Part 14 (1/2)

*Just weeding,' says Petra calmly.

*Rain was doing something to Mossie. I saw.'

Mossie fastens up her jacket. *We're only messing around, Zoya, no big deal. Are you guys just going to watch while I do all the work?' She yanks out the nearest sapling and dares anyone to argue. Her cheeks are flushed with health again.

*There's nothing wrong with your heart,' I whisper when I can. *It feels fine. Amazing, in fact. Full of life.'

A shadow falls on us both. Reef is right there. How much has he seen? What has he heard? His face is as blank as only a Scrutiner's can be.

To the others he says, *Concentrate on the largest weeds only. A new consignment of Slick has just been delivered, ready to be sprayed a” sparingly a” where it's most needed. Aranoza, come with me.'

It's not a request.

I follow him off the airstrip and round the base of one of the huge factory towers. I'm surprised to see the browny-green runners of thorn-vines prising bioweave apart with their sharp tendrils and spreading leaves wide to catch whatever sun makes it through newly ma.s.sing clouds.

Reef stops abruptly once we're out of sight of the others. He ruffles his hair. Takes a deep breath. Blows it out again.

*Why did you lie to me, Rain?'

*Lie?'

*Right to my face, in the dorm last night.'

*What lie?' Which one?

*Oh come on, don't mess me around. You said you felt ill, but I checked your bio-updates. You're fine. Completely normal. Fantastically healthy, in fact. So why wouldn't you . . . didn't you want to . . . you know?'

Thorn-vines, please crack the ground open and let me fall into a deep chasm.

*Oh. That. Sorry, it's just, I don't know, I mean . . . things have been pretty strange since . . . since the Mora.s.s and meeting you.'

He closes his eyes briefly then laughs. *I know exactly what you mean!'

*You do?'

His eyes are so warm when he looks at me I feel like running into rivulets of snow-melt.

He says, *I'm supposed to be coordinating the Slick dispersal and connecting with teams of normalisers to figure out why these Mora.s.s plants are so dominant, but you're on my mind all the time, Rain Aranoza. I know it's wrong. I'm a Scrutiner and you're air crew. It's not supposed to happen . . . but there's just something about you that stops me thinking sensibly. It is strange, not having the proper rules for how to feel. I don't like it. I like you though. I just can't tell if you . . .'

Quickly, *I do. I like you too.'

He grins and it's all I can do to stop myself leaping right into his arms. But duty clamps down on him almost instantly.

*Good. That's sorted then. You'd best go back to the others. We need the runway clear for tonight's mission.'

Steen edges up to me when I start work on the weeds again. I edge away. Closer still he comes until we're almost shoulder to shoulder at the task. I can see Yeldon measuring his muscles, wondering whose are biggest and who'd win in a fist fight.

*See those,' Steen says suddenly, as rays of sunlight push through the clouds. *G.o.d's fingers, we call them. Aren't they beautiful?'

*How can you Crux even know what beauty is?'

*We know it when we see it,' he answers, looking right at me. His voice drops to a murmur. *Rain, I've been looking for you all my life. I could wors.h.i.+p you, wors.h.i.+p the very ground youa”'

*Shut up!' I glare at Steen, conscious that Roke has stopped chewing his cuticles and is now staring at us both. *Why are you even here?' I hiss. *Why are you still collaborating?'

Steen raises his hands as if to touch the sunrays. For once his grey eyes don't flash defiance and his voice doesn't cut as sharply as usual.

*I'm just staying alive as long as I can. Didn't it occur to you that I have family I want to see again? That there are people who love and miss me? We're not monsters, you know. We just wanted to be left alone to wors.h.i.+p in our way.'

*So why invade? What could possibly be worth so much death and destruction?'

*Light,' he says simply. *If you s.h.i.+ne enough light there'll be no more darkness.'

*We have our own light in Rodina,' I object.

*Artificial lamps. Pretend light. Real light comes from faith, that's where power is. That's the G.o.d I'm looking for.'

The intensity of his gaze disturbs me. Up above, clouds thicken. A flock of corvils fly over, quickly followed by fat stones of ice-cold hail that pound the ground wherever they land. I s.h.i.+eld my face, then, along with the rest of the squadron, I run under a Storm's wings to escape the worst of the bombardment.

Steen licks his lips and shouts after us, even as the hail-stones pelt him.

*It'll get worse, you know. The saynts all predict this a” a season of extraordinary weather. The ground will burst, trees will sp.a.w.n like never before and in the depths of the Long Night a dark light will s.h.i.+ne to blind all unbelievers!'

I sc.r.a.pe his words out of my ears but I can't erase one low, thrilling phrase a” I could wors.h.i.+p you.

How many missions a night? How many nights?

I'm sure Aura keeps tally of them all, and Marina Furey too, brooding through the night hours with her lights on full. Me, I've lost count. Eight, nine, ten a night . . . or more. Some in rain, some in clouds, some in clear nights with only Umbra-glow to light our way. All are a duel between fear and excitement. A dance of life and death.

Out here in the Biopolis, between the city and the war, we've forgotten how to do anything but fly. Each night is a blur of sensations a” the creak of the plane's wooden frame, the stutter of an engine stalling, the flap of fabric torn by bullets, the thunk of our parachute packs when we finally get to unclick and drop them at dawn.

We're getting good. Accuracy is improving with every bomb drop. Roads, railways, towns, traptions, we blow them all to pieces then curve up and away with the Crux shouting curses. *Night Witches,' they call us. The name sticks. Trouble is, no matter how good we are, the Crux keep coming. All the Victory reports in the world can't hide the fact that the enemy are now in control of the forest's northern borders and edging closer to Sea-Ways every day, for all we make them crawl into hidey-holes and graves by night.

The Biopolis is a strange haven between missions. New recruits crowd into neighbouring dorms, staring at us like we're grizzled veterans . . . and I guess we are. New planes are delivered from factories far from the front line. New engineers arrive to maintain them. Fenlon bullies those that Furey hasn't time to shout at. She's unstoppable, and so is her smoking habit. I see her lighting up another choke while she argues with clerks who can't get her supplies and with officers who won't stop sending her untrained recruits, and while she pleads with her daughter Tilly to go to bed when she's told.

Tilly hasn't spoken since the bridge bombing, though she seems healthy apart from that. I watch her sometimes, just keeping a little eye on her. She watches me too, not smiling, not waving, just looking. Whenever someone suggests Furey should send her away to a safe house in Sea-Ways, Marina just hugs her daughter close and says, *Nowhere's safe except with me.'

I like that. My mother would be the same. As spring slumps into a heavy, humid summer, Mama messages more and more.

are you sure you're all right, rain?

mama, i'm fine. aura would let you know if anything ever happened the war, the victory, it's taking so long and i saw pictures of those traption things and i worry about you, i don't know where you are or what you're doing mama, i can't tell you anything about war work that's exactly what i said to your uncle mentira when he asked if you'd been in touch. as long as you're all right and you're sleeping and eating properly?

Sleeping? Eating? Hardly.

They give us uppers to keep us awake through all the long nights, and downers to help us rest in daylight hours. Both sets of pills churn our stomachs up. I try not to take them too often. I feel messed up enough with other things a” like when I catch a glimpse of Reef somewhere across the airfield, or I get a message and I think it's from him, or someone says his name, or something that sounds like his name.

Is he thinking of me? He once said he thinks of me all the time. Now he's actually come out and said he likes me it's as if that's got to be enough. He's pulled away. Afraid to admit he doesn't like me any more? Afraid he might like me too much?

As food stocks run out a” thanks to Crux capturing foodlands a” Haze cooks vats of something called kasha, a thick Lim porridge so filling even Zoya can only manage two bowls at a sitting. Since new rations only allow one serving per person I let her eat mine.