Falling Sky (23 page)

I walked in. She stood up and turned to me.

The space between us disappeared and suddenly my mouth was on hers and hers on mine. We were hungry, desperate animals clawing at one another, pulling, grasping. Needing to find comfort in skin and in touch.

Sex is . . . rare in the Sick. The fear of infection touches everyone. Fluids. That's where the Bug lives. And you can never really tell if someone's hiding it. At least not normally.

But I had been with Claudia for weeks now. Had spent most of my time with her, knew the last time she had encountered Ferals. Had been with her at the time. And even if I hadn't, there was something about her that made me think it was impossible. That she was too smart and savvy for that.

So . . . we tore at each other, stripping off the carefully layered clothes we assembled to brave the outside world. But that was far away. Kilometers. And we were safe in the air, removed from Ferals, removed from death and the fallout of the Bug. And we were alive.

We fell to her sleeping mat, naked, our skin hot. Something surged through me, a feeling so strong and powerful that I thought it might bear me away. I don't remember distinct details, just impressions—the sensation of skin on skin, her mouth on mine, tongues intertwining in our mouths. Her teeth on me and mine on hers. Nails digging into backs. Legs snaking around legs. And hunger. Mad, desperate hunger to be close to someone. Inside of someone. To be lost in something so instinctual and natural and yet mostly forbidden.

There's another reason sex is rare in the Sick. And that's because it often leads to babies. And who wants to bring a baby up in this kind of world? People do it. I've seen kids, of course. But I know I wouldn't want to inflict this world on some innocent soul. And I sometimes realize this is probably the end of the human race. At least the uninfected human race. So other things happen, I'd done them, but never sex. I had never had sex before.

So I was understandably surprised when she grabbed my cock and guided it inside of her. My whole body blazed with pleasure. And even before I knew what I was doing, I was moving, thrusting, rocking my pelvis against hers, both of us gasping.

Tingling fingers stretched over my chest and up my neck. A powerful tightening built around my waist. Thought, perception, rationality fell away from me.

It built and built and I almost couldn't take it anymore. A noise I didn't recognize as coming from me escaped my mouth. I tensed.

Then she pushed me back, and the sudden movement and contact initiated my orgasm. I fell back out of her, shuddering, against the floor. I lay there, panting, tired, still coming down from the sensation of sex.

“I'm sorry,” she panted. “I . . . I just couldn't.”

“It's okay,” I said between breaths. “I understand.”

I moved over to her, put my arms around her, and pulled her close. And we lay like that, together, close, until sleep took us both into its arms.

I'm roused from sleep by a persistent knocking sound that alerts me to the fact that there's an equally persistent pounding in my head. A moment later I realize it's Miranda before my brain actually processes that it recognizes her knock.

I'm only half-dressed, my shirt off, my pants still on. I look back to see one of Claudia's muscled legs peeking out from underneath a sheet. More skin than I've seen in a long time.

Again, the knocking. I fumble for my shirt and quickly shrug it on, rushing to the door. Last night is a blur in my mind. I pull open the door.

Miranda stares up at me from the boarding ramp, a look of . . . what? Annoyance? Obligation? Something's in her eyes and I don't know what. Her eyes flick over me and then she reddens, looking away.

“Is everything okay?” I ask.

“Yes,” she says quickly. “I mean.” She looks down at her feet. “Ben, I need your help.”

It makes a change from the last time I saw her. She's coming to me for assistance. “What's up?”

She looks around, at the docks behind her. “Can I . . . um, wouldn't it be better if I came inside?”

It's my turn to redden as I think of Claudia still lying in her bed, that one leg emerging from beneath her covers. “Right,” I say. “Just . . . give me a moment.”

I shut the door—not all the way, but most of it—and I go back to the bed. I gently prod Claudia. “Claud, we've got company.”

She sits up suddenly, her hair tousled. “Who is it?” she asks. I can see the tension in her posture. She's ready to move, to act.

“It's just Miranda,” I say. “But she wants to come in.”

“Then let her in,” Claudia says.

I grimace. “Maybe you should put on some more clothes then.”

Claudia gives me a look of disapproval and then she sighs. “Okay. I'll make myself presentable. Go let her in.”

I move back to the door, open it, wave Miranda in. She looks as uncomfortable as I feel, so I try to focus on the matter at hand. “Is it something with Diego? Are he and Rosie okay?”

“They're fine,” she says. “Everyone's okay.”

“So what do you need my help with?”

Miranda leans against one of the counters in the
Valkyrie
. Crosses her arms. “After you left last night, things got interesting.”

“Go on . . .”

“I noticed that some of the people there didn't look like the usual Valhalla thugs. They didn't wear the same gear, they didn't look used to combat. They weren't seasoned in the same way.”

“Visitors?”

“Maybe.” She shrugs. “I got curious so I moved closer to some of them and overheard them talking about, well, about experiments.”

“Experiments?”

“These were scientists, Ben. Like me. Working with Valhalla.”

I think back to our conversation about the Core. Why they hit it. The thought makes me sick to my stomach.

“Could you tell what they were working on?”

She shakes her head. “Only a little. I decided to find out more about what they were talking about.”

The thought makes me so anxious I have to remind myself Miranda's okay. It's not that I don't trust her to handle herself. I do. It's just that Miranda's not the best person when it comes to artifice. Lying, bluffing, they're not her thing.

“Go on,” I say.

Miranda shrugs. “I figured the best approach was a direct one. I bought one of them a drink. I told him, well, the truth. Mostly. Told them who I was, where I grew up. What I studied. All I left out was what I've been doing the last few years, working on the cure, Apple Pi. I knew enough about some small scientist settlements that we talked to when setting up Apple Pi to fake who I'd been working with.”

I nod. “You baited your hook well.”

“I thought so. It seemed to work. This man, Templeton, seemed to like me, so I stayed for a few more drinks.”

Big mistake, I think. Miranda could drink most people under the table.

“Templeton seems impressed by my background, and so he basically tries to recruit me. He says he's part of this cadre who have hooked up with Valhalla. He starts showing off by talking about some of their research. Ben . . . they're researching the Bug.”

I wait for the bombshell.

“He said they want to remake the world.”

“I don't understand,” I say. “That sounds like what you're doing.”

She shakes her head. Then slams the console. I jump. “Not that way,” she says. “They're . . . social engineering. They're planning to set up a new society. Stratified. With them on the top and everyone else below them. Using the virus as just another tool.”

I go cold. Miranda and her boffins want to cure the Bug. These people want to use it. Like a weapon. It brings me back to Ferals on hooks. Even if this cadre didn't come up with that idea, it's more of the same.

“Miranda,” I say. “That's—”

“Yes,” she says.

“So what do you need my help for?” I ask.

“I need to get a look at what they're working on. I have to find out what kind of research they're doing. I set up another date with Templeton. For tonight.”

“I still don't get it.”

“My plan is to get him drunk and convince him to show me some of the research. They apparently have a few facilities up here. I need you and Diego as backup.”

I try to absorb all of this through the pounding in my head. “Miranda,” I say. “We're getting ready to go down to the ground tomorrow. To this helium plant. I don't know if this is the right time to start poking our noses into new places.”

“Ben, we need to know about this.” A pause. “I need to know.”

I shake my head. “What if this puts the whole city on alert?”

“That's why I need you.” She says it like she didn't want to come to me with this. “You can help us get in, keep it quiet. Then tomorrow you go down to the plant, get your ship, and get out of here.”

“It's a dumb idea,” Claudia says, choosing this moment to emerge from the back of the gondola. She's fully dressed, thankfully.

“Miranda,” I say. “This is Claudia. Claudia, Miranda.”

Each of them takes a moment to size the other up, then they say hello. Politely but coldly.

“I'm sorry, Claudia, but you don't have to be involved in this.”

“Ben,” Claudia says. “We're about to head down to a hidden location, using a crazy scheme you cooked up, surrounded by a city full of homicidal maniacs. Do you really think now's the time for something like this?”

Miranda steps forward. “Ben, you told Diego to come here, to find out what he can to help . . . his people. This could help them. Knowing what they could be up against. Knowing what these people are planning.”

I shake my head. I don't want anything to do with this. I'm only here for my ship, I tell myself.

Then Miranda takes the killing shot.

“Ben, you owe me.”

And there's no way I can protest that. I owe her for getting me back up in the air. And more importantly, I owe her for saving my life.

“Okay,” I say softly.

“What?” Claudia says.

“Okay,” I repeat.

After a quick planning session on the
Osprey
with Diego and Rosie in attendance (Claudia refused to involve herself, calling us all fools), I'm back at Fisherman's with some of their rotgut in hand. I can't decide how I feel about anything. On the one hand I'm glad Miranda is talking to me again. On the other, I'm annoyed she pulled me into this mess.

But if it involves watching her back . . .

Diego comes in after me, takes a seat by me. He smiles, to help keep up the cover, but I can tell it's forced.

“Were you in favor of this little operation?” I ask him, smiling.

“You were the one who said we needed to find out what was going on here. What Valhalla was up to.” His smile fades. “So yes, I was.”

I take a sip of my drink in response. It drowns the bitter taste in my mouth with the harsh tang of alcohol.

Diego pulls out a wad of playing cards and puts them down on the table. We're here waiting for Miranda, but we need to look like we belong. It seems as good a way as any to pass the time.

Most of the people I've played cards with use homemade ones, written on scraps of paper or cardboard or whatever. These are actual cards from back in the Clean. There's even a little bit of shine to them. They must be one of Diego's prize possessions.

“Nice set,” I say.

He gives me a flat stare but then deals out the cards. Poker, a game I know well. Dad used to always say that people like to hold on to the comforts of the past, and cards seem to be one of those comforts. We certainly played quite a bit in quiet times on the
Cherub
. I imagine a lot of other people did as well.

I like to think I'm good at poker, skilled at the bluff and reading my opponent. Diego is clearly better. He takes the first three hands and most of the rest. I tell myself that it's because I'm distracted with everything that's going on, but that might well be bullshit.