Falling Sky (20 page)

I turn to her and shrug. “Meet back here in a few hours?”

“Uh-uh.” She shakes her head to emphasize her point. “If they're going off together then that leaves me to watch your ass.”

I sigh. You did get yourself into this mess, Ben, I think. “My ass is not my best feature,” I say.

“I'm not likely to take much pleasure in it,” she says.

“Fine,” I say. “Let's go.” I move off in the opposite direction of Miranda and Diego. Rosie shadows me.

“You know, we're going to be looking for different things,” I say.

“I'm just here to watch you,” she says. “Anything else is just extra.”

“Well, I'm here to look for my ship,” I say. “So maybe you can help while you're here. You remember what she looks like?”

“Freight ship, with a flattened envelope. VTOL capable. Red and tan.”

I nod.

“But they could have painted her.” The thought makes me ill. The
Cherub
's colors are just one of the things I love about her. On the other hand, repainting is a lot better than dismantling. “You paid close attention.”

She flashes me a wicked smile. “Of course I did. I was looking for ways to blow her up.” She pauses. “
If
it became necessary.”

My jaw hangs open for the slightest moment. “I'm glad it wasn't.”

We walk up and down the alleys and streets of Gastown amidst the yells of hawkers and the chittering of the patchmonkeys above us, amidst the smell of smoke and of exhaust and of humanity. I scan lashed-up airships and parts of airships, looking for the dirigible I know like my own heartbeat, my longest companion. But I don't see anything. And there are so many ships and so much ground to cover.

“Change of plans,” I say. Then I head for the nearest bar.

As I mentioned earlier, the thing about gatherings of people is that there's always going to be a bar somewhere. A place for people to gather and forget the worries of the world for a while. And alcohol is one of the things we held on to after the Bug hit. Fermentation is one of the easiest, most natural processes in food production. And very, very tasty.

The place I find is called Fisherman's. I recognize it as a place that used to be called Sam's. But all that seems to have changed is the sign on the outside and the clientele.

I head to the bar, fetch two of the house liquors, then grab a table made out of an old wooden door, nicked and scratched. I place a cup down in front of Rosie. “What is it?” she asks.

I shrug. It's not clear but not quite brown. Places like this one have their own blend of hooch readily available. Usually it doesn't taste like much but it burns as it goes down and leaves some pleasant warmth behind, and really, that's all you can ask for.

We both slug ours back. It tunnels through me like a hot bullet. Rosie grimaces. “Jesus,” she says. But she takes it. “Why are we here?” she asks. Just my luck, she's the inquisitive type.

“We talk to some people,” I say. “See if anyone's seen anything. But first we have to make ourselves comfortable. Otherwise we'll just put people on edge.”

She tips back the second half of her drink. She doesn't look too happy. But I'm here for the
Cherub
and that's what's motivating me. I become aware of a voice in my head. It's saying, “That's it, Ben. Just treat people as a means to an end. That's what you're good at.”

Which of course makes me think of Miranda. Which makes me take another drink.

I scan the room, trying to take in the feel of it, the ebb and flow of human interaction. The mood is uneven. Some people sit at tables, not speaking to each other, eyes and faces dark and closed. Other tables are loud and raucous, drunk people laughing and slapping each other on the back and shoulders. Not a lot of women in the room.

The most active table, however, is a long one over on the left side of the room. My attention is drawn instantly to the figure at its center. She's tall and thin, with a shock of long brown hair rising up from a widow's peak. She otherwise seems nondescript, but it's clear from the way the others treat her, the deference in their posture, that she's someone important.

“You know who that is?” I ask Rosie.

She shakes her head. “Should I?”

“No,” I say. “But she seems to be someone of importance. Could be a bigwig around here. Could know something about the
Cherub
.” The engine in my brain kicks over and starts to hum. There, at least, is a start to my search. I drain the rest of my cup because every engine needs fuel.

I'm just slamming the cup down when the world turns and I'm flipped back in my chair. There's a moment of falling, disorientation, then I crash hard into the ground.

Instincts make me reach for my revolver. I grab it, pull it out.

A boot kicks it out of my hand and it slides, spinning across the floor.

Against my better judgment, I watch it for a moment, reaching for it. Another kick slams into my side, curls me around. Then a hand on the front of my shirt pulls me up.

I stare into a woman's face. Brilliant blue eyes. A jagged scar across one of them. Black hair spilling down shot through with gray.

“Claudia,” I say. “Your scar is looking good.”

She pulls me up more. “You're just saying that 'cause you're the one who sewed it up.” She flashes me a humorless smile, then throws me back onto the ground.

I see Rosie standing up now, her weapon pointed at Claudia. “Put him down,” she says. Her voice is low, steady. She's got balls, this one.

“It's okay,” I say. “I know her.”

“You're coming with me,” Claudia says. She pulls me up roughly, then picks up my father's revolver, tucking it into her pants.

Rosie looks at me questioningly. I nod. Claudia pushes me out of the bar.

The first thought that crosses my mind after the pain stops sparking across my ribs is that Claudia looks damn good. Not many people can take a scar like that across the face and still carry it well. She looks a bit tighter, trimmer, too, and it suits her. She wears a long coat, a shotgun across her back. I like the look.

When the glamour fades, I start thinking of the past, and I try to remember when it was I last saw Claudia and how we parted. I can't remember giving her a reason to want to hurt me, but I can easily imagine it. It's not like things were ever conventional with her.

She pushes me ahead of her, and Rosie drags behind us. “Where are we going?” I say.

“Shut up,” she says. And kicks me in the ass. People look at us as we pass but don't stop us or say anything. I notice Rosie still has a hand on her pistol.

“Who are you to him?” Claudia says at one point, to Rosie.

“No one,” Rosie says in a way that slightly offends me. “Just a . . . business partner.”

“Then maybe you'd better go elsewhere,” Claudia says. “This is personal.”

“I'm not leaving him,” Rosie says.

Claudia narrows her eyes. “Why?” she asks. “You sweet on him?”

Rosie makes a disgusted noise. “Hardly.”

“Hey,” I say. “I'm right here.”

“Relax,” Rosie says. “Men don't do it for me.”

“So then what?” Claudia asks.

“Let's just say I have a vested interest in him.”

And there I am, trapped between two hard-asses who refuse to leave me alone.

Claudia guides us down several streets until we finally reach an airship. The
Valkyrie
. I remember her well. She's a damn fine ship, kept by a damn fine captain. I can't help a bit of the old hero worship from creeping in.

Claudia catches me looking at the ship. She smiles. “I can still keep a ship,” she says.

Then she kicks me again. “Now get on.”

Rosie and I board the
Valkyrie
up the ramp after Claudia unlocks the door. She pushes us into the back cabin, which Claudia's done up nice for moments such as this. I sink into the old sofa feeling the same bite from the springs on the left side. Rosie takes a wooden chair that's seen better days.

“No,” Claudia says. “Stand up.” So I do, and then she throws her arms around me and claps me on the back, pulling me close, and I feel some kind of weight I've been carrying slip away from me a little. And I grab on to her.

“You're not mad,” I say, despite myself.

“No more than usual,” she says. “Though I think you're a damn fool.”

“Then what was that all about?” Rosie says.

“I needed to get you on here and out of that bar,” Claudia says. “Too many eyes and ears in there. But I didn't want people to know that we knew each other. At least not in a good way.”

I shake my head. “Claudia, what the hell is going on?”

“Uh-uh,” she says. “First, do you trust your friend?”

I look at Rosie, who's frowning at both of us. “You can talk freely in front of her,” I say. “I owe her a bit of trust.”

“Okay, then,” Claudia says. “You first.”

“I'm looking for the
Cherub
,” I say.

“I thought that might be it,” she says. “How in the hell did you lose that ship?”

So I tell her about Miranda and the Core and the attack by the raiders. She listens and doesn't interrupt. Then, “Scientists?” she says. “That's not like you.” Then she looks at Rosie. “No offense.”

Rosie shakes her head. “None taken. I'm not one of them.”

“Let's just say they made a compelling argument,” I said. “Not to mention the fact that they had clean water and soap.”

“Heh,” she says. She turns to Rosie. “Then who are you?”

“Just another forager,” Rosie says. She gives me a hard look that says she doesn't want to mention Tamoanchan. I give a slight nod in return. “Ben helped me and my brother a while back. We wanted to return the favor.”

Claudia raises her eyebrows. “That's some loyalty.”

I give her a wounded look. “I've been known to inspire some from time to time.” Then what she said sinks in. “Wait. How did you know I was looking for the
Cherub
?”

“Because I saw it here,” she says. “And I knew you weren't on it. I thought you might be dead. Thought that would be the only reason you wouldn't have it around.”

“I just got stupid,” I say. “But I came back for her. Where is she?”

“You're not going to like the answer,” she says.

“Claudia, tell me.”

“Okay,” she says.

“She's on the ground.”

“The ground?” I say. “She crashed?”

“No,” Claudia says. “Or at least I'm pretty sure she didn't. The Gastowners tasked her to transfer supplies for their helium runs. She moves back and forth between here and the plant.”

“And where's that?” I ask.

She leans back against a cabinet and crosses her arms. “That, I wish I knew.”

“Wait a second,” I say. “How do you know all this? What are you doing here? It can't be for the ambiance or the company.”

“You know me better than that,” she says. “I can hang with a pretty rough crowd, but not these assholes. They give zeps a bad name.”

“Then what?”

She slides into another chair. Drops her shotgun to the floor. “It's a bit complicated.”

“We have time,” I say, looking at Rosie. “Don't we?”

Rosie crosses her arms and leans back. “I think we do.”

“It has to do with the helium,” Claudia says.

“Go on.”

“That's presumably why Valhalla attacked Gastown in the first place. Or at least why they stuck around. To get the helium. Smart barter seems to say that they wanted to control the helium and become the one place people can come for it. I mean, you know that both of us have put hydrogen in our babies, but people are still afraid of its flammability.”

“And New Gastown wants to be the one place that has it.”

“Right. But no one is sure where they're getting it from. Even the original people running Gastown were quiet about where it came from. Has to be a natural gas operation. On the ground. But even then it was becoming scarce back before the Bug got up and running.”