Broken Sky Page 16

  I nodded as I rubbed lotion into my skin. “Definitely.”

  “What about Collie?”

  “As far as I know.” I’d changed the photo tucked into my mirror to the one of me, Collie and Hal on my dad’s plane. My gaze lingered on Collie’s smile. He’d had a fight that afternoon and wasn’t back yet. I closed a lid firmly on the thought and put my lotion away.

  Harlan yanked on a T-shirt. “Good, though I could do without how lucky Collie-boy is. Clem’s probably still sobbing into his beer over that last IOU he had to sign.”

  “He’ll get a chance to win it back.”

  “This is Clem we’re talking about. He’ll lose the shirt off his back next. No, wait, he’s already lost that.”

  “His shoes?” I suggested.

  “I can hear you, you louses,” shouted Clem from the next row over.

  Harlan grinned and banged his fist on the lockers. “Can you hear that, too?” he bellowed. He winked at me and said loudly, “Yeah, I hear that ol’ Clem’s gotten so desperate, he’s even lost the shirt off his fitter’s back.”

  “Slander!” called Clem.

  I laughed. “Maybe we should ask Edwards and get the truth.”

  Clem appeared around the row of lockers, tucking his shirt tails in. “Who?”

  “Edwards. Your fitter.”

  “You been sneaking shots of Harlan’s rotgut?”

  I frowned. “You’re T3, right? Edwards used to be my fitter, now he’s yours. Come on, don’t you even know your fitter’s name?”

  “He lost it when he lost the guy’s shirt,” said Harlan cheerfully.

  “Nah, my fitter’s Rivera.” Clem nodded at someone behind me. “And he has a shirt, I’ll have you know, unlike Mr Lucky over there.”

  I glanced up quickly as Clem withdrew to his own locker row. The confusion over Edwards faded in my surge of relief that Collie was down and safe. He was heading towards us wearing a white towel around his waist, his hair and chest damp.

  “Hey, gorgeous,” he murmured as he reached me. He dumped his flight gear on the bench and scooped me into a hug that lifted me off the floor. I laughed at the wet-skinned enthusiasm of him. We didn’t usually touch in the locker room.

  “You won your fight,” I guessed. “So did I.”

  “I know; I saw on the board. Listen, Amity Louise, find something amazing to wear. I’m taking you out tonight.”

  Harlan straightened, glowering. “What? You are not. Unless by ‘taking you out’ you mean ‘going to Harlan’s to play poker’.”

  “Nope,” said Collie. “It’s a special night, and I’m going to take my best girl out.”

  Harlan wrinkled his nose at me. “That’s not a girl,” he said. “That’s a pilot.”

  “Fine, I’m taking my best pilot out.”

  I spread my arms. “You heard the man.”

  Harlan shook his head as Collie started getting dressed. “You two are wreaking havoc on my poker game.” He pointed at me. “Tomorrow night.” It sounded like a curse.

  “We’ll be there.” Once he’d gone I glanced at Collie. “Why is this a special night?”

  “Patience,” he said. He gave me a teasing look as he fastened his trousers. “We’ll go dancing, how does that sound? I know just the place; you’re going to love it. And champagne – oh yeah, this is a champagne night.”

  Ignoring the busy locker room, I stepped over the bench and grabbed his arm. “All right, tell me!” I laughed.

  “Do we really need a reason? We both won our fights…spring’s coming…and today we’ve been together for two months.”

  His words hung in the air, deliberately casual. A smile grew across my face. “We have?”

  Collie’s mouth twitched. “You know how they say there’s always one person in a relationship who’s more romantic than the other one…?”

  “All right, so I wouldn’t have known. I’m a terrible girlfriend.”

  “The worst,” said Collie sadly. He ducked his head and kissed me. “But I guess that’s just my lot to bear.”

  That night everything that had been on my mind – all the troubles in the Western Seaboard – melted away.

  The dance floor of The Ivy Room seemed to spin gently as Collie held me close, moving us in time to the music. The place had low, rosy lighting; on each table a candle flickered in a glass bowl, like captured fireflies.

  “Love me in May…oh, please say you’ll stay…” Van Wheeler himself was singing. The famous crooner swayed dreamily, clutching the mic stand. He and his orchestra all wore tuxedos.

  None were as handsome as Collie in his rented tux. I didn’t look bad either: my knee-length black dress had a full skirt and a sleek, strapless bodice; a pair of rhinestone combs glittered against my dark hair. An orchid from Collie was pinned to my chest – the first flower anyone had ever given me.

  “Where did you learn to dance so well?” I murmured against his neck.

  His lips brushed my temple. “In the CS,” he said. “There was a youth club; it was almost the only thing I was allowed to do. Dad thought it would look good.”

  “I can’t imagine him caring.”

  “Things are different there,” Collie said shortly. “Everyone worries about appearances. You have to.”

  I studied the set of his jaw. I could count on one hand how often he’d volunteered information about his life in the Central States. That time he’d told me about the Discordant girl on his street had been the most he’d ever said.

  A woman danced past wearing a glittering Taurus brooch. At the sight of it, I started to ask Collie another question about the CS. The music changed to a quick, Latin beat.

  His face split into a grin. “Hey, do you know this?” He put his hands on my hips, showing me the exotic rhythm. I laughed when he spun me, glad that fate had intervened to keep me quiet.

  Finally Collie got us two more glasses of champagne. We wove through the crowded room towards a table. My orchid was wilting, and one of my combs was coming undone. I didn’t care. I felt happy, loose.

  “I could dance all night!” I said, leaning towards Collie to be heard.

  “That’s the idea.” He put his arm around my waist. “More champagne first, and then—” He broke off. Following his gaze, I saw three men talking near the dance floor. One stood much shorter than the other two, though what struck me most was his air of confidence.

  The short one turned; he grinned when he saw us and started over. Collie looked slightly taken aback, then he smiled, too.

  “It’s a guy I knew in training school,” he said to me. “I haven’t seen him in months.”

  “Collis! Hey, pal – I thought that was you!” laughed the man when he reached us.

  “Jones – hey!” said Collie.

  They shook hands. Jones was a little older than Collie, with unruly brown hair and intelligent eyes. He looked me up and down and waggled his eyebrows. “Who’s the dish?”

  Collie’s mouth quirked. “Do you mind? The dish is spoken for.”

  I stuck out my hand. “Amity Vancour.”

  We shook. “Mac Jones,” he said cheerfully. “Nice to make your acquaintance. You meet our oh-so-charming friend here in the Heat?”

  I laughed, still buzzing from the dancing and the champagne. “No, Collie and I grew up together.”

  “‘Collie’?” Mac repeated. He grinned. “Nice – I like that.”

  “Yeah, but only my friends can call me that,” said Collie.

  Mac play-punched him. “Everyone’s your friend, buddy-boy. Hey, remember that time—”

  They reminisced about training school for a few minutes, with people jostling around us. It sounded like it was just as tough as when I’d gone through. Collie kept his hand on my back, gently caressing it.

  “So how are things with Greta?” he asked.

  Mac winced and scratched the back of his neck. “Ah – not so good, actually. In fact, I wouldn’t mind grabbing a quick drink and telling you about it…” He trailed off with a glance
at me.

  “Well…” Collie’s forehead creased as he looked at me, too.

  I squelched my slight annoyance and waved a hand. “Go on. It’s fine.”

  Collie rolled his eyes. “No, it’s not, actually,” he said to Mac. “We’re on a date, you lummox, if you haven’t noticed.”

  “Really, it’s all right,” I said.

  Collie hesitated and then drew me aside. “Amity, are you sure? He just has girlfriend trouble, that’s all. I feel like a heel.”

  I wrapped my arms around his neck. “Only for one drink. Then we’re going to dance the night away as promised.”

  Collie glanced back at Mac. “All right, deal,” he said finally. He kissed me, then touched my cheek as if he couldn’t help himself. He trailed his fingers down it slowly. At the look in his eyes, my heart quickened.

  He gave a lopsided smile and let his hand fall. “I won’t be long,” he said.

  Chapter Twenty

  At first I didn’t mind sitting at a table on my own and watching the dancers, all moving to the music as if it were controlling their heartbeats. But after a few songs I started feeling restless. Thoughts I’d been avoiding all night crept in.

  In the month since Collie and I had visited Ma, things in the Western Seaboard had gotten steadily worse. I read the papers compulsively, hating what I was finding out.

  Breadlines were longer, jobs scarcer. Up north, where it was cold this time of year, lots of people couldn’t afford heating. In some places there wasn’t enough fuel for it. The government had set up relief programmes for food and shelter – but resources were so limited they didn’t do much good.

  Each time President Lopez appeared on the telio he looked older and more defeated. “We will get through this crisis,” he kept saying.

  Are you and Ma all right? I’d written to Hal, knowing Ma would pretend everything was fine, even though our old place in Gloversdale hadn’t had any tenants for months. She was trying not to sell – to hang onto it for me and Hal.

  My brother had replied that they were getting by: “Ma says she has a little put away.” It was news to me. I sent as much money as I could, wishing it was more.

  You’d think that with times so hard, all that occult guff would be the first thing to go. Instead the WS had gone crazy for astrology. Practitioners were springing up like poisonous mushrooms. I grimaced, recalling that envelope at Ma’s with Vancour Family on it. Even in the Heat now you could find the astrologers’ stark red-and-black symbol.

  Maybe it would have been a craze anyway, but it felt like another outcome of my failed fight. Far worse, Gunnison’s men had started entering the Western Seaboard to seize escaped CS citizens. The papers hinted that they had long lists of names, locations. I still hadn’t gotten over my fear that Collie might be discovered, despite how he’d tried to put my mind at ease that night at Ma’s.

  I sighed. Both of us had needed this night out. I wanted to be enjoying it, not still sitting on my own.

  I finished my drink. When I glanced across the room Collie and Mac were still sitting at another table talking. I made a face and looked down at my empty glass, tapping it on the table.

  “If I give you more champagne, will you let me sit here?” said a voice.

  I looked up. A tall guy of maybe twenty or so had appeared; he had a riot of crisp black curls and dark eyes. He held up one of the glasses of champagne he was holding and raised an eyebrow.

  I shook my head. “Thanks, but I’ve got a boyfriend.”

  “And I’ve got a girlfriend. Who I’ve been abandoned by –” the guy nodded at a table where a group of girls sat talking – “while you seem to have been abandoned by your boyfriend. And there are no other seats. So.” He put a glass of champagne in front of me and sat down, leaving an empty chair between us.

  “I didn’t say yes,” I said.

  “Yes, I heard you not say yes.” He stretched out his long legs, gazing moodily at the girls’ table. “I don’t actually need your permission. I was only asking to be nice.” Then he glanced at me; after a beat, the corner of his mouth twisted.

  “I’m harmless,” he said.

  I sighed. “Fine.” I toasted him with the champagne glass. “Cheers,” I said. We clinked glasses and drank without speaking. The music changed to a foxtrot, then a rumba. My new acquaintance seemed lost in his own thoughts, drumming his fingers on the table.

  Finally he leaned towards me. “So what’s your name?”

  “Amity. What’s yours?”

  “Ingo.”

  “What?”

  “Een-go,” he repeated. “You’ve heard the name Inga? Ingo is the male form. Germanic.”

  “Oh. I didn’t realize you were foreign,” I said.

  He gave me a look that was just this side of patient. “We’re all foreign,” he said. “The Heat’s neutral territory.”

  I was already cringing. “Sorry. I meant that I didn’t realize you weren’t from one of the Americas. You speak very good English.”

  Ingo leaned back with one arm hooked over the back of his chair; his tie hung undone around an open collar. “My mother’s from New Manhattan,” he said. “I went to school there for a while.”

  “But you’re from the European Alliance?”

  “Yes – Germanic Counties, down near the Med. You?”

  “Western Seaboard.”

  “Ah, one of the lucky ones,” he said dryly. “Put your toe across the neutral border and you’re home.”

  I think it struck us both at the same moment. “You’re a pilot,” I said.

  “And I think you are, too,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “You have that way about you.”

  “What way?”

  He shrugged. “Oh, you know. Like you may be here in a fancy club in a pretty dress, but you’d be happier in a cockpit at ten thousand feet. Shooting the hell out of some other pilot, preferably.”

  I had to smile slightly. If I had that way about me, so did Ingo. I’d never seen anyone look so uncomfortable in a tux. Even with his tie undone, he kept tugging at his collar.

  “We’re opposing pilots. We shouldn’t really be talking,” I said.

  Ingo didn’t look concerned. “They can’t put us all together in this place and expect that we’ll never meet – all that matters is whether we can still do our jobs tomorrow. I can. Can you?”

  “Of course,” I said.

  He smiled then. “Yes, I can believe it. You have lethal eyes.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Is that a line?”

  “No, I mean it. You look as if any choice you had to make, you’d take it with no hesitation…” He trailed off then, looking intently at me. His expression slackened slightly; he said something in Germanic under his breath.

  “What?”

  “You’re her. You’re the mad pilot!”

  “Mad?”

  “Insane. Crazy.” He was grinning now. He moved into the empty seat beside me. “You can’t have forgotten. Unless you do that sort of thing every day? You’re Second Tier, yes? I shot you down, and your plane was on fire, and you didn’t bail. You landed the damn thing!”

  I stared at him, remembering the pilot who’d cruised along beside me, shouting at me to bail. Dark, curly hair. The glimpse of brown eyes I’d gotten from behind the goggles.

  “You’re him,” I said.

  Ingo laughed. “I thought I was about to have a kill – believe me, I was cursing you for it. Why did you do it? No, wait, let me toast you first.” He clinked his glass against mine again. “You are an excellent pilot, you know.”

  “So are you,” I admitted. “Whenever I recognize your flying, I know it’s going to be a good fight. I mean, hard, but good.”

  “Yes, same for me.” Ingo’s face was alive now, all signs of moodiness gone. “I never know what you’re going to do next. All right, now tell me – why didn’t you bail that day?”

  “How could I?” I looked bitterly down at my champagne glass. “Have you seen the Western Seaboard’s losses recently
?”

  “Ah,” he said. “So you’re one of those. The ones who read the papers,” he added at my uncomprehending look.

  “Don’t you?” I don’t know why I said that. Yet for some reason I wasn’t really surprised when Ingo nodded.

  “Yes, of course, when I have the stomach for it. Not every day. But I have to know what my own fights were about. The EA hasn’t been doing so well, either, you know,” he went on with a frown. “That win against you was the first big one for a long time.”

  “Why was there a rematch, do you know?” I found myself leaning towards him intently. “What was wrong with the first fight – the one where I did beat you?”

  Ingo shook his head. “I don’t know. The writing is so flowery sometimes in our papers—”

  “Ours too; I hate it.”

  “Oh, me too. But the best I could make out was that it was some irregularity to do with the original claim. Not the fight itself.”

  “A loophole, then,” I said.

  He lifted a shoulder. “There will always be. Our job is just to fight, and keep the world from destroying itself.”

  A silence fell between us then, though not an uncomfortable one. We sat drinking our champagne. On the bandstand, Van Wheeler was still crooning. The stars in your eyes…can tell me no lies….

  “How did you get to be a Peacefighter?” I asked finally.

  Ingo gave me a wry look. “The same as you, I’m sure. We don’t want to have small talk, do we?”

  “It doesn’t really feel like small talk this time,” I said. “But I know what you mean. I hate it, usually.”

  “I don’t do it very well,” said Ingo with a reckless smile. “I am extremely rude. If you haven’t noticed.”

  “I noticed. So are you going to tell me, or not?”

  Ingo gazed across at the dance floor; something flickered behind his dark eyes. “All right,” he said finally. “I became a Peacefighter because I wanted it more than anything. You?”

  “The same,” I said after a pause.

  He regarded me. His lean face was full of angles; his black curls framed it like a lion’s mane. “I think you are telling me the truth…but that there’s more to it than that,” he said.