Falling Sky

by Rajan Khanna

  As I pass over the other ship’s envelope, it starts to rise, having caught sight of me, but I’m already pulling up myself, and I move to the exit hatch. I keep a variety of large, jagged things aboard the ship—rocks, twisted pieces of metal, and so on. I take one of these, a roughly round but sharp-edged rock and roll it out of the hatch.

  As it reaches the edge, gravity takes hold of it and pulls it down with relentless force. The enemy ship has closed some of the distance between us, but there’s still enough to allow the stone to punch a hole through the other ship’s envelope.

  If it was hydrogen in there, I could blow it to hell. But this is a Gastown ship, which means helium. So I have to improvise.

  As rare as guns are, bullets are a little easier to come by these days, especially if you save and refill your spent shell casings. But even easier to come by is gunpowder. Don’t get me wrong—it’s not like it grows on trees, but you can make it if you have the right ingredients. And one easy way is to just collect a lot of urine, something we had plenty of back at the Core. You can also collect bat guano, which a guy I knew way back used to do. The salts from that and a little sulfur and charcoal make gunpowder.

  Bullets are a little harder, because you need some metal. But take some gunpowder, drop it into a tube with a fuse in one end, and you have a nice pipe bomb.

  I generally keep a few around for emergencies or for dropping down a Feral nest. I light the fuse on one, hoping that the glowing end will withstand the winds at this altitude. Then I carefully fit it into the crossbow the boffins mocked up for me. Then, aiming carefully, I fire.

  My heart seems to stop as the tiny projectile arcs through the air between the two ships.

  I only have this one shot. Then I’ll have passed over the other ship and it will likely bring its weapons to bear on me.

  Then, like it’s been swallowed, my pipe bomb disappears into the other ship’s envelope.

  I run for the controls of my baby, and as soon as my hands find them I push away.

  Most of the cameras on the Cherub are shot despite the boffin’s best efforts, but the one on her belly is still intact. Through the screen, the explosion is visible as a flash inside the other ship’s envelope and what I swear is a ripple through the semirigid frame. It doesn’t destroy the ship, but it rips through enough of its ballonets that it starts to descend, deprived of a good part of its lifting power.

  I pull the Cherub away in a burst of speed, the other ship doing the same, and soon the enemy dirigible is just a speck behind us.

  My radio crackles to life on the public trading channel that most airship captains set their radios to. I pick my handset up.

  “Thank you for the save,” comes a male voice. Deep, smooth.

  “I don’t much like bullies,” I respond.

  There’s a crackling pause on the other end. Then he speaks again. “Do you happen to have any medical supplies on your ship?”

  I hesitate before answering. I do, supplies carefully cobbled together from the Core, but do I want to tell him that? I size up his ship, its condition. Finally, I say, “Yes. You in need?”

  “Afraid so. One of the shots clipped me. We’re a little low on supplies. I thought that maybe we could barter you something for them.”

  I consider this. Giving up some of my medical supplies doesn’t appeal to me much. But he’s offering barter. Still, I don’t much like that “we” he mentioned.

  “Follow me,” I eventually say. “I’ll take us to a meeting place.”

  I tell myself that I want to meet these people. I want to know what their little altercation was about. I tell myself that I want to see what they have to offer in return for the medical supplies.

  But frankly, my love of solitude has atrophied. Which comes as something of a surprise.

  I pull the Cherub down and ahead of the airship, and it falls behind me.

  I lead them to one of my favorite way-places, the US Bank Tower in old Los Angeles. Like most of the tall buildings around, zeps use it as a meeting place. The elevators stopped working decades ago and the stairs have been carefully blocked off. The nice thing about the Bank Tower, too, is that it has a flat top that once was used for helicopters. Makes a convenient meeting spot. Sure, you have to watch for raiders and pirates who often fly by places like that, but nine times out of ten, they make good places to gather.

  Okay, maybe eight times out of ten.

  We put down, one ship on each side. The Cherub’s VTOL engines allow me to lower her right to the edge. It’s something I don’t do on the ground. Too easy for a stray Feral to run up into the ship. But up in the air . . .

  The other ship doesn’t have the same feature, but the crew members anchor her to one of the large metal rails on the roof and descend by the ship’s ladder.

  There are two of them.

  And suddenly I’m a little worried.

  The man is big, well-wrapped and wearing a ski mask, and armed with a rifle of some sort slung across his back. With him is a woman, judging by her size and the way she walks. But she’s wrapped up, too, beneath a hat and scarf and a thick jacket that hides any telltale curves.

  He’s wary as he eyes me from across the roof. His hand hovers near the automatic on his hip. I can’t see it in the holster to tell whether it looks well-maintained or not. It’s a ballsy move to meet me up here, but then again he’s injured. Or at least he says he is.

  It doesn’t stop my muscles from tensing up.

  He opens the conversation. “Thanks again for your help up there.”

  I nod at him. “Well, let’s just say I’m not overly fond of the folks who were bothering you.”

  He nods back. “And the supplies?”

  “On my ship,” I say. “But first tell me what you have to barter.”

  He nods again. “We have some food—fish.”

  “Fresh?”

  “Salted.”

  I incline my head. I haven’t had fish in ages. And my food from the Core will only last so long. Still, medical supplies. “Anything else?” I say. “I have food.”

  He looks over at the woman and she shrugs back.

  He turns back to me and holds his hands up. “Look, can we talk a bit?” He moves a bit closer and my hand drops nearer to my holster. “Let me show you my arm. I’m going to unwrap it slowly.”

  My eyes narrow. I shift them from him to his partner and back. He slowly unravels a wrapping from his arm. Beneath I can see the red, the seeping blood. “They got me in the arm,” he says.

  “Why are you showing me?” I ask.

  “Because I want you to know that we’re telling the truth. We don’t want to jump you, don’t want your ship or anything else. Just your supplies.”

  I nod. “Then we can barter.”

  “Thing is,” he says. “We don’t have that much on us. We were just finishing up a, well, a run of sorts when those raiders caught us.”

  I frown. “If you were finishing up a run, why don’t you have barter?”

  “It wasn’t that kind of run,” the woman says.

  “Look,” the man says. “My name is Diego. This is Rosie.”

  “I can talk for myself, D,” she says. Her voice is hard, her eyes too.

  Diego inclines his head.

  “I’m Ben,” I say.

  He nods. “You see, Ben, we weren’t out for salvage. We were looking for people. Some . . . partners of ours are looking for good pilots, good ships. So we don’t have much to barter with. But . . .”

  “I’m listening.”

  “We may be able to offer you work.”

  “Now?”

  He shakes his head. “No. Not yet. It’s . . . delicate.”

  “Why?”

  The woman looks at the man, communicating something. She nods at him.

  “Look, Ben,” he says. “You helped us out. You stuck your neck out for us when you had no cause to, and you got my respect for that. Both of ours. But the people we’re working with, they’re trying to protect their interes
ts and need to be able to trust the people working for them.”

  “Trust doesn’t come easily these days,” I say.

  “No,” Rosie says. “But we need as much as we can get.”

  I chew it over in my head. “So you need pilots and ships, and you need to keep some things secret. Could you be working for a new settlement somewhere?”

  Diego squints. “Maybe.”

  “He’s not an idiot, at least,” Rosie says to Diego.

  There’s a comfortable vibe between them. I wonder at their relationship. Maybe his partner? Maybe even his wife. There are some folks who still cling to the old ways. I wonder if they’re religious.

  “Okay,” I say. “So you’re offering me the opportunity to work for you after you’ve decided I’m trustworthy. Call me an idiot, but that appeals to me. Only, what do I need to do to gain your trust?” A voice inside my head is asking me what I’m doing, why I’m signing up to work for a new settlement. I just bailed on one, and I was going to be flying, just me and the Cherub. But I find that I don’t much like the idea of fending for myself right now. Fuck, I think. I’m losing my edge.

  “It would have to be a test run,” he says.

  I nod. It makes sense. See if I can carry out my end. But trusting someone to keep your secret is a bit harder. Do I really want to be jumping (or flying) through hoops for these people?

  “I’m interested,” I say. “Let me grab your supplies and we can talk some more.”

  Diego nods. “Good.”

  A few minutes later we’re crossing the roof, me with the medical supplies, Rosie with the salted fish, Diego holding his bleeding arm. We make the exchange, and Rosie begins work on Diego immediately, washing the blood away with some bottled water and cutting some clean linens. I notice that Diego’s skin is brown around the wound but that’s all.

  “It’s not too bad,” Rosie says. “As long as we keep it clean.”

  “Why were they after you in the first place?” I ask.

  “I don’t know,” Diego says. Shrugs his good shoulder. “We were just going about our business and they came after us.”

  I try to read his eyes. He seems to be telling the truth. “Just a simple raider, then?”

  “That’s about the whole of it.”

  “Hmmm. I wonder why Gastown Raiders were out this far?”

  “Look, man. I don’t know. I told you. We were on our way and they came after us. I don’t know much about Gastown. I thought it was a fair place.”

  “Used to be,” I say. “Until raiders took it over.”

  He nods. “Then that’s it. They must be sending out more raiders.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know. That’s not their style. At least not for individual ships.”

  “There were more,” Rosie says, rewrapping Diego’s arm. “We passed several ships. One of them pulled away and came after us. It was a bit of a surprise. The others seemed specially rigged for lifting.”

  I frown. “What do you mean? How?”

  Rosie’s eyes squint. “They were carrying these hooks beneath them.”

  Cold runs through me. I remember those hooks. “Which way were they heading? North?” Gastown is north of us. I figure maybe they were just returning home.

  Diego shakes his head. “No. They were heading mostly east.”

  East. I mentally trace a path in that direction. All I can think of is . . .

  Apple Pi.

  “Oh no,” I say.

  “What?” Diego says.

  “I think I know where those ships were going. I have to go. I have to warn them.”

  “What about the job?” Diego says.

  “Later. If I can.” I hope I’m wrong. God, I hope . . . “I need to go.”

  “Wait,” he says. He looks at Rosie, then at me. “When you’re ready, head out to old San Diego and tune your radio to 23.0. Call and we’ll try to send someone to meet you.”

  I run for the Cherub. I get her into the air as quickly as I can and head to the Core at top speed.

  Sergei’s fuel powers the motors. I hope it’s one of his better batches because I’m going to need all the speed I can get.

  For a moment I question why I’m going back. I don’t know that Gastown even knows about the Core. I just left—why am I so quick to reverse that? But then I think about Gastown, and I think about Miranda, and I know I have to.

  My only hope is that the raiders’ airships are true to form and favor armor and armament over sleekness and speed.

  My pulse hammers in my temples. My hands itch. I want to pull out my revolver and shoot it at something. But there’s nothing to shoot at.

  Naively, I thought that Valhalla would be content with Gastown. Content with controlling the one major center of human civilization left in the western part of what used to be America. But that doesn’t seem to be the case. They’re going after any settlement they can find. To drain them of anything useful or valuable. Airborne vampires, feasting on the lifeblood around them.

  And they need to be stopped.

  So what are you going to do, Ben? You’re only one man.

  I can’t go after Valhalla. Hell, that would be suicide. But I can try to warn the people at the Core.

  I flip on the radio and dial to the station the Core uses. “Come in. Come in. This is Ben on the Cherub. If you’re there, respond.”

  I hope the raiders aren’t scanning for signals.

  No response. I continue. “You need to get out of there. There’s a sizable force of Gastown raiders heading for you. Repeat, you’ve been discovered, and raiders are coming to take the Core. You need to evacuate immediately. Please respond if you get this.”

  I click off the mike and listen through the static for a response. Nothing.

  Fuck.

  After another four attempts my voice is getting hoarse and that’s when I see them. A loose formation of four airships. Two are hard-enveloped zeppelins. One is a soft blimp. The other is like the Cherub—a semirigid with an armored gondola. They’re staying together, at the speed of the slowest ship, which helps me. They’re in no hurry.

  I take the Cherub higher and hopefully out of their sight. They might think me a passing ship, but they might decide to take me down. I could try to distract them, try to give the people at the Core time to evacuate, but four ships would tear the Cherub apart despite my better maneuverability. And then I’d be no good to anyone. Of course that assumes I’m good to someone now. I’m not so sure of that.

  About an hour away from the Core, the ships veer off, two taking the lead, the other two providing cover. It takes a moment for me to digest this. Are they not heading for the Core after all? Was what Diego said wrong? I decide it doesn’t matter. Gastown knows about the Core, and they will come for it sooner or later. I continue on, trying not to be too happy about my stroke of luck.

  Pushing the engines, I make it in less than an hour, and instead of dropping the ladder like I usually do, I lower the Cherub right to the ground on the VTOL engines. Then I race down the ramp and don’t even shudder as I touch the ground.

  The Core is already bustling with activity, and I guess someone eventually got my radio message. But they’re not coordinated. They’re chaotic. There’s no order. I grab one of the boffins, a guy named Seth. “Where’s Sergei?”

  He’s sweating, his hair in disarray. “He’s not here. He went out with Miranda and Clay. To find a test subject.”

  The Feral.

  Which explains the chaos. Sergei and Miranda are the unofficial leaders of the Core. When it comes to science, they argue and bicker for days, but when it comes to running the place, they look to Sergei and Miranda.

  And they’re not here.

  Which leaves it to me. And while I can’t run a settlement, I know how to survive. So I start barking orders. Telling people to get the essentials to their ships. Telling them to prioritize the food.

  “What about the data?” one woman asks.

  “Data is no good to you if you’re not around to
look at it. Just take what you absolutely need.”

  While they head off, hopefully to do what I told them to, I head for the ammo stores and cram my pockets and my arms full of as much as I can take. I also sling a rifle around my shoulders and tuck a pistol, an automatic, into my waistband.

  I pass the water reservoir on the way back to the common area and I think about how it’s going to be lost. I start thinking about maybe rigging something up to the Cherub, drawing up one of the tanks, maybe. That water would be useful.

  Then I hear the whine of ships approaching. No. It’s too soon.

  Two come in at first, with lines hanging underneath them. My blood goes cold. Each of the ships has a long cable suspended from it and at the end of those cables are large metal hooks. Pierced and wriggling on the ends of those hooks, like bait, are Ferals. One each. Just like at Gastown. The Core freezes, as if etched into my vision. People are still running around, carrying boxes and equipment. Some have made it to the ships and are pulling up cargo. But too few.

  One of the Ferals drops and half-runs, half-stumbles through the open courtyard, spraying blood all around it.

  The chaos of before returns, intensified.

  Two of the three boffin airships start to move away, running from the Ferals and the raiders and for open air. Panicking.

  The Cherub is too far away.

  I unsling the rifle from around my back and enter that cold, dark place that helps keep me alive. There are only two Ferals, but of course I don’t want to get close to them. But I know this place better than they do.

  I climb one of the frames the boffins use to hold some of their construction projects. It’s not the most stable perch, but it will hold me. I sight down the rifle at the dying Feral. I breathe in, hold it, and pull the trigger.

  The bullet misses the Feral’s face, but his neck and shoulder explode in a shower of blood that I hope doesn’t hit anyone. But it puts him down, he falls like a sack of rocks, and we’re down to one of them.

  I scan to find the other one but don’t see it. A voice in my head screams at me. Run for your ship, you idiot! You’re not even wearing your scarf.