Port of Sorrow by Grant McKenzie Page A

for an hour after that. To top it off, the afternoon, steak-and-tits crowd didn’t give a damn when Veronique poured her heart out in song.
    Fuck ’em all.
    The bottle of bourbon lying in the bottom drawer was whispering his name, and Finn’s ears were perking up. He fought against it, finally deciding to head for the beach. A long walk would help clear the cobwebs from his mind.
    The night air was cool, the moon’s face a ghost in the indigo sky. Finn stared at the faint satellite as he walked along the pebbled beach, wondering if Selene was dancing in its eyes. It sounded silly to him now, but Selene had often talked of going there one day, her mind filled with visions from Weekly World News headlines.
    “It’ll be just like going on a cruise,” Selene said. “The ships will have comfortable cabins and view screens so you can look out and see the Earth as you travel. You could probably get booked to sing in the lounge and I’d play cards with the high-rollers in the casino.”
    “You don’t gamble,” Finn reminded her.
    “I could learn, and if I wore a low-cut blouse I could distract the men long enough to win a few hands.”
    “I’m sure you could.”
    “And do you know what’s great about the moon, Finn?”
    “It’s made of cheese.”
    “No, don’t be silly. It has low gravity. None of the women on the moon will have to worry about sagging boobs or droopy ass. The gravity won’t pull you down. I could be young forever. All we need is a way to get there.”
    And now she had wings to carry her, Finn thought.
    “Your friend was brighter than she looked, no?” inquired a husky voice.
    Finn turned to see the heavyset woman who had been under Abery’s care sitting on the sea wall. A heavy shawl covered her shoulders, and her legs were wrapped in tensor bandage as they swung freely below a peasant’s skirt.
    “How did you know I was thinking of Selene?” Finn asked.
    The woman shrugged. “What else would a man think about on a deserted beach after losing someone he loved?”
    Finn nodded and crossed the gap to sit beside her.
    “I guess I’m feeling sorry for myself.”
    “It’s natural. We all have those days.”
    “I haven’t had one in a long time,” said Finn. “Not since before I went on the road.”
    “Not since your wife left, you mean?”
    “How did you know I was married?”
    “A handsome man like you? All the handsome men get married. But good looks don’t guarantee success, yes?”
    Finn laughed. “You’re wiser than you look.”
    “And more than you think.”
    Before Finn could reply, the woman stood up and offered her hand. “Come with me.”
    Seeing no reason not to, Finn accepted the woman’s hand and walked with her along the beach until they came to the shantytown where the beachcombers lived.
    The woman led him to a shack made of tin with a flap of burlap for a door.
    “This is my house,” she said proudly.
    “It must be cold at night.”
    “Sometimes,” she answered with a mischievous grin. “And sometimes I get lucky.”
    “I hope you’re not trying to seduce me,” Finn said, a smile on his lips.
    “You never know your luck.”
    The woman reached inside the shack and removed a battered tea can with a handle made from a coat hanger.
    “Let’s go to the fire,” she said. “We’ll brew up and I’ll tell your fortune.”
    Finn soon found himself sitting around a campfire with a dozen silent women. They all looked in desperate need of a bath and a generous dose of self-worth.
    “You’re a stranger,” the large woman explained. “They have been hurt by strangers; no longer trust.”
    Finn nodded, understanding.
    When the water was boiling, the woman stirred in some dried-up leaves from a leather pouch on her belt.
    “You never told me your name,” Finn said.
    “A name is a powerful thing,” she answered. “But you can call me Hoppy.”
    Hoppy poured the tea into a metal cup and handed it across the fire. Finn looked at it suspiciously before