Rising Tide (29 page)

“Noted,” I say.

“Good-bye, Ben.”

As I turn to go, I think about how I don't like the sound of that.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

T
hree weeks of supply runs, back and forth to Tamoanchan, and I'm finally on the last one. It quickly became obvious that it didn't make sense to stop for quarantine, so it's been grab and drop, grab and drop, grab and fucking drop.

Unsurprisingly, I'm having a great time.

It's not the same as being on the
Cherub
, of course, and I'm not the pilot, but Diego lets me take the
Osprey
's controls from time to time, and I'm back in the air. Back to foraging.

Back to my old life.

The only difference is that I've never really worked with a crew before, unless you count Claudia and my dad. For this last run, it's Diego, Rosie, and me—as usual—and Maya, one of the new boffins we rescued from the prison camp. Miranda had the bright idea of sending a boffin along on each of the runs, to help identify what supplies were most needed and to help with some of the delicate equipment, which was a good idea. Me, I don't know a microscope from a spectroscope from a tele . . . wait, I know a telescope. You know what I mean. So they didn't lose too much brainpower, they stuck to the same people, but for this last run, they sent along Maya.

Maya's hoop earrings continue to throw me. I mean, why would you wear something like that? They'd be too likely to get stuck on something. Like a Feral's finger. I picture it in my head, the skin tearing, an open wound just exposed, waiting to be infected.

I can't suppress my shudder. She's at least wearing a hat, a wide-brimmed, light-colored affair, and a colored scarf that wraps about her neck and can be pulled up to cover her face. Otherwise, her small form is fairly decently wrapped in sweaters and a worn-in pair of jeans. Most of what she's wearing is knitted. By the look of her eyes, she's got some Asian blood in her, but other blood, too. She catches me looking at her and smiles.

I hope she doesn't get the wrong idea.

“So tell me again what this thing is?” I ask.

“It's a cache of gear and supplies,” she says. “We had a pretty steady operation, Hector and me and the others, but we had backup supplies. In case of disaster. Or theft. Or attack. So we decided to stash some equipment in a safe place.”

“And this could help Miranda.”

“Definitely. We bring that back, and it will be a huge help.”

“If you say so.”

“Thing is,” she says, leaning back against the wall of the gondola, “the more machines we have to run these tests, the better. You need backups. You need contingency plans. As it is, we're going to have to have people staffing the lab on a continuous basis. Or at least every time someone arrives back on the island.”

Which, sure, would be great. This has been something we've been working toward for a long time. Being able to keep the virus off of the island would be a huge, positive change for everyone. But it's not foolproof. I mean, you can limit infection, but new people are always going to be tricky. They got lucky with me and Miranda. But it's still a perilous thing. Bring in a new airship crew, for example, to help bring in supplies. And if you can't trust them, if they turn on you and sell you out to someone, then what? All it takes is one person to do something like that. Protecting against that is much harder.

Which makes me wonder about Maya. I wouldn't rush to let someone like her off the island so soon after getting there, but it had nothing to do with me. Miranda put her on the list and Lewis cleared it. She was offering Miranda a prize, after all, another cache of supplies. And, like the other boffins, she seems more excited by the project they're working on than anything else. Sounds like her previous group was pretty severely taken apart by the raiders.

It still seems so strange. I can see why raiders would want to go after someplace like Gastown. It's valuable. It has helium. Plus, it's a center of trade. They hold it, they get to reap the rewards. But boffin setups? All I've been able to figure is that the Cabal wants to stop others from studying the Bug. They want to be the only game in town. Or maybe they just want to steal what everyone else has managed to figure out. I don't know. But their involvement in everything makes me uneasy. The Valhallans, I can try to understand. They're about power, pure and simple. The Cabal . . . I'm lost without a map.

“So, are you going to try to patch up this thing between you and Rosie?” Maya asks me, interrupting my train of thought. It surprises me at first, but then she and Rosie have become quite chummy.

“I think it's up to her,” I say. “She's mad at me for putting Diego in danger.”

“But didn't you?”

I shift in my seat. “Yes. And I've apologized to him.”

She crosses her arms. “But have you apologized to her?”

“To Rosie?”

She nods.

“ . . . no.”

“So you really haven't tried to fix this.”

“She thinks I'm bad weather. And besides, what happened happened. I can't take it back.”

“You could show remorse.”

“I have. I do. I—”

Shit. Is she right?

“Do you think I should?”

Maya shrugs. “It seems like it might be a good idea.” She shrugs again. “Or maybe she'll get over it on her own.”

I'm tired of talking about this, so I try to shift the conversation. “So how long have you and Hector been working together?”

“Years, now,” she says. “He came from out East. From an enclave there. He came looking for a new group to work with and found us.”

“And you?”

She smiles. “I was born into it.”

“Like Miranda.”

“I guess. My parents were already part of a science commune when I was born. They taught me as I got older.”

“Did you ever think of, I don't know, not doing what your parents did? Striking off and doing something else?”

She shrugs, then shakes her head. “I don't think I ever did. It just seemed so . . . important.”

That seems odd to me until I realize that I pretty much did the same. Ended up doing exactly what my father did, without ever questioning it. I only ever wanted to be a pilot and a forager. Not that it seemed important. It just seemed . . . me.

“So your people were also looking for a cure?” I ask.

“We were studying the virus, sure.”

“Did you get very far?”

She looks up at me and for a moment her expression is unreadable. “Yes,” she says. “As a matter of fact, we did.”

“Then it's too bad you don't have any of your data.”

She turns and smiles at me. She taps the side of her head. “The good thing about passing down things from generation to generation is that you grow up with it. It gets ingrained in you. A lot of our data is up here.”

“I can't imagine what that must be like,” I say.

“I can't imagine what it would be like without it,” she says. She shrugs. “At least now I get to use it. Your Miranda is really quite remarkable. She reminds me of someone I used to know. Back at the settlement.”

“Huh,” I say. “I have to say I consider Miranda to be one of a kind.”

“Oh, of course,” Maya says. “I just meant her dedication. She's the one who hired you?”

“Yes. It was something of an accident. But . . .”

“But?”

“To be honest, I never really thought that I'd still be here all this time later. But . . . here I am.”

“Are you two—?”

“What?” I ask it just a little too quickly.

She shrugs. “The way I hear it, you two are incredibly close. She does things for you. You do things for her. It's clearly more than just a business arrangement.”

“You people talk about this?”

“You obviously weren't raised on a science commune.”

“No,” I say.

“There's always gossip. About who's fucking who. Who'd like to be fucking who. I love science, don't get me wrong, but there's much more to life.”

“Makes sense.”

“So . . . you and Miranda?”

“Is none of your fucking business.”

She holds up her hands as if surrendering. “Okay, okay. I was just curious. I don't know you people as well as everyone else. I was just curious about the lay of the land.”

Then it hits me for a moment. Maybe Maya is interested in me. Maybe that's why she's asking. She's working for Miranda now. She wouldn't want to interfere with any relationship she might be in. That completely makes sense.

So of course now I'm looking at Maya in an entirely different way. She's definitely attractive. That's not why it feels weird. It feels weird because of Miranda. Because of how things have been going.

But how have things been going? There was sex, yes, and some kissing, but where does that leave us? What are we to one another? And, more importantly, is that what I want?

“Something wrong?” Maya asks.

“What?”

“You're just staring at me with a weird expression on your face.”

“Sorry,” I say.
Great going, Ben.
“I was just distracted.”

She smiles at me. It is a fantastic smile. It can't hurt to get to know her a little, can it?

“You're thinking about who's fucking who, aren't you?”

I smile. “Or who'd like to be.”

She points a finger at me. “Maybe we should compare notes.”

I think about what it must be like for her, all alone, only one friend with her in a strange place. The rest of their group wiped out. “Did you lose anyone?” I ask. “Back at your lab?”

Her smile loses some of its humor. “No one lasting,” she says, her demeanor suddenly shaken. “But it's okay,” she says, bouncing back. She smiles. “I think there are always new possibilities.”

Ah
, I think.
There just might be.

Diego's voice over the speaker breaks into the conversation. “We're getting near the location Maya gave me,” he says. “You better head up here.”

So we return to the gondola, where Diego is flying and Rosie is helping him. She glares at me as I enter, then looks over at Maya, and I notice something strange in her look. As if she's embarrassed? I don't have much time to focus on it, though, because Maya moves to the gondola window and I follow. “There!” She points down at the ground, at a large, stone outcropping. “See that tree?”

Next to the outcropping, standing proud, is an old, gnarled tree with a split trunk. “That's where it is.”

“You used the tree as a landmark?” I ask. “What if it got damaged or chopped down?”

She looks at me like I'm an idiot. “Believe me, these days, trees last longer than most other things.”

It's a fair point.

Down on the ground, it really does feel like old times. My life until recently. Here I am, gun out, looking around for Ferals, keeping one eye on my scientist companion, only this time it isn't Miranda. I didn't miss this part as much. And without Miranda it feels strange. The bright spot is that I'm not worrying about Miranda's safety, but then this whole venture is for her. To get her supplies. To move her closer to her detection system, ultimately to her cure.

“We set up a few traps around the entrance,” Maya calls. “It will just take a moment to disarm them.”

Huh. Traps. From boffins. I guess that makes sense. It reminds me of what I used to do on the
Cherub
.

“What kind of traps?” I ask.

“Mostly bear traps,” she says. “They work the best in situations like this.”

A classic
, I think.

“I'd help you, but I'm too busy looking out for Ferals,” I say.

“Quite all right,” she says. “I'm good with traps.”

I never realized how attractive it was to hear a woman say that.

I move around the perimeter, looking for any signs of Ferals. The good thing is that I don't see any droppings. No tracks or anything. But that doesn't mean we won't attract their attention. Movement. Sound. The airship above us. They all scream out to Ferals.

“Can you give me a hand?” Maya asks.

“Great,” I say under my breath as I move over to where she is. I spare a quick look down and see that she's cleared dirt and grass and leaves from a metal plate set into the ground. “That's where everything is?”

She nods.

“Okay. On three.”

Maya's size means she can't lift too much, but together we manage to lift a corner of the metal plate and slide it to one side. A few pushes opens the gap so that we can get down into the pit they dug in the ground. I pass Maya a pistol, a small automatic. “Keep this on you. We'll work in turns.”

So we do. She passes things up to me and I make a pile in the netting that the
Osprey
has dropped from its cargo hold. I cover her when she's working and she covers me when I am. I admit that I'm more nervous when she's covering me. The bright spot is that our back is pretty much up against the outcropping and the land around us is flat enough that we should see anyone or anything approaching.