“Lucky Girl! Where the hell are you? Nita!”

No response.

She had to be higher up; that was the only answer. He’d somehow missed her.

Or else she’d been drugged.

Or she’d been taken off already.

Or she’d never been here at all.

He grimaced. She could have been left back in the Orleans. Or killed. He slogged through water, trying to find his way out. The water was in all the decks now. The wall had become the floor, and he was having a hard time keeping his orientation as the ship went onto its side. The ship jerked. The world turned again. Water sprayed. He yanked open a door and was rewarded with a flood of water that sent him sprawling and sliding down the corridor before he came up gasping and managed to get to his feet. He fled the rising waters.

“Lucky Girl!”

Still nothing. Water was everywhere. LEDs were shorting out, sending portions of the ship into blackness. The ship was sinking. He had to get out. Judging from the empty corridors and rooms, even the crew had run. He wondered what had happened with the fight. Who had won?

He scrambled through corridors made topsy-turvy by the ship’s cant. The smell of oiled machinery was strong in his nostrils, reeking. It was like being back on one of the ship-breaking wrecks. Like being trapped in the oil room.

He pushed open another door and crawled through. He was lost all right. Inside, the hydrofoil gearings for the Pole Star sat in red dimness, clicking gears and whirring automation mechanicals for the sails and hydrofoils and parasail reels. Warning signs said: SPEED MECHANICALS IN USE! WATCH HANDS AND LOOSE CLOTHING. Nailer was amused that he could actually make out the meanings now. He was going to drown, but hey, he could read.

On one wall, flashers and safety overrides blinked to indicate that there were electric malfunctions and topside failures, probably from having the conning deck go under. The mechanicals were almost exactly the same as the ones he’d had to lubricate under Knot’s supervision on Dauntless. Bigger, but the layout was awfully similar. As the ship had gone onto its side, the service panels that had been in place on the floor had come loose and fallen free, revealing the huge gears and interlocking hydraulic systems. It looked like ships in the Patel Global fleet were almost the same. Nita wouldn’t be here. He turned to keep searching. The ship groaned and shifted under him again. Nailer wondered if he was going to end up like Jackson Boy after all. Dead in a different bit of scavenge, but dead just the same.

“Nita! Where the hell are you?”

He broke into a new corridor. The ship was trying to turn upside down, kept from capsizing only by the strength of its masts where they tangled in the Teeth. If the ship turned turtle, he’d have to swim out. He wondered if he’d be able to make it up through the waves and wreckage.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” A familiar voice interrupted his thoughts. “Hello there, Lucky Boy.”

Nailer turned, his skin crawling.

His father stood in the soaking corridor with Nita slung over his shoulder, gagged and bound at her wrists and ankles. Water ran slick on his face and a machete gleamed in his hand.

Nailer stepped back, horrified. His father smiled. Even in the dimness of the red LEDs Nailer could tell the man was sliding high. He had the bright, wide eyes and the feral grin of an addict deep in his drugs.

“Goddamn,” Richard Lopez said. “I didn’t think I’d run into you here.” He dumped Nita unceremoniously on the ground and swung his machete in an experimental arc. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

Nailer tried to shrug, tried not to show his fear. “Yeah. Me either.”

His father laughed. The sound echoed in the cramped space. The dragons stood out stark on his bare arms, curling up around his Adam’s apple like spikes. His ribs showed over the ripple of his fighter’s muscles.

“You gonna just stand there?” his father asked. “Or you gonna help me?”

Nailer hesitated, confused. “Help you? You want me to help with the girl?”

His father grinned. “Just kidding. I should have let you die when we found the scavenge. Should have known you’d be an ungrateful little bastard.”

“Just let her go,” Nailer said. “You don’t need her.”

“Nope.” His father shook his head. “I don’t need her. But I’m not going out empty-handed, and she looks like the best scavenge here.”

“They’ll catch you.”

“Who?” His father laughed. “No one gives a damn anymore. Every man for himself and all that.” He shrugged. “Anyway, they don’t really care if she’s alive or dead. If I sell her for spare parts to the Harvesters, it’s all the same to them.” He glanced at her. “She might have been a swank once. But she’s scavenge now.”

Nailer followed his father’s gaze. Nita was conscious, he was surprised to see. She was fighting against her bonds, trying to get free.

Nailer’s father kicked her hard. “Sit still,” he said.

Nita grunted in pain, then sobbed as her breath returned. Richard turned to Nailer. He twitched his machete. “What’re you thinking, boy? Thinking you’re gonna cut down your old man with your little knife? Get back at me for all your whippings?”

He twitched the machete again, letting the blade bob before Nailer. “Come on, then.” He beckoned Nailer forward. “Hand-to-hand, boy. Just like the ring.” He bared his damaged teeth. “I’m going to spread your guts on the floor!”

He lunged. Nailer hurled himself aside. The machete slashed past his face. His father laughed. “Good job, boy! You’re damn quick!” He slashed again and Nailer’s belly burned where the blade cut a shallow line. “Almost as quick as me!”

Nailer staggered back. The cut wasn’t deep-he’d gotten worse on light crew-but it filled him with fear to see how fast his father was. He was as deadly as a half-man. Richard Lopez closed on him, making short jabs with his machete. Nailer gave ground. He feinted with his own shorter knife, trying to slash inside the machete, but his father anticipated him and this time the machete caught Nailer across the cheek.

“Still a little slow, boy.”

Nailer backed off, fighting fear. He swiped away the blood that ran freely from his face. The man was horrifyingly fast. Amped on amphetamines, he was superhuman. Nailer remembered the time his father had beaten three opponents in the ring at the same time, on a dare. He’d been overmatched, but he’d left the others crushed and unconscious and stood over them all, bloody teeth gleaming with triumph. The man was born to fight.

His father slashed again. Nailer jumped back.

Concentrate, Nailer told himself.

His father exploded into motion. Nailer barely slid inside the machete’s cut. His father’s body slammed into him. Nailer’s hand, slick with blood, lost his knife. It went flying. He and his father went over in a tumble. Richard grabbed at him, but Nailer wriggled free and scrambled down the corridor. His father laughed.

“You can’t run away that easy!”

Nailer searched frantically for his knife but couldn’t see it in the dimness. His father stalked him. Nailer turned and ran. Behind him, his father laughed and gave chase as Nailer dashed for the mechanicals room. Under the glow of emergency lighting, Nailer cast about, looking for some tool he could use as a weapon. His father burst into the room behind him.

“My my, you’re a slippery one.”

Nailer backed away. The damn Pole Star crew kept a tight ship, not even a wrench or a screwdriver lying around. Nailer grabbed a loose service panel and hurled it, but his father dodged easily.

“That the best you can do?” he asked.

Nailer grabbed another loose maintenance panel, then looked up at where it had fallen from. An entire wall of gears and hydraulic systems loomed beside him, the floor of the ship that had now become a wall. If he could climb up, he might be able to get out of reach inside a maintenance hole.