Vapor, Cont. 2

I took my hands off the stick and looked back at Shaun in surprise, barely noticing the small jolt as the autopilot took over and slowed the skimmer into a lazy circle. He returned my gaze in kind, confusion written over his narrow, bony face.

"Maybe it's a funeral procession?" I suggested, loudly. Shaun shook his head.

"No, I think the locals cremate their dead. They wouldn't come out to the plains for that."

We both looked back down at the ragged band below. Their gestures seemed urgent, almost frantic, pointing up at us and back at the body, its white shroud whipping around in our exhaust and the rapidly rising winds. I considered leaving for a split second, taking our cargo back up to U-Town, but in the same instant I found my hands on the throttle and we began to descend.

The folks below us scattered back to their buggies as we came down, save for two men who carried the shrouded figure back to the edge of the circle, where they crouched among the furiously beating waves of grass. We settled down into the middle of the circle and I cut the fans. For a moment there was a cavernous silence, filled only by the shriek of the wind as it washed over the cockpit.

I glanced back at Shaun, who had slung his Syst8 over his shoulder and unholstered his pistol. I could see the confusion in his eyes, but he said nothing. Outside, I could see several of the locals cautiously moving toward us. Reaching down to feel the reassuring weight of my own pistol, I popped the canopy.