Page 132 of Throwing Fire

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 usuallypassed 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.

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