Falling Sky (35 page)

“I did. But it's not enough.” I drop my face into my hands. “The whole time I was after the
Cherub
, I kept thinking of it as all I had. And yet I was ignoring all the people, all the chances, all the fortune around me.”

“Ben,” Miranda says. “You didn't know.”

“No, you're right,” I say. “But I also didn't think. And of all the things I've learned from you, that might just be the most important.”

She hugs me again, only stopping when I gasp a bit from the pain.

“So,” I say, knowing I'm on treacherous ground. “Are you still mad at me?”

She sighs and shakes her head. “You know why I was mad, right?”

“I think so,” I say.

“I know you see them as inhuman. Monsters. They've fallen over the edge and are lost. But I don't see them that way. They're lost, yes, but I feel like we can find them again. That we have to find them again.”

“Miranda,” I say. I want to quip. Maybe mouth-off. But I can't. This is too important. “I just . . . the kind of life I've led. I've had to see them that way. Or else I would likely be dead.”

“Things are different now,” she says. “You're with us. With me. And if we are . . . if this is going to continue to work, you're going to have to accept that.”

Once again my thoughts become writhing snakes in my head. “So, what? I'm not supposed to shoot them if they're coming for you?”

“No, of course not. I hired you to protect me. You've always done a good job of that. I just need you to know that I don't take any pleasure in that. And I don't want you to either. Each Feral that dies is another person I won't be able to save. Do you understand?”

I nod, unable to find words. I don't know if I believe that she can save them, but she's going to try. Because that's what she does. When the world rains shit down on all of us, when others, like me, are moaning and looking for shelter, Miranda wades into it and tries to find a place where she can help.

And I'm going to help her.

“I missed you, Ben,” she says.

I take her in my arms again. And there, for a moment, I forget about everything else. About my pain, about the Gastown ships, about Diego, even about the Ferals on the ground. For a moment, everything is all right. For a moment, the world is okay.

It's as we're gaining ground that I realize I don't have a plan. “What am I going to do, Miranda?” I ask.

“What?” Miranda says.

“How are we going to stop a raider force?”

“You've always managed before.”

I bang my fist against a table. “I've always been lucky. Against one or two ships at the most. Usually I just escape. The idea is always to get the
Cherub
out intact. Not to take down other ships. She's not built for combat.”

“I always wondered about that,” Miranda says. “You're so bent on guns, I'm surprised you didn't put at least a couple on the
Cherub
.”

“She's too beautiful to ruin with guns,” I say. Miranda gives me a strange look and then shakes her head. I realize too late what I've said. “Her defense is speed,” I say quickly. “And in the air she can usually get away from anything she comes against. If I could run faster than Ferals on the ground, believe me, I'd do without the guns, too.”

“Which still brings us back to how we're going to take on the other ships.”

“They're going to be slow,” I say, my mind chewing away at the problem. “And trailing Ferals. Which means hanging cables.”

Miranda nods. “But not all of them. They would keep a ship or two as escorts to deal with any attacks.”

“So we'll have to concentrate on those. Use our speed to tangle up their ships. And maybe take out those Ferals. If we can stop that, Tamoanchan has more of a chance.”

Miranda chews on her lip again. “You're taking a risk here.”

I close my eyes. “I know. But I need to. This happened because of me.” I look Miranda in the eyes. “We can do this. I know we can.”

“I'm glad you said ‘we,'” she says, misunderstanding. I'd meant me and the
Cherub
.

“Actually,” I say. “I was going to drop you off somewhere near the coast. I don't want to risk you getting hurt.” I'd only just made the decision, but it seemed to be a good one.

“What?” Her eyes widen and her mouth sets into a hard line.

“I'm going to need to act quickly, and they're going to be firing at us—”

“I've been in situations like that with you in the past.”

“Miranda—”

“And so, what? You're going to leave me on the ground? With Ferals?”

It's a good point.

“Ben,” she says. “If they get Tamoanchan, they get Alpha and they get Sergei and Clay. And there won't be anything to work toward. All of our work will be gone. This is important to me, too. I'm going with you.”

“But what about the data in your pocket? Say we do lose Sergei and Clay (I ignore the look on her face as I say it), then you and that data are all that's left of our chance against the Bug.”

“Ben,” she says. She places a hand on my uninjured arm and slides it down to my hand, grasping it. “I know you're still getting used to this, to understanding it, but it's not all about survival. It's not all about the greater good. How many things have been done in the name of the greater good? I couldn't live with myself if I ran just to save some data.”

“But it's not just data,” I say.

She shakes her head. “It's about everyone. The lost, the injured, the victims. No matter whether they're infected or facing the raiders or hungry or sick or whatever. It's about Sergei and Clay as much as it's about Ferals. If I can save them, I need to try.” She squeezes my hand. “Besides, you need me. You can barely stand straight.

“Look at it this way, then,” she continues. “It's a matter of odds. Yours are better with me. Simple logic.”

I want to tell her to go. I want to clamp down and shut her out. But I can't manage it.

She puts her other hand on my face. “It's about everyone. You, too.”

I nod. “Okay, then,” I say. “I guess that's settled.”

“Damned straight.”

So we get down to getting things ready. I have Miranda prepare some more pipe bombs and ready the remaining explosives I took from the helium plant. We assemble everything heavy we can find still aboard the ship. Then, for the first time in a long time, I say a small, silent prayer. It's not that I suddenly believe in God, or anything. It's just that I figure if there's any force for good in the world—be it a spirit or dead ancestors or Fate or whatever—I could use its help.

We hit the coast an hour later.

Ahead of us, already in formation, heavy with Ferals, we spot the Gastown ships.

They start out as blurs in the distance, lit up in the darkness. Five blobs that soon come into focus. Three of the ships dangle dark shapes below them. Ferals. This time, however, they're not on hooks. Which is bad news for us. I'd been hoping they would stick with their usual tactic because odds are, none of the Ferals would survive being stuck like that for as long as they have to travel. Tamoanchan is a long ways off the land. A dead, bleeding Feral is still dangerous, but not as dangerous as one that can run and flap around.

Instead, though, they have them in some kind of metal containers. I wonder how they rigged them up. I'm guessing they have some kind of quick-release mechanism to drop the Ferals down into Tamoanchan. Definitely not stupid, these assholes.

Then I have a scary thought. What if they haven't gone fishing like I thought? What if they're using some of the monsters they're breeding down on the ground?

Supporting the Feral ships are two more. Whereas the three dirigibles carrying Ferals are light ships with semirigid hulls, the support ships are rigid zeppelins and carry armaments I can see from a distance.

We covered the distance in good time, but they've had time to fetch their Ferals and come up full. Now they'll be pushing hard for Tamoanchan.

It's okay, though. Because I'm faster.

We're running dark, all of our lights off, only our engine noise to give us away. With any luck, they won't see us until we're right on top of them.

I push the
Cherub
straight at them.

I imagine monsters inside the cages. Mutated Ferals, built for slaughter. Living bombs to drop on Tamoanchan, to cut through the populace, leaving a bloody trail behind. I can't help shivering.

It's another few minutes before the enemy ships notice us and the support ship to our right starts to turn toward us, bringing its guns to bear.

I push the
Cherub
up, trying to stay on top of the ship, hoping that will shield us from her armament.

“Ben,” Miranda says, pointing.

The top of the other ship is protected by a mounted cannon. A cockpit protects the gunner from the environment. He starts shooting and we can hear the zip of the gunshots. Then the punching and cracking as several find their way into the
Cherub
.

“Damn.”

I pull us away from the shots as best as I can, but the cockpit swivels with us.

“Get down,” I yell at Miranda, but when I turn to her, I see she's already down with as much mass as possible between her and any bullets.

The raider is rising with us, and at a speed to rival the
Cherub
. I can't get on top of her where Miranda could drop a pipe bomb on them.

Then I look to my left and see the other support ship coming around at us. It makes a lot of sense—take us out quickly then continue on to their target. They're not expecting resistance. They probably think I'm a lone nut trying to take them on.

More bullets spatter into my ship and I wince.

These are Gastown ships, full of helium. If they had hydrogen we might figure out a way to ignite it, but the
Cherub
is the only hydrogen ship around.

Then I go cold.

The
Cherub
is a flying fireball. With all the explosives currently lining her belly, she's become a weapon.

A wave of light-headedness makes me grip the console tightly. The room starts spinning around me. No, Ben, the voice says. You just got her back. You can sail away right now. Take the ship away, get Miranda away and live on. With everything you want.

But I know I can't live like that. Can't live
with
that.

“Miranda,” I say. “I need you to help me turn the
Cherub
into a bomb.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” she yells back.

“A bomb,” I call, as I'm trying to avoid the pinching of the two approaching ships. I do the only thing that comes to mind. I push us straight for the middle ships. It might stop them from firing at us.

“Ben!”

“We have no weapons on the ship, so I need you to help me make the
Cherub
into a weapon.” I spare her a quick look. “I can't do it without you.”

“Oh, Ben,” she says.