by Ryan A. Span
She came to with Gabriel’s arms wrapped around her, saw the gentle smile on his face, sensed the floor and the air flowing across her skin, felt the reality of things around her to a level of detail that no memory, dream or simulation could achieve. “That’s enough of that, girl,” he whispered. “I nearly lost you out there.”
“Sorry,” she croaked. She tried rubbing her eyes, but her arms responded clumsily or not at all, as if they weren’t her own arms anymore. “What’s wrong?”
“You spent too long inside his head. You’ve gotten used to using his body, but your muscles aren’t in the same place. It’ll wear off.” Without another word he lifted her off the floor, carrying her as if she were light as a feather, and deposited her in the seat of a simple wheelchair. “This’ll help you until you’re ready to start walking again.”
“What about Bomber?”
“Still alive, but in a coma. The experience was pretty hard on his mind. I’ll bring him out of it when the time’s right, and ungh.” There was a sharp crunch and he dropped straight down, a large pulpy dent in the back of his head. Gina gasped and twisted around in her chair to see Bomber standing there, holding a jagged length of pipe whose ends looked like they had been torn away by brute strength.
He looked at Gina with a perturbed expression and said, “What just happened, and why am I holding a pipe?”
She glanced up and down in horror, and Bomber went, “Oh.” He bent down to check Gabriel’s pulse and seemed to find none. “Well, this looks like a perfect time to get the hell out of here.”
There were so many things Gina wanted to scream at him that she couldn’t make up her mind. Bomber simply grabbed the handles of her wheelchair and started running, ignoring everything she said.
“Three ways to get off an airship,” he recited to himself. “Boarding tubes, emergency parachutes, lifeboats. Parachutes are kept in a safety locker near every hatch. Lifeboats can be accessed through hatches in the floor. We’re not on the ground so we can’t use the tubes,” he glanced out of one of the giant bay windows as they ran, “and parachutin’ into the ocean ain’t a brilliant idea. Lifeboat it is.” He stopped at the next junction and pulled away one of the rich carpet tiles to reveal a hatch with a recessed metal handle. He grabbed the handle and twisted it, then pushed, opening the way into a tight staircase downwards.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?!” Gina roared at him. “You just bashed his brains in!”
Bomber lifted her out of the wheelchair and placed an experimental foot on the steps. “If you want an apology, don’t waste your breath. I’ve just solved most of our problems.”
“Not quite,” said Gabriel from behind them. Bomber wheeled around, banging Gina’s head against the wall, but not hard enough to do more than hurt. Gabriel continued, “You got the drop on me, Simon, and I respect that. So I’ll make you a deal. You can leave, but she stays.”
“Don’t call me Simon,” spat Bomber. “Whatever you think you know about me, you don’t know shit.”
“Don’t be silly. I know exactly who you are.” Gabriel smiled. “At first you fooled even me, but now it’s clear. You’re the chameleon. The man without a name. Simon Caine, Benjamin Marlow, Jeremy the Wanderer, Jacob Dusther, Aaron Thomason, these are all skins you’ve taken from others and worn to hide yourself. But what’s your name, chameleon? Do you actually remember it?”
Teeth bared, Bomber took a step forward as if to attack, then remembered Gina cradled in his arms. He shook his head and said, “I’m not fallin’ for it, you bastard. Your voodoo mind shit ain’t gonna work on me. We’re leaving whether you like it or not.”
“Hey, listen, it’s okay,” interjected Gina. “I’ll be okay. Just get the hell out of here, save yourself.”
“No.” Bomber met her eyes, full of rage and frustration, betrayal and fierce protectiveness. “I’m not letting him do to you what he did to Jez. We’re going together, even if I’ve got to blast this ship to bits around us.”
A sharp laugh burst from Gabriel’s lips, and he looked at Bomber like a man with a gun might look at some slope-browed creature wearing animal skins and waving a club. “You’d tear me limb from limb if you had the chance, wouldn’t you? So much bottled-up anger, all coming out in one rush.” He glanced over his shoulder at Jezebel arriving from down the hallway. “Last chance, Simon. Take the offer. You won’t get another.”
Slowly, resentfully, Bomber put Gina back down in her chair and stood snarling at Gabriel, who nodded approval. Gina squeezed Bomber’s arm to let him know it was all right.
“Excellent,” said Gabriel. “Goodbye.” He closed his eyes, and Gina could sense the whirlwind of mental force lashing out from across the room, straight towards Bomber. Horror gripped her heart when she realised Gabriel was going to kill him. He’d simply been waiting until Gina was out of the firing line.
She reacted, but her muscles moved so slowly, so clumsily, as she staggered to her feet and jumped in between them. Bomber seemed to understand the situation and disappeared through the emergency hatch, but that would offer no protection from Gabriel. In desperation she reached out, grabbed on to Gabriel’s mind like a limpet and dragged it forcibly into the dreamworld.
