by Loren Walker
* * *
“Just take it.”
“I’ll pay rent for it, Nox, I have the money.”
“It’s fine! It’s been in storage since my parents retired,” Nox countered, holding out the ring of keys. “Might need some new wiring, but otherwise it runs. And there’s fuel onboard to last a while, some food rations too. Take it.”
Looking out the window, Renzo studied the rusty old Volante, parked by the street curb. “I’ve never flown something like that. Maybe you should come with us.”
“I can’t,” Nox said. “Besides, someone should stay behind. Keep watch for any activity on the bounty. Try to get my colleagues to disable it.”
He doesn’t sound very confident, Renzo noted. For good reason. Why would they start to care now?
“Ready, Co?” he called out.
Cohen appeared from the hallway, lugging two large boxes with a bag looped around his chest.
“You’re not keeping the apartment?” Nox asked.
“Nah,” Cohen grunted on his way out. “Nothing much to leave behind.”
There really isn’t, Renzo thought. He was glad to leave. It felt good, like shedding an uncomfortable skin. He jerked his head towards the door. “Let’s go, then.”
“What’s your first destination?” Nox said as they reached the stairs.
In his peripheral vision, Renzo could see the officer offer him a hand. He ignored Nox and clutched the handrail. “I have a couple of ideas.”
He really didn’t, though. Phaira had left no trace of where she might have gone. But they had the Volante, fuel, supplies and a few people to visit.
And he had the money: zero after zero, no source, no record of deposit, just there, discovered when he went to close his accounts. A parting gift from the Macatias. Apologizing through rana. Sick people.
But he’d already cashed it out and hidden it in a packet under his shirt. Blood funds, but it was still rana, and more than he could have ever hoped to earn in a lifetime. So they had time on their side, too.
After a quick tour of the transport, Nox apologizing for its decrepit appearance the whole while, the brothers were finally alone. Cohen remained in the back, unpacking, as Renzo slid behind the flight controls.
For several moments, he studied the console. He hadn’t flown anything in years. There was never time to indulge in that kind of frivolity.
But when the engines rattled, and finally fired, and the Volante lifted off its gear with a creak, Renzo felt something lift under his ribs: the rush of excitement.