The envelope, a dull metal globe, lay nestled between four very large rockets strapped to it.
“That can’t be safe,” Katerina said.
“Fast.” Van walked up to the tiny cab underneath. “That way no one is sure where I came from.”
Timas looked at Katerina. This was their only way back. She seemed to think so as well. They both climbed in the one door into the small cab.
The tiny bench seat inside forced them all together, elbows and knees touching, facing forward to look out several industrial-looking portholes at Chilo’s cloudy yellow-orange horizon. Timas was the last in. He shut the door, spinning the wheel to seal it until he couldn’t force it any farther.
Pumps forced Chilo air out and filled the cab with breathable air. They removed their masks.
Katerina’s skin was dry. Timas was very conscious of her arm touching his. He did his best not to move and draw attention to the fact. He liked it.
Van slapped a switch and the platform fell away from them as they shot up. Timas bit his lip and pushed his face against the tiny window to his right and looked at the triangular platform get smaller and smaller.
“Okay,” Van said.
He flipped a series of switches. Pumps whined, and then a steady roar developed. Timas was shoved back into his seat. The strange contraption thundered its way along for a good hour, with their eccentric pilot making curving wiggles, crescents, and loops. The entire contraption shook to a steady rhythm of pings and creaks as the rockets slammed the large sphere through the thick atmosphere.
Several chirps from the instrument panel got his attention, and he flipped the rockets off. “Back in my day these things were always one shot. You turned them on and they just kept going until they ran out of fuel.” He slapped the dashboard. “These ones, they’re slicker.”
More switches, Van even consulted with a small check board, and then finally he got the sequence right after some grinding sounds came from the sphere above them.
They dropped toward the clouds. Timas felt his ears pop.
After passing through the clouds, scattering wisps, Van snapped off switches with cool efficiency until they slowed, stopped, and hung just below the cloud layer.
“There.” Van pointed at a distant chunk of black cloud. They coasted toward it.
It grew larger, massive smokestacks pumping out black smoke, cables rising up to extra balloons hanging above it.
“What is it?” Timas could see that underneath, clouds of fine dust showered out of several chutes, slowly dissipating in the air under the hulking, industrial complex.
“Ore processor,” Katerina said.
“The Triple-Two,” Van said. They slowly drifted into a giant floating net hung around the processor like a skirt. It rippled, and that produced a reaction. A tube festooned with airbags disengaged and snaked its way toward them, tiny puffs of propellant from the mouthlike dock steering it precisely to the cab.
Van’s airship shuddered as it attached. It whistled as it blew out Chilo air from between it and the hull to make a seal.
Timas looked over at Van, who jabbed in the direction of the door. “Yes, open her up.”
He did so. On the other side stood a man by a control panel. Covered in black soot, wearing blue coveralls, he looked at Van suspiciously. “What the hell, man, you know we are at the end of this rotation. No food, nothing to barter.” He frowned at Timas and Katerina. “Who’re they?”
Van shrugged. “Rescued them. They were in an escape bubble.”
Katerina leaned over Timas. “I’m an avatar for the Consensus.”
Something passed through the air between them, invisible to Timas. It changed the man’s posture. Katerina might talk about democracy and Consensus, but apparently even the Aeolians had some sort of respect for special people in their strange government, like avatars.
The man nodded and stepped forward. “Let me help you out. We’re in the final thirty-hour rush before the carrier comes for the ore. You can stay here until it swings by and ride back to the cities on it.”
Timas scrambled out. Katerina followed, back in her element.
Van waved and then slammed the door shut between them.
“Come on,” the man said. “Let’s retract the dock tube before he fires off those damned rockets to head back wherever the hell it is he hides out.”
Timas looked out the tiny porthole as they pulled back from the nets. He blinked when the rockets fired. The strange artist-hermit disappeared up into the clouds riding a fiery trail of smoke.
He turned around. “I’m sorry, what is your name?”
Katerina and the man exchanged quick glances, then he nodded at Timas. “She’s right. You’re certainly not from one of the Aeolian cities.”
“No.” Timas shook his head.
“I’ll let the crew know to verbalize more around you.” He reached out for a handshake. “I’m Achmed, the foreman of this sorry little operation. Sounds like you’re both lucky to be alive. Certainly you’re the weirdest thing Van’s ever dropped off here.”
Timas was just grateful to be somewhere safe.
“I’ll show you around quickly, then get some food and drink in you. After that, it’s back to work. We’re on a tight schedule.”
Food sounded like a wonderful idea, Timas thought.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Pepper thudded his way off the dock elevator and cycled through the airlocks onto the lower decks.
He removed his air mask, and looked out at a crowd of Yatapek dwellers. Many carried guns, others machetes.
Near the front, a pair of Jaguar scouts in baggy pants and vests trained their rifles on him.
“What’s this?” Pepper stood still, running a rough count. This part of the city resembled a warren, and the atrium and elevators stood on the other side of the crowd.
A hundred angry people stood between him and the way up.
“Make him pay!”
“Pay!”
“Pay.”
A bottle hit his suit and broke. Pepper reached under his chin and pulled out a sliver of glass.
He should have brought the helmet along. He’d have to consider how to protect his head. Plowing through the crowd, it could be ugly.
Another bottle shattered against his suit, and a pair of scruffy-looking guys moved forward, machetes off to the side.
“Stop!”
The voice came from behind the crowd, by an elevator that had just opened. People back there stirred and shifted, turning to face the voice.
“Stop it!” Ollin forced his way through the crowd. Out of breath, he grabbed Pepper’s armored shoulder and turned to face the crowd. “None of this. Not now, not ever.”
The old pipiltin followed him, three of them in boldly colored clothes.
“Go home, get out of here,” the pipiltin yelled. One of them used a cane to smack several nearby bystanders. “You ignore your elders?”
Several Jaguar scouts arrived. They moved through the crowd and pushed people to head back down corridors or get in line for an elevator.
Pepper listened to the grumbling and swearing.
“I gather I’m not popular.”
Ollin turned to him. “Things haven’t gone well for anyone since you arrived. Can you blame them?”
Pepper brushed glass out of his locks. “Not really.”
“We’ve lost people, as well as the cuatetl. Now all over the city people are getting radio reports from Aeolian cities about the madness that’s spreading. No one knows what to think, but they do know you’re involved. Some think you’re maybe even responsible for it.”
A handful of people remained now.
Ollin gathered the three pipiltin around. “Eztli and Necalli here, they stand with me.”
Eztli nodded. “We’ve been listening to the radio reports, what the airships passing near the Aeolian cities are saying. Already our docks are crammed with ships paying us extra fees to just sit and wait. They want to see what happens. But I don’t thin
k they’ll have cities to return to. This Swarm, we think it’s what you say it is. We’re convinced.”
The other pipiltin nodded agreement.
“Good.” Pepper leaned in with them. “We need to get your xocoyotzin on the ground right away then. I have a rough map, thanks to your son.” He looked at Ollin.
Ollin grimaced. “We have trouble, though.”
“The other pipiltin refuse. It is their three against our two. That was why there have always been five.” Necalli spread his arms.
“But you can at least get xocoyotzin on the surface.” Pepper folded his arms.
“Not without one more,” Ollin said. “There is no more surface travel allowed. Since you talked about aliens, people have been seeing them everywhere on the station. In shadows, in dreams. It’s hysteria and it’s spreading. It’s heresy, so the pipiltin want a cooling-off period. The xocoyotzin can be impressionable. We can’t afford them disappearing off into the storm or fog just because they think they saw an alien.”
Pepper sucked his teeth in frustration. “Then why are you standing here teasing me? If we can find the aliens, bring one back, we have a turning point. I can promise you serious Ragamuffin support.”
Ollin licked his lips, glanced at the two pipiltin. “We think you are right. And we need your help to get these things you need.”
“My help?” Pepper looked at the two, and then he shook his head slowly. “You know what you’re asking?”
Ollin looked him right in the eye. “Yes. Will you help back us against the other three pipiltin? We know you were once called the god-killer, back on New Anegada, and that you’re revered among the Ragamuffins. We know that you’re hundreds of years old. You will serve as a fellow pipiltin, and we’ll be able to save the city.”
“You sure that’s what this is about?” Pepper arched an eyebrow.
Ollin flushed hot in infrared. They all fidgeted, distressed, worried.
“It’s all for the city,” Ollin said. “If we don’t act to save it we’ll fall silent, just like the Aeolians.”
Pepper smiled.
There would be a price paid to get control, but here they were, finally coming to their senses and handing him what he needed.
The house of cards was falling in his direction.
“We’ll need guns.” Pepper pivoted the suit and looked at the warriors standing around them. “I think I left a sword up in your house. I would like that as well.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Achmed whipped them through a whirlwind tour. “We sit under the cloud layer, usually a lot deeper than this, but we heard Van’s pip and came up higher for him.”
The bulky ore processor was a long cylindrical tube at the core, nestled in the center of six hydrogen-filled pontoons that helped hold it up. Achmed took them through a series of air-filled corridors inside the pontoons and then through another airlock leading into the central facility.
They walked past windows looking over giant belts moving crushed rock toward giant automated foundries. The gaping mouths belched fire and hot gases.
“We rip up the ground using dredges, drag it back, process it, and then the carriers come take the product. We have one last dredge we’re pulling up right now. The Triple-Two is a solid performer, my boys make good money during their rotations. And we’re all fractional owners.” Achmed was proud of his operation. “We should be able to get that last lot processed before the carrier gets here. So as much as we’d like to be courteous hosts, we’re going to be rather too busy.”
Achmed took them to rooms near the center of the processor. He cracked open a door and led both of them into one. Near the top of the cylinder the rooms featured skylights that they could look up through. Several larger balloons hung above them, and the undercloud layer above that.
It was always weird looking up to see an unbroken layer of cloud, Timas thought.
“We have a room for the two of you in this spare room. You’ll have to share, it’s all we have. Katerina will know when meals are. Sounds like you’ve both been through a lot, so rest up, though you’re free to roam wherever. Danger areas won’t open to your request, Katerina. You can only open the door if you’re allowed to be in there.”
Timas crawled onto the small pullout next to the bed. Someone had already been in the room to get it ready for them. The Aeolians and their almost-telepathic technology. Creepy.
“By the way,” Achmed paused at the door, “you’re in rough shape, kid. Pretty bruised. You might want to take a spin in our medical pod, get yourself checked over.”
“I just need rest,” Timas said. The soft bed felt incredibly luxurious. It conformed to his back perfectly.
“Okay.” Achmed walked off.
Something occurred to Timas. “You didn’t tell them about the Swarm.”
Katerina sat down on the bed. “I did. The crew took a vote and decided to keep going. They’re not sure what to make of all I sent them—the whole story—over the lamina here, but they noted that when the carrier arrives they’ll get a data dump of all the latest news from it. They keep pretty quiet, they don’t want any pirates finding them floating around, and under the clouds is hard to contact anyone.”
“Oh.”
“How are you doing?” She leaned over and propped her head up on a hand.
Timas linked his hands together underneath the back of his head. “I feel guilty, leaving Luc dead in the hold. I’m tired. I want to get back to my city.”
“At least you have one to return to,” Katerina said softly.
Timas bit his lip. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Not your fault. It’s not like you invaded the city.” She sighed. “I never gave a lot of thought to the worlds out there. You grow up hearing about how the Satraps used to rule all the worlds, how dangerous they were and how we all once lived under their thumb except the Ragamuffins. Now this new alien thing is invading us. I used to think all I had to worry about was my city.”
“Me too.”
Timas closed his eyes. His entire body throbbed. Bruised. Adrenaline had kept him from noticing it before. But now that he knew he was safe his body seemed determined to catalogue its hurts.
His eyelids scratched over his eyes when he closed them, and sleep lurked right around the edges of mind. But it never came.
“I’m just lying here, going over everything I did and whether I screwed anything up,” Katerina said. The bed creaked as she sat back up. “I don’t want to think about it all anymore. Come on, let’s go.”
“Where?” Timas sat up and looked at her.
“Anywhere. Let’s wander. Let’s just do something. I don’t want to sit here and think about what happened over and over again. Lunch is coming soon, why fall asleep just to wake up again?”
Timas groaned. He couldn’t get to sleep. And he didn’t want to sit in the room alone. “Okay. I’ll follow.”
“Great.”
Katerina followed a mental map he couldn’t see. She looped them around through the galley, where a pair of pale-skinned Aeolians sat. One of them napped, his face cradled in his arms on the table. The other nodded as they passed, then returned to sipping whatever was in his steaming mug. There were bags under his eyes. The crew had been pulling a long shift.
After they passed through the galley Timas looked back. “Are there a lot of foojies in your cities?”
She didn’t answer for a while, just pursed her lips and kept walking ahead. Finally, near another door, she paused. “Please don’t use that word.”
“Which one?”
“Foojies.”
He looked at her, confused. “I don’t understand. What did I do wrong?”
Katerina sighed. “Timas, it’s a pejorative. My father’s a ‘foojie.’ My mother’s from New Anegada. They settled here. Dad was a refugee, he came from Astragalai. He fled both the League and the Gahe.”
“Gahe?” Timas asked.
“Aliens. With tentacled tongues.” She shuddered and made a face. “The
y use the tongues to pick things up and build things. Nasty.”
“But he’s seen them?” Timas wanted to know. That sounded similar to the alien he saw on the surface. He wanted to know more. It was almost a forbidden topic on Yatapek. The scars of their history still ran too close to the surface. But he’d seen one, and he wanted to know more about them. His whole life had been turned upside down by that glimpse. And his world was threatened by another.
“Gahe, yes. His family used to be owned by a prominent household on the planet. After emancipation he spent time in a human reservation, one that was liberated by Ragamuffin forces during the uprising.”
Timas didn’t see why the word irritated her so much. It was commonly used. Just like calling Aeolians zombies. “What do you call us?”
“What do you mean?”
“We call Aeolians ‘zombies’ sometimes. What do you call us?”
“Poor.” Katerina waved her hand and the door opened. Timas didn’t have time to snap back, they stood at the entry to the control center.
Seven miners sat at real control panels, complete with multiple screens set into the wooden-looking surfaces. “Can’t they just use their minds, like you do?” Timas wanted to know.
“They could,” Katerina said. “The build date on the facility is recent enough, it crawls with overlaid information. But I think the crew here uses the backups. Just in case.”
“She’s right.” Achmed sat in the center of the room, monitoring everything. “It’s a quirk of mine, mainly. I used to be a shiphand aboard a Ragamuffin merchantship doing the upstream run from New Anegada through the DMZ to Bujantjor. Raga don’t trust lamina a hundred percent.”
“Why not?” Timas asked. He’d thought they all pretty much lived in their heads, computers handing them visions of the world around them. This was the first Aeolian he’d met who said otherwise.
“The Satraps used to be able to take it over, used it to crawl up into your head.”
“But they’re all gone now. Suicided, killed, or disappeared,” Timas said.
“Doesn’t mean the risk is gone.” Achmed shrugged. “Call me old fashioned. Traditional.” He grinned.
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