Through Fire

Through Fire - Chapter 10

Flint paced back and forth along the grassy verge at the edge of the cliff. At night the tower shone from within, and cast a pearly glow on the longhouse, the slumbering rigs, the way that swept south to the city, lights shining across the bay, and east to the inland places, to Jerethy, Nathor, and Caerlion's rendezvous. The air tasted sweet and salty, he heard the crash of water against the base of the cliff, and saw white foam dance on waves in the bay. On any other night he would have appreciated the view, for the sea seemed to reach off into space, no borders or walls, just pure flowing freedom. The sea, he felt, was the opposite of the jewels the girls wore; you couldn't chain the sea, and no price would buy it. But though these thoughts arose, they flew from him tonight, for the tension of the wait absorbed him. Diana had persuaded him to eat some food, a sandwich or something, he couldn't remember what, and she'd all but forced him to sleep at gunpoint, telling him the other riggers would watch for Jerethy's return, and he had allowed himself a brief nap, but visions of shadows and fire and hook-tipped blades had torn him from sleep, so now he paced along the cliff under the pale light of the tower, and watched, and waited.

Jerethy had been right, he told himself. Jerethy had been right, though he hated to admit it. The Eagle had such a powerful engine and such a streamlined frame, for her size, that only two other rigs had ever been able to keep up with her in a straight race. He frowned. No, that wasn't true. The Ambrels had a rig, too, the Star, but it had sat and gathered dust for years. Buck Ambrel had married late, fathered a single child, and had not, it seemed, been willing to break tradition and raise his daughter as a rigger. But the Star couldn't help them now; the only person in the city capable of driving it was Vistor himself, and the mere idea rocked him with bleak humour.

Jerethy had been right, but what would he do when he caught up with the Eagle? He couldn't just ram it. Yes, he could probably rip the other rig in pieces, but what about Nathor? What about his hoard of bombs? Jerethy had looked ready to thrash Nathor when Flint had arrived at the tower, but a fistfight was one thing, and an explosive murder-suicide was another. Jerethy probably viewed him with dark suspicion, he considered, and perhaps that was another reason he'd taken off by himself. He didn't want Flint anywhere near the action, didn't trust him not to set the Eagle up somehow, set it up and wreck it, regardless of who got hurt.

He stopped, faced the sea, and scowled across the bay. He hadn't killed Burl for the fun of it. The act sickened him, made him feel dirty all over, and he felt that if he could wash himself clean with a dive into the sea he would take it. Yet he couldn't do it, couldn't turn away and tend to his own soul, not now he'd learned about Vistor's plan, seen Caerlion's malice, and faced the dirt that covered the city itself. He couldn't stop now. He couldn't turn his back, leave Diana to the care of the other riggers, abandon them all to their fate. Ties bound him to the city, ties as strong as the titanium skin of the Rhino. That was why he paced in the dark, waiting for Jerethy. The other man might succeed or fail, but the fight wouldn't end until he saw Vistor in flames.

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The growl of an approaching turbine pulled him away from the cliff, and he turned and ran to the way, and watched the light grow in the distance, but the nearer the rig drew, the lower his heart sank, for it sounded, not like the powerful roar of a lion, nor the smooth hum of a well-maintained machine, but like the hacking coughs of a broken beast, torn and frantic in the jaws of a steel trap. He watched it limp back to the tower, and the sight told him the story even before Jerethy staggered out of the door. The Dragon's left wing hung crooked from her flank, which had buckled in, as if kicked by a giant. A spiderweb of cracks glistened across the front window, and the left antenna had snapped off.

Jerethy stepped out of the open door and stumbled. Flint moved to help him, but Jerethy shoved his hand away. "Bastard."

Flint took a step back, hands wide. The sound of the Dragon's approach had woken other riggers, for they began to stream out of the longhouse.