Rising Tide (20 page)

Miranda frowns.

“How do you feel about him?” Tess asks.

I redden but realize that I want to know the answer. Not here, of course. Not in front of Tess and Sarah and Rufus. But at some point when we have some time together.

This time Miranda smiles. “I don't think that's any of your business.”

Tess laughs. It's deep and wet. She holds up her finger again. “This one,” she says. “This one, Benjamin. I like her.” Then to Miranda, “Has he told you his middle name?”

“Tess,” I say, quickly trying to steer the conversation away, “this is Sarah. Formerly of the US Navy.” Despite her large, dark glasses, I can see Tess's eyebrows rise. It's almost worth it just for that. “I figure she has a lot more to tell you than I could. I'm sure that's worth something to you.”

“You want her to pay off your debt?”

“Let's just say that we came to an agreement. She'll give you your information. She's looking to make a fresh start.”

“Is that true?” Tess asks.

Sarah gives a quick, curt nod. “It is, sir. I could use whatever help you can offer in that regard.”

Tess nods back, deeper. “I think we can come to an arrangement.” She smiles at Sarah. Then she looks at me. “Why, Benjamin. You're full of surprises.”

“You did right by me; I want to do right by you.”

She nods in acknowledgment.

“I do have one favor to ask, though,” I say.

“Oh?”

“There are going to be people coming to look for me. Here.”

“The people you were with before.”

“Yes.” I look down at my boots. “Mal's people. Maybe Mal himself.”

“You burned him again, didn't you?”

“It was me,” Miranda says. “But yes.”

Tess looks surprised again. “And now his thugs are going to come looking for you here?”

“Yes,” I say. “I'm sorry. This is probably the first place they'll look.”

Lord Tess shakes her head and spares a look to Rufus. Rufus is flat-out frowning. Angry.

“You do leave chaos in your wake, don't you, Mister Gold?” Tess says.

I wince. It's true. As true as it gets. “I don't think they'll bother you much,” I say, trying to fill that uncomfortable moment with words. “They have no cause to. They'll just be looking for me.”

“You know Malik has no love for me,” Tess says. “Our history is almost as bad as yours.”

“I find that hard to believe,” I say.

“Ehhh.” She tilts her head to the side. Not convinced.

“You're too valuable, and not just to him, to have anything happen to you.”

She looks at me and shakes her head, as if I'm an ignorant child. “Benjamin, when it's personal, people are capable of anything. Rules don't matter, outcomes don't matter. Only that surge of feeling when you render justice unto your enemy.”

I stare back at her, unsure of what to say. Instead, she says, “But I think that you're right. I don't think that Malik will harm me. What he will do is ask me where you've gone.”

“And you'll say you don't know.”

Her face breaks into a smile, though it's one without any mirth in it. “But I do know where you're going.”

I keep my eyes on Tess, but I can feel Miranda looking at me.

“Tess . . .” I'm almost sure that this is going to cost me more. Tess is always concerned with fair bartering.

Tess waves a hand in the air. “Don't worry, Benjamin,” she says. “I have no love for Malik either. He couldn't pay the price of that information. You'll get away fine.” She turns and shuffles back to her makeshift throne. “Besides,” she says, “I still feel like there's some credit left for getting me out on the
Cherub
all those years ago.” She lowers herself into the chair. I can almost hear her bones creaking and popping. She sighs as her body settles. She reaches for one of the hardbound books piled next to her chair, picks up the top one. “Who would have thought these things would outlive us?” She tosses it back onto the pile.

I clasp my hands together like I'm praying. “Thank you, Tess.”

She just nods. Then her head jerks up and she snaps her fingers. “Wait,” she says.

“Yes?”

“When you were here before, you were asking about Gastown, weren't you?”

“Yes . . .”

“Some traders came through here yesterday. I took whatever they could give me, like I usually did. Where they've been, what they saw, etcetera. They mentioned about a camp that they delivered to. They said it was run by some folks out of Gastown.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. They said that it was strange for Gastown. That it was a camp full of scientists.”

I look at Miranda. Her eyes widen.

I nod at Tess. “We'd heard Gastown was working with a group of scientists.” The Cabal. Some of the smartest people left in the Sick, allied with some of the most vicious.

“That's just the thing,” Tess says. “I'd heard those stories as well, of course. They're not new. No, this was different. This wasn't just a camp. It was a prison camp.”

“A prison camp?”

“A group of prisoners from a science commune. They talked to one or two of the prisoners. Said they were taken some weeks back.” She snaps her fingers. “The place had a funny name.” She picks up a notepad and flips through the pages.

Miranda moves forward and grabs my arm. “Was it Apple Pi?”

Tess looks up at her and smiles. “Yes. That's it. How did you know?”

Miranda knows because that was her camp. Where her and her boffins worked for a cure. Only it got hit by Gastown raiders while Miranda, Sergei, and Clay were off in the field. I was there to see it taken. Up until now, we weren't sure what had happened to the other boffins—whether they had been captured or killed. But it sounds like some of them are alive.

“We need the location of that camp,” Miranda says.

Tess smiles widely, her wrinkled face cracking around it. “What would you like to trade for it?”

Miranda thinks for a moment, then smiles, too. “Do you have something that reads old tech? It's a portable data drive.”

Tess smiles and nods. She holds out a hand to Rufus, and he disappears behind the curtain, coming back with a small, portable computer.

Miranda reaches into her pocket and pulls out the drive she stole from Gastown. The drive with the data on the Bug, the data that the Gastown scientists were working with. Right now, it might be the most valuable thing in the world to Miranda. She's hoping to use it to find a cure.

“Right here is data on the Maenad virus,” she says. “What people call ‘the Bug.' Possibly more advanced than anything I've seen before.”

Tess tilts her head and shifts in her chair. “It sounds valuable and yet . . . you know there's not much call for scientific data these days.”

“Maybe,” Miranda says. “But it's extremely rare. Maybe you'll never have cause to use it, but one day, if someone comes in here looking for something like this, won't you be mad at yourself if you let it slip through your fingers?”

“I take it these scientists are friends of yours?” Tess asks.

Miranda nods once. “Very dear friends of mine. We've been looking for them for some time.”

Tess starts wagging her head from side to side. She looks to Rufus and sighs. She shakes her head. “Don't pay attention to this, Rufus,” she says. “I'm a big softy. I'll bend for people I like.” She looks back to Miranda. “Okay.” She reaches down the side of her chair and pulls up the notebook and a pen. “I'm guessing you can read.”

“Yes,” Miranda says.

“Good.” Tess flips back through the book and uses a finger to trace the words that are written on one of the pages. Then she flips to a fresh page and starts writing. “Rufus,” she says. “Collect the data.”

Rufus moves forward with the portable computer, and Miranda moves forward with the drive. She hands it over. “Be careful with it,” she says. “It's very important.”

“I will,” Rufus says, slightly offended. He slots the drive into the side of the computer, then turns it toward him and presses a few keys.

“Let me know when it's done,” Tess says.

I know what Miranda's risking here—if something were to go wrong and her drive were to short or be corrupted or just die, well, there goes a chance to advance her research. On the other hand, that's Miranda—risking everything for her people. I think back to the
Cherub
and think it's her example I've been following.

“Done,” Rufus says. He carefully removes the drive and hands it back to Miranda.

“Thank you,” she says, and she replaces it in her shirt pocket, snapping it closed.

Tess nods and rips off the notebook page and holds it out to Miranda. “I don't have an exact location, but I do know the route of the traders, and I got them to give me landmarks.”

“Thank you,” Miranda says again. She neatly folds the paper and tucks it into her jacket pocket.

“Now I think we should leave,” I say. “No offense, Tess, but I don't want to be here if Whistler and Malik's other friends show up.”

“Go,” Tess says with a wave. “You might scare off other customers.”

I nod and turn to go.

“And Benjamin,” she says. I turn back. “Good luck. I think you're going to need it.”

“Always,” I say with a self-effacing smile.

“Good luck to you, Sarah,” I say. “Remember what I said about change.”

She salutes me in response, and I repeat the motion back. Then, my hand on Miranda's back, we head back toward the
Argus
.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“I
think we should rename the ship,” I say, as I take her up. “It's not like we're taking her back to Mal.”

Miranda sighs. “What do you want to name it? Not the
Cherub
again.”

“No,” I say. “There was only one
Cherub
.”

“And not something similar,” she says.

“What?”

“I mean, Ben, the
Cherub
?”

“It's an Old Testament thing,” I say. “The Torah, the Bible. Angels. Big, scary, powerful things.”

“That's funny,” she said. “I always had heard that they were flying babies in diapers.”

“No,” I say. “Jesus. They were scary, Miranda.” I shake my head. “Read a fucking book that's not about virology once in a while.”

She smiles back at me. “So what then?”

I remember a story back from my childhood. One of my father's books. An angel that could see in all directions. Covered in eyes. That's basically what this ship is. The thousand-eyed angel of death. “
Dumah
,” I say.

“The
Dumah
?”

“Yeah.”

She narrows her eyes. “What does it . . . never mind. I don't want to know. You're the one flying it. The
Dumah
it is.”

I nod. The
Dumah.
It works.

“Ben.” Miranda holds up the paper that Tess gave her. “I think that we should go to this camp now.”

I keep the ship steady and turn to Miranda, crossing my arms. “I disagree.”

“Why not, Ben?” Miranda asks, her voice rising. “My God, those people—my people—trapped there all this time. These are my friends.”

“I know,” I say. “And I want to get them out, too, but it's just the two of us. And this ship isn't rigged for carrying a whole bunch of people. We're not prepared for this. I have one gun. One. And only a few bullets left.”

She turns away, shaking her head.

“Not to mention that we don't know if Tamoanchan is okay,” I say. “Let's say we could even get your people out. Where do we go if Tamoanchan is gone? What do we do if it's full of Gastown thugs? I think that's our immediate priority—head to the island and figure out the fallout there. Then, as soon as we can, get help to go rescue your scientists.”

She looks down.

“I know you're worried about your people. Each one of them. But we need to check on Sergei.”

“And Clay,” she says, looking up at me.

“I guess,” I say.

She punches me in the arm.

“And Diego,” I say.

She squeezes my arm. “He chose to go to Gastown, you know.”

I shake my head. “After I goaded him into it.”

“He's his own man.”

“Miranda . . .” I don't finish the sentence. It all seems too big. What I did to get us to Gastown. How Diego paid for it. How Tamoanchan might have paid. Just because I wanted my ship. And now that she's gone, what was it for?

“You sacrificed the
Cherub
,” Miranda says, as if reading my mind. “Don't forget that. You gave up the thing you loved most to try to save all of them.”

It's true. I loved the
Cherub
all my life. But was it what I loved the most? “Miranda,” I say, lifting her chin.

“Ben!” she says suddenly. Loudly. Looking past me. She points.

I turn to look. One of the screens has flickered to life. “How the hell did that happen?”

“Did you do something?”

“I flicked a few of the switches before, but I didn't think they would work.”

“Looks like it did.”

One bank of screens has ten monitors in it. Two of these are operating, showing . . . sky. The second bank of screens is showing us the ground. At least on the three monitors that are working. One is a high-level view. Another, closer up. The third, well, I'm not sure what I'm looking at.

“It makes sense,” Miranda says. “Some to see around you, for flight. Some to see below you, for study.”

“What's that one?” I ask, pointing to the strange monitor. The images there are just colors against a black background.

Miranda looks, then frowns, then screws up her lips. Then she smiles. “I think it's infrared.”