Falling Sky

by Rajan Khanna

  I take a sip of my drink in response. It drowns the bitter taste in my mouth with the harsh tang of alcohol.

  Diego pulls out a wad of playing cards and puts them down on the table. We’re here waiting for Miranda, but we need to look like we belong. It seems as good a way as any to pass the time.

  Most of the people I’ve played cards with use homemade ones, written on scraps of paper or cardboard or whatever. These are actual cards from back in the Clean. There’s even a little bit of shine to them. They must be one of Diego’s prize possessions.

  “Nice set,” I say.

  He gives me a flat stare but then deals out the cards. Poker, a game I know well. Dad used to always say that people like to hold on to the comforts of the past, and cards seem to be one of those comforts. We certainly played quite a bit in quiet times on the Cherub. I imagine a lot of other people did as well.

  I like to think I’m good at poker, skilled at the bluff and reading my opponent. Diego is clearly better. He takes the first three hands and most of the rest. I tell myself that it’s because I’m distracted with everything that’s going on, but that might well be bullshit.

  We play for a while, nursing our drinks as much as we can. We don’t really have anything to play for, but Diego keeps score on a ratty old piece of paper. I wince a little as I see all the marks on his side of the paper.

  Then I catch sight of Miranda entering the bar. I nod my head toward her so Diego can see. Her wavy hair, usually piled up in a tousled bun now hangs free, curling down around her face and neck. I haven’t seen it like that in ages. It looks good on her. I think she might also be wearing some kind of makeup, something shiny on her lips and cheeks. I find myself sitting up straighter in my chair.

  She’s still mostly covered. A scarf draped around her neck and shoulders, a sweater, the worn, fingerless gloves, but I spot artful gaps in her clothing. Bared skin at the chest and neck. Bands at her wrists. She put a lot of thought into this, I think. But then again, that’s Miranda.

  She walks up to a man standing at the bar, with a few men around him. I size him up as best I can. He’s tall, medium build, with curly hair and bright-blue eyes. He looks like a boffin, yes, but there’s something different there, in the stance and the gaze. A kind of domineering swagger. The boffins I know approach the world with a sense of curiosity and discovery. This one approaches it like it’s his, to peel open and expose. Or that’s what I get from him anyway.

  When he sees Miranda, he calls to her and excuses himself from his companions, moving to meet her. He calls for a drink, puts it into her hand.

  I focus back on the game. No need for me to catch the blow-by-blow of Miranda flirting with her mark. He’ll go for it, I’m sure. Not many wouldn’t. And he seems to appreciate women.

  I’m so focused on my cards that Diego is the first to spot Miranda leaving with Templeton. Their arms are linked and he’s gesturing in the air like he’s describing something grand. He holds a small plastic bottle of liquid, and his movements are exaggerated. Miranda seems to hang on his every word.

  After they exit, I collect my cards and count to ten. Slowly. Then, with a nod to Diego, I stand up and walk toward the exit. He follows.

  There’s no great complexity to this plan. We just follow Miranda to the lab and then see if we can get inside.

  Diego and I make small talk, discussing our haul from the last job, what we might barter with it. I make up that I’m looking for some new parts for my radio. He says he needs a new pair of boots, or to at least find someone who can repair the ones he’s wearing.

  Miranda and Templeton continue to thread through Gastown.

  We put on a good show. We stop from time to time, look at a shop or stall, check out an airship. Bend down and pretend to pick something up. But Miranda’s always in sight.

  Rosie’s back at Fisherman’s. Her job is to keep an eye on Templeton’s buddies, make sure they don’t follow him. She’s there to keep our way clear.

  Occasionally the night air brings across Miranda’s laugh or an exclamation from Templeton. They seem to be having a grand old time.

  Eventually, they arrive at a building, large for Gastown. Unlike most of the other buildings that are assembled from corrugated metal and old car parts and mismatched wooden panels, this one looks well-constructed with some kind of light metal walls and a flat roof.

  I flash Diego my open palm and we get out of the line of sight against a nearby structure that looks abandoned. Templeton leads Miranda up to a door guarded by two men. He opens the door and lets Miranda look inside.

  At this point I’m guessing Miranda doesn’t have to act interested.

  Templeton moves to close the door, but Miranda looks up at him, and I can tell she’s pleading, begging him for a few moments inside.

  For a moment there’s stiffness in his body language, but as he looks at her, it fades and he pulls her against him. Then Miranda leans into him, nestling her head against his chest.

  Something hot and bitter moves through me.

  Templeton fishes for something in his pocket, a key I realize a moment later as he fits it to a big metal padlock, and then he’s pulling Miranda through the door, closing it behind him.

  “That’s our cue,” I say.

  Diego walks out of the shelter of the building and straight toward the lab. I wait a count of two, then follow.

  The two guards are tracking Diego, one stepping forward to intercept him when I step into sight with my weapon out and shoot him carefully in the neck.

  As the other guard turns toward me, Diego leaps forward and grabs him, spinning him toward me. I shoot him in the neck, too.

  Neither shot makes a sound. That had been Miranda’s idea. When we were planning this crazy scheme and I asked how we were going to keep things quiet, she pulled out this strange-looking gun and laid it on the table.

  It took me a moment to place it. “A new tranq gun?”

  She nodded. “We worked a couple of them up for use on Alpha. I took it with me when I left the Pasteur.”

  It had been a good idea. No noise. No fuss. Put them down fast.

  “Wait here,” I tell Diego. Then I enter the lab.

  Miranda is standing inside with a single light on. I don’t see Templeton at first. Then I see a crumpled form at her feet.

  “You did that?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “He had a lot to drink. I think he slipped and fell.”

  Her eyes aren’t on him, though. Or on me. They’re on what’s in the lab. Frankly it looks a lot like some of the boffin’s setups. Steel tables, cobbled-together computers, beakers, microscopes. Science gear. All over the place.

  “Take a look around,” I say. “I’ll get Diego.” Which I do, and the two of us drag the bodies inside.

  “Do what you need to do fast, Miranda,” I say. But she’s already bent over a computer screen, a sheaf of papers in her hand.

  I toss Diego the fur cloak one of the guards was wearing. I swap my leather jacket for the other guard’s fringed coat. “You watch these guys,” I say. “If I need you, I’ll knock three times on the door.”

  He nods back at me.

  Then it’s back outside, into the cold dark. You don’t see the stars on Gastown. All the balloons they use to float the place block out the firmament, as my dad would say.

  I feel the tension ride my body, leaving me feeling tight. Any moment now one of Templeton’s buddies could walk up and check in. Or there could be a guard change. I’m glad I brought along my revolver in addition to the tranq gun.

  Miranda seems to be taking ages, but then again she always seems to take a long time. This is the way we operate. I look for threats, she looks for science. She feeds on curiosity; I choke on paranoia.

  Just another day on the job . . .

  A shape appears off on a nearby platform. I knock three times on the door, making sure my revolver is accessible.

  Diego emerges from the lab and takes up position on the other side of the door.

>   The shape approaches, then turns off down a different walkway.

  I exhale and feel my heartbeat slow.

  “I’ll go get Miranda,” I say, and walk into the lab.

  Miranda is bent over a different table, her hair once again tucked up behind her head save for one wavy strand that threads down her face and around her glasses. As tense as I am right now, as strongly as I want to yell at her to get out. Now. So we don’t get captured and killed. In spite of all that, I can’t help but be captivated by her, standing here, now, doing what she does best. Think. Process. Calculate. Solve.

  So, instead of yelling, I say, gently, “Miranda. Do you have what you need?”

  She looks up at me, and it almost seems to take her a moment to recognize me. She nods quickly. “I think so.” She tucks a few rolled-up papers inside her coat and stuffs something else in her pocket.

  She walks toward me, then points down at the bodies. “What do we do about them?”

  “Leave them,” I say. “Nothing else to do.”

  “And when they wake up?”

  “The alarm goes up. But hopefully by that time we’ll be off of Gastown.”

  I hold the door open for her and we exit. As I replace the metal padlock, hoping it buys us some time, I ask Miranda, “Was it worth it?”

  When she meets my eyes, I see something in them that I almost don’t recognize, it’s so unusual. Fear.

  “I think it was,” she says.

  We walk off into the night.

  I wait at the rendezvous, and Diego and Miranda are nowhere to be found. Rosie, however, is there. “Where are they?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “I thought they’d be here.”

  “They were supposed to lay low.”

  She glares at me. “Miranda said she had something to do and Diego went with her. To keep her out of trouble.”

  I get that familiar sinking feeling in my stomach, that worrying-about-Miranda thing.

  “We don’t have a lot of time,” Claudia says.

  “Damn.” I shouldn’t have spent the night on the Valkyrie again, I think. I should have stayed with Miranda. But I didn’t. Her coldness returned after we left the lab and I couldn’t bear it. So I went back to Claudia.

  Claudia is now looking at me. I know that look. No mirth. Her face is a stone wall. “Ben,” she says.

  I know what she’s going to say: we don’t have time to wait around. If we miss this window, we miss everything. So I wave her off.

  “What if something happened to them?” I ask out loud.

  “What if something didn’t and we miss our chance to get down to that plant?” Claudia says. “Not to mention this place is going to be on alert any minute now. The longer we wait, the more likely it is that we all get picked up.”

  It’s hard to know exactly what is the most likely scenario. It’s quite normal for Miranda to get something lodged in her brain and to focus on it to the exception of all else.

  “I’m going with or without you,” Claudia says.

  She wants to see the plant. I don’t really give a shit about that, but the Cherub . . .

  Rosie meets my eyes. “Diego can take care of himself,” she says. “Can Miranda?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then let’s go,” Claudia says.

  Maybe it’s for the best, I think. Miranda only muddies things up for me.

  “Then let’s go,” I say. Rosie doesn’t protest. She must have a lot of faith in her brother. I wonder if it’s time I start to put some in him as well.

  We move to another section of Gastown, shadowed by large ships. “Do you see them?” Claudia asks, gesturing at their bulk.

  “You mean the heavily armed gunships?” I say. “Yes, how could I miss them?” They’re heavy-framed ships with weapons bristling off of them, probably bolted onto the skeleton. Ugly, but effective.

  “They’re ready for the run,” Claudia says. “Gastown air control will suspend all incoming and outgoing flights for at least a couple of hours. During that time the transport ship will bring the supplies down to the plant and then return with the helium.”

  I move forward, my hands reaching for a railing, gripping it tight.

  Rosie gives me the hard stare. Around us Gastown is slowly shaking to life, but her eyes are locked on me. “Are you really going to do this?”

  “Yes,” I say. “I came here for my ship. I’m not leaving without her. You don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to. If you think this is bullshit, stay. Go find Diego and Miranda.”

  She scowls but doesn’t say anything.

  “This is it,” I say to them. “We go now or never.” I think I’m convincing myself more than either of them. I look at Claudia. “You good with the plan?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t love it,” she says. “But I like it.”

  “Everyone have their gear?” I ask.

  Nods all around. Each of us is carrying some extra padding from the Valkyrie. We’re likely to be knocked around a bit inside the drums, so some blankets and other cast-offs will help. They’ll also help us to seem less hollow if anyone ends up thumping the containers around a bit.

  Then there are the weapons. I take the revolver, of course, but also a long-bladed knife that Claudia gave me. I typically don’t use blades or anything with that short a reach, but we’re not going up against Ferals here and stealth is the magic word.

  Rosie carries a worn automatic with a white grip.

  Claudia insists on taking the bow. “It will fit,” she says. “I measured it.”

  I want to grumble at her, but I can’t. Again, the bow is quiet where a shotgun would be noisy.

  So we tuck away our weapons, sling blankets around us, and trek over to where Claudia leads us. It’s a structure constructed from what looks like some kind of beaten metal. But the edges are all secured with barbed wire. “That’s where the drums are,” Claudia says.

  “Okay,” I say. “We get in and load a couple of empties in place of the full and then we’ll be transported with the others.”

  “As easy as that?” she says.

  “Well,” I say, “It might be a little harder than that.”

  Claudia flashes me a concerned look.

  “Oh, come on. You love this.”

  Whether or not she does, I do. I’m not the cloak-and-dagger type, but this is the most excitement I’ve felt in a while. And Miranda is no longer lurking in the forefront of my mind.

  “Ready?” I ask.

  Claudia looks at Rosie. “Ready?”

  “Ready,” she says. Claudia repeats it back to me.

  “Follow my lead,” I say.

  We’ve been watching the building for a little while. We’ve only seen one person inside.

  I walk up to the door of the building and knock on it. Loudly, firmly. No stealth in that.

  A man, harried-looking and perspiring, opens the door and glares at me. “What the fuck do you want?”

  “I got a delivery,” I say.

  “What?”

  “A delivery. Cloth. Linen. Textiles.”

  “Tex-what?”

  “Textiles,” I say loudly and slowly.

  “Look, I don’t—” he begins.

  I grab his arm firmly and pull out a worn, folded piece of cardboard, trying to make it look like I’m gently escorting the man inside. Once he clears the door, I shove him all the way in. Rosie and Claudia quickly follow.

  I kick the guy’s leg out from under him and push him to the ground. His head bounces hard against the floor. He snarls, so I do it again and he goes out.

  “What are we going to do with him?” Rosie asks.

  “We can’t leave him here,” Claudia says. “He might wake up while we’re down there. Raise an alarm. It would be best to kill him.”

  I wonder who this man is. He doesn’t look like one of the Vikings. He could just be someone trying to get by. “I don’t feel comfortable killing him. Especially while he’s unconscious.”

  “Then what do you want to do?”
Claudia asks.

  I rack my brains trying to think of something. “Why don’t we put him in one of these?”

  “What? In the drums?”

  “We can gag him,” I say.

  “Oh, this gets better and better all the time,” Rosie says.

  “There’s not much else we can do about it,” I say.

  “Yes, there is,” Claudia says. She bends down to the man and grips his nose and mouth firmly. Soon he starts to buck, but she keeps her grip firm. Then he goes limp.

  “Claudia,” I say.

  “What? You think he’s innocent? No one in this operation is. This way he can’t fuck us.”

  “You didn’t have to kill him.”

  She stares at me, frowning. “You want your ship back or not? Ben, you need to pick a side.”

  I stare back at her, my jaw set.

  “If he was a Feral you wouldn’t have thought twice.”

  “But he wasn’t.”

  “Argue later,” Rosie says. “We need to get rid of him.”

  “Look for a place to stash the body,” Claudia says.

  The building is mostly just a big storage space, but we find a small cavity in the floor that holds some boxes and a few smaller canisters. We’re able to wedge the body down into it. We cover it carefully with a wooden cube that seems to exist as seating.

  Claudia rustles up a crowbar and we start prying off the lids of the drums.

  I can’t help but think of the dead man. I couldn’t do what Claudia had done. Yes, if he’d been a Feral I would have done it without compunction. Done it again and again and again. Hell, I have. But not a man. Not like that.

  It makes me think of Miranda. She feels that way about the Ferals, too. That they’re all people who can be saved. Humans. Just because I disagree doesn’t mean I don’t understand.

  Still, the one attacking me wasn’t unconscious. It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

  “So,” Claudia says. “Into the barrels?”

  I nod.

  Each of us picks a drum and lines the inside with the blankets and other padding. “How are we going to seal them up behind us?” Rosie asks.

  “Well, we don’t want to seal them too tightly,” I say. “Or else how will we get out? Just pull it on and I’ll give it a few taps.” We try playing with the lids for a bit and I find a way that we can get them to stay on and still get them off again. Claudia hands out some cardboard, torn into thin strips, which gives us enough room that the lids don’t seal completely.