Where the Ships Die Read Online Free PDF Page B

have made them even more angry except for the fact that Rali chose that particular moment to turn a corner.
    The shops grew shabbier, dwindled in number, and gave access to an endless labyrinth of one- and two-story concrete hovels. Wives shouted at husbands, children screamed insults at each other, and chickens squawked. The street sloped downward and took a steady flow of rainwater along with it. A man pushed a heavily laden bicycle against the current and scowled when Dorn said hello. Light gleamed off water and Dorn saw the Krishna twist below. He knew the river originated to the north, wound its way through some of the planet's most fertile farmland, divided itself into three main channels, split yet again, and emptied into the sea. The city of Oro had been built on the delta at the river's mouth.
    Rali took a right-hand turn and followed a narrow path down toward the cluster of buildings that marked the city's central business district. Dorn followed, careful of his footing and nervous about the ragtag collection of dogs that rooted in a nearby trash heap.
    They reached an arterial minutes later, waited while a heavily laden hover truck roared past, and waded out through the still swirling water. Safely across, they followed the street for a while and turned into a parking lot. It was empty except for the homeless people camped along the back edge. Their clothes, still wet from the rain, were draped on a chain link fence, and flapped like multicolored flags. Vacant eyes watched the youth as he crossed the lot and passed beneath the dilapidated sign. It read "Cantina Roja" and was festooned with strings of lights. They might have been festive at night but looked junky during the day. Rali paused and gestured toward a gangplank. It sagged as if tired from its labors. "There she is, sahib. You must proceed alone. I'll wait here."
    Dorn eyed the vessel at the other end of the gangway. It had been a river barge once, and like most of its kind, had been constructed from hand-planed hardwood. Pilings held it up, and had for some time, judging from their ragged condition.
    The tide was low, leaving vast mud flats to await the ocean's return. They were dry now except for channels where ribbons of water continued to flow, stronger than normal because of the rainstorm, but too shallow for boats. Dorn watched the water surge through the ribs of a long-abandoned boat, spin around an old rubber tire, and splash a concrete block. The ground cars, oil barrels, and other metallic debris common to most planets were nowhere to be seen. They had been salvaged long ago or, more likely still, never discarded in the first place.
    A great deal of the city's sewage had found its way down onto the mud flat, and the stench was appalling. Dorn fumbled for his nose filters, found them, and slipped them into place. He nodded to Rali. "I'll return in a minute."
    The gangplank sagged wearily but held. The wood was slick, and cross cleats provided traction. The teenager looked over the side. Fish, eyes bulging, wiggled through the mud, encountered crablike things, and flopped end over end to escape. Most succeeded.
    The cantina was clad in red paint, hence the name. The deck was weathered and splattered with white bird droppings. A large door barred the young man's way. Dorn pushed, and it gave under his hand. The interior was dim and relatively cool. He walked past an empty reception desk and out into an open area. It contained fifteen to twenty pedestal-style tables. Chairs had been stacked on them, and a woman mopped the floor. She didn't look up.
    A female voice came from the shadowed area on the far side of the room. "Yes? Can I help you?"
    Dorn cleared his throat and tried to make his own voice sound deeper. "Yes, you can. A friend of mine suggested I drop by."
    "You're from off-planet?"
    "That's correct."
    He heard footsteps and watched as a woman entered the light. Her face was beautiful, or had been years before. She still had a figure,