Burning Bright

The sound of rotors overhead was a welcome relief, and she squinted up into the hazy clouds. The helicab dropped easily toward the pad, balancing the weight of the machine against the lift of the rotors and the gas in the envelope. The two pods were fully inflated, one to each side of the passenger compartment, so that the cab looked rather like a rodent, both cheeks filled with scavenged food. The unseen pilot brought it down carefully, setting it precisely in the center of the bright-blue guidelines, and the passenger door opened. Lioe stood, uncertain whether to offer her hand, and Ransome pushed himself to his feet. He climbed into the cab, and Lioe followed him, pulling the door closed behind them.

“You’re going to Warehouse?” the pilot said, and Ransome nodded.

“That’s right,” Lioe said aloud, and wasn’t sure she’d done the right thing until she saw Ransome’s fleeting smile.

The helicab rose slowly, rotors whining, and the whole machine shivered suddenly in a gust of wind. The pilot corrected it instantly, adjusting power and lift, glanced apologetically over his shoulder.

“Sorry, people. It’s going to be a rough ride.”

“‘S all right,” Ransome murmured.

“The storm?” Lioe asked, as much to distract the pilot as anything, and was not surprised when he nodded. The braided wires that connected him to the cab bobbed against his neck.

“Yeah. The dispatcher’s saying we’ll probably have to shut down this afternoon.”

Lioe leaned back in her seat. Through the transparent door panel she could see the Dock Road District spread out beneath her, buildings clustered around tiny spots of green that were the open plazas, and crowding shoulder to shoulder along the banks of the myriad canals. “I think this is the first time I’ve seen this in daylight,” she said, in some surprise, and saw Ransome smile again.

As they rose above the cliff edge, approaching Newfields and the Warehouse helipad, the wind caught them, jolting the cab sideways before the pilot caught it. Lioe braced herself against the safety webbing, watching the muscles of the pilot’s arms tense and relax as his hands moved inside the sheaths of the on-line controls. His lips were moving, too, and she guessed he was talking to his dispatcher, warning other pilots about the winds. He took the approach to Warehouse very carefully, and Lioe was grateful for it: the helicab shuddered and bounced, but finally dropped the last meter or so onto the hard paving. The credit reader unfolded from the cab wall, beeping for payment.

Ransome reached for his card, but Lioe got there first. “Pay me back,” she said, and ran her own card through the slot. She managed not to wince at the total—about twice what she had expected—and hit the key that confirmed the payment. The pilot opened the passenger door, and they climbed out onto the pad. The helicab started to lift as they crossed the low barrier, and Lioe flinched as grit stung her face and bare arms. Ransome turned away from it, one hand cupped over his mouth and nose, did not move until the cab had lifted out of range.

“Do you want a velocab?” Lioe asked, tentatively, more to make sure he was all right than to get an answer to her question, and was relieved when he shook his head.

“No. It’s not far to the loft.” He sounded a little better, and Lioe let herself relax.

The streets were all but empty of pedestrians here, and only a few heavy carriers rumbled past, stirring the drifted dirt and sand. A fickle wind was blowing, a warm wind that carried an occasional hint of a chill at its heart. Lioe shivered at its touch, glanced again to the sky, but saw only the same hazy clouds, the sun a hot white disk behind them. It felt like the afternoon winds on Callixte, the summer wind that brought the big storms down onto the plains, and she found herself walking warily, as though too quick a movement would trigger lurking thunder. Ransome glanced curiously at her, then looked away.

They turned the last corner onto a street shadowed by the buildings to either side, and Ransome led her past a tangle of denki-bikes, their security fields humming at an annoying pitch, to the access stair that ran along the side of the building.

“Isn’t there a lift?” Lioe asked involuntarily, but Ransome didn’t seem offended.

“There is, but it’s in use.” He nodded to the main doorway, where a red flag drooped, moving only sluggishly in the breeze.

“Oh.” Lioe followed him up the stairway, past the Carnival debris, broken bottles, a cluster of stained and ragged ribbons at the base of the stairs, another bottle on the landing; the crumpled papers and stained foils from a packet of Oblivion lay on the landing outside Ransome’s door. He stepped over them without looking, and Lioe did her best to follow his example.