Chapter 67: The secrets we carry

The machine was beautiful. Easily a dozen feet long, it was slender and delicate, fashioned from sinews and plates of steel and gold, and veined with divine diamond that gave off a pulsing glow. A large depression near the front could serve as seating, and James realized the whole of it was like a kind of motorbike without wheels, elongated and with ivory wings emblazed along the side; the wings weren’t functional, he saw, but more a stylistic effect, a symbolic decoration.

Everybody pressed in close, admiring. There were handlebars near the front, but no instrument panel, no obvious mode of ignition, nothing that compared to a machine. How did it turn on?

Jessica stepped in close and touched one of the handlebars, her expression one of naked awe.

“Well done, chief,” said Captain Torres, his grin nearly splitting his face. “Looks like we scored another first.”

“Damn,” said Denzel, head bobbing from one side to the other as he examined it from all angles. “How’s it work?”

“I’m not sure,” said Jessica, her tone distant. “It’s… not intelligent, nor aware, even, but…”

James crouched beside it and realized the Angel Wing was hovering a couple of inches off the ground. Taken aback, he raised his gaze back and forth, but no, there was nothing holding it up.

“It’s flying,” said one of the operators from Crimson Dragon. “It’s actually flying.”

“Let’s give the chief some room,” barked Captain Torres. “Platoons, step back.”

People reluctantly did so.

“Jessica?” James looked to her. “Thoughts? It come out right?”

“I think so.” She trailed her fingertips over one of the stylized ivory wings set down the length of the craft. “It feels… right.”

“You know how to fly it?”

“Hmm?” She looked up at James and blinked. “Me? Oh. No. I mean, I think I do, but it responds to Arete. It has its own internal power source; literally anybody could fly it, but that would drain the Aeviternum. It’s better if the rider fuels it with their Arete.”

“What happens if it runs out?” asked James. “Would it fall apart?”

“No, but it would become unresponsive. I’d need to awaken it again with a new ritual. Minor in comparison, but inconvenient. So.” She looked up briskly and smiled. “Want to take it for a spin?”

“Me?” James’s eyes widened. “You made it.”

“But my Arete is pitiful compared to yours. That, and it feels right for you to take it out for the first time.”

“Maybe, but this is your creation. You definitely get first dibs.”

“Oh enough already,” interjected Serenity. “Why don’t you both take it out?”

James eyed the seat. There was definitely room for two. He glanced up to Jessica, who adjusted her glasses. “I suppose we could,” she said.

James went to protest again, but saw Serenity roll her eyes and smiled sheepishly. “All right. I guess that’s a decent compromise.”

Carefully, hesitantly, he moved up alongside the Angel Wing and swung a leg over the seat. Settled, felt the craft dip an inch under him, then rise back up as if it were floating on the air.

Jessica moved up behind him, swung her leg over as well, and sat. “I think you have to connect with it. Grasp the handles.”

James hadn’t felt this nervous since that first time, a lifetime ago, when he’d first taken a motorbike out onto the I95. He wiped his palms on his pants then leaned forward to grip the handlebars.

They were of textured gold, and the moment his fingers closed around them a new sense of the Angel Wing blossomed in his mind: he felt it as much the same way Jessica had described her bond to her mechanicus, an extension of himself. He felt its beating heart, powered by an incredibly dense nucleus of Aeviternum. Its Throne of Reason was embedded within the Wing’s body just beneath the handlebars, and felt… not alive, but… vital, quickened, responsive, ready. It reached out to him, powered by its Helm of whatever, and James felt a spiritual click as he synchronized with the Wing.

Which immediately lifted another foot into the air, causing Jessica to cry out and clutch at him in shock.

“There we go,” he said, and just like that he knew how to fly it. Control was intuitive, and he felt his divine power begin to whisper into the heart, activating the entirety of the Wing through its Adiaphoron Network.

He turned the handles and the Wing slowly pitched around to the right, causing the platoons to yell out in good humor and fall back.

“You all right back there?” he asked.

“Fine. No safety belts. Just realized.”

“Well, hold on. Here we go.” He looked over to Torres. “Be right back, captain.”

Torres laughed, his eyes shining. “Enjoy the ride, Master Sergeant.”

James willed the Wing to nose forward, and they glided over the pile of steel pipes, smooth as silk, their feet bumping against the topmost and then they slid through the parking level like a surfboard pushed across the surface of a still swimming pool.

“Go faster!” yelled Serenity.

James chuckled and willed the Wing to move a little quicker; they eased around a huge cement column, glided down the lane, and then nosed into the exit ramp. The Wing’s nose yawed up, but James felt a strange pull keeping him tight on the seat; it wasn’t quite the same feeling he’d experienced while riding the Killer Egg’s outside platform, but the effect was similar.

A security bar crossed the top of the ramp beside the security booth, and James pushed the Wing a little faster as they slid up the ramp, cleared the bar, and emerged into the dusk.

Sparse traffic was going up and down the avenue, most of it still focused on the Emergency Management building up the street. One of the cars slammed on its horn and then abruptly stopped, the man within staring at them with bulging eyes as James turned the Wing up the avenue and pushed it even faster.

Jessica was gripping his arms tightly, but now slid her arms around his stomach as they flew six feet above the street, sliding up the avenue effortlessly.

“This as high as it goes?” she called.

James grinned. “Hold on.”

And he willed the Wing to rise, its nose climbing, and just like that they flew higher, first one story, then two, then three.

Jessica let out a second cry of panic. Tree tops rushed by on both sides, large windows looking into apartments, offices, and then they cleared the rooftops on the left and James leaned in that direction, the Wing swinging out wide beneath the evening sky.

The wind was sharp but James didn’t feel the cold. He leaned forward and opened up the Aeviternum throttle, or whatever the equivalent was.

The Wing responded eagerly, and like a hurled spear burst forward. They had to be going fifty, sixty miles an hour, and still James felt the Wing capable of more. Buildings sped past beneath them, the Brooklyn skyscrapers to their left, Queens off to their two o’clock, and behind it all Manhattan, a glittering jungle of towers that were now coming to life, lights flickering on up and down their lengths.

“There,” said James, and focused on Midtown.

“Where we going?” shouted Jessica as they picked up even more speed.

“Hold on!”

He pushed the Wing as fast as it could go. Brooklyn unrolled beneath them as they gained more altitude, faster and faster, his beard plastering to his chin and chest, hair streaming back, but some property of the Wing protected his eyes so that he didn’t need to squint.

They had to be cruising at a hundred miles per hour now, maybe more, and suddenly they burst out over the East River, flying alongside traffic crossing the Manhattan Bridge, and still the Wing had more to give. James felt the Virtuous Heart coruscating like a furnace, his Arete fueling its might.

Faster, faster, and then they shot over the shoreline, FDR Drive whipping by, passing over expensive waterfront condos. James pulled the Wing to the left, curling along the shoreline, and headed right toward the Financial District on the southern tip of the island.

Faster, faster, they had to be going a hundred and fifty now, entire blocks speeding by below them, the towers approaching at alarming speed, and at the last moment James yanked the Wing to the side so that they skidded sideways through the air, James allowing the traction to slide and then willing it to catch when they were pointed right at one of the canyons between the skyscrapers, and they exploded forward.

Jessica screamed as they punched between the buildings, some fifteen stories up, short blocks flashing by below, lines of parked cars, people hurrying about unaware of them.

James let out a whoop, his every sense on alert, his whole body alive with power and profoundly connected to the Wing. He slalomed from side to side, getting a feel for the protective buffer zone that encased them, a pod of armored air that prevented him from getting too close to the buildings - though he sensed he could drop that defense if he wanted to.

They sliced into the heart of the Financial District, windows zipping by, ledges, skyscrapers from different decades, centuries even blurring by. At random he picked a turn, and the Wing nearly flipped onto its side as he made the curve, sliding again until he willed the traction to catch, and they shot forth like a stone from a sling.

Jessica was hugging him tightly, but as they blew north he felt her pull away slightly and look down on either side, and then she let out a whoop of her own. Trees, squares, parking lots, huge bulky AC units on rooftops, water towers, all of it rushed beneath in a stream of blurred electric light and dappled darkness, till they burst out over a park with grand, governmental buildings arranged below, dingy White House knockoffs that James realized were the City Hall and Courthouse buildings.

He swayed the Wing out to the left, left the ornamental park behind, flew a couple of blocks more and realized the skyscrapers were dwindling away; they flew out over built-up blocks, great square buildings that only rose some six or seven stories high.

Lower Manhattan.

Far ahead he could see another great bank of buildings, Midtown, and burning above one of the tallest buildings, the demon symbol.

James’s wild exhilaration died in his chest.

For a moment they just coasted, the Wing losing speed, and then he turned it around and headed south once more.

There was no symbol above the Financial District despite the density of high rises. Probably because few people actually lived there. Mostly commercial. Which suited James fine. They cruised forward, and then he saw a massive glass skyscraper off to the left, right on the shore of the Hudson. He swung the Wing out wide, and they flew toward it, only for him to appreciate truly how massive it was as they drew closer.

The Wing climbed, nose rising, rising, and in a moments they were speeding up the glass side of the building, totally vertical yet gripped by the Wing’s power, leaving Manhattan far below, even the other skyscrapers dropping away, until at last they shot over the top. James immediately eased off, and the Wing encircled a great four-hundred-foot-tall radio spire emerging from the center of a three-story tall ring of iron set flush atop the building’s flat rooftop.

James slowed the Wing, drifted closer, and brought it over the building’s retaining wall, but the rooftop was two stories below it, so he kept the Wing hovering just inside the lip.

“Hot damn,” he whispered, looking out over Manhattan. Everything appeared tiny from this far up, a complex tapestry of blocks carved by slender streets and avenues, the Hudson and East River easily visible on both sides of the island, Queen and Brooklyn stretching away toward the horizon, none of it looking real.

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But everywhere he looked hung demonic symbols. Dozens of them.

“Wow,” whispered Jessica. “This is the One World Trade Center. I was just up here - well, a floor below in the Observation Deck - a couple of months ago.”

“Yeah? Must feel like a lifetime ago.”

“It does.” Jessica absent-mindedly smoothed back her hair. They sat in silence, just drinking in the view. It was sobering, stunning, and put the scale of their endeavors into perspective.

James summoned the countdown:

5 Days till Nemesis 3 Released

75 Days till Pits Open

They were supposed to defend all of this?

“How does it feel?” asked Jessica. “To fly the Angel Wing?”

“Amazing.” He studied the vehicle between his thighs. “It’s less like riding a motorbike and more like… surfing. Which I never did too much of, but I had a summer in LA after college. That sense of leaning into things, the board being a part of you.”

She punched his shoulder. “And thanks for terrifying me. What part of an easy outing did you not understand?”

James laughed. “I couldn’t help it! When you fly this thing, you’ll understand. It’s…” He trailed off and stared back out over the city. “It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced.”

“Well.” She sniffed. “You’re forgiven. This time.”

Again they fell into silence, and James became aware of her warmth against his back. Her arms weren’t around him, but she was leaning against him.

He cleared his throat. “Do, ah, you want to be getting back?”

“Hmm? Only if you need to. This view.” He felt more than saw her shake her head. “It’s good to change one’s perspective once in a while.”

“Yeah.” Why couldn’t he think of something to say? With Serenity, everyone else, he had no problem talking. But just sitting here with Jessica made him feel awkward. Would she think he’d brought her up here for a reason? No. Idiot. She wasn’t thinking along those lines at all.

“I’d ask how you’re holding up,” he said, “but you always duck the question.”

“Me, duck the question?”

“See?” He chuckled. “Classic.”

“I’m fine.” It felt more like an assertion than anything else. “Obviously there’s a lot of pressure. But I’m working well with O’Shea. He’s not quite as focused as I think necessary, but he knows how the army works, and that’s enough.”

“Is anybody focused enough for you?”

She snorted. “Star Boy can achieve brief bursts of impressive productivity if he’s sufficiently caffeinated and isolated.”

“Fair.” He stared out at the city but didn’t see it. Thought of what Star Boy had told him of Jessica’s past. “But you’re taking care of yourself? This is a marathon, not a sprint. You keep burning the candle at both ends you’ll burn out altogether.”

“I know.” She sighed, and he felt surprised; he’d genuinely expected her to deflect him again. “But there’s too much to be done, and I’ve always been terrible at delegating. I’m fine, James. I promise.”

Did he believe her? He knew she wanted him to, but…

“That,” she continued, “and we’d not be sitting here now if I took things easy. Now that we’ve got proof of concept, I’m going to refine my process and see if we can’t get a production assembly line going. We’ve millions of Fabricators in the city. If we can organize them, create - I don’t know - an engineer corpse like the army’s, a parallel to Blue Light - what?”

James grinned out into the darkness. “Nothing.”

There was a moment of baffled silence. “No, it’s not nothing.” She punched him lightly again. “What did I say that was so funny?”

“It’s not ‘corpse’. It’s ‘corps’, like an apple core.”

“No it isn’t.”

“Yes, actually. It is.”

Another pause. “Oh. Oh. That’s why Serenity loves it so much. Why didn’t she tell me?”

“Because…” he trailed off. “Because you’re almost overwhelmingly competent? I think she appreciates your having some hint of not being infallible.”

“She thinks I’m infallible?”

“I think we all do at this point.”

Another silence, and James had to resist the urge to turn around and glance at her.

“Well, I’m not.” Jessica suddenly sounded subdued. “Believe me James, I am far, far from being overwhelmingly anything.”

Now he did turn. She was frowning out over the city, lips pursed, glasses catching the myriad reflections. “What is it?”

“Hmm?” She blinked at him. “Nothing. Just - feel free to tell Serenity not to be so impressed. None of us really know each other, do we?” Her gaze was direct, her expression raw, open. “The secrets we carry. The sides to us nobody else sees.”

“True.” He remained twisted around. “Anything you want to share?”

“Me?” She laughed. “Oh no. Not at all. Forget I said anything. What was I saying? A Battle Engineer Corps.” This time she said it right, without even an ironic emphasis. “If we could mass produce Angel Wings it would be of huge benefit. What if Nem3 can fly?”

“True.” James turned back to the city with a pang of frustration. For a moment there she’d seemed ready to lower her guard.

Then he scowled. What was he angling for? She was over ten years younger than him. And clearly not even aware of how idiotic his thoughts were. Which they were. Given that there was nothing going on here.

“So. This has clearly been a successful run. Now to refine the process, share the data, and mass produce. One day, who knows? We could be fielding entire platoons on Angel Wings. That, and these are the very lowest ranked models.”

James’s interest perked. “Oh yeah?”

“Indeed. I leveled, incidentally, upon creating the Wing before. Fabricator 3, which has opened up a new series of items I can create, one of which is the Archangel Wing.”

“No shit? What’s that like?”

“If this is a, I don’t know, scout ship, then I get the impression an Archangel is more of an armored presidential sedan.”

“Hard to make?”

He heard more than saw her smile. “Oh yes. I’m going to have to study these new plans for a while. New components, the works. But for now we can get to work on making more Wings.”

“Yeah, for sure.” James rubbed his thumb across his other palm. “Ready to head back down.”

“Yes.” She sounded so decisive, clear, focused. “We’ve a lot of work to do.”

“Right, yeah.” He willed the Wing to rise.

“And James?”

He paused, didn’t look back. “Yeah?”

She pressed her palm against his back. “Thank you. For everything. I don’t know if I’ve ever told you how much of a difference you’ve made. Though obviously you know, what I mean is, clearly…” She trailed off. “Clearly you’re an incredible asset to our team, and I’m… honored… to be working with you. I’ve worked with my fair share of terrible bosses, but you’re easily head and shoulders above them all.”

James smiled tiredly. “Mighty nice of you to say. But like some wise lady once said, I am far, far from being overwhelmingly anything.”

She snorted. “Ha ha.”

“Ha ha indeed. Hold on.”

And before she could reply he urged the Wing over the building’s rating wall and pointed the nose straight down.

Jessica’s scream trailed them all the way down, her arms clamped around his waist like iron bands. They leveled out at the last moment to speed down the avenue, and her screams turned to outraged laughter.

She kept holding him, though, and he grinned all the way back to the Marriott.

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