wings cupping the air. The figure was heading in their direction—it was in fact Antaea, wearing a pair of angel’s wings and towing three more pairs. The wings had a span of sixteen feet and were strapped to her shoulders. Foot straps let you kick downward to wind a heavy spring mounted between the shoulders; after a couple of kicks the spring released and the wings would flap once. Angel’s wings varied hugely in quality and efficiency, but these ones were painstakingly handmade using real feathers. They brought Antaea across the half-mile of air between the town and the cloud in only a couple of minutes. She pulled a strap to fan the wings for maximum braking and glided to a stop next to Chaison.
“Here.” She was panting slightly, a thin sheen highlighting the muscled contours of her skin as she handed him the bundle of wings. “There’s day laborers’ clothes, too,” she said, pointing to a smaller bundle amongst the feathers. “You should get into them.”
Darius was indignant. “Where’s the bike?”
“The bike had a bullet hole in it,” said Antaea. “Didn’t you notice that? It was bound to cause questions; plus the policemen I plucked you from knew you were rescued by someone on a bike.”
“What did you do with it?”
“This town is called Songly,” she said, nodding to the wheel. “A member of the home guard lives here. I dropped it off with him and used some of our ready cash to buy these.” Richard and Darius were strapping on the wings. They both seemed familiar with them, but it was Richard who seemed most adept.—That made some sense, as they were rarely used by the military, and Richard had spent twenty years living in a city that was mostly weightless.
Chaison tested his own stirrups, doing a tight loop in the air. The wings made a satisfying whoosh as they flapped. “Ha! I almost feel like a man again.”
“Good.” She was smiling. “Now we should split up. I’ve reserved a suite for the admiral and me at Family Residence 617. You two can bunk in the hostel.”
Darius looked like he wanted to protest, but by this time they had all come to understand the logic of the situation. They couldn’t afford to fit the profile the secret police were looking for: three Slipstream men traveling together possibly with a companion. They would split up and converge upon the wheel at the end of the day, when the workers who had fanned out at dawn returned like bees homing in on a hive. Richard and Darius were going to avoid the lower-gravity buildings and go straight to the rim of the wheel. The police would not expect them to be able to walk yet.
It came as no surprise that Antaea wanted to keep Chaison close. He was her assignment, obviously; the other two men were of little interest to her. She might be trying to split him off from his friends, and maybe she had accomplices waiting to kidnap him in town. But he had no real choice but to trust her—for now.
An hour later he was tottering up the stairs to their suite, the now-folded wings on his back feeling like a bag of rocks. Antaea showed no sign of strain as she pattered ahead of him.
Residence 617 was a government-subsidized hostel for married couples. It was illegal in Falcon—as in most nations—to refuse someone a night’s gravity, so all town-wheels made provision for visitors. Still, the furnishings in the little suite were spare. Once inside Chaison shambled to the window and looked out. They were high up here, in a low gravity zone; the wheel’s rim lay hundreds of feet below. Way down there, the larger itinerant’s hostel where Darius and Richard were staying was a gray rectangle on the thin brown ribbon of the rim. He wondered if they had made it there without collapsing.
“Oooh…” He sank gratefully onto the single bed, only noticing when he flung out his arm how narrow it was. Antaea was stowing their wings in the closet, feet planted wide and swaying slightly. This was the first he’d seen of her in
“Here.” She was panting slightly, a thin sheen highlighting the muscled contours of her skin as she handed him the bundle of wings. “There’s day laborers’ clothes, too,” she said, pointing to a smaller bundle amongst the feathers. “You should get into them.”
Darius was indignant. “Where’s the bike?”
“The bike had a bullet hole in it,” said Antaea. “Didn’t you notice that? It was bound to cause questions; plus the policemen I plucked you from knew you were rescued by someone on a bike.”
“What did you do with it?”
“This town is called Songly,” she said, nodding to the wheel. “A member of the home guard lives here. I dropped it off with him and used some of our ready cash to buy these.” Richard and Darius were strapping on the wings. They both seemed familiar with them, but it was Richard who seemed most adept.—That made some sense, as they were rarely used by the military, and Richard had spent twenty years living in a city that was mostly weightless.
Chaison tested his own stirrups, doing a tight loop in the air. The wings made a satisfying whoosh as they flapped. “Ha! I almost feel like a man again.”
“Good.” She was smiling. “Now we should split up. I’ve reserved a suite for the admiral and me at Family Residence 617. You two can bunk in the hostel.”
Darius looked like he wanted to protest, but by this time they had all come to understand the logic of the situation. They couldn’t afford to fit the profile the secret police were looking for: three Slipstream men traveling together possibly with a companion. They would split up and converge upon the wheel at the end of the day, when the workers who had fanned out at dawn returned like bees homing in on a hive. Richard and Darius were going to avoid the lower-gravity buildings and go straight to the rim of the wheel. The police would not expect them to be able to walk yet.
It came as no surprise that Antaea wanted to keep Chaison close. He was her assignment, obviously; the other two men were of little interest to her. She might be trying to split him off from his friends, and maybe she had accomplices waiting to kidnap him in town. But he had no real choice but to trust her—for now.
An hour later he was tottering up the stairs to their suite, the now-folded wings on his back feeling like a bag of rocks. Antaea showed no sign of strain as she pattered ahead of him.
Residence 617 was a government-subsidized hostel for married couples. It was illegal in Falcon—as in most nations—to refuse someone a night’s gravity, so all town-wheels made provision for visitors. Still, the furnishings in the little suite were spare. Once inside Chaison shambled to the window and looked out. They were high up here, in a low gravity zone; the wheel’s rim lay hundreds of feet below. Way down there, the larger itinerant’s hostel where Darius and Richard were staying was a gray rectangle on the thin brown ribbon of the rim. He wondered if they had made it there without collapsing.
“Oooh…” He sank gratefully onto the single bed, only noticing when he flung out his arm how narrow it was. Antaea was stowing their wings in the closet, feet planted wide and swaying slightly. This was the first he’d seen of her in
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