Read Fantasy & Science Fiction Mar-Apr 2013 for Free Online

story of the same name in our Nov./Dec. issue. This new tale takes us deeper into the heart of the floating nation known as New Minerva.
     
     
 
    THE SEASTEAD HAS SOME big hotels, but they're all over on Amsterdarn, for the tourists. On Rosa and Min, we have a couple of guest houses—just a few small rooms, comfortable and private, with attached bathrooms. When someone has a guest visiting from shore, they stay in a guest house, because no one's apartment is big enough to comfortably house guests.
    When I went to the guest house on Min, the guy said they were full. The guy running the Rosa guest house said the same thing. It was possible they really were full, but it was just as possible my father had paid them to turn me away.
    My father doesn't hold any of the elected offices and he's not even on the Business Council, but his word carries a lot of weight on the seastead. Our chain of manmade islands is technically a half-dozen separate countries, each with its own rules, but from the antiquated freighter that holds Lib to the decommissioned aircraft carrier that's built into Amsterdarn, people know who my father is, and care what he thinks.
    The seasteads were built by people who wanted to live with fewer rules. (Or none at all, in the case of Lib.) They've been afloat here for forty-nine years. My father brought me to live here when I was four, and told me that my mother had died. I didn't question that until the year I turned sixteen, when I got my first job—finding stuff, for people who wanted to buy it—and realized for the first time what a messed-up place this was.
    And now, for defying him—first by helping a woman escape from a factory where she'd been bonded against her will, and then by helping a bond-worker named Miguel who was trying to start a union—my father had kicked me out.
    Fine. That was fine . I didn't want to have to live with him anyway .
    Especially after he'd lied to me about my mother. Especially after what had happened to Miguel.
    With nowhere else to go, I went to the Catholic church to sit and think. The knowledge that I would not see Miguel there was nearly overwhelming. I was a little worried the priest would try to talk to me, but everyone left me alone. The church was crowded, and a lot of people were crying; clearly, I wasn't the only person grieving Miguel's death. Most of the people there seemed to actually be praying. I found a spot in the shadows and tried to consider my options sensibly.
    I could take a boat to Amsterdarn. It was unlikely that my father had bought off every taxi driver and every hotel owner, so that would probably work. Amsterdarn was large, though, and honestly it kind of freaked me out, since I didn't know anyone over there. I could go to Thor's apartment and see if they had a couch they'd let me sleep on—except his parents would call my father, and turn me away if he asked them to.
    I didn't think the American Citizens' Services Bureau (our fake embassy) was likely to be open this time of night. But even if it was, leaving like this—now—felt cowardly. All the bond-workers had stayed (well, almost all) and they were in a lot more danger than I was.
    And that brought me to my final option. I could go rent a locker to sleep in, like a bond-worker would. I stayed in the church for a long time after that idea occurred to me. The third time I pulled out my gadget to check my mail, I had to admit to myself that I was hoping my father would change his mind. He wasn't going to. I stuck it in my pocket and found the stairs down to the lower levels.
    It was late enough by then that I wasn't certain I'd be able to find a landlord. I tried Debbie's old room, but of course she'd given up that rental while she was on the show and no one knew where she was staying now. A woman named Elaine recognized me, though. "Why do you want our landlord?" she asked bluntly.
    "I need a place to stay. My father kicked me out."
    "Oh! That's terrible. I'll find him for you."
    It