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.”
“Yeah, we do know the