Wings of Creation (34 page)

He looked better for the food and drink and moved with more of his usual grace, although his eyes still looked colorless and flat. “Tough. We lost our first sim last night, and we couldn’t finish the second one before we crashed.”

“You’ve run the pure math parts of the models?”

Her sophistication surprised me, and then I flinched at my reaction. She may be socially less than a flier but that didn’t make her dumber. Marcus seemed unfazed. “Of course. But what we put into the real sim always changes based on what feels right.”

She nodded. Marcus had told me once that was what made us creators, and better than computers. Statistics showed we failed less than computers. Marcus said, “We should get back to work. What else did you come to tell us?”

“They have Jenna for sure.”

He went still and silent. Kayleen clutched my thigh. Her fingernails dug into my skin. When we worked on the sim, we didn’t have access to any other data: it was the only way to keep our own work pure. And then we’d slept for hours. “What happened?” Kayleen said. “What about Paloma and Ming and Tiala? Where’s Induan? Has anyone seen Alicia?”

Marcus sat still.

Seeyan watched him, not responding directly to Kayleen, who kept talking. “They did this before. They took our kids.”

I pried Kayleen’s hand off my thigh and put my arm around her. “And we got them back. Besides, Jenna isn’t helpless.”

“But Paloma . . .” She trailed off and pulled away from me, standing and tugging at her hair, looking around as if a solution lay in the air.

I went for her and brought her back. “Sit down. We’ll plan. We’ll get the women back.”

Seeyan blinked at me. “They want to trade for you two and Chelo.”

She meant me and Marcus.

“No,” Marcus said, the word coming out like it was dragged from him. “We won’t get them back that way. They’re fighters. Dianne and Jenna, at least, are fighters. We’d probably get in their way.”

Kayleen glared at him. “You mean we aren’t going to do anything?”

His voice softened. “Of course we are. We’re going to keep working. They’re not trying to hurt any of the people they have—they’re trying to stop us. So we have to succeed.”

Kayleen looked at him incredulously. “You want to just leave them?”

“They aren’t helpless,” he said.

“I’ll try to free them,” Seeyan said. “I’ll get word to you if I can help. Even now, Induan is at the fair. Bryan has been reported there, and we expect Alicia’s there, too, although no one has seen her.”

Kayleen laughed. “No one will see her, either. She’ll keep that damned mod on all the time.”

“She has to charge it,” I said. “But we should want her and Induan to be able to hide.”

Marcus looked at Seeyan. “It’s not Islas. It’s the Wingmakers and someone else. I can’t tell who, yet. But they’re pretending to be Islas.”

He must have gotten that from the nets.

Seeyan paled.

“Tell them—tell them we’re thinking about it,” he said. “Buy us time.”

Her voice shook as she said, “I’ll pass that along.”

I looked at Kayleen. “You asked me a question back there. You asked, ‘what if we wanted to be free?’ We won’t get free until people stop fighting over us. Which means we hide until we succeed.”

She gave me a long, quiet look. A sane look. “We can’t hide here.”

“I know.”

T
he interface merchant with the startling blue eyes took a step forward, staring at the man named Jackson. For a brief moment, his eyes seemed to soften, to become midsummer sky, and then they turned the blue of winter river ice.

Jackson nodded at me, sharp, and raised his arm. He stepped toward Bryan. Blue-eyes raised his arm to block, fast, and a red welt drew itself across his forearm, beading blood. He yelped a curse but held his ground, and didn’t reach for his bleeding arm. Jackson feinted, trying to drive around and strike Bryan with the nearly invisible wire he’d just used to draw blood on the merchant’s arm. Jackson’s hand moved so fast I barely made out a slender handle in it. A flick of air across my cheek whistled danger, but missed. Jackson snarled at the interface merchant. “Amile! Help me!”

Good to have a name for our protector.

Amile shook his head.

“I’ll share,” Jackson growled.

Bryan stepped in so all three men were closing on each other, a knot of strength. He threw aside two of the chairs and I drew the other one away, making room. Going out the front door would get us attention, but I didn’t know what the back door opened up to.

We hadn’t learned anything useful yet, and Bryan was in fight mode, not looking at all like running.

Very well.

I turned on my invisibility mod and stepped away from where I had been standing.

All three men stared at each other, like camp dogs about to fight. Jackson kept most of his attention on Bryan. Even though Jackson was taller and might be as heavy, Bryan was compact and broad, everything about him strength. The veins in his neck stuck out in anger and subtle flicks of his wrist slicked his fingernails into sharp knives. The look in his dark eyes should have been enough to scare the older, fatter man away.

Amile’s back was to me, but his dark skin rippled with energy.

I’d be willing to bet we were stronger than either Amile or Jackson. Bless Marcus for keeping us in high-g travel and making us work and run and fly.

Everyone moved at once.

Jackson raised his weapon.

Amile clutched his bleeding arm and put his head down to butt at Jackson.

Bryan grasped Jackson’s free arm in his broad fist, his knives-for-nails digging into the man’s skin, drawing second blood.

Amile bounced off Jackson’s torso and looked up at him. He shook his head violently and grabbed for Jackson again, getting a grip on his wrist, the one that had the handle in it, for just a second.

Jackson stepped away from Bryan, ripping Bryan’s nails through his arm so the blood welled faster, the slickness of it helping him jerk free. At the same moment, he slid out of Amile’s grasp.

Momentarily free of the others, Jackson looked around for me, his eyes widening at my absence.

The surprise cost him a split second.

Bryan spun and closed on him from behind, his face more furious than I’d seen it since the last battle on Fremont.

Jackson flicked his invisible whip behind him and a small cut bloomed on the edge of Bryan’s ear. He grunted in pain and took a step back.

We had to make sure the weapon didn’t matter more than our strength. Bryan had stopped for a moment, close to Amile, both of them watching Jackson’s full fist closely. Blood dripped down Amile’s arm and Bryan’s neck. Jackson brought his arm up, snarling.

Amile feinted left, Bryan right.

I yelled, “Here!”

Jackson turned toward my voice, letting Bryan slip behind him.

Bryan grabbed Jackson’s head and jerked backward, making Jackson stumble back, almost falling, struggling not to have his neck snapped.

I saw my moment. Careful of my footing on the blood-slicked floor, I reached, plucking the handle from Jackson’s hand.

It came free. The handle disappeared into my hand, my invisibility mod affecting it as soon as I’d grabbed it, analyzing and doing its nanomagic until the whole weapon became invisible. It was slick with Jackson’s sweat and hard to hold.

Amile laughed, smiling at the place I had just been, looking far less surprised than Jackson, who went down in a heap on the floor as Bryan pushed him. I’d moved seven or eight steps to the side.

I raised the weapon above my head, careful to avoid the invisible stinging tail of the whip, ready to bring it down across Jackson’s face.

Then Bryan’s body was in the way, and I couldn’t use the weapon. I dropped my hand and watched Bryan lean on Jackson’s shoulder, pinning him. Bryan nodded at Amile, who took the big man’s feet.

Jackson struggled, grunting.

The tent door was still closed, although I heard people just outside. I couldn’t catch individual words, but curiosity laced their tones. They’d be in the door soon.

Amile heard them, too. He glanced up at Bryan. “Use the back door and go.”

Bryan shook his head, although Amile was right. Still . . . we didn’t know enough. I knelt down near Amile’s ear and whispered, “Who is looking for us? Who is he?”

To his credit, Amile only jumped a little at the voice in his ear. He whispered back, “He’s an opportunist. There’s a reward out for you two.”

“Us in particular?”

“Any of you. A lot, enough to live well on for a year or go somewhere else, get off this place. And more for the Makers and Chelo.”

I looked at Jackson, who still couldn’t see me. He watched the two
of us, his whole body tense. I wondered if he was afraid I’d slice him with his own whip or if he was still looking for a way to win as one against three. Clearly he’d counted on Amile being on his side.

“Why are you helping us?” I asked.

Amile shrugged, then grinned. “I’m bored. You’re more likely to get me away from here than your reward is.”

All right. I could buy that more than altruism. “Do you have anything to tie him up with?”

Amile held out his hand. “Leave the weapon. So I can hold him long enough for you two to get away. Go now. There’ll be a hundred people here any minute.”

Bryan gave a quick nod.

Jackson tensed.

Bryan slammed his fist into the big man’s cheek. “Stay here,” he hissed. “And don’t hurt our friend.” He glanced at Amile. “We’ll be back.”

“I’ll find you.” Amile nodded at the door. “Go.”

Good. I hated letting go of the fine-handled steel weapon with its own near-invisibility. Besides, I had a lot to ask Amile. But not in front of Jackson. The back of the tent had a flap door like the front, and in just a moment, Bryan and I were through it.

I liked Amile. Hopefully I would see him again.

Outside, we saw the back of another tent, a set of wooden chairs behind a booth, and then one of the sitting areas, luckily empty. We crossed through there. I wanted to avoid crowds, so I tugged on Bryan’s sleeve to signal him to go right, where there were fewer people. We needed to hide Bryan so I could go back, invisible, to find out what Amile knew, or to find Juss the jewelry man.

It had grown late enough so the booths cast shadows taller than real life on the ground. If anything, more people now hung around the festival than before, and some booths that had sold cold drinks in the heat of day were heating grills and setting out cooking supplies.

We passed a huge metal sculpture of six fliers rising up out of a glittery and realistic fire, their faces beatified to the point of silliness and their wings burning with the same flames that scorched their feet. A stone wall had been built around the base of the sculpture. Even though I still wanted real wings, this was garish. Fliers as martyrs
of the world, or something. The fake fire emitted heat. “Sit down,” I whispered. “Watch the pretty art.”

He laughed, tension draining from his cheeks and neck. I ripped the hem of my shirt, trying to do it artfully enough to pass if I turned myself back into view. The rip in Bryan’s ear was clean, and deep into the fleshy part. “Good thing your ear was in the way of your throat.” I pressed the fabric against it, watching it soak quickly with blood, careful to stand in such a way my hand couldn’t be easily seen. Strange effects happened when I touched others in this mode. “Does it hurt?”

“Only a little. It didn’t hurt at all, at first.”

“I wish I’d kept it.”

“Me, too.”

I went silent for a moment while a couple holding hands walked around the sculpture, commenting on how realistic and painful the fire-singed pinion feathers looked. It took a few long moments for them to leave.

“You need to find a bathroom and wash your hands. There’s blood under your fingernails.”

“I need to find Ming. What if someone like Jackson found them? What if she’s hurt?”

“You can’t just wander around. You’ll get found.”

He didn’t say anything, a sign he was preparing to be stubborn.

“I’ll look. Maybe you can stay here.”

He glanced up at the fliers above us, the closest one a woman with black hair streaming out behind her, nearly touching the artsy flames licking up her wings. “I don’t think so.”

As if to illustrate his point, two fliers came and stood silently gazing at the sculpture.

Where would he be safe? I hated the idea of splitting off from him, but if two people had recognized us already, he couldn’t just walk around openly. Especially now that we’d been spotted. It wasn’t going to be easy to hide a strongman here, either. Bryan’s mods were plentiful on Silver’s Home, but a planet designed for flight didn’t attract many people with Bryan’s body type. “Maybe we should leave,” I whispered, “and then I’ll come back.”

He shook his head. “I’m not leaving without Ming.”

Stubborn man. I glanced around to be sure no one paid attention to Bryan talking to thin air. But then, for all anybody knew, he could be using his built-ins. “We don’t even know Ming’s here.”

He frowned. “It’s getting dark soon. It will be harder for people to see me.”

He was going to be stubborn. “It won’t help if you get caught.”

“It might, if they take me to her.”

What kind of spell had she stuck on him? I guessed I didn’t have to ask that. He needed love more than any of us. I reached over and up, getting my arm almost around his broad shoulders, and squeezed. “We’ll find her. Don’t go getting captured. It won’t help.”

“It might,” he muttered under his breath.

“Not.” His tendency to get darkly angry got under my skin. Well, if he wasn’t going to leave, the best place to hide was always in a busy spot. Not far off, the deep sound of drumming and the high whistle of flutes or something like them rose over the booths. I pulled him to his feet and led him toward the music, finding a bathroom to clean up in along the way.

We hit the edges of the crowd long before we could actually see the singers. “There’re too many people. I have to get visible, or go and meet you back here.”