Everyone at the table turned, and their eyes almost universally held contempt. Ravan just looked back down at the map with a scowl. There was a trickle of emotion then, at the way she tensed. Even though it was unpleasant, knowing he’d hurt her, knowing how she felt about him, it still felt good in its own way, good to feel something.
“You’re supposed to be packing, Hawkins,” Rogan said. “And no one’s interested in your opinion.”
“That’s a shame,” he replied, “because you’re going after the wrong Pinnacle.”
They stared at him skeptically. “How’s that?”
“You need a knockout punch. The longer you stay entrenched, the more momentum you lose, and Tiberius hasn’t even done his counterattack yet.”
“So what Pinnacle would you hit, then?”
“Refinery,” Holt stated. “Take Refinery, you take the city.” The reactions he got were the ones he expected. Some of the rebels laughed, others just rolled their eyes. Ravan, though, looked up at him curiously.
“That’s definitely true,” West said. “It’s why the Refinery Pinnacle’s the most heavily guarded of the bunch. There’s no way to take it in a stand-up fight.”
“A stand-up fight is definitely not what I’m proposing.” Holt looked at Ravan pointedly. The way she stared back implied she knew where he was going.
“They may have changed it,” she said, thinking it through. “All it takes is the flip of a switch. Even if they haven’t, you’ll still need more.”
“I’ve got more.”
“You two clearly have some kind of plan forming,” Rogan stated, his eyes still on Holt. “Fact remains, I still don’t know if you’re really committed to this.”
It was what Holt expected, and there was an obvious answer. He’d thought it through on his way over, all the ramifications, all the consequences. They were significant … but he was tired of breaking promises.
Holt held up his right hand, showed the half-formed image on the wrist. “Finish it,” he said.
Ravan’s eyes widened, she looked at him in a completely different way. Even Rogan seemed surprised.
“That’s a binding agreement in all kinds of ways,” the rebel leader said.
“It’s a promise I’m willing to make.” His gaze moved to Ravan. She stared back. “You want to take this city or not?”
26. REFINERY
IT WAS A NIGHT WITHOUT A MOON, which, Olive figured, was probably the plan. The ground under the Commerce Pinnacle was nearly black as she, Masyn, and Castor moved silently through it. Above them, through gaps in the platform’s wooden beams, they could see the flickering lights of the flare tower and the pirates. There were a hundred probably, guarding her crew, being held in the Pinnacle’s lower-level rooms.
They crept past the giant beams that held the platform, moving toward their goal. Olive could just make out the Wind Rift’s three custom-made wheels in the shadows ahead, and she felt relief pour through her. The pirates hadn’t stripped her yet.
The glowing crystals on Masyn’s Lancet had been covered with black cloth. A similar cloth was wrapped around the rings of her left hand. Castor didn’t have to worry about that: he’d lost his to Tiberius days ago, and it weighed on him greatly. From what Olive understood, losing a Lancet or a ring was a source of great shame to the Helix, and unless he recovered them, he would be an outcast. It seemed harsh, but the Strange Lands were a harsh place. It made sense that its people would be just as severe.
They reached the end of the platform, nothing but open desert and the Wind Rift’s giant wheels in front of them. The voices from the pirates were dimmer, and Olive stared up at the deck of the ship, some thirty feet above. The hull sloped down and under toward the ground, which meant you would be climbing it at a negative angle. It looked impossible.
Masyn shook her head. “That’s a hell of a climb. Barely any handholds, all grip and back strength. Not sure how you’re going to get up, Castor.”
He looked at her severely. “I can do it.” Castor’s shoulder was wrapped tightly with bandages, his arm tucked into his chest from his run-in with a crossbow bolt.
Masyn didn’t even look at him. “Not without rings or with that shoulder. You probably should just stay down here where it’s safe.”
Castor glared at her, then jumped and grabbed the wooden hull with his one good hand. He swung his legs, using the momentum to shoot up and grab another handhold.
Masyn smiled then, watching him climb. Olive wasn’t sure where he was finding places to grip, the ship was almost completely smooth, it was impressive.
“Were you baiting him?” Olive asked.
Masyn shrugged. “He needs to get back on his feet and stop moping.” While the remark may have seemed dismissive, there was a tenderness there. Castor was important to Masyn, and it bothered her how dejected he’d been, White Helix rules or not.
Above, Castor’s form slipped over the railing. A second later he reappeared, and Masyn threw up a thick coil of rope. He caught it, tied it off, let it drape back down.
Masyn grabbed one end. “Wait here, remember what we said.”
The girl pulled herself straight up, not even bothering to use her legs. When she reached the top, she and Castor grabbed the rope. It was her signal. Olive grabbed it too … then felt it lift. The two Helix pulled her up, and she slipped over the railing onto her back.
At the middle of the ship, where the gangplank led down to the dock, three Menagerie stood, laughing and talking, their backs to them. They hadn’t seen their climb.
Masyn silently unstrapped the Lancet from her back, and she gave Olive a meaningful look. Olive felt her pulse quicken. She could do this, she told herself. The Menagerie weren’t getting her ship.
Masyn and Castor moved toward the three pirates in complete silence. They reached them in seconds. In less time than that, the pirates were down, then they separated, moved farther ahead, disappearing in the shadows.
Now it was her turn. Olive swallowed, made her feet start moving. She could still hear the voices from the rest of the pirates below, could see the orange light from their fires and lanterns.
She reached the helm deck, moved for the Grounders sitting next to the ship’s huge wheel, opened the one she was looking for. Inside was the ship’s Zephyr, a complicated, four-tier artifact combination, with a small ring of quarters inset into its exterior. Zephyrs and Chinooks, a Landship’s two most important artifacts, were often confused. Chinooks amplified existing wind into a strong enough force to propel the giant ships over the ground. A Zephyr, however, created wind where there was none at all. It was a fail-safe artifact, if the ship found itself in a dead calm. Unlike Chinooks, Zephyrs could only be used once, but Olive had no problem burning this one.
She chewed her lip, then slid the ring of quarters all the way to the top of the artifact combination.
Wind roared to life in a maelstrom above her head. The sails had all been stowed, there was nothing to contain it, it just blew like a hurricane.
The pirates on the platform stared up at the huge ship as the wind raged. A few of them turned and headed right where she hoped. For the door to the storage building holding her crew.
She saw the pirates yank it open, start pulling the Wind Traders out and yelling at them, pointing toward the ship. It was working: the pirates were freeing the crew, telling them to deal with whatever was going on.
Everything that happened next happened in a blur.
A streak of red shot through the air and punched through the platform in a blaze of flame. It was followed by a blue one that did the same thing. A dozen pirates fell through the crippled woodwork and vanished. The rest pulled their guns, guessing what was happening now. That was Olive’s next signal.
She reached for another Grounder, revealed the Chinook. She dialed it up to its highest setting … then twisted the artifact ninety degrees to port. The wind shuddered as it aimed to the side, roaring down toward the platform under the ship. Pirates were blown off their feet, sent hurdling into th
e air, and slamming into the Pinnacle tower.
“Now!” Olive yelled.
Masyn landed on the dock in a flash of cyan, right in the middle of the Menagerie. The platform exploded as she recalled her two crystal spear points from beneath, reconnecting onto either end of her Lancet. Her rings lit up the night as she spun and struck.
Castor, even with one useless arm and no rings, was still a threat. He took out three pirates as he shoved the Wind Rift crew toward the ship. Olive switched off the Chinook and the Zephyr and ran to meet them.
Casper, the helmsman, was first on, and he looked at her wide-eyed. “Captain. Damn good to see you.”
“You too,” she replied, as more crew were running up. “Get to the helm. Everyone else, get us unhitched, sails unfurled, fast as you can!”
They dashed away and Olive’s trepidation grew. She was relieved to see them unharmed, but the truth was, if they didn’t pull this off, they were all going to die, and not later, but tonight. Olive jumped in herself, helping to untie the colorful sails.
Below, Masyn flipped and darted amid the pirates, sending them flying. Castor was dropping his share as well. But they were both about to be overwhelmed. Menagerie were pouring onto the dock, their guns flashing. Olive ducked as bullets sparked against the ship’s hull.
The first sail unfurled, the front one. She looked around, watched the last of the mooring ropes coming off the ship. They were loose.
“Casper! Chinook, full blast!”
He stared at her like she was crazy. “There’s only one sail!”
“I’m not blind, just do it!”
A flurry of gunfire snapped him to action. He raced for the Grounders.
Olive hurried to help the others get the second sail up. Casper was right to be worried. Most sails weren’t stitched strong enough to contain the blast from a Chinook at full power all by themselves, most would rip to shreds, and it took a full blast to move a Landship with just one sail. Olive prayed hers would hold.
The Chinook roared. The sail inflated in vibrant color. Olive saw it bow outward like it never had before, absorbing the wind. She could hear the sound of its seams stretching …
The huge ship began to roll, pulling away from the dock.
Cheers erupted from the ship. Yells of anger came from below.
Gunfire sparked all along its hull, but it was too late. The second sail unfurled and absorbed its fair share of wind, propelling the ship even faster.
“Watch the graveyard!” Olive yelled, and Casper spun the wheel in time to avoid the first of the rotting Landships beyond the dock. Olive breathed a sigh of relief, watching the Commerce Pinnacle fade away, the pirates on the decks firing futilely after them.
Then something occurred to her. “Wait! What about—”
Two figures leapt over the railing in a flash of yellow light and landed with heavy thuds: Masyn and Castor, the latter holding onto the girl. Both were injured, bleeding from new wounds, and exhausted, yet they stared at Olive with a look of rapture.
White Helix …
“Where to, Captain? North?” Casper asked hopefully at the wheel.
Olive shook her head. “Not yet. We got a bargain to honor.”
“Another bargain?” he asked.
“You’re alive, aren’t you?”
Casper shrugged, unable to argue the point.
* * *
AS COMPLICATED AS REFINING crude oil was, the Refinery Pinnacle itself only contained the infrastructure for about a third of the process. The rest was outside the city, connected by huge pipes. The one Holt was sliding through came from the Vacuum Distiller, a giant heating system that produced heavy oils for things like diesel gas and other distillates that Faust really had no use for, and that side of its production had been shut down long ago.
Holt had worked in the Refinery, it’s how he knew of these pipes. The good news was, they led right to the system’s Coker and Hydrocracker tanks, deep inside the Refinery Pinnacle. They would be their back door. The bad news was that it was one long crawl through the darkest, most cramped environment you could imagine, and every second you could feel the walls closing in.
Two dozen rebels were behind him, and a second group was in another pipe, moving in the same direction. A headlamp lit the dark ahead, and he could see Ravan’s feet as she crawled forward. She was the head of the line, and he stared at her enviously. He would have much preferred the front, where it was less cramped.
Of course, that’s probably why Ravan had insisted she go first. She was still plenty mad at him, as evidenced by how her foot suddenly kicked him in the face.
“Ouch!” Holt shouted and pulled back.
“Oh,” Ravan’s irritated voice said ahead of him. “Forgot you were back there.”
“Why’d you stop?”
“Because we’re here, moron, why else would I stop?”
Holt rubbed his nose, but saw she was right. In the light ahead of them, the pipe dead-ended into the filter path that separated the oil to either the Coker or the Hydrocracker.
“I need you to unstrap the torch,” she said, lying flat.
Holt could just make out the portable cutting torch on her back. To use it, she had to roll over, but she couldn’t do that until it was off. He crawled toward her, could hear the line of rebels behind them grind to a halt. In the dark he couldn’t totally see where her straps secured the torch. His hands slid up her back, searching.
Ravan tensed. “Don’t touch me.”
“How else am I supposed to get it off you?”
“Don’t touch me.”
Holt did his best. He found the first strap, unfastened it, and pulled it loose. “You know, I was kind of expecting a warmer response to my proposal. At least, from you.” It was true, Ravan’s attitude, if anything, had gotten more hostile since he’d stated his desire to come back to the fold, and he didn’t really understand it.
“Shows how completely detached from reality you are.”
“Ravan…”
“Just get the torch off.”
“Fine,” he mumbled. The next strap had twisted around her side. His hands slid under her, reaching for the clip. “Hold on, I have to—”
She flinched unpleasantly. “Stop.”
“I almost have it.”
“No…” She struggled against him, trying to squirm away from his hands, but they slid along the length of her waist and the bare skin there.
Ravan froze. Holt’s hands stopped. Each focused on the feel of the other.
It was funny how unique her skin was, how it brought back memories, feelings too, and they surprised him. He could hear her breathing under him.
“Hey!” the rebels shouted behind them in annoyance. “Hurry the hell up!”
It broke the spell.
“Get it off me,” Ravan hissed. Holt found the last buckle, unclipped it, and pulled the torch off. She rolled over and yanked it out of his hands, and slid away from him.
Holt watched her move in the dark as she primed the blowtorch, the slimness of her, the curves. The feel of her skin was still in his head, and the emotions that came with it. Judging by how tense Ravan seemed, the way she kept her eyes locked on the blowtorch, it was the same for her.
Holt looked away from her and checked his watch. They were early, they still had two minutes to go. “Anything you want to discuss?”
She finally craned her neck up to look at him. “Jesus, you just want to add insult on top of insult, don’t you?”
“What do you mean?”
“What do I mean? Taking the tattoo? Now? You don’t get it at all.”
Holt certainly didn’t, as usual. He would have thought the gesture would make her happy, or at least not want to snap his neck. Women were more difficult to figure out than Assembly.
“You are not taking that tattoo,” she told him firmly.
“What am I supposed to do? Rogan—”
“Can go to hell.” She cut him off. “You both can. You’re not taking it, not now.”
Holt started to say something else, but Ravan pulled the welder’s goggles over her eyes and lit the torch. He flinched when it touched the top of the pipe, spraying sparks in a violent burst that lit up the dark. Holt guessed that was that.
* * *
RAVAN BARE-KNUCKLE PUNCHED THE cap she’d just cut off, and heard it clang to the floor on the other side. The pain was sharp but it did little to blunt the anger she felt.
Holt’s touch had been electric. She’d forgotten what it felt like, and it was funny how distinctive the way someone’s hand could be, how you could recognize it blindfolded.
God, she was pathetic. After everything he’d done, all he had to do was run his fingers over her back …
She climbed out of the pipe, forcing herself to focus. She dropped the torch and yanked her Beretta free, scanning the underworks of the Refinery Pinnacle.
It was empty.
Holt climbed out behind her and exhaled a long breath of relief. He hated being cramped up almost as much as he hated heights, and she had enjoyed making him go second.
She pulled the welding goggles off her face, while the other rebels started scampering out of the pipe behind them. Ravan began brushing all the grime and dust off. She could feel it in her hair, all over her—
Holt smiled in that way he did when he was trying not to laugh.
She looked up at him. “What?”
Holt motioned to her face. She figured it out, it was probably covered in soot from the welding torch, and the goggles had left two clean circles around her eyes.
“Screw you,” she said, rubbing her face furiously, but finding it hard not to smile herself. It only made her angrier. Why did she always soften for him? Why did she always let him do these things and just come back?
Nearby, she saw the sparks from where the second team was cutting through their pipe.
“Go help them out,” Ravan told some of the rebels. They moved for the other pipe, and not one seemed resentful about her being put in charge. Rogan’s sway appeared to be strong, which was good. It would make it easier later. If she couldn’t ascend to the top of the Menagerie under Tiberius, then she definitely would under Rogan West.
Valley of Fires: A Conquered Earth Novel (The Conquered Earth Series) Page 25
