The Wind Merchant (29 page)

“Dixie, can I be blunt?”

“I usually don’t ask, so go ahead,” Dixie said.

“Don’t you have something better to do?” Ras asked.

“Better as in…what? A job? A family to be with?”

Ras shrugged. “I just find it odd you want to come with two strangers on a mission most would consider suicide.”

“One, I like you guys, and I feel like being here makes it a little less suicide-y,” Dixie said with a wink. “Two, any opportunity I get to humiliate India Bravo, I’ll take.”

“Why?”

Dixie paused for a moment. “Bravo Company don’t just sink cities, Ras. They also do unspeakable things to freshly orphaned little girls.”

A silence hung in the air. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be. You’re not on their side,” Dixie said, half of her usual smile returning, “Remember, I don’t ask if I can be blunt.” She walked from the engine across the hold. “At some point you’ll have to tell me how going to The Wild fixes everything for you, but since you’re going through all this trouble, and a cursory observation doesn’t leave me thinking you’re too terribly insane, I’ll assume this mission of yours is valid.” She ogled the jetcycle, then threw her leg over it. “I didn’t take you for a jetter.” The oversized machine made her look more childlike than usual.
 

“I’m not, really. It came with the ship.”

Dixie looked down at the jetcycle, then scanned the hold. “Not exactly a matched set, are they?”

Ras shrugged.

“I could take this thing off your hands, if you like. That way your lady won’t get too envious,” Dixie said, caressing the machine.

“Not interested, but thanks,” Ras said.

“Doesn’t look like you’re making much use of what you’ve got.”

“Maybe after this whole thing blows over I’ll take her out.”

“I’m not just talking about the jetcycle, Ras,” Dixie said.

“Me neither.”

Callie sat alone in the quarters, allowing herself a moment to battle her brewing headache. The room sat in shambles around her. In one of the messier corners, her beautiful paper lay strewn, marred with the bootprints of Collective men.

It felt childish to tell Ras about the paper, but it broke her heart. She hadn’t had the time to work on her book, and with the destruction of her beloved typewriter, several of the little round keys had been jarred loose. It looked like someone hadn’t just knocked it over, but had actively hurled it across the room.

She slowly stood and walked to the back corner of the room to collect the paper, seeing if she could salvage anything. The fact that they destroyed something so rare and pure left her seething. They didn’t care, and each time she found a piece that might have survived unscathed, she inevitably discovered a tread mark as though it were part of a thorough vendetta against her. Stooping over brought another wave of pain, forcing her to sit on the floor next to the pile.

Sifting through the paper revealed a ripped open envelope. A letter peeked out, inviting her to read more than just the words
‘dulls sensitivity to Knacks.’

She stopped, eyeing the paper. A moment passed. She looked over her shoulder, then listened for any approaching footsteps. It sounded like Ras was still with Dixie down in the hold. Letting curiosity get the best of her, she slid the letter free.

Her hungry eyes devoured each line as though she were in a speed-reading event and the judge might enter at any moment to disqualify her.

She was almost finished when a new wave of pain washed over her, pulling her into the blackness.

As night fell, the remaining Collective forces mopped up the last of the sky pirates. Foster Helios III stared out the main window of a Collective gunship.

A dozen soldiers accompanied an approaching man in a white lab coat. The scientist spoke up. “Sir, they’re ready.”

Foster turned to address the soldiers standing behind him. “Thank you, Dr. Lupava,” he said, nodding to the doctor. He began to inspect the soldiers. Their pupils were black and hollow, giving them a hungry, disquieting look. “What happened here is an example of the power of what we’re after,” Foster said, gesturing to the stormy sea below. The last vestiges of
The Halifax
manifested themselves as large air pockets bubbling to the surface.

“Imagine being able to stop your enemy in their tracks like that.” He snapped his fingers, “But we’ve taken measures to safeguard ourselves…with you.” He continued to pace around the line of soldiers. “You are all the first in the line of Time resistant soldiers. We weren’t able to extract the essence of the girl, but even if we can’t get into The Wild, she will suffice. Your mission is to find Calista Tourbillon and bring her back to me, as unharmed as possible. We already have what we need from her companion, and now you do too.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The Demons

The speed at which the world zipped by the locomotive’s windows belied the train’s smooth glide. Callie knew better than to question the idiosyncrasies of her dreams, but the experience left her curious as to whether riding on a train truly felt like being whisked away on the wind.

She felt two sizes too small next to the other passengers, which remained a consistency in every dream. Standing on her seat only allowed her to peek out the window of the train at the blurry, lush landscape.

Something was different about the cabin this time. The faces of the other passengers remained blurred, but other details beckoned for her attention. A pattern comprised of crisscrossing diamonds was etched into the ceiling, and the carpet below mirrored the design in ornate threads of gold and maroon.

She tried to recall the paintings back on
The Kingfisher
, wondering if perhaps one of the works of art lining its halls might have spurred a deeper level of imaginative detail.

A giant man in a dull gray uniform walked up to her seat. The man was the only one whose face wasn’t obscured. His expression remained sad yet kind, and his smile flared out his mustache the way it always did in her dream. However, when he spoke, Callie couldn’t understand his gibberish.

“Could you maybe write down what you’re saying?” Callie asked. She had never thought to go that route before.

The muddled voice of the caring man accompanied a bewildered expression. He patted Callie on the head with a large hand, then moved on to speak with other passengers.

Callie looked back out the window at the green scenery. Suddenly, all went dark.

Callie opened her eyes. The world was a blur, but the familiar wooden ceiling coming into focus told her that she was still in the Captain’s quarters of
The Brass Fox
. Absolved of her headache, she tried to sit up but found herself mildly restrained by bedsheets. An absence of light from the porthole let her know she hadn’t slept through the night.

She was still fully dressed except for her jacket and boots, but there was no sign of Ras anywhere. Peeling away the sheets, she swung her feet over the side of the bed, connecting with something decidedly not the floor, as floors didn’t say, “Ow!”

Callie jerked her legs up, sliding them back onto the bed. From the floor she heard a man’s voice groan. “Ras?”

“You’re up,” he croaked. “How’s your head?” The question was flat and lifeless, as if Ras had asked it more out of duty than anything else.

She peeked over the edge of the bed, looked down at Ras, then glanced over to the table in the middle of the room. His letter sat out in the open. “I’m all right now. It kind of came out of nowhere again,” she said, trying desperately to maintain some degree of nonchalance.

Ras got up and wordlessly made his way over to the chair where his jacket was draped. He grabbed it, slung it over his shoulder, then turned to exit. “When you’re ready, we could use a heading,” he said curtly.

Callie began to speak, but the slamming door stopped her.

The Brass Fox
slid above the starlight-bathed cloud layer, its balloon peeking out first, then its whole body. Up on the bridge, Ras worked the controls using more force than necessary to restart the working engine, then half-folded, half-crumpled his star map. He heard noises from the Captain’s quarters and assumed Callie was moving about. First shuffles, then clanking sounds.

An hour passed before the quarters door open and Ras watched Callie as she made her way up to the bridge.

“Where are we?” Callie asked, beginning with a safe topic.

Dixie peeked her head up from the hold before climbing onto the deck. “Look who’s finally awake! Evidently The Collective had the same idea as you guys and headed east while we were aboard. Are you feeling any better?”

“A little, thanks,” Callie said. “How much time does that save us?” She aimed the question more at Ras than Dixie.

“At least a day,” Dixie said, allowing Ras a continued respite from speaking. “Assuming they were heading in the right direction.”

“We passed
Solaria
,” Ras said quietly.

Callie leaned in and whispered, “Can we please talk?”

Ras watched Dixie watch him and Callie. “Just let me know when you get a heading,” he said.

“I thought we were going to pick up parts in
Solaria
,” Callie said. “What happened to that plan?”

“
Solaria
isn’t where we thought it’d be,” Dixie said. “We checked.”

“It must have moved before it crashed, and we don’t have time to go searching for it,” Ras said. “We’ll have to limp around The Wild as best we can.”

“But we’re a day closer than we thought, so that’s good, right?” Callie asked.

“Why did you read my letter?” Ras asked, his tone harsher than he had intended.
 

Callie stood stunned for a moment. “I was just cleaning up the cabin and I accidentally saw part of it.”

“Then you accidentally saw all of it?” Ras asked, hurt.

“I’m sorry, I had to know.”

Dixie raised a hand. “Can I interject?”

“Not now, Dixie,” Ras said. He turned back to Callie. “What, you had to know that I’m a Lack?” His eyes welled up. “That I’m practically wired to make life harder for others?”

“That’s not true!”

“Who
don’t
I make things harder for?”

“Guys?” Dixie asked.

“What?” Ras shouted.

“Now might not be the best time, but I thought it worthwhile to mention that we’re sinking. Just saying.” Dixie pointed down to the hold. “Maybe I should go check on the engine?” she asked as clouds began to spill over the railing.

It dawned on Ras that the silence of the night had come at the expense of the other working Windstrider. He flipped the switch to restart the engine, but nothing happened.

“Me,” Callie said, “You don’t make things harder for me. I’ve had a theory for a long, long time, and that letter confirmed it.”

“You thought I was a Lack too?” he asked. The instrument panel noted that the scoop wasn’t taking in any Energy and automatically shut down to avoid damaging itself. He lowered the collection tube and the sensor indicated a Level 3 potency.

“No, think about it, Ras. Have you ever seen me with a headache?”

The ship shifted to port and their descent quickened to a pace that promised an unpleasant and hull-damaging landing. It was too late to engage the Helios engine since they were no longer above the clouds. It was a perfectly acceptable time to panic.

“Cut the ballasts! We’re sinking!” Ras shouted. He couldn’t see Dixie, but he could hear her swearing a blue streak.

“Maybe the headaches come because I can’t escape Time,” Callie said, “Maybe you keep me from overloading by dulling that sensitivity.” As they cleared the cloud layer, Ras saw her beginning to tear up. “And I’m sorry that you’re stuck with me.”

He didn’t have time to mull over a lifetime of memories to weigh against her theory, but he needed Callie to keep a level head. “Callie, I’ve never considered myself stuck with you, but if we don’t offload enough weight, we’re going to be stuck without a ship.” Ras dashed over to the side railing to the nearest of the ballast bags. “We can talk about this after we don’t crash, deal?” He fumbled with the rope, untying it as Dixie and Callie moved to other bags and did the same.

As the weights dropped,
The Brass Fox
’s descent didn’t slow noticeably. They needed to drop something far heavier.

“Open the bay!” Dixie shouted, and without much time to question why, Ras obliged, running back up to the console, and jamming the new button Tibbs installed. He looked up to see a frightened Callie and no sign of Dixie.

The whinnying of an unfamiliar engine trying to cycle from beneath the deck caught his attention.

“Dixie!” Ras shouted. The howl of the wind flowing into the hold drowned out his voice. “Callie! Tell her it’s not ready!”

“What?” Callie shouted back.

“The jetcycle isn’t ready! Tell her to dump it!” Ras mimed a pushing motion.

Callie nodded, then descended into the hold as Ras did his best at the helm to stave off their descent by redirecting the collection hose and expelling the air in the tank.

The roar of an engine cut through the wailing wind and disappeared with a quickly fading exclamation of joy or despair as
The Brass Fox
’s descent tapered to a glide.

“Dixie! You did it!” Ras shouted to no response. With both engines dead and the Helios engine in danger of overloading underneath the clouds, the ship sat eerily silent save for the usual creak of wood and rope. “Callie?”

Callie climbed from the hold to the deck, her expression blank.
 

“It worked!” Ras said. “We’re not falling nearly as much.”

“She dumped the jetcycle.”

“I suppose that’s better than losing
The Fox
.”

“She was still on it.”

Ras’ eyes hurt from squinting, trying to make out movement in the inky night after his KnackVisions gave no indication of anything Energy-fueled beneath them.

“Maybe she got it working before it crashed?” Callie asked.

Ras shook his head. “She’d have flown back up here if she did.”

“We should at least look for her when we touch down. Maybe the trees softened the fall enough?”