Falling Sky (5 page)

I nod. “Then we can barter.”

“Thing is,” he says. “We don't have that much on us. We were just finishing up a, well, a run of sorts when those raiders caught us.”

I frown. “If you were finishing up a run, why don't you have barter?”

“It wasn't that kind of run,” the woman says.

“Look,” the man says. “My name is Diego. This is Rosie.”

“I can talk for myself, D,” she says. Her voice is hard, her eyes too.

Diego inclines his head.

“I'm Ben,” I say.

He nods. “You see, Ben, we weren't out for salvage. We were looking for people. Some . . . partners of ours are looking for good pilots, good ships. So we don't have much to barter with. But . . .”

“I'm listening.”

“We may be able to offer you work.”

“Now?”

He shakes his head. “No. Not yet. It's . . . delicate.”

“Why?”

The woman looks at the man, communicating something. She nods at him.

“Look, Ben,” he says. “You helped us out. You stuck your neck out for us when you had no cause to, and you got my respect for that. Both of ours. But the people we're working with, they're trying to protect their interests and need to be able to trust the people working for them.”

“Trust doesn't come easily these days,” I say.

“No,” Rosie says. “But we need as much as we can get.”

I chew it over in my head. “So you need pilots and ships, and you need to keep some things secret. Could you be working for a new settlement somewhere?”

Diego squints. “Maybe.”

“He's not an idiot, at least,” Rosie says to Diego.

There's a comfortable vibe between them. I wonder at their relationship. Maybe his partner? Maybe even his wife. There are some folks who still cling to the old ways. I wonder if they're religious.

“Okay,” I say. “So you're offering me the opportunity to work for you after you've decided I'm trustworthy. Call me an idiot, but that appeals to me. Only, what do I need to do to gain your trust?” A voice inside my head is asking me what I'm doing, why I'm signing up to work for a new settlement. I just bailed on one, and I was going to be flying, just me and the
Cherub
. But I find that I don't much like the idea of fending for myself right now. Fuck, I think. I'm losing my edge.

“It would have to be a test run,” he says.

I nod. It makes sense. See if I can carry out my end. But trusting someone to keep your secret is a bit harder. Do I really want to be jumping (or flying) through hoops for these people?

“I'm interested,” I say. “Let me grab your supplies and we can talk some more.”

Diego nods. “Good.”

A few minutes later we're crossing the roof, me with the medical supplies, Rosie with the salted fish, Diego holding his bleeding arm. We make the exchange, and Rosie begins work on Diego immediately, washing the blood away with some bottled water and cutting some clean linens. I notice that Diego's skin is brown around the wound but that's all.

“It's not too bad,” Rosie says. “As long as we keep it clean.”

“Why were they after you in the first place?” I ask.

“I don't know,” Diego says. Shrugs his good shoulder. “We were just going about our business and they came after us.”

I try to read his eyes. He seems to be telling the truth. “Just a simple raider, then?”

“That's about the whole of it.”

“Hmmm. I wonder why Gastown Raiders were out this far?”

“Look, man. I don't know. I told you. We were on our way and they came after us. I don't know much about Gastown. I thought it was a fair place.”

“Used to be,” I say. “Until raiders took it over.”

He nods. “Then that's it. They must be sending out more raiders.”

I shake my head. “I don't know. That's not their style. At least not for individual ships.”

“There were more,” Rosie says, rewrapping Diego's arm. “We passed several ships. One of them pulled away and came after us. It was a bit of a surprise. The others seemed specially rigged for lifting.”

I frown. “What do you mean? How?”

Rosie's eyes squint. “They were carrying these hooks beneath them.”

Cold runs through me. I remember those hooks. “Which way were they heading? North?” Gastown is north of us. I figure maybe they were just returning home.

Diego shakes his head. “No. They were heading mostly east.”

East. I mentally trace a path in that direction. All I can think of is . . .

Apple Pi.

“Oh no,” I say.

“What?” Diego says.

“I think I know where those ships were going. I have to go. I have to warn them.”

“What about the job?” Diego says.

“Later. If I can.” I hope I'm wrong. God, I hope . . . “I need to go.”

“Wait,” he says. He looks at Rosie, then at me. “When you're ready, head out to old San Diego and tune your radio to 23.0. Call and we'll try to send someone to meet you.”

I run for the
Cherub
. I get her into the air as quickly as I can and head to the Core at top speed.

Sergei's fuel powers the motors. I hope it's one of his better batches because I'm going to need all the speed I can get.

For a moment I question why I'm going back. I don't know that Gastown even knows about the Core. I just left—why am I so quick to reverse that? But then I think about Gastown, and I think about Miranda, and I know I have to.

My only hope is that the raiders' airships are true to form and favor armor and armament over sleekness and speed.

My pulse hammers in my temples. My hands itch. I want to pull out my revolver and shoot it at something. But there's nothing to shoot at.

Naively, I thought that Valhalla would be content with Gastown. Content with controlling the one major center of human civilization left in the western part of what used to be America. But that doesn't seem to be the case. They're going after any settlement they can find. To drain them of anything useful or valuable. Airborne vampires, feasting on the lifeblood around them.

And they need to be stopped.

So what are you going to do, Ben? You're only one man.

I can't go after Valhalla. Hell, that would be suicide. But I can try to warn the people at the Core.

I flip on the radio and dial to the station the Core uses. “Come in. Come in. This is Ben on the
Cherub
. If you're there, respond.”

I hope the raiders aren't scanning for signals.

No response. I continue. “You need to get out of there. There's a sizable force of Gastown raiders heading for you. Repeat, you've been discovered, and raiders are coming to take the Core. You need to evacuate immediately. Please respond if you get this.”

I click off the mike and listen through the static for a response. Nothing.

Fuck.

After another four attempts my voice is getting hoarse and that's when I see them. A loose formation of four airships. Two are hard-enveloped zeppelins. One is a soft blimp. The other is like the
Cherub
—a semirigid with an armored gondola. They're staying together, at the speed of the slowest ship, which helps me. They're in no hurry.

I take the
Cherub
higher and hopefully out of their sight. They might think me a passing ship, but they might decide to take me down. I could try to distract them, try to give the people at the Core time to evacuate, but four ships would tear the
Cherub
apart despite my better maneuverability. And then I'd be no good to anyone. Of course that assumes I'm good to someone now. I'm not so sure of that.

About an hour away from the Core, the ships veer off, two taking the lead, the other two providing cover. It takes a moment for me to digest this. Are they not heading for the Core after all? Was what Diego said wrong? I decide it doesn't matter. Gastown knows about the Core, and they will come for it sooner or later. I continue on, trying not to be too happy about my stroke of luck.

Pushing the engines, I make it in less than an hour, and instead of dropping the ladder like I usually do, I lower the
Cherub
right to the ground on the VTOL engines. Then I race down the ramp and don't even shudder as I touch the ground.

The Core is already bustling with activity, and I guess someone eventually got my radio message. But they're not coordinated. They're chaotic. There's no order. I grab one of the boffins, a guy named Seth. “Where's Sergei?”

He's sweating, his hair in disarray. “He's not here. He went out with Miranda and Clay. To find a test subject.”

The Feral.

Which explains the chaos. Sergei and Miranda are the unofficial leaders of the Core. When it comes to science, they argue and bicker for days, but when it comes to running the place, they look to Sergei and Miranda.

And they're not here.

Which leaves it to me. And while I can't run a settlement, I know how to survive. So I start barking orders. Telling people to get the essentials to their ships. Telling them to prioritize the food.

“What about the data?” one woman asks.

“Data is no good to you if you're not around to look at it. Just take what you absolutely need.”

While they head off, hopefully to do what I told them to, I head for the ammo stores and cram my pockets and my arms full of as much as I can take. I also sling a rifle around my shoulders and tuck a pistol, an automatic, into my waistband.

I pass the water reservoir on the way back to the common area and I think about how it's going to be lost. I start thinking about maybe rigging something up to the
Cherub
, drawing up one of the tanks, maybe. That water would be useful.

Then I hear the whine of ships approaching. No. It's too soon.

Two come in at first, with lines hanging underneath them. My blood goes cold. Each of the ships has a long cable suspended from it and at the end of those cables are large metal hooks. Pierced and wriggling on the ends of those hooks, like bait, are Ferals. One each. Just like at Gastown. The Core freezes, as if etched into my vision. People are still running around, carrying boxes and equipment. Some have made it to the ships and are pulling up cargo. But too few.

One of the Ferals drops and half-runs, half-stumbles through the open courtyard, spraying blood all around it.

The chaos of before returns, intensified.

Two of the three boffin airships start to move away, running from the Ferals and the raiders and for open air. Panicking.

The
Cherub
is too far away.

I unsling the rifle from around my back and enter that cold, dark place that helps keep me alive. There are only two Ferals, but of course I don't want to get close to them. But I know this place better than they do.

I climb one of the frames the boffins use to hold some of their construction projects. It's not the most stable perch, but it will hold me. I sight down the rifle at the dying Feral. I breathe in, hold it, and pull the trigger.

The bullet misses the Feral's face, but his neck and shoulder explode in a shower of blood that I hope doesn't hit anyone. But it puts him down, he falls like a sack of rocks, and we're down to one of them.

I scan to find the other one but don't see it. A voice in my head screams at me.
Run for your ship, you idiot! You're not even wearing your scarf.

I think the Ferals might be able to climb this frame.

I look around at the remaining boffin ship, wondering if I could get to that, take it around to the
Cherub
, when one of the raiders with a gondola-mounted machine gun rakes the ship and the whole thing erupts in a blossom of fire.

A moment later I'm tossed to the ground. Hard. And thought disappears under a wave of silence and shock.

My hand closes on nothing, the rifle fallen from my hand. My eyes refuse to focus. I see movement, but I'm not sure what it is.

Get up
, the voice in my head says.

I push myself to my knees. I can't see the rifle, but I feel the weight of the automatic in my waistband and I reach for it. A flurry of legs out of the corner of my eye. I turn to face it. Almost fire. But it's one of the boffins. She's bleeding. Her face twisted in fear. And I don't know if she's been infected. And there's nothing I can do for her.

The raider ships start to descend. They'll be in the Core soon. And I can't stop them.

I run for the
Cherub
, knowing that it's the only thing that can keep me safe. It's the only thing I can depend on.

My ears are filled with an insistent ringing, and sounds are still beyond me.

I throw open the door to the inner corridor, the automatic out, my finger pressed up against the trigger, as close as I can without actually pulling it.

No movement. The corridor is clean.

I'm halfway to the exit when I see the Feral. It's lying on the floor, blood pooling around it. But it's not dead. It's squirming, weak from the loss of blood, its eyes wild. I don't need to kill it. Nature will do that for it. But I can't risk it lashing out at me or shaking a drop of blood at me, so I stop and fire three bullets into its head, knowing that the gunshots will likely alert any raiders nearby.