Ships of My Fathers (4 page)

Michael did not bother getting an autopod back to the port. He just ran. He ran for almost three kilometers before he even started to pay attention to his direction. He ran until he was winded, then he walked, and then as the confusion and anger built up, he ran some more. He arrived back at the hotel suite in mid-afternoon, hungry and dehydrated, but too exhausted to realize either.

“Michael!” Isaac called as soon as he came in. “Where have you been?”

“That bastard… bastard, ha, that’s rich. That stupid lawyer Hollings doesn’t even know who my parents are.” He walked around in a circle before collapsing onto the sofa. “We’ve gotta get that magistrate to pick someone else.”

Isaac pulled up a chair on the other side of the coffee table. “Yeah, he called me, said something about you being adopted.”

Michael waved a hand in dismissal. “Yeah, can you believe the guy? His paperwork is totally fucked.”

Isaac shrugged. “Well, I have to say, it makes a lot of sense.”

Michael paused and scrutinized Isaac for a moment. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, I’ve known for a while Malcolm wasn’t your dad. I mean, not biologically.”

Michael sat up again. “What the hell? Did Dad tell you something?”

“No, of course not. I didn’t think it was my place to ask either.”

“Then you don’t know what you’re talking about either, Isaac.”

Isaac stared at him a moment and looked away. “It was the eyes, Michael. That’s what tipped me off at first.” He looked back to face him. “Yours are as blue as the Lateran oceans, but Malcolm’s were brown so dark, almost black.”

Michael shook his head. “Dad always said I got Mom’s eyes, and that’s one of those recessive traits, so that doesn’t mean shit.”

“I know,” he replied, nodding. “But it got me to thinking, so I pulled up the med files and checked your blood types.”

Michael fidgeted. “So?”

“So what’s your blood type?”

“I’m type O.”

“Yeah, type O-positive. And Malcolm?”

Michael looked away, trying to remember. “He’s A… no, AB.”

“That’s right, AB-negative.”

“So, that’s another one of those recessive things. You’re still full of it.”

Isaac shook his head. “You’re right. It is one of those recessive things, but not like that. An AB parent can’t have an O child. It just doesn’t work that way.”

Michael started fidgeting in his seat, trying to escape further back through the sofa. “No, Isaac. You’ve got that wrong. It’s gotta be the other way. An O can’t have an AB, something like that.”

Isaac frowned. “I’m sorry, Michael. I wasn’t sure at the time, but I looked it up in the medical texts — even asked a doctor at my physical last spring.”

Michael got up and paced across the room to the kitchenette. He started the water running. He ran a wet hand across his face and through his short hair.

“Hey, the adoption is actually a good thing,” Isaac continued. “I never really thought about it that way before. I had always thought maybe your mom... well, you know.”

Michael turned off the water. “My mom what?”

“Sorry man, I know it’s not my business.”

“What?” Michael insisted.

“I’ve seen the picture, Michael. A fine looking woman like that? I figured maybe she’d had something on the side.”

“Fuck you, Isaac! That’s my mother you’re talking about, not one of Dad’s portside girls.”

Isaac put up his hands and backed up a step. “No, Michael, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying that it must not have been that, you know, with the adoption and all. I’m sure she was a good woman… a good mother.”

Michael headed back out the door. “Fuck you, Isaac, and fuck Hollings too. You’re both full of shit!”

Michael wanted to keep running, but he was exhausted. Instead, he wandered the port on foot, fuming and kicking at whatever loose debris he came across. He started getting sleepy around sunset. He knew he must be hungry since he had not had anything to eat since a light breakfast long ago, but he no longer cared.

He found himself in front of
Sophie’s
locked hanger bay. He tried to twist the locking clip, but it held fast. He sat down on the ground, leaned into the corner of the door frame, and fell asleep.

Around midnight he was woken by a security guard. She had stayed in her little pod and was shining a small spotlight at him. “Hey!” came the amplified voice. “You can’t sleep here. Move along.”

Michael nodded and got up. His legs were stiff, his stomach rumbling and his head pounding. The sun-baked pavement had long ago given up its warmth and had been sucking the heat back out of him. He buttoned up his uniform jacket, and gave a perfunctory salute towards the spotlight and started walking back towards the center of the port. The guard trailed him for a minute but eventually peeled off onto another cross street.

At night, this part of the port was virtually deserted. He could hear the shifting whine of an electric motor echoing off the hangar walls, but he saw no one. The truth was the security guard might have saved his life. Taschin was not the most dangerous port by far, but he would have been easy prey for any manner of portside predators.

He needed to eat, drink, and get some rest, but he refused to go back to the hotel suite, not after what Isaac had said. Fucking disrespectful.

A different hotel would be his best option, but if Isaac or Hollings had notified the authorities, then they could track him by his bank card. Michael fished out his wallet as he walked. A fifty and two tens. That was not going to last long. His stomach rumbled again. First he would eat. Then he would worry about the money.

The late night district was in full swing, but he steered clear of the nicer places. They would use up too much of his money, and they might look at him a little too closely, so he headed further back on some of the side streets. He thought about the Lucky Black but knew better. That would be one of the first places Isaac would have looked, so the bartender was no doubt keeping an eye out for him.

Then he remembered a late night with Dad and a little twenty-six-hour diner behind the Far Meridian. Only one booth was occupied, with two more people eating at the counter. The dinner crowd was long since gone and the bar-closing throngs would not descend for another two or three hours. More than anything, he wanted another shot at breakfast, so he sat at the counter and ordered a large platter of eggs and sausage. The local flavor was a spicy mix with a lot of cheese. When he finished, he found he was still hungry, so he ordered another. After that, he finished off with a couple of sides and got the bill: twenty-six.

He broke the fifty and looked at the meager leftovers in his wallet. “Do you have any bank access here?”

“Around the side,” the waitress told him, “next to the Meridian entrance.”

He wandered outside, his full belly urging him towards sleep, but he found the bank machine. Dad had kept accounts at all his regular ports, and Michael was used to drawing his portside allowance this way.

He waved his chit over the reader, pressed his thumb, and then traced out his pass code shape, an asymmetric five-pointed star with four of the outlying points connected by separate downward strokes. Dad had helped him design it. “Never use a pass code with only one finger trace,” he had always said. “Always add some touches.”

He requested six hundred. It was the maximum he could pull in a single day. That had been another thing from Dad. He had figured that six hundred should be enough to get him out of any emergency long enough for him to report back to the ship. Now with no ship to report back to, six hundred would not last him long. The machine spat out the bills, and Michael stuffed them into his wallet. He could always try for more in the morning.

“Mikey? Is that you?”

He turned to see three women coming out the door of the Far Meridian, music blaring after them as the door swung closed. They were all dressed stylishly, with the oldest in an off-the-shoulder blue dress that left little to the imagination. He blinked a few times before he recognized her. “Annie?”

“Oh my dear Mikey,” she said coming towards him with arms open. “I heard about Malcolm. I’m so sorry.”

She put her arms around him, and he leaned against her. There had been a time when he could lean into her belly, but now even in heels, she was not quite as tall as he was. “I… oh, Annie.”

She waved her friends off, and they made their own way down the alley. “Mikey, I’m sorry I couldn’t be there at the wake. I didn’t hear until this morning.”

He did what he could to bury his face in her shoulder, but all he got was a face full of her hair. “It’s ok. It was crew stuff, and I… oh God, Annie. Isaac said the most awful…”

She pulled back. “Hey, what’s wrong? I mean, you’re out awfully late. Where are you staying? Let me walk you back.”

He shook his head. “I’m not going back there. They said that Mom and Dad… even Isaac. They say Dad’s not my real father.”

She reached up and tussled his hair. “Oh that’s crazy talk. Let’s go get you back to your bed.”

“No, Annie. You know the truth, right? Dad said he’s known you forever.” Annie was Dad’s most regular portside girl. Michael had figured out a few years back that there was some kind of money involved, but Annie had always been there for them: trips to the park when Dad had business, shopping for new clothes, even something approaching family dinners. Dad had other girls in other ports, but Annie was the closest thing Michael had ever had to a surrogate mother.

She nodded. “Yeah, I’ve known Malcolm since before the war. I was about your age when I first met him.”

“Then you must remember him and Mom, you know, Sophia. They’re telling me I’m adopted, that Mom was married to some Schruber… Schneider guy. But you know different, right?”

“Oh, Mikey…” she replied, but the look in her eyes told him all he needed to know.

“No,” he pleaded, “don’t...”

“I see how much you’re hurting, Mikey. Do you really want the answer, or do you just want me to make it all better?”

He collapsed to his knees and buried his face in her belly once more. He had not yet cried over his father’s death, and now that he finally was, he did not even know who he was weeping for.

Chapter 4

“A friendly woman is a nice thing to have around. A wife… well, that’s something different.” — Malcolm Fletcher

A
NNIE SAT OUT IN THE
front room with her crochet work. The repetitive nature always helped soothe her nerves when she was upset. After an hour of weeping, walking back to her place, and more weeping, the boy was finally asleep on her bed in the back room. Dawn was still a few hours away, but she knew she would not be able to sleep.

The front door opened, and Josie stumbled in. She was still in her party clothes, but her hair was all disheveled. She dropped her bag on the table by the door and only then looked up to see Annie sitting there.

“Oh shit!” she cried.

“What?” Annie asked, keeping her voice low.

The younger woman shook her head. “You startled me. What are you doing up so late? You said you weren’t going to work tonight.”

She shrugged. “Something came up. Can we talk a minute?”

“Sure, but I gotta hit the crapper first.”

“Ok, but keep your voice down. I’ve got company back there.”

“But you said you didn’t—”

She shook her head. “Get yourself settled and come back.”

Annie went back to her crochet. At the moment it looked like a shapeless lump of black yarn, but when she finished it was supposed to be a tease-worthy wrap she could wear over one of her red dresses on cooler evenings. She worked to the end of the row and tied it off just as Josie returned.

The younger woman was draped in a loose robe and sipping from a bottle of orange soda. Annie used to like the stuff too, but her tastes had refined with age. Josie’s teen years were not so far behind her for her to have given up the sweet drinks. She plopped herself down in the papasan chair opposite Annie and sprawled one leg out onto the coffee table. “So, who’s your company?”

“I’ve told you about Malcolm Fletcher, right?”

“Sure, I met him last year.”

Annie was surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah, you and I did a double with him and that corporate guy from the clearing house.”

Annie nodded, remembering. “Oh yeah, that was quite a party.”

Josie took a sip from her soda. “Quite the party indeed, ka-ching! So, is that Malcolm you’ve got back there?”

“No. Malcolm died about a week ago.”

“No shit?”

Annie nodded. “They had the wake last night, but I missed it.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.” She took another sip. “Hey, didn’t he have a kid?”

“Yeah, that’s who I’ve got back in my room.”

Josie sat up with a giant grin. “Damn girl, that’s kind of freaky if you ask me.”

Annie grabbed a throw pillow and threatened to toss it at her. “It’s not like that, you little… anyway, he’s in bad shape.”

“Yeah, I guess. I don’t see my folks much anymore, but I hate to think of what it’s going to be like when they go.”

Annie nodded. She was having a hard time believing it as well. She had been with Malcolm two short weeks before when he had passed through Taschin on his outward leg. They had taken in a movie with Michael, and then she and Malcolm had dressed up for dancing at the Far Meridian before settling in for the night at the top of the Spire. He had splurged on a room with a hot tub and a skylight.