Engineman - Eric Brown [49]
She watched Max fill the trail bike's tank with petrol. He stowed the canister under the porch and joined her. He leaned against the rail. "Hope you don't mind my saying, but when we came for you last night I thought you were an Enginewoman."
"You're not the first over the past day or two," she said. "I think I must have aged."
"How old are you?"
She squinted up at him. He was a dark silhouette against the sunset. Was she mistaken in thinking she detected a note of genuine interest in his tone?
"Twenty-five - but I know: I look a lot older. Don't tell me."
Max laughed. There was something so warm and gentle, so lost and vulnerable about Enginemen of a certain age that always made Ella's heart go out to them.
"Okay, so I won't say I thought you were thirty."
"Thanks. And how old are you?"
"I fluctuate," he said. "Sometimes I feel a hundred. Other times I feel around sixty-two."
A silence came between them. Finally Ella asked, "What happened...?" indicating his missing arm.
"Last year we attacked a marine base in the south. I got hit in a shoot out." He smiled at her. "I'm lucky to be alive."
"What about today?" She felt a certain tightness in her throat, hindering her words.
"We'll be leaving in about ten minutes. We'll keep off the roads and follow the track we use to get from here to the coast. We're heading for the spaceport-"
"You're not trying to leave the Reach?"
"No - we just have some business at the 'port." He hesitated. "It shouldn't take too long."
Conchita appeared at the door with her daughter when the time came for them to leave. Ella mounted the trail bike, kick-started it and did a practice circuit of the house. Max joined her, and she noticed that he was wearing padding beneath his peasant's jacket, to disguise the bulky occipital console that spanned his shoulders.
He climbed on behind her and held her around the waist. Ella waved to Conchita, then accelerated down the track between the trees. The way was steep, but not as rough as she had feared. The track was a deep gully cut into the red earth, following for the most part an old water course left over from the rainy season. The bike whined and spluttered, bumped and bucked over exposed tree roots and boulders, but only twice were they forced to dismount. The jungle closed in on each side, which, while cutting down the available light, did have the advantage of muffling the sound of the engine. Ella enjoyed the challenge of the ride, the ego-trip of displaying her skill to Max. Not since evading a horde of thugs in the Latin Quarter had she had so much fun.
They hit sea level and the track became a sandy path winding through the dense foliage. The going was easy here and Ella could relax, allow her thoughts to dwell on more than just the ride.
One hour later they climbed a jungle-covered hilltop, stopped and looked down at the extensive, gun-metal grey tarmac of the spaceport.
"There she is," Max said to himself. He was staring at the interface as if it were his personal holy grail.
Ella laughed nervously. "So... what now, Max?"
"Get the bike under cover and wait here for-" he consulted his watch, "- one hour. No more. If I'm not here by then, head off without me. I'll make my own way back. Keep your head down, Ella, okay?"
"Hey, and you take care, too. That's an order."
Max smiled. "I'll be as careful as I have to."
As he started to leave, Ella rushed forward and impulsively embraced him. He returned the gesture, one-armed and awkward. He even seemed reluctant, as if to show her affection now might hurt both of them later. Quickly, he turned and slipped off through the undergrowth. Ella watched him go, then strained her eyes to catch glimpses of him as he