She grabbed a crate and dragged it below the hole. Nailer saw what she meant and rushed to help. They worked feverishly. Some crates were too heavy to move alone and others too heavy for both of them to lift. Nailer’s ankle burned with pain as he tried to move and stack the junk into a semblance of a tower. More water poured down over them. Nailer was gasping with effort and pain. Nita crawled up the pile of crates, reaching down as he handed up more boxes.

Another wave rushed into the hold. A big one, that nearly knocked Nita from her perch.

“We’re going under!” Nailer shouted over the storm roar.

Nita stared at the hole above her. “I think we’re high enough.”

“Then jump!”

“What about you?”

“You have to go first. My ankle might not make it. When you get up, gimme a hand.”

Nita nodded and crouched, teetering at the top of the pile. She leaped. A wave crashed down on her, but her hands caught the edge and held, and then she was clambering up and out of the hold. Nailer scrambled up after her. The crates were all uneven from the movement of the ship. His ankle was a bright blossom of pain. It was almost paralyzing. There was no way he’d make the jump.

Nita’s face appeared in the opening above. She extended her hand. “Hurry!”

He got his feet under him and crouched. Ignore the pain, he told himself. Just make the jump. He took a deep breath and sprang upward. His ankle exploded. His fingers caught the hull’s ragged edge. Slipped. Nita grabbed his wrist. “Hold on!” A wave crashed over, pouring down over them. He clung to the hull’s edge, coughing and spitting water. Another wave poured down.

Nita’s grip was slipping. “I can’t pull you up!” she shouted.

Get up! he told himself. If you keep hanging here, you’ll fall and break your neck. You didn’t come this far just to drown in the dark.

But he was so tired.

“Crew up, Nailer!” Lucky Girl shouted. “You think I’m going to pull your ass up here like a damn swank?”

Nailer almost laughed. He clawed at the edge of the ship, and slowly hauled himself through the hole. Nita grabbed him under his arm, yanked at his shirt, dragging him higher. He scrabbled for a grip on the slippery hull. Another wave surged over them, but he was braced this time, and when it passed, he clawed his way out with Nita dragging him. At last he swung his legs out of the hold, and clung, gasping, to the hull.

Rain poured down over them. Nita lay beside him, her black hair hanging like thick wet snakes around her face. Lightning cracked bright and hard, blinding after the darkness of the ship. More rain sheeted down. A hundred meters away, Dauntless lay anchored, churning in the storm.

“That’s where we’re going,” Nailer said.

“What? No water taxi?”

Despite himself, Nailer grinned. “You swanks always want it easy.”

“Yeah.” Her expression turned solemn as she stared at the Dauntless. “Sink or swim, right?”

“Pretty much.”

She squinted into the rain. “I’ve swum farther,” she said. “We can do this.”

She tore off her shoes and waited until the next wave surged over them, then dove with it, letting its force carry her forward. She bobbed like a fish. Nailer said a prayer to the Fates, thinking of the disappeared captain of the Pole Star, and followed her in.

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.”