Falling Sky

by Rajan Khanna

  I can understand that line of reasoning. I like living, prefer to keep that going as long as I can.

  But Dad liked to play a longer game. Sure, we could have cleared off with the first things we saw. Taken some books, some small electronic equipment. That might have got us by for another few months. But a bigger score meant more security, and Dad always trusted his instincts in situations like that. And he felt that there was something more important there.

  We stuck together, moving throughout the rooms of the house. Dad never let us separate, not that we were likely to. It always was better to have someone cover you.

  We moved through what was once the house’s galley to a few sitting rooms and then to one large room that was filled with some old-fashioned games. I recognized a few of them from other houses, but whatever the rules were, or how they were played, were beyond me. Dad didn’t even know. And the odds of finding a full set of anything, after all, was highly unlikely.

  So far I had noted what could have been a decent haul. There were books. And small electronics and what must have been art pieces that could be used for raw materials—steel and glass, stone and fabrics. But Dad kept us going.

  We went up to the bedroom, which had a huge bed, now covered in dust but piled high with blankets and pillows. Claudia looked at me and raised her eyebrows. I rolled my eyes at her, but I couldn’t help smiling.

  “I don’t think there’s anyone here,” she said. “Maybe they left and this place was just too tightened up for anyone else to get in.”

  “Maybe,” Dad said. “But something doesn’t seem quite right.”

  I tried to figure out what he meant. I felt it, too, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

  “Here,” Dad said, interrupting my thoughts. He stood before a wall in the room.

  “What?” I said.

  “There’s something here,” he said.

  I walked over and examined the wall where he was looking. He was right. It wasn’t natural. You could tell where the ends met. Things weren’t completely flush. The angles were all wrong. “What is it?” I asked.

  “Some kind of hidden room,” Claudia said.

  I looked at Dad and smiled. The hidden score. Concealed objects tended to be valuable.

  “How do we get it open?” I said.

  We looked around for some kind of hinge mechanism, a place where the door would move from, but it wasn’t obvious. I prodded at the wall, tried to find some kind of opening device or a switch or panel. It reminded me of some of the books I’d read as a kid, mysterious temples with secret doors.

  Eventually we found the seam of the door and tried to jam things into it to lever it open. With the three of us pushing on it, we were able to open up the gap a tiny bit, but something prevented the door from moving. Either there had been swelling over the years or an earthquake shifted things or maybe it just malfunctioned.

  Then Dad had an idea.

  He made me open one of the bedroom windows which I did easily enough. Then he pointed up to the Cherub. “If we can’t crack it, she certainly can.”

  “But if you take her up, anyone around will see,” I said.

  “I think it’s worth the risk,” he said.

  Claudia nodded. “Yep.”

  All three of us went outside, covering Dad until he was onboard the Cherub. Then Claudia and I returned to the house. Dad lowered the winch from the Cherub’s gondola, and we snaked it into the open bedroom window and hooked it to the edge of the door, ratcheting it into place. With a shake from me, Dad started winding the winch in.

  The line went taut, and nothing budged, then with a desperate, wrenching squeal, the metal pulled back from the wall and scraped against the floor. Dad was able to tell that it moved and shut down the winch.

  The excitement of the moment died down when I realized that we didn’t know what, or who, was in the room. Claudia and I exchanged a glance; she had her bow up and ready and I had my gun up and out. We moved around to the entrance, ready to cover each other.

  The stink that rolled out from the room almost had me firing my gun because I’d only smelled the like near Feral dens. But my brain soon sussed out the difference. This was not the smell of filth and shit and rot. This was the smell of death. Even Claudia raised her scarf to her face and turned away.

  I moved forward. I didn’t know what else to do. And I was still motivated by what might be in there.

  Dust, or what I thought was dust, swirled in the entrance. Dim lighting cast shadows throughout the room. It was some kind of safe room. Lockers and storage units and cots lined all the walls. But that wasn’t what drew my attention.

  In the center of the room, near the door, was a figure. Dead. Partially decomposed and contorted. I gave it a wide berth and beckoned Claudia to come in with me, partially because we needed to go through the room as quickly as possible, especially with the Cherub still above us, but also partially because the sight of this body disturbed me.

  The score we were hoping for, frankly, wasn’t. It was evident that at one point the storage units had been filled with food and water. There was still some water left, but not enough to be truly valuable. Besides, water was never that much of a desperate thing. There was some clothing, blankets, and the like. But nothing we could use.

  There were also bones. Bones that weren’t quite dry. Piled up in several of the storage units. I won’t go into the details or the smell. Not all of them were adult bones.

  Claudia and I were able to piece together what must have happened. This apparently well-to-do family knew the Bug was coming and they hid themselves away with what they thought was plenty of food and water and supplies. Only it wasn’t enough. Or maybe the door just got stuck before they could come out to resupply. But the food was all gone. And people started to die and . . . well, those remaining ate the others until there was only one left.

  I’ll be honest—it made me gag. Cannibalism wasn’t uncommon among Ferals when food supplies were low. It was one of the things that made them animals. Monsters. Other. But here was a family of human beings, seemingly uninfected, who had ended up acting just as monstrously.

  I turned away, stumbled out of the room to get something resembling fresh air. Claudia came out after me. Putting one arm around me, pulling me close. For the first time I saw that she was shaken, too. We held onto each other for some time.

  As we separated, I looked into her eyes and saw . . . something I’d never seen before. Something bright. Something intense. Something desperately alive. And it sparked with something inside of me.

  We separated and started gathering up what meager salvage we could, attaching it to the winch to be pulled up to the Cherub. Then we did what we could to get out of that house and back up to the sky.

  Later that night, Dad collapsed into drunken sleep. He had been counting on a score, and all we ended up with was what we might find in any number of other places. I hovered at the edge of Claudia’s room, the supply area we had converted into her quarters. She looked up at me. Not smiling, really, but with something bright and hungry in her eyes.

  I walked in. She stood up and turned to me.

  The space between us disappeared and suddenly my mouth was on hers and hers on mine. We were hungry, desperate animals clawing at one another, pulling, grasping. Needing to find comfort in skin and in touch.

  Sex is . . . rare in the Sick. The fear of infection touches everyone. Fluids. That’s where the Bug lives. And you can never really tell if someone’s hiding it. At least not normally.

  But I had been with Claudia for weeks now. Had spent most of my time with her, knew the last time she had encountered Ferals. Had been with her at the time. And even if I hadn’t, there was something about her that made me think it was impossible. That she was too smart and savvy for that.

  So . . . we tore at each other, stripping off the carefully layered clothes we assembled to brave the outside world. But that was far away. Kilometers. And we were safe in the air, removed from Ferals, removed from dea
th and the fallout of the Bug. And we were alive.

  We fell to her sleeping mat, naked, our skin hot. Something surged through me, a feeling so strong and powerful that I thought it might bear me away. I don’t remember distinct details, just impressions—the sensation of skin on skin, her mouth on mine, tongues intertwining in our mouths. Her teeth on me and mine on hers. Nails digging into backs. Legs snaking around legs. And hunger. Mad, desperate hunger to be close to someone. Inside of someone. To be lost in something so instinctual and natural and yet mostly forbidden.

  There’s another reason sex is rare in the Sick. And that’s because it often leads to babies. And who wants to bring a baby up in this kind of world? People do it. I’ve seen kids, of course. But I know I wouldn’t want to inflict this world on some innocent soul. And I sometimes realize this is probably the end of the human race. At least the uninfected human race. So other things happen, I’d done them, but never sex. I had never had sex before.

  So I was understandably surprised when she grabbed my cock and guided it inside of her. My whole body blazed with pleasure. And even before I knew what I was doing, I was moving, thrusting, rocking my pelvis against hers, both of us gasping.

  Tingling fingers stretched over my chest and up my neck. A powerful tightening built around my waist. Thought, perception, rationality fell away from me.

  It built and built and I almost couldn’t take it anymore. A noise I didn’t recognize as coming from me escaped my mouth. I tensed.

  Then she pushed me back, and the sudden movement and contact initiated my orgasm. I fell back out of her, shuddering, against the floor. I lay there, panting, tired, still coming down from the sensation of sex.

  “I’m sorry,” she panted. “I . . . I just couldn’t.”

  “It’s okay,” I said between breaths. “I understand.”

  I moved over to her, put my arms around her, and pulled her close. And we lay like that, together, close, until sleep took us both into its arms.

  I’m roused from sleep by a persistent knocking sound that alerts me to the fact that there’s an equally persistent pounding in my head. A moment later I realize it’s Miranda before my brain actually processes that it recognizes her knock.

  I’m only half-dressed, my shirt off, my pants still on. I look back to see one of Claudia’s muscled legs peeking out from underneath a sheet. More skin than I’ve seen in a long time.

  Again, the knocking. I fumble for my shirt and quickly shrug it on, rushing to the door. Last night is a blur in my mind. I pull open the door.

  Miranda stares up at me from the boarding ramp, a look of . . . what? Annoyance? Obligation? Something’s in her eyes and I don’t know what. Her eyes flick over me and then she reddens, looking away.

  “Is everything okay?” I ask.

  “Yes,” she says quickly. “I mean.” She looks down at her feet. “Ben, I need your help.”

  It makes a change from the last time I saw her. She’s coming to me for assistance. “What’s up?”

  She looks around, at the docks behind her. “Can I . . . um, wouldn’t it be better if I came inside?”

  It’s my turn to redden as I think of Claudia still lying in her bed, that one leg emerging from beneath her covers. “Right,” I say. “Just . . . give me a moment.”

  I shut the door—not all the way, but most of it—and I go back to the bed. I gently prod Claudia. “Claud, we’ve got company.”

  She sits up suddenly, her hair tousled. “Who is it?” she asks. I can see the tension in her posture. She’s ready to move, to act.

  “It’s just Miranda,” I say. “But she wants to come in.”

  “Then let her in,” Claudia says.

  I grimace. “Maybe you should put on some more clothes then.”

  Claudia gives me a look of disapproval and then she sighs. “Okay. I’ll make myself presentable. Go let her in.”

  I move back to the door, open it, wave Miranda in. She looks as uncomfortable as I feel, so I try to focus on the matter at hand. “Is it something with Diego? Are he and Rosie okay?”

  “They’re fine,” she says. “Everyone’s okay.”

  “So what do you need my help with?”

  Miranda leans against one of the counters in the Valkyrie. Crosses her arms. “After you left last night, things got interesting.”

  “Go on . . .”

  “I noticed that some of the people there didn’t look like the usual Valhalla thugs. They didn’t wear the same gear, they didn’t look used to combat. They weren’t seasoned in the same way.”

  “Visitors?”

  “Maybe.” She shrugs. “I got curious so I moved closer to some of them and overheard them talking about, well, about experiments.”

  “Experiments?”

  “These were scientists, Ben. Like me. Working with Valhalla.”

  I think back to our conversation about the Core. Why they hit it. The thought makes me sick to my stomach.

  “Could you tell what they were working on?”

  She shakes her head. “Only a little. I decided to find out more about what they were talking about.”

  The thought makes me so anxious I have to remind myself Miranda’s okay. It’s not that I don’t trust her to handle herself. I do. It’s just that Miranda’s not the best person when it comes to artifice. Lying, bluffing, they’re not her thing.

  “Go on,” I say.

  Miranda shrugs. “I figured the best approach was a direct one. I bought one of them a drink. I told him, well, the truth. Mostly. Told them who I was, where I grew up. What I studied. All I left out was what I’ve been doing the last few years, working on the cure, Apple Pi. I knew enough about some small scientist settlements that we talked to when setting up Apple Pi to fake who I’d been working with.”

  I nod. “You baited your hook well.”

  “I thought so. It seemed to work. This man, Templeton, seemed to like me, so I stayed for a few more drinks.”

  Big mistake, I think. Miranda could drink most people under the table.

  “Templeton seems impressed by my background, and so he basically tries to recruit me. He says he’s part of this cadre who have hooked up with Valhalla. He starts showing off by talking about some of their research. Ben . . . they’re researching the Bug.”

  I wait for the bombshell.

  “He said they want to remake the world.”

  “I don’t understand,” I say. “That sounds like what you’re doing.”

  She shakes her head. Then slams the console. I jump. “Not that way,” she says. “They’re . . . social engineering. They’re planning to set up a new society. Stratified. With them on the top and everyone else below them. Using the virus as just another tool.”

  I go cold. Miranda and her boffins want to cure the Bug. These people want to use it. Like a weapon. It brings me back to Ferals on hooks. Even if this cadre didn’t come up with that idea, it’s more of the same.

  “Miranda,” I say. “That’s—”

  “Yes,” she says.

  “So what do you need my help for?” I ask.

  “I need to get a look at what they’re working on. I have to find out what kind of research they’re doing. I set up another date with Templeton. For tonight.”

  “I still don’t get it.”

  “My plan is to get him drunk and convince him to show me some of the research. They apparently have a few facilities up here. I need you and Diego as backup.”

  I try to absorb all of this through the pounding in my head. “Miranda,” I say. “We’re getting ready to go down to the ground tomorrow. To this helium plant. I don’t know if this is the right time to start poking our noses into new places.”

  “Ben, we need to know about this.” A pause. “I need to know.”

  I shake my head. “What if this puts the whole city on alert?”

  “That’s why I need you.” She says it like she didn’t want to come to me with this. “You can help us get in, keep it quiet. Then tomorrow you go down to the p
lant, get your ship, and get out of here.”

  “It’s a dumb idea,” Claudia says, choosing this moment to emerge from the back of the gondola. She’s fully dressed, thankfully.

  “Miranda,” I say. “This is Claudia. Claudia, Miranda.”

  Each of them takes a moment to size the other up, then they say hello. Politely but coldly.

  “I’m sorry, Claudia, but you don’t have to be involved in this.”

  “Ben,” Claudia says. “We’re about to head down to a hidden location, using a crazy scheme you cooked up, surrounded by a city full of homicidal maniacs. Do you really think now’s the time for something like this?”

  Miranda steps forward. “Ben, you told Diego to come here, to find out what he can to help . . . his people. This could help them. Knowing what they could be up against. Knowing what these people are planning.”

  I shake my head. I don’t want anything to do with this. I’m only here for my ship, I tell myself.

  Then Miranda takes the killing shot.

  “Ben, you owe me.”

  And there’s no way I can protest that. I owe her for getting me back up in the air. And more importantly, I owe her for saving my life.

  “Okay,” I say softly.

  “What?” Claudia says.

  “Okay,” I repeat.

  After a quick planning session on the Osprey with Diego and Rosie in attendance (Claudia refused to involve herself, calling us all fools), I’m back at Fisherman’s with some of their rotgut in hand. I can’t decide how I feel about anything. On the one hand I’m glad Miranda is talking to me again. On the other, I’m annoyed she pulled me into this mess.

  But if it involves watching her back . . .

  Diego comes in after me, takes a seat by me. He smiles, to help keep up the cover, but I can tell it’s forced.

  “Were you in favor of this little operation?” I ask him, smiling.

  “You were the one who said we needed to find out what was going on here. What Valhalla was up to.” His smile fades. “So yes, I was.”