Blood Zero Sky by J. Gates

remembering that lashing swirl of yellow flame, the people who were sitting in the back few rows of the auditorium, who are probably now burned to ash. How could this have happened? An accident? It seems impossible. But if it wasn’t an accident, then who could have done it? Unprofitables? Anarchists? But Dad told me they were just myths, made up for newscasts, fictional boogiemen for the workers to root against. . . .
    “Hey,” Clair says, “Come on.” There’s a harshness in her tone that, judging from the sweetness of her features, I would never have thought her capable of. Her hand, still on my arm, clamps down harder as she tries to drag me across the rooftop, but I pull away.
    When she turns back to me, her demeanor has gone from harsh to downright dangerous.
    “Come with me,” she repeats.
    “No,” I say. “What’s going on?”
    I’d never seen her before in my life, I remind myself. And she was staring at me minutes before the explosion. As soon as it happened, she found me and dragged me away, and now she’s dying to get away from the scene of the crime. What if she had something to do with it? What if that was her intention all along, to cause a diversion and then kidnap me? What if—
    She reaches into her coat and comes up with a gun—a strangely shaped pistol the pale color of bone.
    “You’re an anarchist, aren’t you?” I whisper.
    “Of course not. Don’t be an idiot.” She grabs the lapel of my jacket and is once again hauling me across the rooftop, her gun barrel jammed into my ribs. This time I’m too confused to resist. My mind races as I try to put it all together.
    “Why?” I ask, my anger finally setting in. “Why did you kill those people?” I pull away from her again, halting. “Tell me the truth, or I’m not taking another step with you. You can shoot me right here!”
    For a second, the rage in her eyes looks so potent I think she might shoot me after all.
    Then Clair, if that’s even her name (but it must be, because the cross-identification program can’t be fooled, can it?), chokes back a cough and makes herself stand up straight. She’s taller suddenly, stronger looking. Her carriage is regal though her face is smudged nearly black with soot. Her eyes burn into mine.
    “We had nothing do with that explosion,” she says. “That’s the truth.”
    Her eyes, red around the edges and full of unspilled tears, meet mine. I try to stare into her soul. I give her no quarter. But I can see no trace of a lie inside her—and I don’t think all her tears are because of the smoke.
    “Who’s ‘we’?” I press.
    Before she can answer, a sound interrupts us. From somewhere below: the lamenting warble of sirens.
    We both look off into the distance, listening, and then her eyes return to mine. “I need your help, May,” she says, suddenly softening. “If you don’t help me, they’ll kill me.”
    By they , I assume she’s referring to the men behind the sirens: the HR security squads.
    “If you had nothing to do with what happened, why would they do that?” I ask.
    “Please,” she says, and cocks her gun. Now that’s persuasion. For an instant, I could almost crack a smile—if I wasn’t so worried that she might actually shoot me.
    But it’s not the gun that makes the decision for me: it’s the curiosity. I want to know this woman. I want to know what’s going on.
    She grabs me again—this time taking my hand. (And yes, a thrill runs through my body at her touch.) Her eyes locked on mine, she says, “Please, May.”
    And before I know it, I’m leading her across the rooftop. I haven’t been up here in years, but it’s all just as I remember it. And when we round a corner of the building, our hoped for destination comes into view on the far side of the rooftop.
    “May, you’re my hero,” Clair says.
    Ahead, my father’s N-Falcon personal helicopter waits.
    ~~~
    Mountainous glass buildings flash by us one by one, rising from the jumble of