Page 64

F lying one-handed is a bitch.

Flying one-handed while fear chews through my heart from what I might find at the other end of this trip is a bigger bitch.

“I’d be happy to co-pilot,” Exeter offers as we soar out of Hemos.

“What are you rated for?” I ask with a grunt as I tap at the flight panel.

“Mach Three.”

Like Kez.

“Too slow,” I tell him. “Put your helmet on unless you want brain damage. You’ll need forced oxygen.”

I pull my helmet off its clip and strap it on, settle the amoeba over my nose and mouth.

I start deep breathing: forcing the mask to give me more air, pumping oxygen to my brain and muscles.

Exeter mimics me, either because he’s had training or because he’s figured out that I do.

I keep my eyes on the display instead of looking at the viewie.

The pressure at Mach Five will make my stomach roll and looking at the sky and water flashing by will only make it worse .

I punch in the final sequence and feel the acceleration land like an old Earth elephant on my chest.

The codes running down the edges of my vision wash to grey as the pressure forces blood away from my head. My barely knitted back together head. I can’t wait to hear Doc Gray’s lecture about this.

Seven minutes take seven hours in disjointed flashes.

I blink and take in a set of readings. Blink again and the codes are different.

I force each breath in and out. Beside me, Exeter’s breathing has gone shallow and raspy.

He’s probably passed out. I don’t turn my head to check.

It feels like it weighs a fucking ton. My neck can barely hold it in place to focus on the flight display.

Finally, the speed numbers run backwards. We’re nearing the Cloudline. Six minutes, twenty-two seconds.

I force my mind away from what Jaxon may have done to Kez in those six minutes. Let him be like he was that night in Tyng Tower, all sneer and bravado. I push my mind away from Kez’s story of him standing between her legs as his boys held her down in the sand.

Hold on for me, kitten. Hold on. I’m coming.

Payton’s worked her magic on the Cloud diggys. The Infinity soars through the Cloudline with nothing more than a curl of vapor. I imagine hearing the barrier snap shut behind us, but it is just my imagination. Or maybe the pressure giving me tinnitus.

As we slow to Mach Two, Exeter groans. “That fucking sucked.”

“Lotta gees,” I agree. “Keep breathing as hard as you can without hyperventilating. Forces oxygen to your brain and muscles. It’ll help you recover faster.

I’m not sure what we’re going to find when we land.

” I tip my chin at the blur of the Cloudlands on the horizon.

“But you may not have much time to pull yourself together.”

“Right,” Exeter says, before he starts puffing and blowing.

I tap up my connection to Tyng Tower. I’m not entirely sure I’ll get through, given how unfriendly the Cloudlanders must be feeling toward us right now, but Kez got through to Myhre when they tried to lock down the port before, so it’s worth a shot .

“Payton?”

“Here, Snow.”

A flicker of cool relief runs through me. Yes, I’m a loner. Yes, I can do this by myself. But there’s a fuck of a lot to be said for having Tyng’s considerable resources at my beck and call.

“We’re through the Cloudline. Less than a minute to Tiv. Any word from Tiacha?”

“I’ve had word, but it makes no sense. I hope it means something to you. Where I could not pass unseen .”

I comb through my memories. Latch on to the sound of cer-cer grass rustling. To an image of Tiancha’s big, dark eyes above a beaded poncho that tipped me off as to her gender. The night I caught her spying on us in the Eff Tubes, she apologized for waking us and said she usually passed unseen .

“The Eff Tubes,” I tell Payton. “Far end of Tiv, near the original desal plant. Fuck, they’re bold, landing in Tiv.”

“Even with the Tyng name behind them and whatever influence Erin and B have on the Cloudlands, Mother Jo calculated there was only a thirty-two percent chance that they’d be cleared for any other port,” Payton says.

“They must not have wanted to take the risk of docking elsewhere and facing the Cloudlanders’ wrath. ”

Or they’re meeting up with the Ojos.

“Scan the local feeds from the Cloudlands,” I tell Payton. “Not the official shit. Personal feeds. Morons tellin’ the planet about what bugs they had for breakfast. See if there’s anything about people gathering at that end of Tiv.”

“Compiling,” Mother Jo’s cool voice responds. “Four independent, unverified reports say there are an unusual number of people and skimmers on the Roaring Sands.”

“That’s a beach very close to the decommissioned desal plant,” Payton adds.

“Warn the Cloudlanders I’m about to land on that beach.”

“Um, Snow?— ”

I cut off whatever objection she’s about to make. I’m getting Kez back; landing on that beach is the fastest way to do it.

“Official report of a water protest on Roaring Sands,” Mother Jo says. “The area’s been declared off limits.”

Not to me. “Tell the Cloudlanders Tyng property is in the middle of that protest and a company security team is enroute. Make sure you send them images of Captain Match and the other rats so they know they’re Tyng employees.”

“Done,” Payton says.

“Well done,” I echo back to her. “Thank you, Payton.”

“Bring Kez home,” Payton responds.

“I will,” I promise.

We land in what probably started as a gathering of Ojos but has escalated into a full-blown riot. Bottles and other handy trash ping off the underside of the Infinity as we descend. The rioters aren’t suicidal, fortunately, and scatter before my ship crushes them.

The Infinity rocks precariously as it settles into the sand, then levels itself. Good ship.

I climb out of my flight harness and extend my hand to Exeter. Pull him out of his seat. He’s pale under his tan from the gees but checks his equipment like the pro he is as we gear up in the hold.

“So I’m clear on the mission parameters—” he begins.

“Retrieve Kez by whatever means necessary.”

“The presence of the Cloudland authorities may hamper my ability to use the big gun.”

I nod. “Then use the little one. Tyng will cover you. Our second-in-command has been abducted by people who have tried to kill her before. We do whatever it takes to recover her.”

“Clear,” Exeter says with a nod.

I finish strapping my katanas over my body armor and test my draw. “Clear. Let’s go.”

He follows me out of the hold, stands at my side as the ramp cycles down to deposit us on the chaotic sands.

I’m not sure if I’m looking at a riot, an insurrection, or a beach party.

The old desal plant rises in ragged columns and half-collapsed storage blocks ringing the southern edge of the beach.

The Eff Tubes are somewhere beyond it, closer to the port.

Kez and I never came this far before we found a friendly tube in which to spend the night.

Maybe a hundred people have gathered between the desal plant and the far end of the beach which rises in a crumbling cliff.

Their clusters are broken by dozens of tubes sticking out of the sands.

Two of the tubes are on fire, flames leaping above the half-naked people dancing around them, smoke spreading into a dull haze over the beach.

Another tube has some kind of holo set up in it and is projecting a glimmering, green DJ two meters overhead, who blasts a fast beat over the sands.

Always good to have a soundtrack for your riot.

There are as many people dancing, drinking, making out as there are holding signs and chanting, demanding water rights.

There’s a line of C.P. in white uniforms close to the desal plant, but they don’t seem to be engaging.

They’ve just established a line to keep the riot, or party, from spreading toward the port.

What I don’t see in the mayhem is my kitten. Or any rats. Or anyone wearing Tyng insignia.

I turn my head until I find the huge skimmer.

It’s docked at the third of three piers stretching into the placid ocean.

I would have said the crumbling piers were abandoned if not for the Tyng skimmer and two other ships berthed at them.

There’s no movement along the piers except for the gentle swaying of the skimmers.

“Doesn’t look like they’re unloading,” I say to Exeter.

He shakes his head. “Are we investigating?”

Since I don’t see anything else worth my attention, I nod.

I close up the Infinity and wait until its shields come down. The rioters, and partiers, have moved away from us but the ship’s an easy target once we leave.

Exeter follows me as I trudge across the hard pack to the pier.

Sweat beads on my cheeks and the back of my neck, rolls down my spine; it has nothing to do with the bright, late spring day.

I somehow thought I’d land and find Kez immediately.

Maybe fight my way through a couple of Ojos first. I promised her I’d be here waiting for her.

It’s been too long. I shouldn’t have gone to Hemos to interrogate Myhre.

Maybe they’ve moved Kez somewhere so Jaxon can take his time with her.

What if I can’t find her?

What if I never find my kitten?

I shake the doubt away. Kez won’t give up. She’s smart. She’s a fighter. She’ll do everything she can to delay them, to say alive until I find her. I can’t let doubt or fear or anything else distract me from what I’m here to do. I have one job: get my kitten back. And I’m going to do it.

From the top of the pier, the deck of the skimmer shimmers in the day’s heat. I don’t see any movement. I’d give a lot for a scanner that could pierce the skimmer’s hull and show me whether there are any heat signatures below decks or whether this is a wild kemwar chase.

I draw my kukri, roll my shoulders, and kick off down the pier at a run.

I’ve got no reason to think anyone on the skimmer has a range weapon pointed at me but no reason to think otherwise, either.

After all, Dom Fox managed to get his hands on a mag gun.

Faster a target moves, the harder it is to hit.

Exeter keeps up with me, his “little gun” in hand.

“We stay together as we search the ship,” I tell him. His breathing’s like mine: steady. Good conditioning. “Watch each other’s six. We don’t get separated.”

“Copy,” he says. “I don’t see any movement.”

“Me, neither. If they’ve disappeared, we head to the Deeps. Regroup with the rats. ”

“Copy,” Exeter acknowledges.

It settles me to have a plan. Running up the ramp that cut off the last sight of my kitten doesn’t distract me.

The ghost ship doesn’t unnerve me as we cross the deck, moving wraith-fast and silent between the huge containers of water.

They haven’t unloaded. There aren’t even any bots shifting the water containers out of their cradles. No activity at all.

The ship’s shaped like a slipper, with a long rear tongue custom-built for Tyng’s cargo, and a raised U of a bridge overlooking the deck.

As I move between the water containers, I look up at the bridge’s bank of windows.

They’re polarized but sometimes my cat’s eye can see through polarization if I get the angle right.

Now I see movement. Lots of movement. And swirling, black smoke.

I tap Exeter’s arm. “You got a breather?”

He nods.

“Put it on,” I tell him as I pull an amoeba breather out of my pack. “Fire or something in the bridge.”

He nods and holsters his gun while he retrieves a breather from a pocket on his thigh. He doesn’t ask me how I know. I appreciate his quiet competence.

Quietly, competently, he follows as I avoid the main entrance to the bridge and circle around to a service door. Everything that’s happened hasn’t changed my clearance and the door pops open after a quick face scan.

Smoke billows out into the sunshine.

Exeter nods when I check in with him silently and follows me into the small service lift.

The smoke is thick when the lift doors open and we step out into a narrow corridor.

I’m grateful for the breather. By the map that’s building in my head, I’d guess this accessway runs along the underside of the bridge.

It should provide access up into the control spaces at multiple points and down into the mechanical areas of the ship at each end .

I sight along the corridor until I can gauge that the smoke is thickest to my left. I beckon Exeter after me with two fingers as I jog toward the source of the smoke.

Where there’s smoke, there’s fire, and all that.