Falling Sky (12 page)

He growls, and slaver flies from his mouth. My body is screaming at me to run. Or to shoot the thing. Or both. But Miranda is behind me and I force myself to stand my ground.

Then I hear Clay's voice. “Is everything to your satisfaction?” he asks, and I can hear the sneer in his tone.

You can shoot him
, the voice in my head says.
One bullet for Alpha, one for Clay, and all your problems will be solved.
Which is not true. I still wouldn't have the
Cherub
back. And Miranda would hate me. But it's a delightful thought.

“I'd still rather put a bullet through his head,” I say.

“His?” Miranda says softly. And I curse under my breath. When did I start thinking of Alpha as a “he” and not an “it”?
Probably around the time you started using his name
, I think.

Alpha starts slamming himself against the cage. I guess he knows a threat when he sees one. The cage holds, though. I note that the places where it's bolted into the floor don't move and it seems secured on all sides. I still tug my scarf up higher on my face.

I intend to turn away, walk back to the gondola, but I don't. Instead I look into Alpha's eyes, try to see if there's any hint in there of humanity. I've never spent this much time looking at a Feral, not unless it was through a scope. I try to see anything that I would recognize as a person. But all I see are red-rimmed eyes and large black pupils. Mindless animosity. He slams himself against the cage, again and again, and my hand falls down to my revolver again, but then he slumps back, panting.

Like an animal.

I'm still prickly, hackles up, and of course now is the time that Clay chooses to come up alongside me and try to usher me forward. His palm falls on my back and I react. Strung out like taut wire, I snap, and in a moment he's on the floor and I have his arm bent at an angle that wouldn't be called normal. He gasps in pain.

“Ben!” Miranda calls.

Awareness of what's happening comes back to me, but I hold the pose a moment longer, meeting Clay's eyes before releasing him.

“Fucking psycho!” Clay yells.

“Touch me again and I'll break your arm,” I say low and even. Then I walk out of the room sparing one last look for Miranda as I go.

Back in the gondola I feel my body relaxing, muscles unknotting, tension ebbing into ease.

Sergei smiles at me. “Do you mind taking the controls for me?” he asks. “I want to discuss what we're going to do with Alpha with Miranda and Clay.”

I smile back, like sunshine is leaking out of me. “If it will help.” I remember now why I like Sergei so much. He can be about as fun as a bucket of mud, but he has a good head on his shoulders.

Also, I remember, buckets of mud can be fun, too. There aren't many toys in the Sick.

I've only piloted the
Pasteur
once before, but its controls are standard for a semirigid ship, and I push her in the direction of San Diego.

Based on the speed of the
Pasteur
, I'm guessing we can get to San Diego in about three hours. It's a kind of mental shorthand, calculating speed and wind and fuel. I try not to think about the fact that the
Cherub
would have gotten us there faster.

Even then, there's the radio call to make and I'm not sure what the deal will be there. Will they require me to fly through a few more hoops before they give us the location? Will I have to meet with Diego?

I push that all out of my mind. It doesn't make sense to worry about it now. I know where I'm going, for at least a few hours, and the rest can be dealt with when we get there. For now I'm back in the air, with a ship beneath me, and I'm at the controls. Life could be a lot worse.

I relax into the rhythm of piloting a ship. Checking weather patterns, keeping an eye on engine readouts. Adjusting course. The
Pasteur
's instruments, from back in the Clean, are largely intact and Sergei's rigged them to now run solar. Again, she's not the
Cherub
, but she's a decent ship.

Sergei told me once that the
Pasteur
was always a science ship. That she was originally used to follow animal migratory paths. And, if he's to be believed, it was used to track the spread of the Bug when it first hit. Like Miranda, Sergei comes from a scientist family and they passed it down the same way my grandfather passed down the
Cherub
.

Whatever she was used for, she handles just fine and she's enough to restore some part of myself to me. The part that belongs at the controls of an airship, cutting the sky.

Slightly less than three hours later, we arrive, flying over the ruins of San Diego. I tune the radio to the correct frequency and call out, identifying myself as Ben and calling for Diego.

There's no response, so I do it again. And again. And again.

When I turn to look at the others, Clay is shaking his head. “Don't start,” I say.

“It's probably—”

“Not now, Clay,” Miranda says. She looks at me. “What next, Ben?”

“We wait for a bit. Try again,” I say. “The settlement is probably not here; he wouldn't have given that away, so that means he must come in and out.”

“What if he doesn't come at all?” Clay asks, his arms crossed against his chest.

“Then we leave.”

“And go where?” Clay asks.

I stand up. “I don't fucking know yet. Why don't you—”

“Boys,” Miranda says. “This isn't the time. Ben's right. We can wait for a little while, see if anything happens, and if nothing does, we'll figure out a Plan B.”

Sergei clears his throat. “We should keep an eye out for other ships.”

He's right. If we hover here for too long, we'll be a target. And San Diego, like most cities, is still popular among intrepid foragers.

“We'll take turns,” I say. “Broadcast at regular intervals. And I'll take us down into the shadow of some of those buildings. That should buy us some cover.”

Everyone agrees.

As we all separate, Miranda pauses, places a hand on my arm. “How long do we wait?”

I shake my head. “Let's see what happens first.”

Then I move the
Pasteur
out of the light.

A few hours pass with nothing. I broadcast a few times, then take my turn on lookout. Waiting for a ship to appear. Tense, ready to fly the ship away. The
Pasteur
's not armed, and she's not as fast as the
Cherub
, so we're vulnerable, especially stationary as we are.

I wonder if maybe I should go foraging down in the city while we're here. I have the stash I took from Viktor's, but we're going to need food and supplies pretty soon, what with four of us. Five, I suppose, counting Alpha. Fuck, I think, we're going to have to give some of our food to that creature.

Frustrated, I slide back into the seat by the radio and broadcast once again.

Then the radio cuts in. “Ben?”

“Yes,” I say, smiling. “Diego? Thank God.”

“You made it,” he says. “Did you get to your friends in time?”

“Yeah, well, that's the problem.” I lean against the console. “The place I was working for. It . . . it got hit by those raiders. The whole settlement was wiped out.”

A pause on the line. “Man, I'm sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.” I spare a glance for Miranda, but she's looking away. “Diego, I'm with three others. We're all that's left. We need to find a place to put down and lick our wounds. I know the people you're hooked up with are doing their best to keep things quiet, but if you have any ideas, I'd appreciate hearing about them.”

There's silence on the other side of the line. I wonder if Rosie is there. If he's discussing it with her. Then, after a few minutes have passed, I wonder if he's signed off. I wouldn't blame him. He doesn't know us. He doesn't owe us anything. And what I'm feeding him could be a load of shit meant to take advantage of him.

I get back on the line. “I'm not expecting full access. I just . . . if someone could escort us somewhere. You can even come onboard. It's just the one ship. We . . .”

I put down the transmitter. Then pick it up again. “We're desperate.”

Still nothing. I turn to the others and shrug. Clay gives me another of those annoying looks that makes me want to hit him. Only I don't have the energy anymore. I feel deflated. I've got no more lift.

The line crackles to life. “Let's meet,” Diego says.

We meet at the top of another tall building. This time it's just Diego and me, a suitable distance between us. The wind whips around us, carrying the smell of green things. That's one of the few problems with the sky—it doesn't smell that interesting.

“Thanks for coming,” I say.

“I still owe you,” he says. “You never even took your barter for the medical supplies.”

“I was in a hurry,” I say.

“Seems so.” His hands are in the pockets of his big black coat, and I wonder if he has a weapon concealed there. Or maybe I'm just jumpy.

“What are you asking, Ben?”

“Like I said, I have three others with me. Scientists. Idealists. They're good people.” Well, and Clay, but I don't tell him that. “Their home got wiped out. Their friends scattered or got killed. They need a new place to stay.”

Diego nods. He's traded in his ski mask for just a gray woolen cap, and his green scarf is low around his neck. He has rich, brown skin and a black beard. He has a good face. A trustworthy face. I know that counts for very little, but I hope he feels the same way about me.

“I understand,” he says. “Sounds like a shit situation. Only . . . we don't know your friends. Hell, we don't even know you. You know what it's like. We can't just let anyone in.”

“I know. I do. But the boffins, my friends, they're useful. Sergei is a magician when it comes to fuel. Clay and Miranda are top biologists. They're studying the Bug.” And here's the part where I put on my master barterer face and fake some enthusiasm. “Diego, they're working on a cure.”

He doesn't laugh at this, which is a good sign.

“They're close to a breakthrough. Something they were working on when the raiders hit. This could be huge. But they can't do it in the air. They can't do it running from raiders and foraging for food and fuel. They need a place.”

“We do have some scientists back at . . . our place,” Diego says.

“Great!” I say. “Show them Miranda's data. I'm sure they'd be impressed.

He runs a hand over the back of his neck. “You think they have a shot?” he asks.

I consider my next words carefully. “I think that if anyone does, it's Miranda. She won't rest until she finds a cure or she dies.” Or gets infected, I silently amend. But that's not worth getting into.

Diego grimaces as he tosses things over in his head. “What makes you think you'll be happy there?” he asks. “You know nothing about our settlement.”

I nod. “It's true. I thought about that. But like I said, we're desperate. And a place that sends people like you out to scout for them can't be that bad.” I shrug. “Sometimes you just have to go with your gut.” And if things go pear-shaped, then we'll just have to deal with it then.