takes a shower once in a while. Now, remember what you promised?"
"Yeah, yeah," the second boy said irritably. "We'll be here come sunup .. . but not a minute longer."
"Good," Dee Dee replied, '"cause leave before then, and I'm gonna kick your butts."
The boys laughed. Dee Dee plunged into the tunnel and wormed her way toward the beach. The clay felt cold under her fingers and brushed against her back. The knowledge that the unsupported ceiling could collapse, and bury her forever, hurried her along. She bumped the other end, pushed a sheet of fiberboard out of the way, and stuck her head out. Night turned to day as the searchlight swept across her section of beach. Dee Dee pulled back, knew it was too late, and waited for the shouting to start.
Seconds passed. A minute. Nothing. Heart pounding, Dee Dee looked again. The way was clear. The previously dangerous tunnel felt like home now and she was reluctant to leave it. There was no other way, however, so she grabbed the sawed-off broom and backed onto the sand. It retained some of its daytime heat and crumbled around her toes. She didn't want to sweep but had no choice. If a guard happened along, the tracks would be a dead giveaway.
The lights, still on a distant part of the beach, turned and started the inexorable journey back. Dee Dee worked faster. The sand became increasingly firm and harder to sweep. Finally, as the tide lapped around her feet, and the lights hop-scotched up the beach, she turned and ran. Water splashed away from her sandals, the smell of the sea filled her nostrils, and Dee Dee wished she knew how to swim. Dorn wanted to teach her, and would have too, had workers been allowed on the beach. Dorn... where was he? The question filled her thoughts as a wave rolled past her knees and she dived forward.
Light swept over the child's head as she held her breath. Sand gave under her fingers. Then, as quickly as it had come, the illumination was gone. Dee Dee surfaced like a whale, blew water out through her nostrils, and rolled as a wave hit. She turned to get her bearings. The camp lay to the east, and the
Mary Voss,
her work lights inexplicably burning, made a smear to the southwest. That's where Dorn had goneâso that's where she'd go as well.
The incoming tide made the water deeper. Unable to swim, and eager to move, Dee Dee returned to the shallows. About calf-deep in water, she moved parallel to the beach. The lights weren't a problem since she could submerge whenever she chose. The broom got in the way, but Dee Dee hung on. She'd need it on the trip back.
The little girl was about halfway to the
Mary Voss
when something strange happened. A man appeared on the ship's main deck, stood silhouetted against the work lights, and staggered to the rail. He sat, or fell, she wasn't sure which, and disappeared from view. Was it Dorn, returning from whatever errand he'd set for himself? Or one of the security guards patrolling the wreck? There was no way to be sure. She continued to move, her eyes firmly fixed on the
Mary Voss.