The Sign of One. Eugene Lambert

against it, and some fallen-down shacks. At one end of the runway, I see what must be the steam winch, with its boiler, smokestack and cable drums. But what I don’t see is any windjammer. I have another dig in the pack then, looking for the gun Rona said was in there.

      It’s at the bottom, still wrapped in its oily rag.

      ‘No way,’ I say, when I unwrap it.

      I’d hoped for a blaster or a flamer, something lethal. But no, this is some ancient slug-thrower from the Long Ago on Earth. A quick fiddle and I get the cylinder thing in the middle to fall open. More disappointment. Three rusty bullets, three empty chambers. It’s not even fully loaded. Just great. The whole world wants me dead and Rona gives me a weapon that will probably blow up in my face if I shoot it. I try aiming it, but it’s so heavy it wobbles all over the place.

      Sky turns and slogs back up the trail to me.

      Quickly, I stuff the old gun back into my pack. If I’m tired, Sky looks destroyed. Despite it still being chilly enough up here for me to be glad of the parka Rona made me take, sweat is running down the girl’s face. Those painted bars under her eyes are all smudged, dripping down into her hollow cheeks.

      ‘What the frag are you doing?’ she says, looking mad as hell.

      ‘Oh, we’re talking now?’ I say.

      The whole night, she’s pretty much ignored me. A few times, I asked her where we were going – the most I ever got back was a grunted ‘up’.

      I fake-smile. ‘Want some nuts?’

      Her dark eyes blaze. For a second, I think she’ll knock them from my hand.

      ‘Stuff your face later,’ she snaps. ‘We need to keep moving.’

      I shake my head. ‘This is as far as I go.’

      ‘Don’t be stupid.’

      ‘I’m waiting here for Rona.’

      Sky surprises me. I expect her to bite my head off, but she doesn’t. ‘You’ll be waiting a long time,’ she says softly.

      I shrug. Sure, I know what she’s thinking – I’ve thought it too. My head is thumping from thinking it. Maybe Rona’s dead, or captured.

      ‘I’ll take that chance,’ I say.

      Her scowl comes back. ‘I don’t think so. You promised your mother you’d do what I tell you. And I’m telling you to move.’

      I stand up so quick that she takes a step back.

      ‘Yeah?’ I say. ‘So tell me how come I don’t see a windjammer? If you’re leading me into some sort of trap, I’ll kill you.’

      ‘See that?’ she says, sneering and pointing. ‘That’s camouflage.’

      There’s a weird cross-shaped mound covered in scrub at the other end of the runway from the winch. Now that I know where to look, I see the windjammer.

      ‘Okay,’ I say, feeling stupid. ‘But what about Rona?’

      ‘What about her? She knows where this place is and how to get here. We’ve got loads to do to get ready for take-off. If you help, it’ll get done faster.’

      ‘And you won’t go without her?’

      ‘We’ll wait as long as we can.’ With that, she sets off down the trail again.

      After a quick think, I hoist my pack and chase after her.

      ‘Hey, what do you mean, loads to do?’

      ‘Look at the state of everything,’ she says, over her shoulder. ‘We took a hell of a risk landing here. If we can’t get the winch going, then –’

      She shrugs, but I get it. No winch, no flight, and we’re stuck here.

      ‘I never knew about this place,’ I say.

      She spits. ‘You don’t seem to know much about anything.’

      I’m fishing for a comeback when a loud bang sends birds screeching and flapping into the air. I duck, sure we’re being shot at, only to see smoke billow from the chimney of the winch. A man leaps from the cab and staggers away, beating at his windjammer leathers. I’m a long way away, but he looks familiar.

      We reach the plateau and the path comes out behind the old barn we saw from the ridge. Sky hurries round it, towards the still-smoking winch.

      ‘Wait here,’ she says.

      Fine by me. This is close enough.

      Thought so – the man covered in soot and scorch marks is that massive bald guy who pulled Sky off me at the Fair, a lifetime ago. Even from here, I see he’s very red in the face. Sky marches straight up to him and starts shouting. She waves her arms and then points at me. Not good. I wonder if I should run.

      He glances at me, but doesn’t seem interested.

      Next thing I know, Sky’s on her way back, pinch-lipped and angry.

      ‘Not going to introduce us?’ I say as she stalks past.

      She stops, and definitely thinks about punching me. ‘His name’s Chane. And I’d stay out of his way if I were you. You’d better come with me.’

      I follow her the length of the runway.

      ‘Help me clear this,’ she says.

      Coarse netting is draped over the windjammer’s hull and wings, foliage woven in to break up its outline. We pull the greenery clear, then haul the netting off. I help her to fold it. While she’s stowing it, I stare nervously.

      ‘You’re sure this thing flies?’

      Sky gives a short laugh. ‘How do you think we got here?’

      I look more closely and wish I hadn’t.

      The windjammer looks like an enormous metal bug. Where I expected sleek, the body of the machine is fat and round. The hull is a patchwork of battered metal panels, many stained orange-brown with rust. The wings are thick and stubby.

      My heart sinks. ‘Who sold you this scrap? You should get your money back.’

      ‘Ha ha.’ Sky reaches up and strokes the hull. ‘She may be ancient, but she’s still the finest jammer on Wrath. We call her Rockpolisher.’

      I open my mouth, then shut it again. Don’t want to know.

      ‘Could Chane use any help?’ I say later, after another winch explosion.

      ‘Don’t make me laugh,’ says Sky.

      Annoyed, I wander off to the barn. Inside I find an old cable-retrieve tractor rusting away, roughly the same as the ones we plough with back in Freshwater. The barn’s roof has kept the worst of the weather off it. There are even some mouldy old lumps of coal left in its hopper. Getting my hands dirty working on it is a relief and it takes my mind off Rona and Jude. All it needs is a patch for a leaking high-pressure line and a fill of water, before I light the firebox. Pressure builds nicely. She rattles like a box of nails when I crash her into gear, but goes okay.

      Who’s laughing now?

      They both come running, gobs open, as I drive her out of the barn.

      ‘How’d you fix that?’ bellows Chane.

      ‘It’s what I do,’ I shout back.

      See, Rona heals people – I heal stuff. That’s how we put food on the table. Or how we used to, I mean. I peer up through the smoke and steam at the hillside trail we came along, but nothing moves. What the hell’s keeping her?

      ‘Why didn’t you say you’re a tech?’ demands Sky.

      How badly I want to say she didn’t ask me. I don’t though.

      An hour later, Chane and me get the winch going. It’s a punch-the-air