Rising Tide (9 page)

My efforts with Malik were blunted by his story about Ben. I am still digesting it. Trying to reconcile it with what I know of the man whom I've spent most of the past few months with.

Do I really know him? Has he really changed?

And now, of course, I'm frustrated by my lack of effect. Any moment now, Malik's people are going to show up to escort me into the bowels of the ship. This was my chance to find my way out and I failed. What can I do, trapped below?

For better or worse (and it feels very worse), my fate seems tied up in Ben. And I have to hope that he does what he says he can. I don't feel very confident.

I can hear them at the door. My time is running out.

Ben . . . please come through.

CHAPTER FIVE

T
o be honest, I never thought I would be so unhappy to be back in the sky. I love being in the air, it's where I belong, but, well, not like this. I know, I know—my dad used to say something about beggars not being choosers, but I'm aboard a strange ship, and I can't fly her or even navigate, and I feel powerless.

The ship is called the
Raven
and her captain is a zep named Whistler. Whistler was probably born a woman, based on bone structure, but now eschews gender altogether. It's not uncommon in the Sick where sex is a potentially deadly prospect. Or, who knows—maybe Whistler was just born that way. That's not my problem with Whistler.

My problem with Whistler is that Whistler has been in my face since this whole thing started. Seems that Mal wasn't exaggerating when he said his people would be on top of me the whole time.

Whistler wears a lot of leather, which adds to the hard image. A metal cuff, lots of piercings, and big, black boots complete the picture. Hair, short and dark, sits messily on Whistler's head. The perpetual scowl, I think, is mostly in response to me, but who really knows?

I give them Lord Tess's location, the San Francisco Public Library, hoping that doing so won't piss Tess off, but how else am I going to get there? Chang, Whistler's second-in-command, a rough-looking fellow with a shaved, scarred head and a wispy mustache, lays in the course.

“When did both of you hook up with Mal?” I ask.

“Fuck you, scavenger,” Whistler says.

Ship captains these days have no manners.

“Take us in from the south,” Whistler tells Chang. “We've seen ships flying the route to the north.”

“What kind of ships?” I ask.

“Shut up,” Whistler says.

This is going to be a delightful trip.

“If this is a trap,” Whistler says, “just know that the first thing I'm going to do is put a bullet in the back of your head.” Whistler carries a large handgun strapped to one leg. One shot from that would leave tiny pieces of my skull and its contents all over the place.

“It's not a trap,” I say. “Lord Tess is a knowledge broker. She's open to anyone. She's valuable enough that people leave her alone. It's best to just let the information flow.”

Truth be told, I hope that's still the case. I thought I knew how the world worked, and then everything went upside down on me. Gastown, the big city in the sky, was supposed to be the start of a new era, the seed of a new society. That had been enough to make it untouchable until raiders out of Valhalla, a sky city back east, took it over. I thought all they wanted were the resources, and the helium the city in the sky had, but when I looked a little closer, seems they were working with a group of scientists I call the Cabal, who were experimenting with the Bug.

Everything's different now, everything's crazy.

Since the people on board hate me, I focus my attention on the ship. The
Raven
is longer than the
Cherub
was, thinner, but the
Cherub
was sleek, smooth, like a wide, slightly flattened bullet. The
Raven
is somehow blockier and gives the appearance of awkwardness. Still, we appear to be moving at a decent clip. She's also armed, which is something I never really went in for. But Mal's people do. He always thought that it mattered.

The two gunners on board don't like me either.

Inside, the
Raven
's pretty spare—Whistler commands from the rear of the gondola with a good view of the ship's surroundings through the windows that ring it. It's mostly gray metal, with a few reinforced panels bolted onto it. Chang sits in front of the controls closer to the front of the gondola. Some kind of personal object—a bit of netting with some crystals or jewelry attached to it—hangs from the right arm of his seat. I think about asking him what it is but then don't. I'd probably get another “fuck you” or “fuck off” or “die, you fuck.”

“Did Mal tell you all to hate my guts?” I ask.

“No,” Whistler said, “we did that all on our own.”

I don't get as much lip from Chase and Orkney, the other two members of the crew, but that's mostly because they're off manning the large guns, one on each side of the
Raven
's shell.

I had entertained brief thoughts of overpowering the crew. Taking control of the ship and forming a plan to rescue Miranda, but I would only chance it if I knew I could succeed. And even though there are only two people here with me, one of whom is flying the
Raven
, I still can't chance it. Miranda's life is at stake.

So I wait.

“You said it's a library,” Whistler says.

“Yes,” I say. “That's a place where they used to keep books.”

The stare that Whistler gives me deserves its own caliber.

“So this woman has access to all of these books.”

“Yes.”

“Then why do people need her at all? Why not take the library and the books as well?”

I sigh. “It's not about the books. Even if you can read, do you know where to find what you're looking for? Do you want to read through book after book to find it?”

Whistler's face contorts into a sour expression.

“That's what Lord Tess offers. She will get you the information. Sometimes by checking a book. Sometimes by trading information someone traded her. I think she even has some working computers in the place. But what she offers isn't the books. It's the service.”

“And you're sure she can get us those pumps?”

“Yes,” I lie. I don't know for certain. This might be something Tess can't do, but I've risked it all on this one shot. And unlike Mal and me, or Mal and Tess, Tess and I have good history. I think she'll do what she can to help.

“You better hope you're right,” Whistler says. Chang nods, silently.

I've been thinking the same thing.

“So . . . Hawaii,” I say.

Whistler glares at me in response.

“You going to become, what, farmers? Live off the land?”

No response.

“Sorry, but you guys don't seem like the type.”

“Mal said he wasn't very smart,” Whistler says. I get the feeling it's directed at Chang.

“Sorry,” I say. “But we're zeps. Are you really going to be happy down on the ground like a plod? Giving up the sky?”

Whistler turns to face me. “The sky ain't what it used to be.” One hand clenches into a fist. “Do you know what the lifespan is for the average zep? All of us are past it. Living on borrowed time. Flying from one dangerous situation to another. Risking our lives again and again. What Malik has given us is a better chance. A chance to find our own place. In a paradise with good weather and the chance to grow our own food and maybe die of old age instead of in a firefight, or getting clipped by a Feral or because the ship loses an engine.”

I can only swallow in response.

“I'm not naive enough to think that it's going to be easy,” Whistler says. “But I am willing to give it a chance. Why wouldn't I be?”

That shuts me up for a while.

The San Francisco Public Library is a pretty boxy building. I'm sure it looked nice back in the Clean, but it's stained and worn, and all the glass has been boarded up now. Two guards stand outside, in a metal cage, armed with rifles. The cage protects them from Ferals, and also keeps us out.

Us, in this case, is me, Whistler, and Orkney. Whistler tasked the knobby, bald gunner to be one of my escorts and insisted on coming with me. They were afraid Tess would shelter me. I can't say the thought hadn't occurred to me, but here we are.

We stand outside the cage, out in the open, on the ground, as the
Raven
circles above us. In the rain. “We're here to see Lord Tess,” I say, wiping wet hair from my face. “I'm an old friend.”

The guards don't talk much, but they let us into the cage, one operating the door, the other ready to unload if necessary. Once we're in, we hand over our weapons (and get patted down just in case). Then they secure the cage and open the doors to the library proper.

“No tricks,” Whistler hisses in my ear as we enter. “I can still put you down, even without my gun.”

“Just let me do the talking, then,” I say. “We go way back, but she doesn't know you two from Feral shit.”

It strikes me as we're walking from the hallway into the library that we are extremely vulnerable. If Tess weren't here, for example, this would be a great way to strip visitors of weapons and then use them for whatever nefarious purpose you wanted. I don't know for sure that she's here—only that she was here last time.

Easy, Ben
, I think.
Don't get paranoid.

The place is dark, with plenty of side corridors for attackers to hide in. Our steps echo off of the ground, which is remarkably well preserved. It's old, and musty, but cleaner than most old buildings I've been through. I wonder how much blood this floor has seen.

As we move down the hallway, steps begin echoing toward us from the opposite direction. Attendants? I don't remember them from last time, but maybe the operation has grown.

My blood chills when I see who's approaching. Two people, one tall, one of medium height.

The tall one is a woman with a large nose and a square jaw. Her companion is clean-shaven, with pock-marked cheeks and a pale complexion. She wears a shirt made of metal links, and on top of that is a kind of scarf or shawl that seems assembled from feathers. Maybe vulture or eagle feathers—black and long. Her head is shaved except for the very top, and the hair is pulled into a long tail held in place with metal rings. Her companion wears a fur vest on top of a loose shirt, but I can see the muscles bunch beneath it. A long scar on the top of his head divides his short hair into two parts. He's wearing a necklace, too, and I think it's teeth strung together. Some long and pointed. Others, short and blunt. Like human teeth.

My blood chills because their appearances mark them as being from Valhalla, the floating city in the east. For a long time, Valhalla was the only city in the sky, and then Gastown was created. Gastown was a free city, a city of trade, a city trying to bring civilization back, lift it off of the ground and into the sky. It was also a city that had access to helium. Then the Valhallan raiders attacked and took it over. Turned it into a fiefdom of Valhalla. Used it to launch raids and attacks. Used the helium to lift their own ships, and bartered what was left for exorbitant prices.

It was Valhallan raiders who attacked Miranda's last headquarters, the Core, and killed some of her people. It was Valhallan raiders who stole the
Cherub
. It was Valhallan raiders who were on their way to attack Tamoanchan.

My hand reaches down to my holster for my revolver, but . . . it's not there.
We're fucked
, I think. They've taken over Tess's operation as well. I tense, getting ready to do . . . I don't know. Something. Anything. I put out a hand to halt Whistler and Orkney. We stop.

The Valhallans approach, their eyes flicking over us, their faces blank.
Take out the woman first
, I think.
Hope the others take the man, then run back to the cage with any weapons we can strip.
I'm formulating this plan, and then . . .

The raiders pass us by. They don't pause. They don't stop. We're less than buzzing flies for all the attention they pay to us.

“What was that?” Whistler hisses.

My pulse returns to normal. The energy bleeds out of me. “Nothing,” I say. “Never mind.”

I continue on, and then we're there, in the audience chamber in the San Francisco Public Library.