by Rajan Khanna
“That just about covers it. It must be well hidden. No one has even seen their ships moving to it.”
“Nobody has?”
“No one I’ve been able to find.”
“Not even before Valhalla took it over?”
She shakes her head. “My guess is, back then they did it in the dark, blacked out, so as not to leave a big trail. These guys . . . I think they just go in big and with lots of guns. If you stumble onto the operation, they’ll shoot you down.”
“But I still don’t get it,” I say. “Why do you want to find it? You’re looking to rip it off?”
“Not exactly,” she says. “Let’s just say I’ve been hired by some people to look into it.”
“What kind of people?”
“People who were upset when the original Gastown was taken out.”
I sit back and lace my fingers together. I smile. “We should work together.”
“What?” Claudia says.
“What?” Rosie echoes.
“Think about it. You’re looking for information. I’m looking for the Cherub. They’re both down on the ground.”
“Hang on,” Rosie says. “I didn’t sign up to go down to this helium operation.”
“Then don’t go,” I say. “But my ship’s down there.”
“We need to let Diego know about this,” Rosie says.
“Sure,” I say. “But I’m going.”
Claudia inclines her head. “It does make a kind of sense. Us working together.”
“How are we even sure we can trust her?” Rosie asks.
I meet Rosie’s eyes. “I trust Claudia with my life.”
Rosie’s eyes are hard. “I don’t.” She looks away. “And we know what happened when Diego trusted you.”
I feel the heat rise into my face and I look away from her. Claudia raises her eyebrows, but I shake my head.
Claudia instead turns to face Rosie. “You’re right. You have no reason to trust me. But maybe I can help you. You’re clearly not here for the Cherub. What are you interested in?”
Rosie looks at me and then back to Claudia. “Information. On Gastown. Their defenses. Their weaponry. Things like that.”
“Good,” Claudia says. “I think I can give you at least some of what you want. I’ve been up here for the better part of a week, taking note of the defenses, the ships, the movements of their people. I can give you that information. A good faith gesture.”
“That would help,” Rosie says.
“Can you read?” Claudia asks.
Rosie nods.
“I can have it for you tomorrow.”
Rosie closes her eyes for the briefest of moments. Then says, “Deal.”
“Good,” Claudia says.
“There are two more of us,” I say. “Diego and Miranda. They might want to come, too.”
“We’ll need to figure out a way to get there first,” Claudia says. “As you can probably guess, they carefully guard the location. Only a certain few up here even know it. Once or twice a week they send supplies down to the men and pull the helium back up here. But the ships are escorted by gunships. It’s not like I can take the Valkyrie down and follow them.”
“Then we’ll just have to figure out another way,” I say. “Can you share with us what you have so far?”
So Claudia does. She passes around her notes and a few photographs she took and was able to develop with an old-fashioned camera setup.
I flip through them. Detailed schedules of movements. Descriptions of ships. Supplies moved out. Supplies moved in. Diagrams. Schematics. Lists.
I pass some on to Rosie, hoping she’ll see something in there. Some answer from all the data. I wish Miranda were here. She’s really good at that sort of thing.
“Maybe we should take a few days with this. Bring in Diego and Miranda and see what we can find.”
“You can,” Claudia says. “But by my calculations the next supply run should be the day after tomorrow.”
“Damn,” I say.
“Yeah,” Claudia says.
“And the longer we’re here on Gastown, the more dangerous it gets,” Rosie says.
“Then we just have to figure out a way to make this work for tomorrow,” I say. I flip through photographs. Heavily armed gunships. People with boxes on handtrucks.
I feel my mind reaching for all the pieces, trying to make sense of them. Like a jigsaw puzzle. Only all the jigsaw puzzles I’ve seen have had pieces missing. And this plan can’t afford that.
And then there it is. The answer. A photograph of people moving large drums.
I smile and hold up the photo. “This is it.” Then I slap it down on the table.
“Explain,” Claudia says.
“We can’t take your ship,” I say. “So why don’t we use theirs?”
“What?” Rosie asks. She crosses her arms.
Claudia’s eyes narrow. “We can’t take out a whole crew. They’re likely to have pilots and guards. I’m good, but I’m not that good.”
I shake my head. “Agreed. A frontal assault would just get us killed. But what if we’re disguised somehow. Like . . . cargo.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Rosie says.
I point at the picture. “The drums. They bring these onto the ships, right? To bring down to the plant?”
“Yes,” Claudia says.
“Look at their size. They’re big enough to hold a person.”
Claudia narrows her eyes. “You’re saying that we load ourselves into these drums?”
“Yes! Then we let them load us on the supply ship and transport us down to the ground. No need for any ships. No need for an assault.”
“And you think they won’t find us?” Rosie says.
“Not if we take precautions. We pad the sides, minimize our noise. Make sure we have an easy exit.”
“Okay,” Claudia says. “Say that part works. How are we going to get into these drums? They’re kept in a warehouse up here. Under guard.”
“That’s the part we have to work on,” I say. “But if we get there early enough before the transfer, we might have a better shot. What do you think?”
“I think it’s crazy,” Claudia says. “But I think it might also work.”
“You’re both out of your minds,” Rosie says.
“Maybe,” I say. “But sometimes you have to be.”
“We need to talk to Diego,” Rosie says.
“Yeah,” I say. “That’s a good idea. Miranda, too.”
“I have people to talk to as well,” Claudia says. “I’ll try to get more information. But then we have to be ready to move.”
“Okay.” I stand up. Rosie does the same. We make for the door.
Claudia mentioning that she still has people to talk to tickles my brain, though, and I stop and turn back to her. “Oh, by the way. Do you know that bigwig who was sitting at that big table back at the bar? Woman? Tall and thin? Big hair? Bigger entourage?”
“I don’t know her name,” Claudia says. “But I get the sense she’s important. She’s been here for a few days. I think I heard someone call her ‘Professor.’”
“Professor?” I ask.
Claudia shrugs. “You know as much as I do. I just get the sense that Gastown, the new Gastown, that is, is reaching out to other folks. Making new alliances. That lot you saw was part of that.”
I think back to the conversation with Miranda from earlier. “That scares me.”
“All of this should scare you,” Claudia says.
“Fair enough.” I walk Rosie to the door and let her out first. Then I turn back to Claudia one more time. “It’s good to see you.”
“Likewise.” She grabs my face and kisses me hard. It brings back old times. I can’t help smiling.
“You still use the bow?” I ask.
“Of course,” she says. “Only people up here don’t respect a weapon like that. So I thought it better to keep it tucked away.”
I picture her suddenly, the bow stretched back in her hands,
the arrow flying true and clear when she releases. It’s such a perfect picture, I think about it often. I realize I want to see it again.
“I’ll check in tomorrow then,” I say.
“Tomorrow,” she says.
Then I walk off of the Valkyrie despite wanting to stay all night.
Not long afterward, we’re sitting with Diego and Miranda in an entirely different Gastown bar, and Diego’s saying . . . something. Frankly, I’m not paying attention because I’m too preoccupied with the fact that Miranda won’t meet my eyes and for some reason that has me all tangled up inside.
I notice that Diego’s looking at me expectantly. “I’m sorry. Say that again?”
“I’m saying, I know you want your ship back, but what point is there getting caught up in your friend’s helium thing?”
“Really?” I say. “You don’t see? Gastown has all but declared war on any other settlement in this region. Including . . .” I look around, recognizing that this is hardly a private conversation. “Including your home. And this is a way to get intelligence about their most valuable resource. Maybe we could even figure out a way to sabotage it.”
“You trust this woman? Claudia, was it?”
“Yes,” I say. “I’ve known her a long time. She’s trustworthy. She’s had my back lots of times.”
Miranda is still not looking at me, and it’s like this annoying insect buzz in my mind that I’m finding it hard to work past.
“So now what?”
“We meet up tomorrow, coordinate, and then move out.”
“All of us?” Diego says.
“I thought we should stick together.”
Diego tilts his head to one side, then rubs his beard. “See, I thought maybe I could get more done up here. I’ve already met a few people. Made some progress. Staying up here makes more sense to me.”
I bite back my response. I realize that retrieving the Cherub is what’s driving me, and that has no meaning for him. “Okay,” I say at last. “Then maybe I’ll take Miranda, and you and Rosie can do what you need to do here.”
“No,” Miranda says, still not meeting my eyes. “I’ll stick with Diego.”
It stings more than I want it to. Rather than feeling the urge to punch Diego as I would expect, I just feel beat-up. “Fine,” I say softly. “I guess I’m on my own.”
“Not quite,” Rosie says. Great, I think. She’s decided to stay on my ass and she’s not going to budge.
I nod. “Okay.” I take a slug of my drink. “If you change your mind, be ready to meet us at Fisherman’s the day after tomorrow.”
Diego nods. Miranda doesn’t respond. And then my skin is itching and I want to get away from that table as quickly as possible. So I throw back my drink and then stand up. “I’m going to do some preparing,” I say to Rosie. “Meet me at Claudia’s an hour before we go. You remember how to get there?”
She nods.
“Good. Then have a good time, all.” I walk out of the bar trying to look calm, cool, but I’m not sure I’m pulling it off. But then I don’t care.
Gastown passes in a blur—people and shapes and smells I don’t identify because of the buzz that’s in my head.
Then I’m back at the Valkyrie and even though I know Claudia said we shouldn’t be seen together, I find myself at her ramp and I rap on it to get her attention.
She comes to the door and looks down at me. “What’s wrong?” she says.
I shrug. “I just needed to see a friendly face.”
She laughs and points to her scar. “You call this friendly?”
Without mirth or humor, I nod.
She wraps an arm around me and pulls me inside.
Those early days are imprinted so strongly on my brain. I can remember everything about them. The sound of my father’s voice, and Claudia’s answering back in the midst of Feral howls. The smell of the ground, of the Ferals, that scent of Claudia’s that she still has—metal and oil and sweet vanilla. The taste of Claudia’s grog. The feeling of hands and bruises and cuts from our adventures and patching each other up. And . . . other sensations.
We hooked up with her back when my dad was still around. Did a job together. She didn’t have the Valkyrie at the time. And we all made a good team. She was older, yes, but nicely in between me and my dad and served, in a way, as a bridge between us.
I sometimes wonder if Dad was hoping for something to happen with her. There certainly was as much of a difference in age between them as there was between her and me. But I guess Claudia had other ideas.
I think about that night often.
We had gotten word of a stash. Some ritzy mountain home we were going to check out. Those were always potentially good scores. Back in the Clean, the rich were the ones who could barricade themselves away from everyone else. They were likely to have better salvage. They were likely to have stockaded goods.
So we took the Cherub in. Of course we were worried about Ferals. No matter how defensible a place looked, you always had to expect the Ferals had found it. And even if they hadn’t, what if the Bug had?
Once we lowered the ship in and next to a stand of trees, we descended the ladder. Dad never liked to take the Cherub down to where Ferals might be able to reach her. It’s something I carried on after he died.
Dad had his revolver out. I had a worn .45 that I had scrounged up somewhere. It wasn’t a great weapon, but I remember being so proud of it. Because it was mine and I took care of it as well as I could.
Claudia had her bow. I remember being skeptical of it at first. I was young, impressed by guns and ammo. Not that I’m not now. But a bow seemed, well, it seemed ridiculous.
Yet the first time I saw her use it, I was a believer. I watched her pull back the string and loose arrow after arrow in fluid, graceful movement. And I watched Feral after Feral fall before her. What made it even better was that it was easy for her to collect ammo. She wouldn’t collect the shafts from used arrows—they were covered in Feral blood and, therefore, the Bug—but she could cut and carve new shafts from trees, and arrowheads, while not easy to make, could be fashioned from cast-off metal or flint or any number of materials. Not quite the same as bullets.
Dad brought the Cherub down to the house. It was a sprawling, massive structure, composed of asymmetrical elements. Lots of glass, though that could always prove a problem. Most of it looked intact, though. Behind the house was a large pool that Dad said had been used for swimming. Swampy water filled it, nature reclaiming the structure.
We lowered the ladder and Claudia was first down on the ground as usual. She kept her bow up, an arrow fitted to the string, scanning for any Ferals. I came down after her, my .45 in my hand. Dad brought up the rear with his revolver.
We moved one at a time, covering each other’s movements. We’d worked like this so many times it had become routine. Still, I felt as anxious as a cat between two Ferals, the way I always did when it was my turn to cover. I was good at spotting Ferals—I knew that—but it was something that if you fucked it up, you weren’t likely to get a second chance.
Everything looked good by the time Claudia got to the house. We’d discussed how to get inside but in the end had opted to smash through one of the windows. It would create some noise, possibly attract any Ferals inside, but it was the quickest way and no one liked to be fumbling at the lock while potentially under attack.
Claudia pulled a long rod from her belt and swung it at the window. I moved my eyes back to scan the surrounding area and waited for the sound of the glass cracking.
It didn’t come.
I couldn’t stop myself from turning back to look at her.
“Fuck,” she said. “It’s reinforced.”
Which made sense of the fact that they were unbroken. Something like that would hold up to the wind and to Ferals. But it also meant that Ferals were unlikely to be inside. Unless, of course, some fool had left a door or window open.
“We’ll move around to a door,” Dad said. “Keep your eyes open.
”
We followed the outside wall and soon came to a small set of stairs leading up to a door. The wood of the steps had rotted through, but again, this meant that Ferals were unlikely to have penetrated the building.
“Cover us,” Dad said to Claudia. Then he hoisted me up to the door. It was locked, of course, and I couldn’t see a way to get inside. “Should I shoot it?” I said.
Dad didn’t answer at first. Firing my gun now would alert anyone in the area. But we were up on a hill and the trees would cover us. It wouldn’t necessarily give away our position.
“Okay,” Dad said at last. So I shot the lock and with a few hits from the butt of my pistol was able to get the door open. I pulled myself inside, flattened down to the floor, the pistol still out, alert for any movement.
I didn’t see any, nor did I notice the smell that characterized a Feral dwelling. Still, that didn’t mean anything. Willing my hearing to its best ability, I reached down my hand for the next person.
Dad boosted up Claudia next, and with me pulling and him pushing, she was soon up by me and able to cover me from the inside. Then Dad came up last.
“Smells good,” he said. Claudia didn’t seem convinced.
Dad shut the door behind us. It was one of the things we had often disagreed on. I was of the opinion that it helped to have the door handily open in case, for example, the house was filled with Ferals and we had to go running to get away from them. In this case, we couldn’t just go through the windows to escape.
Dad, on the other hand, felt that leaving it open was an invitation to any Ferals that happened to wander by, and he didn’t want a Feral sneaking up on him while he was exploring.
Dad always won this argument.
We moved through the house. It looked like someone had been in it, had cleared some of the things away, but not everything. There was bound to be some decent salvage inside. I resisted the urge to start tearing everything apart and stuff it into my pockets. That was another thing Dad had taught me. And yet another variation in salvage philosophy.
There are some who would say that in a strange place like that where you’re not sure if you’re walking into a Feral den, the best thing to do is to grab what you can as quickly as possible and then get out as quickly as you can. Those people would likely tell you that any salvage, no matter how good, is no use to you if you’re dead.