Blood Red Tide. James Axler
Krysty staggered into the fo’c’sle. The hammocks had been stowed and tables hung from the ceiling above as the watch got ready to mess. They were at anchor so lanterns were lit. Commander Miles had considered Krysty unfit for most duties aboard ship, and she was half convinced he was right.
That had not stopped Krysty from being assigned to run up into the rigging to bring the top men water several dozen times; running messages between decks; scrubbing the decks and heads; taking nails, rope, twine and supplies to the repair crews; being speeded along with a rope end when it was perceived she wasn’t moving fast enough; and enduring more sexual innuendo and gropings in passing than she had been subjected to her entire life in the Deathlands.
Sweet Marie called out from her mess table. “Over here, girlie!” Krysty looked that way. Sweet Marie sat with J.B., Jak, Mildred and Ricky. Two crewmen sat with them, the pink mutie, Mr. Movies, who seemed to rule the rigging, and a huge sagging, bull of a man. “You mess with us!”
Krysty sat down to the sound of whistles and hoots “Flame on flame!” someone called.
“I’d pay hard jack to see that!” a crewman replied.
Krysty stared the big woman in the face amid the jeering. “I’ll chill you.”
Sweet Marie threw back her head and laughed. “Oh, I’m not one to force myself on anyone, but when your man is corruption down in the Old Place and you’re all alone, you’ll remember your Sweet Marie when every shark comes circling.”
Krysty reserved comment.
A small, pretty, dark-haired and olive-skinned woman made her way over to the table. Krysty saw that her eyes were milk-white without pupils. She made soft clicking sounds as she unerringly wove through the crowd and clutter. Crewmen called out to her. “Gypsyfair! When you gonna mess with us?”
The woman called back in bemused disgust. “Shut up! I’m walking belowdecks!”
Gypsyfair sat down and turned her milk-white gaze on Krysty. “Nice to meet you, Red. Too many norms and not enough muties on this ship if you ask me.”
Krysty tried to hide her surprise. The blind mutant grinned. “Your hair don’t move normal, girl.”
Sweet Marie’s mass visibly sagged. “Red’s mutie?”
“Yeah?” Krysty bristled. “So?”
Gypsyfair laughed. “Now I’ve seen Sweet Marie eat things that would choke a stickie and ask for seconds, but eat a mutie girl? She just won’t do it.”
Despite all her innuendo Sweet Marie turned beet red.
Krysty blinked at the giantess. “But, I thought you were...”
“I ain’t mutie!” Sweet Marie snarled. “I’m just big-boned!”
Krysty thought of several retorts but kept them to herself. She nodded at the mutant top-man acrobat. “Mr. Movies.”
He nodded. His voice was a soft chirp. “Hello.”
Sweet Marie nodded at the man mountain beside her. “This is Gallondrunk.” Krysty noted the puckered scar just above his left temple.
Gallondrunk stared at Krysty for long seconds. “Pretty.”
Sweet Marie sighed. “He’s never been the same since he took that bullet to the brain off Scoshia.”
Movies suddenly became agitated. “Bastard bluenoses!”
Sweet Marie shrugged. “Bonesaw got the bullet out, but Gallondrunk’ll never reef, hand or steer again. Still, he’s the strongest man on the ship, and he’s a chilling machine with that walrus lance he cherishes.” She patted the giant on the shoulder tenderly. “Even worse chiller than he was before. Got the gift of emptiness, don’t you, darling?”
Gallondrunk spent long moments processing the question. “I like to help. I like to give ’em the iron.”
He turned his gaze on Krysty again. She realized the giant was staring more at her hair than her. “Pretty.”
Another crewman came over bearing a steaming bucket. He was one of the handsomest men Krysty had ever seen. He had long black hair, a luxurious black mustache and hazel eyes. He put the heavy bucket onto the table and twirled his mustache. He had some sort of very thick accent. “And you must be Miss Krysty.”
Sweet Marie made a disgusted noise. “Speaking of circling sharks, this is Goulash.”
Goulash rolled his eyes. “Gulyas.”
“Whatever, he may be the worst sailor aboard other than you, girlie, but he’s a dead shot with a blaster and our best hunter and scout ashore.”
Goulash ladled beans and three lumps of bushmeat onto Krysty’s wooden platter. She stared hard at the mystery meat. “What is it?”
Goulash blew a lock of black hair off his brow and pointed his ladle in turn. “That is monkey. That is sloth.” He pointed last at a small mass of twisted bones and gristle. “That is mutie...something.”
Krysty decided to go from worst to best. She picked up the mutie mess and began stripping meager meat and tendon and spitting bones.
Krysty looked at her friends. “How’s it going. Mildred?”
“Bonesaw is a drunk, and when he isn’t drunk he’s sampling whatever meds he has. Strangely enough he seems to care about his patients. He likes the way I sew.”
“J.B.?”
J.B. shoveled down beans. “I wasn’t allowed in the armory or near the cannons. I cleaned blasters. Mostly single shooters. Homemade. I think they’re desperate short of—”
Sweet Marie spoke low and dangerous. “You best keep that talk between you and Gunny till you get your short ass signed, Specs.”
Krysty changed the subject. “Jak?”
“Big boat.”
Sweet Marie, Movies, Gallondrunk and Goulash spoke in harsh unison. “She’s a ship!”
“Ship,” Jak amended. “Big ship.”
“You all right?”
Jak almost smiled. Krysty had seen Jak up in the rigging and knew that despite their circumstances Jak was enjoying hanging from the rigging and being in the tops. He was already as agile as a monkey, and he was learning a new skill set. It didn’t mean he wasn’t planning on how to murder the entire crew, but part of him was enjoying the work.
“Ricky?” Krysty asked.
Ricky’s fists clenched. “If one more person pinches my ass...”
“You and me both. Has anyone seen Ryan?”
Sweet Marie sucked the meat off a monkey bone. “Captain’s working your man watch-on-watch. Can’t imagine he’ll last much longer without falling asleep on duty or collapsin’. Then it’s ship’s punishment.”
Krysty bit her lip. “Like Doc?”
Sweet Marie looked at Krysty with genuine sympathy. “Best you forget about Old Stick, girl. He’s done. Eat. Sleep. If you gotta worry, worry about your man.”
* * *
THE SHIP’S BELL RANG. First Mate Loral piped the change of watch as the sun set. Ryan had been going twenty-four hours straight. “One-Eye! Take supper with your mates!” Ryan managed not to collapse to the deck. Loral called to the purser. “Mr. Forgiven! Rate Mr. Ryan waister!”
Crewmen made approving noises of Ryan’s elevation from One-Eye to his name and from lubber to waister. His bravery, work ethic and sheer toughness had not gone unnoticed.