Page 23 of Coldwire
It’s not good form to throw someone else under the bus, but it’s a natural question.
“Why would we take Teryn Moore?” Miz asks. “NileCorp would be on our ass in five minutes flat.”
Right. Because Teryn’s important.
“You can’t do this,” I say, switching gears. “You can’t force me to participate. It’s—”
“Illegal?”
The interruption comes from the front. Nik has emerged silently from the cockpit, leaning at the threshold. Even when another shudder jolts the helicopter, he stays perfectly unmoving, one shoulder nudged solidly against the wall. He’s put a pair of glasses on too, the screen flashing faint lines across his eyes while the display changes. Despite the one device already in use, he’s also cradling his handheld close to his chest.
“You’re awake far too early,” he comments. “Go back to sleep.”
“You shouldn’t take me to Medaluo,” I counter. “Atahua has spies everywhere. As soon as national surveillance picks up my face, you’ll have NileCorp’s private soldiers on your trail. It’ll ruin your mission.”
It’s a strong argument, objectively. But Nik, slowly, wanders into the passenger area, unconvinced. He’s reading something on his glasses, walking toward the aircraft corner where his team has stashed four big bags with an open laptop balanced on the pile. The laptop screen changes, the light reflecting off the metal of the wall. Nik must be connected remotely with his glasses. Quickly, he slides his handheld into one of the bags, tugging the zip securely.
“It’s very easy to avoid surveillance. Don’t worry.”
Miz clears her throat from her seat. She narrows her eyes at Nik. Some silent communication must pass between them, because Nik steps toward me next. I stiffen. He draws another step closer, almost like he’s testing my reaction, and I react expectedly. By the time he’s standing directly before my seat, my limbs have practically locked into place.
“We’ve been looking for someone for a while now,” he says. “Someone… who went away, then came back again.”
I stare, waiting for him to elaborate. Nik’s frown deepens.
“Does the surname Sullivan mean anything to you?”
“I haven’t a clue,” I say honestly. “Sorry.”
At the other side of the aircraft, Miz mutters something under her breath,then nods in response to a message that must be flashing through her glasses.
“Nik,” she calls. “We’re landing.”
The opaque material around the walls starts to move, folding back from left to right to reveal a window panel built into the side of the helicopter. I bite down the protest hovering on my tongue. The world outside beams through the glass, and my breath catches in my throat.
Medaluo, from coast to coast, has a twelve-hour time difference with Button City. The image below is enswathed by the sunset, a haze of orange draped over the glass-topped skyscrapers. The helicopter hovers lower. My eyes trace the curved perimeter, taking in the shape of the coast. This must be Upsie. The city glitters with the declaration, with the clarity, of its full namesake—Land of the Upper Sea. Shipping containers float near its piers; the leaden gray waves foam onto a concrete shoreline. A thin river cuts down the middle of the city, letting machines float along to make inland deliveries. Some of them transform into flight drones once they’re close enough to the mega skyscrapers, soaring directly to the glass exteriors, where neon holograms unfurl in the burgeoning dark, running advertisements for upcountry subscriptions.
It’s beautiful. It’s colossal.
“Why aren’t they shooting you down?” I ask quietly. “You’re flying too close. We must be pinging every one of their sensors.”
The window panel begins to close again. I react with a momentary pang of loss, a child with its new toy taken away, when the exterior slides fully into place and stops the temporary viewing.
“This is a Medan aircraft.” Nik takes his glasses off, folding the device until it is small and putting it into his pocket. A strand of brown hair falls loose along his forehead, and he brushes it back. “It’s cleared to be flying within this zone.”
That was my first real look at Medaluo. The first look that I can remember, at least. There’s a chance I was born here and brought over to Atahua before I was abandoned, but my orphan file is blank, and I have no realmemories prior to the foster homes. When I cast my mind back to the earliest point of my childhood, I can only summon faint impressions of someone leading me around. A street in the rain. A siren in the distance—not a police car, maybe an ambulance. Nothing beyond that.
“How can this be a Medan aircraft?” With the window closed, I get ahold of myself again, tamping down my reaction. “We lifted off from Button City.”
“And in Button City, we were an Atahuan aircraft.” Nik’s hands suddenly glint with something silver. He’s pulled a pocketknife. “Keep up.”
I shrink back. My pulse hammers with panic, jumping to the most likely conclusion. I can only do what anyone else would in that moment, at risk of being slashed by a deranged anarchist.
I reveal that I’ve undone my seat straps while he was distracted and lunge at him again.
“Hey!” Miz exclaims. “Hey, comeon!”
Nik doesn’t have any time to brace before I’ve bowled him over onto the aircraft floor, using my knees to pin his hips. His arms flail back in a split second of surprise, and with both hands, I make a desperate reach for the pocketknife.
