Rivers of Orion

by Dana Kelly

  “Right, of course.” Casey clipped her restraints to her belt and stepped past April. “I’m sorry I panicked.”

  “It’s okay.” April looked puzzled. “Shouldn’t you be heading back to the cockpit?”

  “I need to use the latrine.”

  April chuckled. “I’m after you.”

  “Captain,” muttered Shona. “Is everything okay?”

  “Why are we weightless?” asked Malmoradan.

  “We won’t be for much longer,” said Casey. “Go back to sleep.”

  ◆◆◆

  A biting wind blustered through the late-night air. Faraway sirens cried out, and the large blades of police drones chopped up the distant sky. Enormous waste processors thumped continuously, their kettledrum beats filling the surrounding city blocks with a rhythmic undercurrent.

  Mike stood on a narrow balcony, his back to a sliding glass window. He leaned over a weathered, wrought-iron rail. To his right, he had a clear view of the streets below. To his left, he saw over the high fences blocking off an old train yard. A dozen rusted boxcars hovered just above a tiny delta of long-forgotten mag-lev tracks. Along the sides of the platforms, faded lamps switched drowsily between red and green.

  Torsha stepped through the gap in the window, and Mike scooted over to accommodate her. “We should get some food,” she said. “The water here tastes weird, too.”

  He twisted to regard her. “Torsha, it’s industrial water! I told you when we got here it isn’t safe to drink!” At that moment, he noticed her growing smile, and he sighed. “You’re joking. Got it.”

  “Of course, I’m joking,” she said, and she nudged him with her elbow. “Dummy.”

  “Miguel Santos, I must address the matter of potable water,” said Nimbus, and he drifted past them in the form of a large, luminous, blue-spotted moth ray. “It is unpleasant filtering the water here. Doing so is taxing, and this building’s power fluctuations left me feeling partially depleted after my most recent charging session. If you are willing to acquire bottled water, I would be grateful for the respite.”

  “We can make that happen,” said Mike. “My apologies, guys. I’m still a little paranoid after last night.”

  “I don’t think you’re being paranoid at all,” said Torsha. “I’m glad we ghosted that cabbie.”

  “Torsha Madagan, are you certain the taxi pilot was inauthentic? I was unable to detect any deceptive intent.”

  “That’s because you’re a robot,” said Torsha.

  “Torsha Madagan, your assertion is incorrect! I am a polymorphic, fractal-intellect nanobot collective. I am no more a robot than you are a human.”

  “Well, whatever,” she said. “Just trust us on this, okay? The timing was way too convenient.”

  “Not to mention the destination,” said Mike.

  Nimbus lowered himself to perch on the corner of the railing. “Miguel Santos, I do not understand why the abode of Aurora and Oliver Webb is suspect.”

  The wind gusted, and Mike shivered. He pulled his jacket tightly around him. “Think about it. Some random sky cab shows up on the roof of my dorm building, claiming to be sent from my dad, to take us back to Orin’s parents’ place? Normally, I’d be on board, but after what happened in Van Alder, it had trap written all over it.”

  Nimbus flashed red along his flanks. “Miguel Santos, you have not qualified your reasoning!”

  Mike chuckled. “Let’s just call it a hunch, okay?” He scanned the neighborhood and spotted a ramen house on a nearby street corner. “How does everyone feel about Brawley Heights Noodles?”

  “Mm, local cuisine,” said Torsha.

  “Miguel Santos, I am not certain I have recharged sufficiently to provide necessary filtration services,” said Nimbus.

  Mike laughed. “Ah, it can’t be that bad.” He nodded at Torsha. “After you.”

  She stepped back through the window, into a spacious, dark, and empty room. Only the green exit sign near the door offered any light. Mike and Torsha proceeded cautiously, with Nimbus hovering at their backs. In the lightless hallway beyond, they passed several doors, arriving at a gated lift. The ancient platform trudged down to ground level, where Mike raised the gate, and they exited.

  Several offices awaited them, locked up for the night and adorned with placards belonging to the Ministry of Sanitation and Reclamation. As they stepped into the dim foyer, screens flashed from a vacant security station. A row of vending machines lit up in response to their presence. Commercial jingles erupted from the beverage machine, filling empty halls with empty echoes.

  Stepping outside, Mike pulled his jacket’s hood over his head, and he propped the door open with a small chunk of concrete. Torsha donned her hoodie’s cowl, as Nimbus took the form of a crimson-banded porplet—a piglet-sized creature with six legs and luxurious fur. Together, they made their way along the sidewalks and quickly reached the ramen house.

  They placed their order, and Mike paid for their meals with paper currency. Moments later, they sat down to enjoy two bowls of hot ramen, and Nimbus settled in at Mike’s feet. They spoke in whispers, keeping to themselves as customers wandered in and out.

  After they had finished, Mike led them to a sprawling, neon lit underground market, festooned with Halloween banners, jack-o-lanterns, and holographic creatures of the night. They visited several shops, buying pouches of self-cooking food and bottled drinks. As Mike rearranged a bag full of water bottles, Torsha tapped his shoulder. “What’s up?” he asked.

  “Don’t look, but the two guys behind us showed up at Brawley’s right before we left,” said Torsha. “They’ve been inside or just outside every shop we visited, but they haven’t bought anything.”

  “Stay close,” said Mike. He hoisted his bags and walked quickly toward the far side of the market. Torsha and Nimbus kept pace. Just as they were about to climb the stairs back up to street level, Mike turned completely around, heading back the way came. He and his friends passed by the men Torsha had noticed. When Mike glanced behind, he caught a glimpse of them exchanging uncertain looks with one another, a moment before they pivoted and followed.

  “They know they’ve been made, but they’re still tailing us,” said Mike. “We need to shake these guys.” They ducked into a crowded food court, weaving between stands and kiosks, but the two following them kept up.

  “Should we call the cops?” whispered Torsha.

  “They won’t get here in time,” said Mike.

  As they emerged from the market, Torsha spotted both men leaning into a full run. “Fine, then. We fight,” she said.

  “Only as a last resort,” said Mike. “Nimbus, call us a cab—with a driver. Have them pick us up in the east loading alley, just outside the market’s side exit. Meet us back at the reclamation plant as soon as you can.”

  “Miguel Santos, I understand your requests and will complete them in sequence.” Nimbus dispersed, reforming as a metal ring at the base of a rooftop antenna.

  Mike looked at Torsha. “Time to run!” He ditched the groceries and bolted across the street, hopping over the hood of a car as he moved. Torsha raced after him.

  The two men gave chase.

  Mike and Torsha crossed the street again, just ahead of a rush of cars, momentarily stranding their opponents on the other side. They dashed back into the market, threading the crowd as they closed on a wall of eateries. Sprinting along a wall lit hallway, they ran past a row of bathrooms, to a door at the far end. Mike shoved it open, and they crossed out into the loading alley, just as a yellow cab pulled up. He and Torsha clambered inside, shut the vehicle’s door, and Mike shouted, “Go, go, go!”

  “Can do,” said the cab driver. He jammed the accelerator just as the market door flung open again. Bright crimson taillights bathed his fares’ pursuers as they faded into the rearview mirror.

  Mike and Torsha sank into the back bench, and they began to relax. “Thank you,” said Mike. “That was perfect timing.”

  “You two in some kind of tr
ouble?” asked the cabbie.

  “Not anymore,” said Torsha.

  The driver nodded. “Well, you might want to settle in. It’ll be thirty minutes to New Cal.”

  “Can you do me a favor?” asked Mike.

  “Depends on the favor,” said the cabbie.

  Mike leaned forward. “How would you feel about driving around town for thirty minutes, instead?”

  “Beats driving out to New Cal,” said the driver. “Where am I dropping you off?”

  “Across the street from the reclamation plant,” said Mike.

  “The one just down the block?”

  “That’s the one,” said Mike.

  The driver laughed. “Can do.” He selected a playlist full of old hip hop standards and drove Mike and Torsha up and down the city streets of Brawley Heights.

  When the ride was over, he parked his cab where Mike had asked him to, and his passengers disembarked. Mike passed him several paper bills, and the cab driver thanked him for the generous tip. With a smile and a wave, he drove away.

  Calmly, Mike and Torsha approached the building door. He squatted and examined the chunk of concrete he had used to jam it open. With a nod, he glanced at Torsha. “It hasn’t moved,” he said.

  “Thank God,” she said.

  Mike tossed the debris aside and held the door for Torsha. They both slipped through into the dimly lit lobby, prompting the beverage machine to blurt another round of commercial jingles. Nimbus coalesced at Mike’s eye level, taking the form of a translucent, lavender-glowing air serpent.

  “There you are,” said Mike. “Thanks for your help, back there.”

  “Miguel Santos, it was my pleasure to aid in your escape,” said Nimbus.

  They made their way to the elevator, and back up to the empty room. Once they were inside, Mike latched the door closed. Nimbus flew slowly to the corner nearest the sliding window and landed next to a power outlet.

  From the darkest corner, a voice said, “You forgot your groceries.”

  Mike and Torsha jumped back, ready to fight. Nimbus assumed the form of a four-legged clockwork spider and hurried to join his friends.

  “Easy now,” said the visitor. He pushed a button on a handheld device, and the overhead lights switched on. “We’re on the same team.”

  “Papá?” said Mike.

  “You two were not easy to find,” said Martin. “Those were two of my best trackers, by the way. If they hadn’t picked you up coming out of this building, I don’t think I ever would’ve found you.” He stepped over a row of grocery bags to embrace his son. “Is there a German word for proud and frustrated?”

  “My German’s not that good,” said Mike, and he returned the embrace. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’d like you both to join me,” said Martin, and he explained how he set up denshi-tengu doppelgängers for Orin’s friends and family, as well as his plans to rescue Orin from the starship Watchtower. “After Orin’s safely back on Rhyon, he’ll join us at my Cavern Lake property. We’ll figure it out from there.”

  “Papá, Fox Mendes is a military ship,” said Mike. “Using her to attack a BICOM vessel could be seen as an act of war! Our status as a nation-diaspora is shaky at best. There are plenty of political bodies at odds with us, and they’d jump at the chance to delegitimize Falcon.”

  “Our diplomatic ties run deep enough to weather it.” Martin furrowed his brow. “I thought you’d be happy about this.”

  “I’m grateful for what you’re willing to do for Orin, but at the very least you should send mercenaries to make first contact,” said Mike. “Since they’re civilians, you could set it up as a civil matter, and it’d be easy enough to argue Fox Mendes was only providing transport services.”

  Martin chuckled. “You’re a gifted strategist, mijo, but it’s too late for that now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The last supply ship leaves tomorrow morning. Fox Mendes is gone after that,” said Martin.

  Mike slumped. “Papá,” he muttered, and he shook his head. “You’re risking our national identity to do this.”

  Martin draped his arm across his son’s shoulder. “Orin’s family. Nothing’s more important than family.” He turned around and scooped up several grocery bags. “Grab the rest and follow me. It’s a long flight to Cavern Lake.”

  As Martin pulled open the door, Mike leaned toward Nimbus and whispered, “I need you to do one more thing for me.”

  Torsha grabbed the remainder of the grocery bags as Mike and Nimbus discussed. She followed Martin out into the hall and asked, “Why do we need these? Is your Cavern Lake property low on food? And where is Cavern Lake, anyway? I know you said Klettastrond, but I can’t remember where that is on the map, exactly. It’s one of those tiny countries, right?”

  Martin patiently answered all her questions.

  It wasn’t long before Mike and Nimbus emerged. All four made their way out of the reclamation plant, and Martin led them to his sky car. She had the look of a panther, jet black with a pair of lengthy thruster nacelles set flush against the dorsal fuselage. Martin entered the cockpit, and the others climbed in the back. Martin soon taxied out onto the sky lot’s runway, and he rocketed high up into the air.

  As Torsha rifled through a bag of snacks, Nimbus quietly dispersed. On alert, she sat upright and glanced around the passenger compartment. “Mike, where did Nimbus go?”

  “He’ll be right back,” said Mike.

  “He’s supposed to be right here,” she said.

  Mike nodded and opened a water bottle. He took a long pull and released a satisfied sigh. “Nothing beats good old-fashioned water, sometimes. So refreshing!”

  Torsha squinted at him. “You’re up to something.”

  “I thought you realized that back at the room,” said Mike. “Wasn’t that why you were asking my dad all those questions?”

  “No,” said Torsha. She thought to say more but glared suspiciously instead.

  Mike leaned forward, speaking just loud enough to be heard. “I need your help with something.”

  “What is it?”

  “Since my dad won’t send any mercenaries, we need to be the ones to make first contact with the crew of Watchtower. We’ll need to find a way to sneak aboard that transport ship headed up to Fox Mendes. Will you help me?”

  Torsha shrugged. “Do you even know where the transport ship is docked?”

  “Falcon has a hangar at Valley of Light,” said Mike. “They support every starship in this system out of there. That’s where the supply ship will be, I know it.”

  Quietly, she cleared her throat. “I can’t help you with that.”

  Mike looked puzzled. “Why not?”

  “I’ve never been off Rhyon before,” said Torsha. “Never!”

  “There’s a first time for everything,” said Mike.

  Torsha looked at her shoes. “Not for this.”

  Mike regarded her compassionately. “Are you an astrophobe?”

  “Gross,” said Torsha.

  Mike smirked. “That’s an irrational fear of outer space.”

  Torsha glanced up at him. “Oh. Maybe. No, it’s not that. It’s just… I don’t know. I can’t even imagine myself floating around like that without making myself queasy.”

  “Then you’ve got nothing to worry about,” said Mike. “Fox Mendes has full-time artificial gravity. It’ll be like you never left Rhyon.”

  She fretted as she weighed her decision. “We’re stopping a war, right?”

  “Preventing one, technically,” said Mike.

  “All right, I’ll do it,” she said. “But how are we supposed to reach the starport in time?”

  “We’ve got it covered,” said Mike, just as Nimbus reformed on the bench, returning to the shape of a four-legged clockwork spider. “Follow my lead, and we’ll be at Valley of Light before sunrise.”

  “Miguel, Torsha, you may wish to fasten your respective safety restraints,” said Nimbus.

  As
Mike fastened his seatbelt, Torsha tilted her head and asked, “Why?”

  The sky car shuddered and momentarily lost altitude, nearly causing Torsha to fall off the bench. “Buckle up, kids,” said Martin over the speaker. “Power conversion’s in freefall. We’ll need to land.”

  Torsha scooted back into placed and buckled her seatbelt. She pointed at Nimbus. “You?”

  Nimbus flashed green for an instant.

  Moments later, they touched down on a deserted farmland road, as a column of steam billowed from one of the nacelle fairings. Groves of almond trees surrounded them, guarded by perimeters of ultrasonic fences. Martin opened the passenger compartment door and gestured for the others to exit. “It’ll be at least an hour before roadside repair shows up,” he said. “You might as well enjoy the fresh country air.”

  Mike hunched out and took a deep breath. With a slight smile, he asked, “What happened?”

  “No clue,” said Martin. “The port catalyzer failed. Cheap piece of junk was supposed to have at least another five hundred hours on it, too.”

  Torsha and Nimbus joined Mike outside. “Can they change it out?” asked Mike.

  Martin nodded. “If I had the right rig, I could do it myself. And if I had a spare catalyzer lying around, which I don’t.” He noticed headlights in the distance, and he checked his phone. “It’s not them,” he muttered, and he leaned against his sky car’s nose.

  The approaching vehicle turned out to be a camper shell pickup truck, and it pulled off the road to park behind Martin’s sky car. An old mphuno stepped out, causing his vehicle to creak in the process. A full gray beard hid the collar of his flannel and the tops of his overalls. Standing at the driver-side door, he called out, “Need any help?”

  Martin waved him on. “Got a repair crew inbound. Thanks for the offer, though.”

  The mphuno nodded. “I can stay with you while you wait if you like.”

  “That’s very kind of you, but it’ll be an hour before they get here, and maybe another hour to swap out the catalyzer,” said Martin. “It’s late, and I’m sure you’ve got someone waiting for you at home.”