Chapter 4: Old woman in a floating city
They were forced to call for assistance from New Franklin, the energy put into straining at the harpoon leash, then the quick getaway after Granny’s diversion depleting the airship’s energy store. While requesting help Jack made the mistake of mentioning that they had been attacked by ground dwellers. So as well as the tugboat sent to pull them back, New Franklin also sent over a fleet of its wingcore - the small fixed wing aircraft looping by them, performing elaborate stunts over the small town the Jacoby’s and Granny had been scrounging. The old lady watched them go, muttering curses over the fact that they seemed more intent on showing off than actually doing anything vaguely useful like tracking where the Princess’ transit van had got to.
As the bulk form of New Franklin slowly emerged from the cloudy haze above them Granny mellowed a little. She would not admit to anyone, but she was glad to back back home safe after an enormously stressful few days. Jacoby was now sat up also, his shirt ruined but bleeding largely stopped. Granny had half a mind to demand new terms of 60:40 to her given her actions to save the haul from the Princess, but in the ended decided that the debate wasn’t worth it. As for now, all she wanted was a comfortable seat, a glass of whisky and a cigar.
What passed for New Franklin docks were a number of pylons crudely rigged horizontally to the eastmost structures of the the city. They allowed the masters of the small airships that buzzed around and between the cities to secure their vessels then carry their wares along the narrow gangways that topped the pylons. The blimp-like balloons that supported the habitat at this edge of the city tended to be large, supporting rickety shed like structures that served as warehouses. Granny negotiated her way between the sheds, in between the porters and traders who were busy shouting at and to each other. Granny let the discussion of trade wash over her; she had her half of the toilet-roll haul tucked safely under one arm, her large handbag over the opposite shoulder. She wouldn’t do wholesale business here, rather head later into the market quarter to tap up some of the more exclusive retailers where she was sure the margin would be better. Jacoby had recommended a couple before shuffling off towards the medical tents, but Granny was keen to cut her own deal.
Those negotiations could wait, however. Her present destination was down a narrow set of stairs at the back of one of the warehouses, across a narrow gangway with nothing but the void of sky below it, and into what was once a large shipping container, now clamped like a rusty barnacle to the bottom of New Franklin. The Arse End Inn, her prefered establishment of ill-repute. Come evening time it would be full of the workers from the dock, but late morning was largely empty. Granny plonked herself down in a stained armchair in the far corner, underneath an older poster advertising the beauty of Scotland, edges curled and tinged yellow from cigar smoke.
Granny’s favourite spot.
She hadn’t even said a word when a chipped glass near full of amber-brown liquid was placed at the wobbly table to her right side.
“A good run?” Esme, the bar owned asked, hovering at Granny’s periphery. Esme was fond of Granny, but even fonder of the prospect of Granny settling her tab.
“Eventful” was all Granny replied before reaching for the drink, savouring her first sip, gulping the second.
Seeing that Granny was to be no more forthcoming, Esme scuttled off back to the bar, greasy cloth ineffectively wiping down the grubby countertop.
Granny slowly savoured the remainder of the drink before producing a stubby cigar from an inside pocket and lit it, enjoying the warmth and taste. Esme frowned, smoking of any sort was highly discouraged in the airship cities--and outright banned near rigging or the balloons--but few would dare tell Granny that.
“Filthy habit” came the voice from the doorway
Granny exhaled, cloud of blue-grey smoke expanding in front of her, “Administrator Faulks” the old woman’s greeting laced with malice.
Faulks was younger than Granny by a decade or two, but an often pinched expression and heavily lined forehead meant his appearance crossed much of the age gap. The two had known, and disliked, each other for almost all of their time on board New Franklin back not long after it had been formally inaugurated as a floating city. Faulks had been a low level administrator, Granny publicly leading a small team of engineers tasked with keeping the expanding city balanced and mobile. Privately Granny had been running a gambling den and smuggling operation, one Faulks could never fully track down. Retiring from the front lines of buoyancy accounting Faulks had risen quickly within the inner workings of the growing bureaucracy that surrounded the Steering Committee and their attendants. However, Granny had never strayed far from his antipathy.
“We have matters to discuss” the administrator stated curtly, eyes darting around the small drinking establishment, “I need you to accompany me to my offices”
“And I need you to sod off. Esme, another glass” this latter part with an empty glass waggled at the flustered looking bar owner.
Faulks sighed, then smiled. “We can conduct our business here” he said, leaning to put some files on the table next to Granny. She eyed them with suspicion as Faulks moved to loom over her. “Those files are a reconciliation of your buoyancy accounts, complete up to today. Please feel free to check them, as I have done myself”
“I’ll take your word Faulks” then a gruff “thanks” as Esme passed her a topped up glass.
“Of course today’s transactions” the administrator nodded at the glass “are not fully accounted for. But up to today you have a detriment of 35,589 newtons….”
“I said that I would settle it”
“...I’m not finished. As we must still account for the rescue services provided this morning by our loyal members of the New Franklin Steering Committee wingcore” with this Faulks produced another sheet of paper, placing it on Granny’s lap rather than table.
“That’s on Jacoby” Granny pushed the sheet away, onto the floor.
Faulks stooped and picked up “Mr Jacoby assures me that your venture was on a 50:50 basis, the younger Jacoby confirming the arrangement”
Granny’s face hardened “That was just for the haul”
“It seems the wording of the spoken contract was vague, but as the appointed lead investigator, I find in favour of the Jacoby’s interpretation” his smile widened. “The tug, plus protection of the fleet wingcore adds a further 29,756 newtons to your detriment”
“What?!” Granny snached the piece of paper back from Faulks, scouring the lines of calculations. How could just a simple tow back to the city almost double her buoyancy detriment? “18,567 for the wingcore, those jumped up brats?!”
“The wingcore provide a much valued protection of the habitat” Faulks sounded as if he was reading directly from an advertising brochure.
“All they did was a couple of loops before coming back to polish their egoes”
“The fuel cost is notable for their specialist vehicles, the calculation is clearly seen on line 134 of your invoice” he nodded at the sheet of paper in Granny’s hands.
“Stuff your calculation”
“You have three days to clear your detriment, after that I am fully authorised to render you persona non grata and evict you from New Franklin” and with that Faulks turned to leave.
“Hey Faulks” Granny called after him, a whirlwind of thoughts in her mind, but then a single picture; the Princess
“Yes?”
“You ever been to London?”
“As a young man I studied in….”
“No, I mean since we’ve been up here, in New Franklin”
“London was destroyed like the rest of civilization” spoken again as if from a brochure, albeit a much more morbid one.
“So no then?”
Faulks ignored her and left, door to the bar slamming behind him as wind picked up around the air city.
*****
“Why’d you double cross me fatso?” Granny had Jacoby’s shirt collar gripped in her fists, pushing him back against the wall of his family's small living quarters. Physically she was no match for a man 30 years younger, but Jacoby was still sore (if now bandaged) from the harpoon splinters and also not entirely sure of the appropriate response to being near strangled by a pensioner.
“I...didn’t” was all he could manage.
“Faulks was on my case within 20 minutes of us getting back, said you’d sold me out”
“He’d seen you….on my airship….wanted to know what we’d been up to. Just scrounger business I said....honest”
“Leave my Dad alone” said Jack, interrupting with the handle of a broom waved menacingly towards Granny “What he said is true”
Granny’s eyes narrowed. Perturbed at both the young man’s eroding fear of her (maybe she’d been too soft on him in the immediate thrill of their haul), but also his interruption just as she was about to crack Jacoby.
“Adult business, kid” she growled without looking at the boy.
“Just 50:50, like we said” replied Jack
Granny relaxed her grip for a second, turning to Jack “You tell Faulks that?”
“Uh-huh, didn’t say nowt about you letting that girl go, promise on my life”
Granny let go of Jacoby, he slumped to the floor, Granny onto a nearby stool. She rubbed her face. The Jacoby’s had simply misread Faulks’ inquiries, probably figured him for security. Ground dwellers were considered a major threat by the Steering Committee these days, like a pest that threatened to overwhelm their comfortable existence with a drain on buoyancy. The mood in wider society was largely the same, the perception that letting down the ladders risked their security regardless of what those from groundside could add to airborne society. There were major penalties for liaising with those at ground level as a result. But that wasn’t what Faulks cared about, not when he could nail Granny for a cast iron buoyancy deficit rather than some vague conversation at ground level.
And then there was London. It had seemed like a throw away comment from the Princess, but had stuck in Granny’s mind. Something she couldn’t quite identify, nagging at her thoughts. She had never visited the capital city after the catastrophe, seemed obvious that it would have gone early given its population density. But they’d travelled over other ruined cities, picking over the utter destruction wrought by the haemorrhages. Maybe she’d just never noticed that they’d been near London? One area of charred destruction surely looked much like any other.
Granny scratched her head. What exactly was it the Princess had said? “It is a beautiful construction”. Seemed like a slightly odd phrasing to describe a city landscape even before the haemorrhages. But what had she meant by it?
“Ok, I have to go” Granny stood up “But you owe me, fatso” this with a pointed index finger hovering close to Jacoby’s pudgy nose. Truth be told he didn’t really owe her anything, but she might need him again and a little bit more intimidation never did anyone any harm.
Back outside, package of toilet rolls still clutched grimly under one arm, Granny made her way slowly towards the market quarter. It was late afternoon, not long before the stalls would start to close, a good time for striking a deal Granny had found; the traders often too busy dreaming about their first post-work drink to stretch a bartering out too long. However, even the best deal wasn’t going to clear her debt, maybe half if she was lucky. And only three days - more like two and a half now - to find the remainder. Not enough to arrange and scope out another ground run. And while she could probably score a few jobs with the riggers, using her drone to look at the various nooks and crannies that humans couldn’t get to, they didn’t pay all that much. Plus she’d have to chase payment through the New Franklin’s daunting bureaucracy, the riggers ultimately employed by the Steering Committee.
Wind whistled between the balloons and through the net like rigging. Granny shivered, pulling her cost closer around. It also gave her an excuse to reach into her jacket and place a hand round the knife she’d stashed there after peeling it from the drone. Always good to have it close at hand in the backways of the city.
Especially when you are being followed.
Part of Granny was cursing yet another stroke of ill fortune, but another larger part was greedily anticipating having someone to take her frustrations out on. Crime was hardly frequent on New Franklin, eviction was a powerful deterrent, but there was always the odd thrillseeker, drunkard or desperate willing to take the risk. The old lady took a winding route, down into the lower rigging that held together the individual constructions that dangled from the balloons. So long as you weren’t afraid of heights, given the unobstructed view down, the gangways here were a good way of getting across the city quickly. They were also the best place to quickly dispose of a body.
As an engineer, Granny had spent hours, sometimes days, in the rigging. Feeling the tautness of the ropes, the angles and droop of the connecting gangways, making her calculations and instructing the riggers how to best sculpt the growth of the city. Walking now over one of the walkways she put a hand on the safety rope that ran alongside, the thin separation of a nice stroll from a terrifying plunge. She felt the minute change in its tension as her pursuer stepped onto the same gangway. As she had been counting her own steps, Granny new exactly how far behind her tail was. The heft of the knife’s hilt felt welcome in her hand as she prepared to spin round.
“You saw her, didn’t you?”
“Who?” Granny had stopped but not turned, fearing the voice was a distraction she surveyed the way ahead for possible accomplices of her follower. The various ropes and sheets of fabric that flapped on the city's underbelly obscured the view ahead. Had she walked into a trap?
“That ground dweller, the young lady in pink”
“It’s against the protocols to engage a ground dweller” now Granny was fearing a different sort of trap. The voice behind her was not that of Faulk’s, but it could be one of his henchmen, seeking out further admission of Granny’s numerous crimes.
“Not if you are in love with them, I’m sure of it”
Regardless of concern for any accomplices, the sheer lunacy of the statement made Granny turn round, “You what?”
“You know when you just, well, know? Destiny and stuff”. The tall man standing in front of Granny, decked in the flightsuit uniform of the wingcore, was maybe 20 and very handsome, even if there was a slightly familiar look about him that made Granny do a double take.
“You’re wingcore?”
The man looked down, as if checking what gave him away, then back up to nod at Granny. “I often see her when we’re patrolling from New Franklin in the area, she’s just in the streets like she owns them, or maybe sunbathing on her van”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, her dresses are unmistakable, so bright, so vibrant. We are just meant to be”
“But you’ve never spoken to her?”
“Love doesn’t need to speak”
Granny just nodded slightly, still a little unsure if this was just an elaborate joke or this twerp really was as dim as he came across.
“So you did meet her?” he shifted his weight excitedly from one foot to another, like a toddler at Christmas.
“I came across a dangerous renegade” Granny was still careful with her choice language, to leave some wiggle room in case this was a long con. “But we escaped”
“Did you talk to her? Was her voice melodic? I can almost imagine the birds joining in when she speaks” he spoke quickly, sentences running into one another.
“She certainly had a way with words” Granny said with a small shrug “But listen, you say you see her whenever we’re overhead this area?”
“Yes, this is her town”
“So she doesn’t need to move about much? No wonder she was peeved at Jacoby wiping out her corner shop” this second sentence spoken more to herself.
“I’m sure she waved at me this one time. After we performed a quite remarkable loop overhead. I imagine she found that quite dashing”
“Maybe”
“So, can you take me to her?” the question hung in the air for a second, but only a second, Granny knew an opportunity when she saw it.
“It’ll cost you”
The young man waved a hand in dismissiveness “What is mere buoyancy when your true love walks the ground”
“Easy to say when Daddy sits on the Steering Committee”
“Oh, my father isn’t on the Committee, not yet anyway. He says once he runs the last of the big buoyancy swindlers out of town he is sure to get a seat”
Granny blinked, then asked “What did you say your name was, fella?”
“Oh it’s Graham, nice to meet you” he stuck out a hand “Graham Faulks”
As the bulk form of New Franklin slowly emerged from the cloudy haze above them Granny mellowed a little. She would not admit to anyone, but she was glad to back back home safe after an enormously stressful few days. Jacoby was now sat up also, his shirt ruined but bleeding largely stopped. Granny had half a mind to demand new terms of 60:40 to her given her actions to save the haul from the Princess, but in the ended decided that the debate wasn’t worth it. As for now, all she wanted was a comfortable seat, a glass of whisky and a cigar.
What passed for New Franklin docks were a number of pylons crudely rigged horizontally to the eastmost structures of the the city. They allowed the masters of the small airships that buzzed around and between the cities to secure their vessels then carry their wares along the narrow gangways that topped the pylons. The blimp-like balloons that supported the habitat at this edge of the city tended to be large, supporting rickety shed like structures that served as warehouses. Granny negotiated her way between the sheds, in between the porters and traders who were busy shouting at and to each other. Granny let the discussion of trade wash over her; she had her half of the toilet-roll haul tucked safely under one arm, her large handbag over the opposite shoulder. She wouldn’t do wholesale business here, rather head later into the market quarter to tap up some of the more exclusive retailers where she was sure the margin would be better. Jacoby had recommended a couple before shuffling off towards the medical tents, but Granny was keen to cut her own deal.
Those negotiations could wait, however. Her present destination was down a narrow set of stairs at the back of one of the warehouses, across a narrow gangway with nothing but the void of sky below it, and into what was once a large shipping container, now clamped like a rusty barnacle to the bottom of New Franklin. The Arse End Inn, her prefered establishment of ill-repute. Come evening time it would be full of the workers from the dock, but late morning was largely empty. Granny plonked herself down in a stained armchair in the far corner, underneath an older poster advertising the beauty of Scotland, edges curled and tinged yellow from cigar smoke.
Granny’s favourite spot.
She hadn’t even said a word when a chipped glass near full of amber-brown liquid was placed at the wobbly table to her right side.
“A good run?” Esme, the bar owned asked, hovering at Granny’s periphery. Esme was fond of Granny, but even fonder of the prospect of Granny settling her tab.
“Eventful” was all Granny replied before reaching for the drink, savouring her first sip, gulping the second.
Seeing that Granny was to be no more forthcoming, Esme scuttled off back to the bar, greasy cloth ineffectively wiping down the grubby countertop.
Granny slowly savoured the remainder of the drink before producing a stubby cigar from an inside pocket and lit it, enjoying the warmth and taste. Esme frowned, smoking of any sort was highly discouraged in the airship cities--and outright banned near rigging or the balloons--but few would dare tell Granny that.
“Filthy habit” came the voice from the doorway
Granny exhaled, cloud of blue-grey smoke expanding in front of her, “Administrator Faulks” the old woman’s greeting laced with malice.
Faulks was younger than Granny by a decade or two, but an often pinched expression and heavily lined forehead meant his appearance crossed much of the age gap. The two had known, and disliked, each other for almost all of their time on board New Franklin back not long after it had been formally inaugurated as a floating city. Faulks had been a low level administrator, Granny publicly leading a small team of engineers tasked with keeping the expanding city balanced and mobile. Privately Granny had been running a gambling den and smuggling operation, one Faulks could never fully track down. Retiring from the front lines of buoyancy accounting Faulks had risen quickly within the inner workings of the growing bureaucracy that surrounded the Steering Committee and their attendants. However, Granny had never strayed far from his antipathy.
“We have matters to discuss” the administrator stated curtly, eyes darting around the small drinking establishment, “I need you to accompany me to my offices”
“And I need you to sod off. Esme, another glass” this latter part with an empty glass waggled at the flustered looking bar owner.
Faulks sighed, then smiled. “We can conduct our business here” he said, leaning to put some files on the table next to Granny. She eyed them with suspicion as Faulks moved to loom over her. “Those files are a reconciliation of your buoyancy accounts, complete up to today. Please feel free to check them, as I have done myself”
“I’ll take your word Faulks” then a gruff “thanks” as Esme passed her a topped up glass.
“Of course today’s transactions” the administrator nodded at the glass “are not fully accounted for. But up to today you have a detriment of 35,589 newtons….”
“I said that I would settle it”
“...I’m not finished. As we must still account for the rescue services provided this morning by our loyal members of the New Franklin Steering Committee wingcore” with this Faulks produced another sheet of paper, placing it on Granny’s lap rather than table.
“That’s on Jacoby” Granny pushed the sheet away, onto the floor.
Faulks stooped and picked up “Mr Jacoby assures me that your venture was on a 50:50 basis, the younger Jacoby confirming the arrangement”
Granny’s face hardened “That was just for the haul”
“It seems the wording of the spoken contract was vague, but as the appointed lead investigator, I find in favour of the Jacoby’s interpretation” his smile widened. “The tug, plus protection of the fleet wingcore adds a further 29,756 newtons to your detriment”
“What?!” Granny snached the piece of paper back from Faulks, scouring the lines of calculations. How could just a simple tow back to the city almost double her buoyancy detriment? “18,567 for the wingcore, those jumped up brats?!”
“The wingcore provide a much valued protection of the habitat” Faulks sounded as if he was reading directly from an advertising brochure.
“All they did was a couple of loops before coming back to polish their egoes”
“The fuel cost is notable for their specialist vehicles, the calculation is clearly seen on line 134 of your invoice” he nodded at the sheet of paper in Granny’s hands.
“Stuff your calculation”
“You have three days to clear your detriment, after that I am fully authorised to render you persona non grata and evict you from New Franklin” and with that Faulks turned to leave.
“Hey Faulks” Granny called after him, a whirlwind of thoughts in her mind, but then a single picture; the Princess
“Yes?”
“You ever been to London?”
“As a young man I studied in….”
“No, I mean since we’ve been up here, in New Franklin”
“London was destroyed like the rest of civilization” spoken again as if from a brochure, albeit a much more morbid one.
“So no then?”
Faulks ignored her and left, door to the bar slamming behind him as wind picked up around the air city.
*****
“Why’d you double cross me fatso?” Granny had Jacoby’s shirt collar gripped in her fists, pushing him back against the wall of his family's small living quarters. Physically she was no match for a man 30 years younger, but Jacoby was still sore (if now bandaged) from the harpoon splinters and also not entirely sure of the appropriate response to being near strangled by a pensioner.
“I...didn’t” was all he could manage.
“Faulks was on my case within 20 minutes of us getting back, said you’d sold me out”
“He’d seen you….on my airship….wanted to know what we’d been up to. Just scrounger business I said....honest”
“Leave my Dad alone” said Jack, interrupting with the handle of a broom waved menacingly towards Granny “What he said is true”
Granny’s eyes narrowed. Perturbed at both the young man’s eroding fear of her (maybe she’d been too soft on him in the immediate thrill of their haul), but also his interruption just as she was about to crack Jacoby.
“Adult business, kid” she growled without looking at the boy.
“Just 50:50, like we said” replied Jack
Granny relaxed her grip for a second, turning to Jack “You tell Faulks that?”
“Uh-huh, didn’t say nowt about you letting that girl go, promise on my life”
Granny let go of Jacoby, he slumped to the floor, Granny onto a nearby stool. She rubbed her face. The Jacoby’s had simply misread Faulks’ inquiries, probably figured him for security. Ground dwellers were considered a major threat by the Steering Committee these days, like a pest that threatened to overwhelm their comfortable existence with a drain on buoyancy. The mood in wider society was largely the same, the perception that letting down the ladders risked their security regardless of what those from groundside could add to airborne society. There were major penalties for liaising with those at ground level as a result. But that wasn’t what Faulks cared about, not when he could nail Granny for a cast iron buoyancy deficit rather than some vague conversation at ground level.
And then there was London. It had seemed like a throw away comment from the Princess, but had stuck in Granny’s mind. Something she couldn’t quite identify, nagging at her thoughts. She had never visited the capital city after the catastrophe, seemed obvious that it would have gone early given its population density. But they’d travelled over other ruined cities, picking over the utter destruction wrought by the haemorrhages. Maybe she’d just never noticed that they’d been near London? One area of charred destruction surely looked much like any other.
Granny scratched her head. What exactly was it the Princess had said? “It is a beautiful construction”. Seemed like a slightly odd phrasing to describe a city landscape even before the haemorrhages. But what had she meant by it?
“Ok, I have to go” Granny stood up “But you owe me, fatso” this with a pointed index finger hovering close to Jacoby’s pudgy nose. Truth be told he didn’t really owe her anything, but she might need him again and a little bit more intimidation never did anyone any harm.
Back outside, package of toilet rolls still clutched grimly under one arm, Granny made her way slowly towards the market quarter. It was late afternoon, not long before the stalls would start to close, a good time for striking a deal Granny had found; the traders often too busy dreaming about their first post-work drink to stretch a bartering out too long. However, even the best deal wasn’t going to clear her debt, maybe half if she was lucky. And only three days - more like two and a half now - to find the remainder. Not enough to arrange and scope out another ground run. And while she could probably score a few jobs with the riggers, using her drone to look at the various nooks and crannies that humans couldn’t get to, they didn’t pay all that much. Plus she’d have to chase payment through the New Franklin’s daunting bureaucracy, the riggers ultimately employed by the Steering Committee.
Wind whistled between the balloons and through the net like rigging. Granny shivered, pulling her cost closer around. It also gave her an excuse to reach into her jacket and place a hand round the knife she’d stashed there after peeling it from the drone. Always good to have it close at hand in the backways of the city.
Especially when you are being followed.
Part of Granny was cursing yet another stroke of ill fortune, but another larger part was greedily anticipating having someone to take her frustrations out on. Crime was hardly frequent on New Franklin, eviction was a powerful deterrent, but there was always the odd thrillseeker, drunkard or desperate willing to take the risk. The old lady took a winding route, down into the lower rigging that held together the individual constructions that dangled from the balloons. So long as you weren’t afraid of heights, given the unobstructed view down, the gangways here were a good way of getting across the city quickly. They were also the best place to quickly dispose of a body.
As an engineer, Granny had spent hours, sometimes days, in the rigging. Feeling the tautness of the ropes, the angles and droop of the connecting gangways, making her calculations and instructing the riggers how to best sculpt the growth of the city. Walking now over one of the walkways she put a hand on the safety rope that ran alongside, the thin separation of a nice stroll from a terrifying plunge. She felt the minute change in its tension as her pursuer stepped onto the same gangway. As she had been counting her own steps, Granny new exactly how far behind her tail was. The heft of the knife’s hilt felt welcome in her hand as she prepared to spin round.
“You saw her, didn’t you?”
“Who?” Granny had stopped but not turned, fearing the voice was a distraction she surveyed the way ahead for possible accomplices of her follower. The various ropes and sheets of fabric that flapped on the city's underbelly obscured the view ahead. Had she walked into a trap?
“That ground dweller, the young lady in pink”
“It’s against the protocols to engage a ground dweller” now Granny was fearing a different sort of trap. The voice behind her was not that of Faulk’s, but it could be one of his henchmen, seeking out further admission of Granny’s numerous crimes.
“Not if you are in love with them, I’m sure of it”
Regardless of concern for any accomplices, the sheer lunacy of the statement made Granny turn round, “You what?”
“You know when you just, well, know? Destiny and stuff”. The tall man standing in front of Granny, decked in the flightsuit uniform of the wingcore, was maybe 20 and very handsome, even if there was a slightly familiar look about him that made Granny do a double take.
“You’re wingcore?”
The man looked down, as if checking what gave him away, then back up to nod at Granny. “I often see her when we’re patrolling from New Franklin in the area, she’s just in the streets like she owns them, or maybe sunbathing on her van”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, her dresses are unmistakable, so bright, so vibrant. We are just meant to be”
“But you’ve never spoken to her?”
“Love doesn’t need to speak”
Granny just nodded slightly, still a little unsure if this was just an elaborate joke or this twerp really was as dim as he came across.
“So you did meet her?” he shifted his weight excitedly from one foot to another, like a toddler at Christmas.
“I came across a dangerous renegade” Granny was still careful with her choice language, to leave some wiggle room in case this was a long con. “But we escaped”
“Did you talk to her? Was her voice melodic? I can almost imagine the birds joining in when she speaks” he spoke quickly, sentences running into one another.
“She certainly had a way with words” Granny said with a small shrug “But listen, you say you see her whenever we’re overhead this area?”
“Yes, this is her town”
“So she doesn’t need to move about much? No wonder she was peeved at Jacoby wiping out her corner shop” this second sentence spoken more to herself.
“I’m sure she waved at me this one time. After we performed a quite remarkable loop overhead. I imagine she found that quite dashing”
“Maybe”
“So, can you take me to her?” the question hung in the air for a second, but only a second, Granny knew an opportunity when she saw it.
“It’ll cost you”
The young man waved a hand in dismissiveness “What is mere buoyancy when your true love walks the ground”
“Easy to say when Daddy sits on the Steering Committee”
“Oh, my father isn’t on the Committee, not yet anyway. He says once he runs the last of the big buoyancy swindlers out of town he is sure to get a seat”
Granny blinked, then asked “What did you say your name was, fella?”
“Oh it’s Graham, nice to meet you” he stuck out a hand “Graham Faulks”
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