Where the Ships Die Read Online Free PDF Page A

of feces-contaminated water behind him as he half dragged, half carried the suitcases across the hotel's gray synthimarble floor.
    The desk clerk was enraged by this violation of his private sanctum—and the theft of his gratuity. He uttered a long string of obscenities, circled the chest-high reception desk, and hit the child with a stick maintained for that very purpose. The boy, fearing the loss of a much-needed tip, put his head down and forged ahead. Dorn stepped between them, smiled indulgently as the stick hit his arm, and felt for a one-credit coin. He found one in his right-hand pants pocket and tossed it into the air. The youngster caught it, flashed a thankful grin, and skittered out the door.
    The clerk apologized profusely, launched into a diatribe against the local street children, and asked Dorn for a thumbprint. The teenager rolled his thumb on the registration plate, allowed the clerk to collect his bags, and followed him upstairs. The room was on the second floor and looked out on an alley. The clerk opened drawers, mumbled something about room service, and held out his hand. Dorn tendered another tip, waited for the door to close, and scanned his surroundings. The furnishings were worn but clean. Not what he was used to ... but acceptable under the circumstances.
    It took less than fifteen minutes to unpack his clothes, investigate the entertainment console, and flop on the bed. The springs squeaked, and a moldy spot decorated the ceiling. Viewed correctly it looked like a woman with her tongue stuck out. Though concerned about the situation he was in, the teenager had looked forward to being out on his own. But he felt none of the joy he had expected. Not with the continuing uncertainty about his parents. Where were they? What were they doing? Why had they deserted him?
    Dorn was well on the way to feeling sorry for himself, but he pushed the emotion away. "If you want something done ... then go out and do it." That's what his sister said, and that's what he'd do. His first objective was to obtain sufficient funds to buy passage on a halfway decent ship, and the second was to reach Mechnos, the planet on which his parents and their company were headquartered.
    That being the case, there were two ways in which to secure what he needed. He could work for the money, a long, tedious process, or win the sum at cards, an easier and more practical approach. Dorn had been ranked as the best or second best electrocard player at the Academy, depending on whether you counted Ms. Fromsby or not. Besides teaching math, and understanding the odds involved, she had a nearly photographic memory. Still, the Fromsbys of the world were rare, which meant that Dorn stood a fairly good chance. Or so he hoped.
    So, where to start? The sort of game he envisioned would be a private affair, known only to a small group of well-heeled players. Dorn imagined walking up to the reception desk and asking for the location of the nearest high-stakes card game. Headmaster Tull had selected the rooming house for a reason. The clerk would rat on him for half a credit or less. No, he needed an alternative source of information, and the best way to obtain that was to scout around the neighborhood.
    It took Dorn less than ten minutes to don his boots, insert the nose filters that most off-worlders kept handy, and make his way downstairs. He nodded to the desk clerk, left through the side door, and stepped into four inches of coffee-colored water.
    The teenager paused to make sure his boots wouldn't leak, decided everything was okay, and eyed his surroundings. The side street steamed as the sun pulled moisture up into the sky. A shadow flitted by and a ship rumbled overhead. It was huge, and Dora shaded his eyes as the vessel dropped towards the harbor. It had the stripped-down look of a free trader— which was perfect. The spacecraft dropped below the horizon, and Dorn resisted the temptation to chase it. Money first, transportation