I followed Alpha off the scaffold, unbolting and tearing apart our metal tower as we descended, my work finished. Almost.
“You said she used to light up,” I said.
“Used to.”
“Then I better see if I can wire her right again.”
Alpha set to scrubbing the shine back to a mess of ferns, and I laid fresh cable through the undergrowth, running it from an old generator to the base of the statue. Hina’s foot was arched up with the heel high, and you could access the inside by crawling up through the ball of the foot. I grabbed wire and tape and my headlamp, scooting myself inside the metal and searching for circuits to patch.
I pulled myself up, tracing the curve of her calf, the straight line of shin, running new wire where she needed it, taping her electrics back together like they were veins in her skin.
As I climbed through the statue, swinging between her hips and crawling down along her dancing leg, following the tunnel through her outstretched arms and working my way up where her brain would be, I came to know the work in a whole new way — seeing the statue from the perspective of the creator, learning the steps by which she’d been built. The seams and the joint work, the weld marks and support beams.
And there was something routine about being inside that statue. Something familiar about it. Every builder has their own way of bending the rules, each takes their own risk with their rhythm. And I knew the work I was studying. I knew the caution, the passion and style.
Of course I knew it.
I’d seen it mirrored in my own building. Reflected in every tree I’d ever built.
And as I lowered myself down, descending the thigh and dropping to the ground, I was sure of it. Sure as you can be about anything.
The statue could only be the work of one builder.
And that builder had been my old man.
When I crawled back out into the forest, I felt like my blood had drained out and grown thick in my shoes. I stared up at the sky but the sun was gone, disappeared behind a layer of gray that billowed and curled and smudged the world with its fingers.
“Rain clouds,” Alpha said, watching me. “We should head back.”
“What all do you know about the guy who built her?” I said, when I could speak again. I tried packing my tools with my hands all shaky and weak, but then I gave up and left the tools piled at the base of the statue.
“Some people say he took her to Vega,” said Alpha. “To play those numbers and strike it rich.”
“He didn’t care about striking it rich.”
“How the hell would you know?”
“Just a feeling,” I muttered, avoiding Alpha’s eyes. “I mean, you love something like that and you’re already rich.” I pointed up at the statue.
Alpha watched her reflection bounce and shatter in Hina’s face. “Guess it’s like the Captain says. Just a myth. A story.”
“A story that keeps things from getting forgot.”
“Just all about remembering, ain’t you?”
“Only the things that matter.”
“You gonna remember me?” Alpha said, her eyes still fixed on the statue. But before I could say anything, she spun around and started walking. “Come on, let’s go back. You look like shit.”
“No, wait. You gotta see something.”
The storm clouds had bunched up enough to mimic twilight, and on the far edge of the forest I cranked the generator and flipped the breakers on.
Small lights blinked on the branches, and for a second Hina stayed colorless in the half-light. But then she broke free. Purple. Blues and reds. She held each shade for a moment before switching to the next one. She became green and yellow, then gold and pink. And the brass leaves bounced the colors back at her, bringing the whole forest to life.
As the rain began to fall, Alpha turned her face to the heavens and sang out with laughter, stretching her arms to the sky.
“It’s so beautiful,” she cried, her voice just like music, all the sour notes drained out and washing away.
And it was beautiful. More beautiful than anything had a right to be in this crummy old shell of a world. The statue was finished, and the finishing was a beginning. And I knew it was by far the greatest work Pop and I had ever done.
We ran back along the walkways as the thunder cracked and the rain beat our skin. I sensed lightning and felt it flash, but I kept my eyes on Alpha’s pink vest before me, slicked flat now, sopping like everything else.
We found the shack and burst inside, and Alpha locked the door behind us as the rain hammered upon the roof. There were drips and leaks and the cot was damp, but she climbed upon it, her mohawk tied back in a slippery tail.
I fell beside her and lay watching the back of her neck and the backs of her legs, and hoping she’d roll over and face me.
“What are you doing?” she said, her back still turned.
“Just looking at you.”
“Don’t get any ideas. I just wanted to get out of the rain.”
“Sure you did.”
She rolled around to look at me. “It ain’t happening.”
“Why not?”
“’Cause you’re leaving.” She shut her eyes and turned away.
But that just made me want her even more. I wanted to touch her and feel her against me. I wanted her above and below me, my arms wrapped around her. I wanted to lose myself for as long as I’d stay gone. But I knew I had to keep focused. I needed Alpha to take me north, soon as the trade was over. And I still had to figure out how to get Sal out of the mud pit. I needed that coordinate if I was going to find my father. I had to rescue the fat kid before he got traded away.
Got hard to concentrate, though. Lying beside that girl’s rubber and curves and the sound of her breathing. It was like my whole body was soaking up what hers was pushing out. But my eyes finally shut. And then all the wanting got stolen by sleep.
I woke to the sound of a fist pounding the door to the shack, and I sat up with my brain spinning. The whole shack rattled as the door bounced, but Alpha was still sleeping. She’d curled up close to me and I just sat there, staring at a little scar hooked on the side of her forehead, wishing to hell whoever was at the door would just go on away.
The fist thumped louder.
“Hang on,” I yelled, getting up.
“I don’t need you,” Jawbone spat when I’d cracked the door open. She leaned into the shack and pointed at the cot. “I need her.”
If anything, the rain was coming harder now, but Jawbone didn’t seem to notice as she led us along the walkways to the edge of the city, stomping her stiff little legs through the puddles and sludge.
I cupped my hands full of water and blew my nose in it. One thing about rain like that, it clears you right out, blasts all the dust off you until you never felt so clean. But my clothes were heavy and chafing as I trudged along, wondering where in the hell we were in such a rush to get.
Then I saw it.
I saw it before we’d even reached the outer walls of the city. The tip of that huge vehicle I’d watched rumble out of the night. There it was, towering above us.
It was as much steel as I’d ever seen in one place. Hard to even imagine it moving, now that I could see it up close. It seemed bigger than Old Orleans itself.
Strange lettering marked the side of the hull, and I pointed to it. “What’s it say?” I yelled above the sound of the storm.
“The Ark,” Jawbone called back, her face solemn. “It’s what Harvest calls his slave ship.”
I couldn’t understand why the transport had come so close to the city, practically leaning on the crumbling walls like it might break them once and for all.