by Rajan Khanna
She smiled. “Piece of cake.”
I helped her into the seat and then went back to what I was doing.
That was Tess’s value—she knew stuff from the Clean. Knew technology, history, how things worked. She made it her business to be an expert on that world, and it made her useful to the people trying to pick amongst its scraps.
I filled another bag, and then another. I recognized one of the items as a launcher, used to fire explosives. That went in the bag, too.
“Benjamin!” Tess called.
I ran over to where she sat, her coat bunched up around her. “What happened?”
Her smile made lines on the sides of her eyes and mouth. “Turn it.” She pointed.
I reached for the key set firmly in the ignition and I turned it. For a moment, nothing happened, and then the engine coughed to life and emitted a loud, aggressive rumble. I smiled. “Good work.”
She made a mock bow from her seat. “I told you I had it.”
“We can load this up and ride it out,” I said to the others. “If we can drive it around those cars out there, I can get it up the Cherub’s ramp.”
Cheyenne nodded. “It’s a good idea.”
Mal frowned. “If we can get it out.”
“I’ll check,” I said.
The warehouse had two bay doors for the vehicles to be driven out of, but there was no real way of knowing what lay on the other side. I would have to go out the front and circle around to the doors to see what was there or else figure out another way to get the vehicles out.
I moved to Claudia. “Can you continue this without me? I’m going to check out what’s on the other side of those doors.”
“By yourself?”
“I’ll be quieter by myself,” I said. “Besides, I need you to keep pulling loot. I want to win that fucking ante.”
“You know two of those things are ours, right?”
“It’s the principle of the thing.”
“So I do all the work while you go for a stroll.”
I smiled at her. “If I get the vehicle, we’re a lock for the win.”
“Just be careful,” she said.
“I will,” I said. And then I grabbed her ass. It was brash, but I was feeling, I don’t know, something wild and buoyant inside of me. Since my father died, things had been a struggle. I had Claudia, of course, and she was great, but something had been missing. For me, at least. This was, well, the biggest score I had ever seen. Just the barter from this one score would keep the Cherub in repairs for as long as I would need. It would keep Claudia and me fed for a while. And the loot itself could be used if necessary. You never turned your back on weapons and ammunition.
So I was feeling good. Accomplished. Successful. As I turned to go, Claudia grabbed my ass, and I smiled.
And yet, while that excitement propelled me to that front set of doors, the moment I stepped out into fresh air, that feeling, the weight of the world and what it was, fell down on me. Hard. And most of that fire guttered out. Not all of it. But most of it. And I suddenly regretted going out alone.
I couldn’t bring myself to go back in. Not with that group. Maybe if it had been just Claudia and me, but I wasn’t going to show weakness in front of the others, so I moved around the building. As quickly, as quietly, and as questingly as I could. I stuck close to the storage facility, hugging the wall so that I had something solid against my back, the revolver down at my side, held firmly and ready for use.
One side of the building, then another, passed by without any other movement. I lowered my scarf a bit so my ears were less covered. So I could hear anything coming toward me. Howls, snuffling, the slap of feet against the asphalt. Anything.
Those moments are always the worst. You feel dangled like bait, out in the world, daring a hungry Feral to take a bite.
Crossing those two walls, all I heard was the hiss of my breath, the thumping of my heartbeat, and the calls of distant birds. That was one of the difficulties listening for any signs of danger—there were always animals about, it seemed. Birds, wolves, packs of wild dogs. Except for the birds, I’d want to avoid any of them.
Finally I reached the far side where the large doors were set. There were a few old cars in the way, and the rusted, old hulk of a truck arrowing in from one side. But it wasn’t completely blocked. If we could roll a few of the cars a few meters in one direction or the other, we should be able to get through. All the way to the Cherub.
A smile curled my lips for a moment. Then faded when I realized I now had to go all the way back. So I retraced my steps, the revolver still at my side, my eyes and ears still alert. Straining, tense, every step of the way.
Each moment that passed was a relief. Ground gained. A minor victory. And as I neared the front of the building, I felt, I don’t know, triumphant.
But as I approached the entrance to the building, something seemed off. I couldn’t actually tell what it was at the time—just something itched at my brain. As I neared the door, I heard raised voices.
The door was slightly open, too, not completely closed like it had been when I’d left.
I opened it to a male voice, deep, gruff.
Not Mal.
Someone I didn’t recognize.
CHAPTER THREE
Days pass in my cell on the Phoenix, and I’m not even sure how many. There are more than a handful of scratches on my mattress, but I’ve been a little inconsistent with that. The only good from all of this is that I’ve been healing. Slowly but surely. It no longer hurts to breathe or move or sleep, and one of the few things I can do to pass the time is exercise.
It’s as I’m doing some wobbly push-ups on some indeterminable day that the knock comes on my cell door. I stand up and move away from it. It opens to admit Mal, flanked by two of his people—rough-looking men with rifles slung over their shoulders.
Mal nods, and the men grab me, each one on my arm, dragging me to the door.
“Mal?”
“Don’t struggle, Benjamin,” he says. “I’d prefer not to get your blood all over my ship.”
So would I, I think, but this could be it. He could be taking me away to my execution, despite what he promised Miranda. I lash out at the man on my right with my leg and catch him on the inner thigh. Then I turn and grab for the rifle of the man on my left. If I can get to the trigger I can—
My head. Pain. Swimming.
I reach for thoughts, and something dark is wrapped around my head and I’m moving, feet banging against the ground.
As my senses start to come back, I realize I’m being dragged down stairs, deeper into the ship. My body won’t respond except to tell me about the pain in my ribs, and in my feet, and most of all in my head.
Then we’re through a door and I smell the ocean and fuel and metal, and I’m suddenly splashing through a cold so deep that my heart seems to skip in my chest.
Then I’m dropped into the cold, freezing, smelly water, and I suck in breath and start to shiver.
Someone grabs my hand, and something hard is clapped around my wrist. Then another something on the other wrist.
I’m shivering and spitting and sniffling as the shroud is removed from my head.
I’m deep in the hold of the ship. Mal covers a solar-powered light that I squint against. I’m waist deep in oily, dark water, and each of my hands is cuffed to a pipe.
“What the fuck?” I say through chattering teeth.
Mal looks down on me. On the outside he looks as calm and collected as ever, but I can almost see something nasty surging underneath his demeanor. I realize I’ve learned to look for those signs—he may be charming and civilized, but like a snake he can strike at any time. Or at least that’s what I expect from him.
“Benjamin, Benjamin . . .” Mal shakes his head. “I had such dreams for you. So many ways I thought of to revenge myself on you. Elaborate productions, simple, visceral thrills. I wanted it to be . . . epic. Or at least poetic. But . . . it seems the world has seen fit to choose for me.�
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I go cold. “What do you mean?”
He screws up his face as if he just swallowed something rotten. “The Phoenix. She’s experienced . . . a mechanical failure.”
For a moment, a brief flame of hope kindles in my mind. Mal’s warship has a problem. “What kind of mechanical failure?” I ask.
He slams a hand on one of the metal pipes. “These ships . . . they naturally take on water. It’s something that surprised me when I learned about it. Every minute, every day, some water leaks into them. There are pumps, down below, that pump out the water, keep it at a manageable level.”
“That sounds like a lot of work,” I say.
“It is. This ship is . . . a lot of work. If not for the fact that many of the tasks are automated, I don’t know that we would have gotten her moving. I have some people who know computer systems. We have this thing hacked and rigged more than a junker.”
“What does this have to do with the pumps?” I try to keep my voice level, but it’s not going well. I keep pulling on the cuffs, a reaction to the cold water, and that’s causing them to dig into my wrists.
“The computer systems are the easy part, comparatively. The Phoenix has some hull damage. Some of it exacerbated by a deficiency in our navigation skills. We lack the ability to haul her out of the water to fix it. The pumps have more to do and now . . . some of them have ceased working.”
“That’s your mechanical failure?”
“Yes.” He bites the word.
“You’re taking on water.”
His pained expression answers for him.
“And this is . . . what? An illustration of that fact?”
He smiles, ever so briefly. “My people and I are going to have to evacuate. After years of preparation, we will abandon this . . . ark.” The smile returns. “We will, but you won’t.”
“What?”
“You’re staying right here.”
“Mal . . .”
“It’s not what I would have wanted, but in a way it’s fitting,” he says. “And I think it qualifies as poetic.”
“You can’t leave me here,” I say.
His face goes hard, and I can see that his disappointment at this unexpected failure saturates his whole being. He’s defeated by chance, and he doesn’t take defeat well. If I push him too much, he might just kill me here.
That might be a mercy, I think.
“Actually, Benjamin, I can leave you here. I can do it easily. And, though this loss pains me in so many ways, this one little piece will give me satisfaction. Beyond measuring.”
“What about your promise to Miranda?”
“I promised her that I would leave you alive until the ship reaches its destination. I am fulfilling that promise. I just didn’t expect the final destination to be the bottom of the ocean.”
“Mal . . .”
“Good-bye, Benjamin,” he says. He takes a moment to stare at me, savoring the moment. Possibly the last time he, or anyone else, will see me.
Think, Ben, think. But all I see is Miranda.
“You’ll get Miranda off?”
He is silent for a moment. Then he says, “Yes, of course. She hasn’t wronged me. She’ll be safe.” He starts walking toward the stairs, his men flanking him.
I nod. It’s a shot of relief in a big bottle of shit. A bright spot. Just like Mal’s bright spot in the shit of him losing his boat—he gets to dispose of me in a very fitting way. Even I can see it has a kind of symmetry to it. But what if the ship weren’t sinking?
“Wait,” I say. “You said your pumps were failing. I assume you tried to fix them?”
“Of course,” he says, pausing at the bottom of the stairs.
“Then you need replacements.”
He sneers at me. “We don’t have any.”
“Are you looking?”
His eyes narrow. “What do you take me for, Benjamin? I’m a forager. Of course I’m looking. But I’m not hopeful. We did this kind of search before. Most of what we found was below the water, and we had no way of getting to them.”
“What if you could—?”
“Good-bye, Benjamin,” he says. Then he and his men walk up the stairs, closing the heavy metal doors behind them.
I’m left in the dark. In the cold water. The smell of it is thick around me. The ship creaks, and I wonder if I’ll go insane before the water gets too high. Or maybe I’ll freeze.
This is not how you end, Ben. You have to get out of here.
But how?
Think, Ben, think. He needs pumps. Can’t find them. But there must be more out there. Somewhere. Who would know? Other foragers? Too risky, and foragers don’t share information easily. Information. It touches off something in my mind. A thought bubbles up. Someone who deals primarily in information.
Lord Tess.
But surely Mal thought about her already?
I call out into the darkness. “Mal! Mal!”
No response except the sloshing of water around me. The creaking of the ship.
“Mal, I think I can help you!”
Nothing.
Could he even hear me through the ship?
It could work. It might save the ship. And that might save me. At least buy me some time before I go down.
“Mal!” I scream as loud as I can. My throat hurts with the effort. Everything hurts. I try to work the cuffs, but they’re on tight and the pipes they’re connected to are steady.
I gather my breath for one last scream. It’s hard with the cold all around me. “Mal! I know where you can—”
The door opens. I see a light at the top of the stairs.
Mal descends. “What are you talking about, Benjamin?” he asks.
“I know how you can get your pumps,” I say. My voice sounds raw. “You need a knowledge broker.” I take a breath. “Lord Tess.”
His face turns sour. “No,” he says.
“No?”
“She and I had a . . . falling out.”
“What kind of falling out?” I ask.
“I hurt someone she cared about.” At my questioning look, he adds, “I didn’t have much of a choice.” He shakes his head. “No, she won’t help me.”
“Then let her help me,” I say.
“You?”
“Let me go in your place. She likes me. Say what you will, but Lord Tess always had a soft spot for me. I can use that to get her to help you.”
He’s silent for a moment.
“You know she’s the best knowledge broker around. You know that she can get you what you need.”
“And you know where to find her?”
“She hasn’t moved in the last few years. I know where she is. No one touches her because she’s too valuable.”
“And you really think that you can get her to help.”
I smile at him. Through the shivering, it feels more like a grimace. “I know I can.”
He snorts and shakes his head. “If you think I’m going to trust you, you sustained more damage in that fall than was obvious.”
“Of course not,” I say. “But you need me. And you need me right now.”
“What I need are new pumps.”
“I can get them.”
He shakes his head. “I’ll have to think about it.”
“Then think fast.”
He looks me up and down. “Benjamin, how did you come to be in the ocean in a life raft with the wreckage of the Cherub all around you?”
I frown. “I thought Miranda explained it to you.”
“I want to hear you say it.”
I consider my words very carefully. “I took on some raiders. Out of Gastown. The Cherub didn’t survive.” A wave of nausea hits me, though I’m not sure if it’s from thinking of the Cherub or from my current predicament.
“They attacked you? Took out the ship?”
“No,” I say. “I attacked them. I took out their ships.”
“With the Cherub?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
; I carefully choose the next words—I can’t tell him about Tamoanchan. Not Mal. Not now. I can’t tell him that I was trying to save a whole island of strangers, and a few friends who were on it. Instead I just say, “They were after some friends of mine.”
He raises a thick, dark eyebrow. “You gave up your airship, your beloved Cherub, for your friends?” Incredulity drips from his words.
“Things change,” I say.
He narrows his eyes, chewing on it. “We’ll see,” he says.
Then he leaves.
I have no way of telling time down here in the bowels of the ship. I shiver and soak up the water. My muscles ache. My jaw, too, from the chattering.
I think a lot about Miranda. The last time I was in freezing water was after we jumped out of the Cherub. She was floating in my inflatable raft. I fell into the water. I thought I was going to die then, but I didn’t. She was the reason I clawed my way to the raft. She’s been my light in the darkness so many times before.
I could use that right now.
Then, after some time, Mal returns with his thugs in tow. “I’ve considered your proposal,” he says.
“And?”
“I’ve decided that a slim hope is better than no hope at all.”
And there it is. Mal loves his ship more than he hates me. Thinking back on everything, he must really love his ship. “So you’ll let me go?”
“There are conditions,” he says.
“Okay . . .”
“You will leave this ship with a crew of my people who will take you to Lord Tess. If and when you get what you need from her, they will take you to whatever your destination is. Try to run or pull something, and they will kill you quickly and without mercy, understood?”
“Okay,” I say. It’s not the best arrangement—but it gets me out of this cell and into the air. And it gives me a chance. “And what happens when I get back?”
“Pardon me?”