Falling Sky (26 page)

There's no sense of movement as the airship we'd been loaded on takes us down to the facility. Down to the ground. I'm fairly certain they've loaded us into some cargo hold somewhere and that it would be okay if we all got out to stretch ourselves, but that's sloppy thinking. So I stay crumpled up like a piece of old paper and focus on breathing.

The smell inside the drum makes me wish it wasn't all I had to focus on.

Then, after an indeterminate amount of time, I feel actual movement, close by. The jerk of the drum as the cart is pushed off the airship. There's a moment of panic as I feel gravity pull at me and I realize we're going down a ramp. A moment of fear as I wonder what will happen if all the drums tumble to the ground. But then we're on level ground again and I exhale my held breath.

We move and then we stop, then we move again and stop again. Each time, I hope this new stop will lead to me being able to exit and stretch my legs. Each time, I can feel the disappointment as physical pain, as we move.

Then we stop for a long time.

I shove down the hope. Tamp it down.

Then there is a tapping at the top of my drum. I almost don't hear it at first I'm so focused inward. Then I recognize the pattern that Claudia drilled into us back on Gastown and I push at the top of the drum. With a creaking hollow bang, the lid comes off and Claudia is looking down at me, a lopsided smile on her face.

“Thank fucking God,” I say. “My back feels like it's about to break.”

“Don't be such a baby,” Claudia says, pulling me up. It's no exaggeration. I feel creaky and bent beyond tolerance. Pains twang through most of my muscles and as I stretch them out, several start spasming, almost dropping me on the ground.

I grit my teeth and try to limber up as best as I can.

Claudia pulls Rosie out, though she seems to be handling herself better than me, massaging her limbs but not even grimacing in pain. I tell myself she's younger, more flexible. I'm pretty sure Miranda's complained a number of times about my rigidity.

After a few minutes of massaging and stretching, the worst of the pain seems to have subsided. That is, the fire has faded to a smoldering, steady burn. It will do.

It helps that the knowledge of where we are is actually sinking in. I'm so much closer to the
Cherub
. That is, if Claudia is right.

“Now what?” Rosie asks.

“Now we go get my ship,” I say.

“Uh-uh,” Claudia says. “You and Rosie get your ship. I have other plans.”

I frown. “What? Where are you going?”

“I have other business.” She smiles, and it's like an old leather coat, worn but comfortable. “This is what I was hired to do—investigate all of this. Now I'm here. Thank you for that.”

I grab her arm gently. “You can do that with us. C'mon. It'll be like old times.

Her smiled deepens, then fades. “I can't waste this opportunity. And I can move more quietly on my own. Go. Get your ship. I know your father must be squirming in his grave.”

“Claudia—”

“No. Go. Take Rosie. Do what you have to do. I'll do the same.” She turns away from me, then looks over her shoulder, the smile now back on her face. “Besides,” she says. “I'm not splitting the pay with you.”

I shake my head, then shrug. I tell myself that Claudia's a grown woman. She's been handling herself this long. It's her choice.

“Okay,” I say to Rosie. “It's just the two of us.”

“Oh, joy,” she says dryly.

“Try not to make too much noise,” Claudia says, then she heads off down a corridor to the right.

I look at Rosie and she shrugs back at me. “I guess that means we have the one on the left.”

We move. “If you see anything,” I say, “signal, and try to stay hidden. If we have to . . .” I trail off. “If we have to kill anyone, put them down quickly and silently. No hesitation. If they find us here, if the alarm is sounded, we're dead. Any problems?”

She shakes her head. “I know the deal,” she says. “Nothing I haven't done before.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Good,” I say. “Let's go.”

With Rosie following me, I move down the left passage.

We move as lightly as we can through the corridors of the factory. The walls are largely bare—painted stone and concrete—but here and there pipes jut out from the walls or pace them like racing birds. The whole place hums and thrums with movement and power. It's a strange experience. For most of my life, power, energy, has always been so temporary. I wonder how they run it.

“I don't like this place,” Rosie says. “It makes me nervous.”

I want to shush her, but I nod instead. The place is eerie. We go through three twists of the corridor with no encounters and then come to an area that has three doors. One ahead and one on either side.

“Now what?” Rosie asks.

Good question, I think. Each of the doors has a window in it, and we're luckily not close enough for anyone to see us through them. “Stay down,” I whisper. “I'll check it out.”

I crouch low and move toward the doors. Then, being as stealthy as I can, I raise my head to peer in each door. The door to our right is occupied. I see boxes, switches, and three men milling about. All with long protective coats. I lower my head quickly and turn to the room on the left. It doesn't go anywhere but appears to be empty. There are tables and machinery, but no apparent exit.

As I look into the door ahead of us, I see that it is another corridor, or rather a continuation of the one we're in. It seems to be what we're looking for, save for the four people walking toward the door.

Walking toward us.

Crouching down below their sight level, I turn and grab Rosie and drag her into the empty room.

Correction. The room I thought was empty.

As the door shuts behind me, I see that a man stands in the room, just behind the door where I couldn't see him.

He looks up in alarm. Rosie has her weapon out, but I grab for the man and hold him tight, my hand over his mouth, my knife pressing against his side. “Don't make any noise,” I hiss into his ear. I know what I told Rosie, but we can't risk a sound with people in the corridor outside. I pull him back with Rosie behind the door where we can't be seen.

“Cover the door,” I tell Rosie. We're screwed if they decide to come into this room. I can't take four people with my knife.

I crane my head and wait for the dark shapes of the approaching men to come into view.

They come toward the room . . . then continue on.

I exhale loudly. Rosie nods at me. I look around for something we can use to tie up the man, think about cramming him into a closet and leaving him there. Then I reconsider.

Idiot, the voice in my head says. You need to start thinking more like Miranda. Because we're blind here in this plant and this man likely has a better idea of where things are. Right now, information is extremely valuable. If this guy can get me to the
Cherub
faster . . .

“I'm going to remove my hand from your mouth,” I say into the man's ear. “But not the one with the knife at your side. You make any sound other than a whisper and I will gut you so quickly that you'll have time to see your entrails spill onto the floor before you die. Do you understand?”

He nods.

Taking a breath, I move my hand away. I hold the knife steady.

He only breathes. Then he says, “Please. I'm no one. I just work here.”

“That's good,” I say. “Because all we need are directions.”

He's sweating and I can't stifle the urge to move my head back away from him. Away from his fluids. “We need to get to the airships moorage,” I say. “You're going to tell us how to get there.”

“Why?”

“Because if you don't, we're going to have to find someone else who will and we can't leave any witnesses behind.”

“No,” he says. “Why do you want to go to the airships?”

I look at Rosie, who shrugs back at me. “Because I'm going to get my ship back and take her out of here.”

“I'll show you,” the man says.

“Good,” I say, feeling satisfied.

“But you have to take me with you.”

I'm about to refuse, but again I reconsider. Directions aren't going to be much good down here. It's a sound idea.

“Okay. You come with. You show us the way.”

“No,” he says. “You have to take me out of here. Out of the plant.”

“What?”

“Please. When they took this place over, they didn't allow any of us to leave. They said they needed us to run the place. But it's like a prison now. We're watched and guarded all of the time. We don't have any freedom. Please.”

I stare at my boots. They're scraped up pretty badly. “Just take us to the ships and we'll see what we can do.”

That's apparently enough for the man. “I can take you a back way,” he says. “Over near the service tunnels. They're not very traveled. Of course we'll still have to pass through an open area, but that should be the easiest route.”

It sounds like a good plan, but I know I can't trust this guy. Still, it seems worth a shot. “Let's go,” I say.

“What's your name?” Rosie asks him, and I roll my eyes. We don't have time to make friends here, and he's just a means to an end. But he answers. “Atticus.”

“Get moving, Atticus,” I say, waving the knife at him. “And remember, you try anything and you get cut.”

He swallows and then moves to a metal panel that I now see is a door. He pulls on it, using all of his weight, and with a clang it opens. Beyond I can see more pipes lining the walls and ceiling. “It's in here,” Atticus says.

“You first,” I say.

I follow close behind him, and Rosie trails me. She slams the metal door back into place, and it sounds so loud in the tunnel that I worry the whole complement that mans the place will come to investigate. But I take a deep breath and tell myself to calm down. The tunnel smells like dust and stone and plastic. “What do all of these do?” I ask Atticus.

“They're all for the helium production,” he says. “Some of them are power, but most of them aren't.”

“And you help maintain this place?”

“Yes,” he says. “I worked here when Gastown first started. It was . . .” He stops and turns to look back at me. “Nothing like that had been attempted before.”

“Since the Clean,” I say. “I know.”

“They were good to us. They needed us. I mean, it must've been hard enough to gather up the people needed to run this place. Some of the people had been working here since the Bug hit, trading helium for goods, but it wasn't in full production. Gastown changed that. But then . . .”

He doesn't have to say it. I was there when Valhalla raiders decided they wanted Gastown, and its helium, for themselves, as I've mentioned. I try not to think about it much.

“So they force you all to stay here?”

“Some try to run,” Atticus says. “Those who do are usually tracked down and made an example of. Shot on sight or just . . . disappeared. I mean we're scientists. Mechanics. We can't match them. They're thugs. Well, most of them are. But if you can take me with you . . .”

“I said we'll see.” I wipe some sweat from my forehead and switch the knife to my other hand. “What do you mean, most of them?”

“Most of the men who came here are just guards, here to keep us in line. But there are some other people here as well. Scientists, I think. They're different. They know what they're talking about. I think they're the ones really calling the shots.”

The sinking sensation returns. Of course it would make sense that Miranda's cadre be part of the running of the plant. “Why don't you all just work together against them?” I ask.

“When they first came down here, we did,” Atticus says. “We said we wouldn't work, none of us, and they wouldn't get their helium. So they took one of the techs and they killed him. Shot him in the head. Then they said they would continue to do that until we went back to work. They would pick at random, too. So there was no telling who they'd choose. They said if we weren't working anyway, it wouldn't matter if we all were dead. So . . .”

“So a few of you gave in and then the rest of you had no choice.”

He bobs his head in the affirmative. “What could we do?”

I have a few thoughts, but he's right—they're scientists. While they've been working, trying to rebuild the world, others have had other priorities. They're no match for men who have been surviving, and killing to do so, for most of their lives.

Which is not to write them off. Miranda could hold her own, as recent events proved. But these people were probably outclassed in the violence department. And I couldn't look down on that. I had gambled on those smarter than myself to help bring about a better world.

We move on.