Rainbird (2 page)

Bonerot.

Rainbird stared at the evidence in her hand, breath squeezed out of her. Then she grabbed her pencil flashlight and shone it into the corner.

“Great Glew!” The exclamation, part panic, part awe, came out of her unbidden, from the wellspring of racial memory.

Bonerot, great peeling sheets of it, coated the inside of the cavity, rolling away out of her sight. The places where supports were sunk into the bone were spongy-looking and deformed.

Rainbird had never seen anything like it, never even heard of an infestation so bad.

All the best alloys in the world wouldn’t keep the Day Sun up if the dragon skeleton itself were to collapse. There was no sunway without the bone.

And if there was no sunway, then there would be no sun. Only darkness and cold for the humans huddled beneath the dragon’s spine.

“And what were you doing so far into the cavity?” The supervisor steepled his fingers together under his chin, and lanced a sharp stare at Petrus. Turnworth was the supervisor’s name—and those soft fingers had never wrenched a P7 bolt into place nor held a blowtorch. A career bureaucrat. Petrus Gallavant hadn’t had much to do with him besides the exchange of reports, schedules, and paychits. He wasn’t happy to be here now, but he knew his duty.

Bonerot in the sunway!

“Sunmoss, sir.” Petrus stared woodenly above the man’s head. It was an effort to hold his head up, keep his spine straight. Luckily he had not been invited to sit down. He would not have been able to get up if had.

“Hmm.” Sunmoss was the inspectors’ prerogative, unwritten but customary. Even Turnworth could not say anything against that. “And you’re sure of the extent of the infection?” Turnworth glanced distastefully at the sample of spongy bone on his desk.

“I know what I saw, sir.” Against Rainbird’s vociferous protests, Petrus had climbed into the track and examined the bonerot for himself before reporting it to the supervisor. He had hoped she was wrong.

She wasn’t.

“And it was just you, Gallavant? No one else knows about this?” Turnworth’s narrowed glare seemed sharp enough to flay him open to his very soul.

“Just me and my assistant, sir.”

“Ah, yes. Your—assistant
.
” Was it just Petrus’ hypersensitivity about Rainbird, or did Turnworth emphasize that last word just a bit?

Turnworth leaned back in his chair and heaved a big sigh. “Bonerot. You do realize what this means to the Company? After the near collapse of Rib Six last year? And the pressure from the government and alternative energy competitors? If news of this got out to the press—well, the public outcry would be unimaginable!”

“We only have one sunway, sir,” said Petrus. “And the Company is the only entity that knows how to run it.” The Company—it had a name of course, but few people knew what it was—had been around for centuries. It had outlived whole states.

“Doesn’t matter if the sunway were rendered superfluous. You’ve heard news of the Coronos Cooperative, yes? Claiming that the whatever-the-hell-ium metal they dig out of the ground is going to fuel another sun? That they’re going to send it up higher than the sunway and it’ll go around the world on its own?”

“Won’t work, sir.” Petrus knew his history. Other scientists and firms had tried for decades to come up with a suitable replacement for the Day Sun and its track. The public, when it thought about it at all, did not like living in the dragon’s skeleton, with its glowing eye gliding above them. Petrus could not understand such squeamishness. The dragon was long dead; the Day Sun was partially composed of its bioluminescent optical tissue but it hardly qualified as an
eye
anymore. Replace it with a sun that used violent, hard-to-control, and dangerous processes? Folly.

“It doesn’t mater what you think, or what I think,” said Turnworth, grimly. “What matters is that they have the ears of government officials and the press in their pockets. They claim they can open up the Dark Side to human settlement!”

“Thyrine won’t like that.” Everyone had their place: humans under the sunway, thyrine in the Dark Side and eiree up on the Perch. And the outcasts and the halfbreeds (
my Rainbird!
) on the sunway.

“It won’t matter if they get a sun shining down on the Dark Side. Men will move in. Men want to move in. The only thing holding the Coronas Cooperative back is the sunway and its smooth functioning. They’ll use the bonerot against us, if they can. Gallavant.” Now Turnworth leaned forward again. “You’re a Company man. Have been so for twenty seven years, it says on your record. Can we count on your loyalty—and discretion?”

Petrus hesitated, just a moment. Say nothing about the bonerot? What if the Company did nothing? No, that would be foolish. The Company wouldn’t ignore this, though if they hadn’t made those cutbacks the bonerot would not have turned into such a big problem. “Yes, sir.”

Turnworth had noted the check. His brows drew together. “Remember, Gallavant, if the spotlight should shine upon this bonerot, it will also shine on the discoverer—and those closest to him.” He glanced significantly towards the door.

Outside of which Rainbird waited. Petrus stiffened. “I don’t know what you mean, sir.”

“Come now, Petrus.” Turnworth thrust his fingers through his hair. He looked tired, as if he’d been roused too early from bed as well. “I am not so unaware as you inspectors might believe. I know you went downside two years ago and I know what you brought back with you.”

“And what are you going to do about that, sir?” Petrus’ face had gone mask-like. Behind it, his thoughts wheeled in frantic circles, chasing their tails.

Turnworth looked surprised. “Nothing, of course. As long as the work is done, there’s no harm, is there? If I’d wanted to do anything, I’d have done it a long time ago. I’ve had faith in you—now, trust me to handle this issue quietly. I assure you, it will get the full attention of the Company. We have a technical expert on the sunway even now. Once I get approval from the higher-ups, I’ll expect you to show him the bonerot.”

“Of course, sir,” Petrus managed through stiff lips. Had the man just threatened Rainbird? He couldn’t be sure.

“And Gallavant? Times are changing, even on the sunway. The Morality League has bent the government’s ear. The Company was pressured into bringing one of those blasted interfering women up on the sunway, to make sure that we are not a den of vice, it seems.”

“That would be Third Rib, sir,” said Petrus without cracking a smile. “And it’s Free Territory, outside the government’s control—and the Morality League’s.”

Turnworth’s smile was without humor. “Ah, Gallavant. The things they can do with lawyers. Don’t you know that wars of occupation are fought with pen and paper these days? No, the Morality League is bringing downside laws up to the sunway and won’t rest till even Third Rib knuckles under. Best be careful around Miss Levine. She’s got permission to interview all personnel and inspect all Company property.”

Which meant pretty much all of the sunway and the people on it.

Rainbird.
What would happen to her? Confined like a wild animal to a few square markers on Third Rib?

“We wouldn’t want Miss Levine to find anything amiss.”

“No, sir.” A tickle rubbed down Petrus’ throat and he coughed, a slight muffled sound that he dared not let grow. Because then, he’d never stop.

“I like you,” Turnworth said, abruptly. “You’re a good worker, you and your assistant both. Keep your heads down and your mouths shut and I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Petrus woodenly, but already his mind was jumping to its own solutions.
Cheris gum.
An old eiree remedy for bonerot.

I hope Kasir has a supply of it available. Otherwise I’ll have to go to the eiree myself.
And for all his courage, he shrank from that.

Rainbird sat against a crate of metal parts. After a late night and an early morning, the adrenalin rush of dance and the shock of being seen, finding that bonerot and arguing against Petrus coming to inspect it himself, she was tired and hungry and ready to fall asleep. Petrus would’ve left her in the egg, but she wasn’t about to let him make the journey to the Hub by himself.

The Hub was the Company headquarters on the sunway, burrowed into this collection of thick bones, a place of joints where spine, rib, wing and leg bones all met. Hollowed out by serpentium drill heads, this cavity was pressure-sealed and insulated against the cold, a place where humans could shed their protective layers and gas masks.

It was not too warm, though, that she didn’t need her trench coat.

The door to a metal-and-brick building bearing the sign ARRIVALS swung open. Rainbird straightened with interest; the elevator from downside had arrived. A handful of men came out first. From the surety of their steps and their general comfort in the high altitude—and their sun-embossed uniforms—she pegged them as Company men, inspectors returning from some rec time downside. But what drew her attention was the woman who strode out behind them.

You didn’t see many women on the sunway. Especially not ones dressed like this. Her deep purple-shading-to-black dress was high-necked and severely cut, but there was no mistaking the quality of tailoring and fabric. Smart boots clicked on the steps down, a smart hat was pinned on top of the woman’s dark updo. A yellow ribbon on the hat was significantly out of place.

This was probably the woman’s first time upside. A ringsnake, shiny and supple in purples and blacks, circled her wrist, pumping oxygen into her system. A strange hybrid between plant and animal, ringsnakes were soft spongy coils that helped mitigate the effects of the thin air by injecting oxygen directly into the bloodstream. The Company used plain brown ones; this woman must have money and power enough to get one that matched her wardrobe.

Then Rainbird drew in her breath, for behind the woman, hunched under the weight of luggage, was a short, stocky, hirsute figure. It was covered in pale brown fur, and its eyes were deep-sunk and black. It looked at the ground as it shuffled behind its mistress.

A dracine.

“Young man.” The woman stopped in front of Rainbird and fixed her with a stern look. “How old are you?”

A tart reply jumped to the tip of her tongue, but Rainbird swallowed it back.
Be anonymous. Don’t borrow trouble.
She shuffled her feet like a schoolboy. “Um, fourteen, ma’am.” She kept her voice low and gruff, and hoped her refusal to make eye contact would be read as boyish boorishness.

“You should be in school,” the woman informed her. “There are laws and they apply to everyone on the sunway.
Especially
Company personnel.”

“I’m nearly fifteen.” Rainbird wished she’d advanced her pretend age by another two years in spite of her small stature.

“Hmm,” snorted the woman. “A runaway, most likely. No, don’t give me the story. I’m sure you have one all wrapped up shiny with a bow. I’ll talk to your inspector myself. He should know better than to aid runaways. What’s his name?” She pulled out a pen and pad.

“Um, Gallavant. Petrus Gallavant,” said Rainbird weakly, watching the woman write. She had, as expected, elegant schoolteacher handwriting.

“We’ve had lawlessness on the sunway long enough. It’s become a haven for criminals and tarnished the reputation of the Company.” The woman clicked her pen shut and gave Rainbird another steely look. “We’ll see about that.” She took a stack of paper from the dracine’s burden and marched to the bulletin board. She tacked up a sheet of paper, covering up notices of checkers nights and pleas for returns of missing items. Then the woman strode away and knocked on the door of the supervisor’s hut. Her yellow ribbon fluttered behind her as she was admitted, and something clicked in Rainbird’s mind.

Morality League.
Oh, poor Papa.
She hoped that he’d get out of his interview with Turnworth before the dreadful woman cornered him.

Rainbird eyed the dracine. The creature was halfbreed like she was, but dracine were combined in labs. They were the sterile offspring of humans and the thyrine, an underground species that was fiercer, faster, and much larger than the dracine. They lived on the Dark Side and traded their life strands to entwine with humans’, creating a race both strong and docile.

Usually
docile. Dorak hadn’t been. A pang went through her.

Dracine were the original chattel, created with one purpose: to be meek, productive slaves. Thyrine despised them, humans used them.

Don’t get involved. Not again.
No, her revolutionary days were long over, but still…
I owe Dorak. For…
She cringed, remembering.

The panic blooming red in her vision. Her own breath, tight in her chest. Hands grasping, fingers curling around a cold hilt. Lashing out, feeling the give of parting flesh. Blood spurting everywhere. Marvelo’s eyes, wide open and fixed.

No.
She shoved the memory behind a door, locked it tight. That was then. This was now.

“You know,” she said, staring ahead, not looking at the dracine beside her, “you’re on the sunway, not far from Third Rib. This is the closest you’ll be to freedom all your life. You just have to reach out and take it.” She left her words dangling, like low-hanging fruit.

The dracine didn’t respond.

“I—I knew a dracine once. He had visions of freedom, freedom for all his kind. He was my friend, and for his sake, I’ll help you, if you want it.”

“He was a fool,” said the dracine. Flatly. Wearily. “And so are you. My kind is not meant to live up here, even if yours is.” At Rainbird’s start, it added, “Yes, I can smell you. Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone. Not that anyone would ask me. You should be careful, though, especially now.”

“Why? What do you know?”

The dracine said nothing. Rainbird gave it a frustrated glance and walked over to the bulletin board, more to get away from its silent stubbornness than anything else.

And froze. For there, staring back at her from the Morality League woman’s poster was her own face, one among ten. Under it was written, “Runaway halfbreed eiree. Wanted for murder.”

In Deep Night, Rainbird sat on the sunway, too tired to dance and too anxious to sleep. She’d picked a spot with no eiree wire in sight, but she couldn’t help feeling it was too late for such precautions now.