The Darwin Elevator (41 page)

Prumble must be dead. Dead, or gone. Nothing of value remained here. It had been ransacked, then scuttled. At the back of the garage, Skyler found Prumble’s office. The meat-locker door lay on the ground, crumpled like a discarded lager can. Scorch marks marred the ground around it.

They’d used high explosives. Skyler had no doubt who the culprit was.

New goal
, he thought.
Find Russell Blackfield and put his eyes out with a hot poker.

One more check box on a growing list of impossible tasks.

He left the garage, his feet moving on their own, for he had no will to keep going. He took shelter from the rain in a building across the street and doubled over from pain. A pain born not of his injuries but of despair. His hope of fixing the Aura, and returning to orbit, faded, stomped out by the cards that fate had given him. He had to turn his focus to survival now.

Maybe he could go to Grillo and beg for a job piloting one of his shitty boats. To come this far, only to join up with that bastard? It almost seemed the perfect end to this series of tragedies.

Perhaps he should just walk away, into the Clear, as Skadz had done. Leave this mess to those forced to wallow in it.

He thought back to the day he’d met Prumble at the café. The feeling he’d had seeing that satchel full of pristine bills.

The café
. Prumble had joked of retiring there. Half-joked, Skyler thought. He certainly knew the owner well enough. And he did say it was where he met his contact from Nightcliff.

Skyler thought that maybe if he waited at the coffeehouse long enough, the man from Nightcliff might come in again, looking for Prumble. He lived in Nightcliff, and that meant a potential way in.

Or perhaps the old woman who owned the place had heard from the big man. Maybe she even knew if he’d survived the attack on his home.

Near exhaustion, devoid of other options, Skyler did the only thing he could do: walk.

He arrived very late. Between the hour and the heavy rain, the streets were mostly empty. Only one other shop was open near Clarke’s: a one-room card house. The occupants, four elderly men, huddled around a table playing mahjongg. They barely registered Skyler’s passing.

He breathed a sigh of relief. The café was open. Even better, it was empty.

The old Sri Lankan woman sat behind the counter, knitting. She eyed him with suspicion but flashed a toothless smile nonetheless.

Skyler couldn’t recall her name. He asked for coffee, plus a bun filled with some kind of bean mash. He tried not to imagine the origin of its contents, and wolfed it down before he was even seated. Belatedly he wondered how he would pay for it.

When she brought the coffee, Skyler thanked her, and said, “Do you speak English?”

“Little,” she said.

“Have you seen Prumble? The fat man?”

Her eyes narrowed. The smile remained. She shook her head slowly.

“Please,” he said, “his garage was attacked. I have to find out if he survived.”

“I no know him,” she said.

Terrible liar,
Skyler thought.

He looked at his coffee cup. “He gave you the coffee beans, yes?”

Her eyes shifted, uncertain.

“I retrieved those for him in Vietnam. You know Vietnam?” She just stared. “Prumble sent me to retrieve some parts for an X-ray machine. We dropped on a military hospital, looking for them.”

The crone just stared at him. He wasn’t sure if she understood any of it.

The details of the mission flashed through Skyler’s mind like a daydream. “I remember we found the parts we needed straightaway, and had some time to explore. Skadz and I went to a house on the base; it belonged to some Communist Party official. There was a whole cache of supplies stacked in the basement, including a case of preserved coffee. Coffee, yes? In a special can.” He approximated it with his arms. “Had a white stripe across it, diagonal, like this.”

Her eyes briefly shot toward the bar. Skyler hoped he was getting through to her.

“Coffee,” she finally said.

“Yes. From Vietnam. From Prumble.”

She shuffled away, under the flimsy wooden plank that was the bar, and through a curtained doorway.

“Look,” Skyler called after her, “Prumble met a man here a few weeks back. A man in a long overcoat. I need to contact that man. If you can help …”

No sound from behind the curtain. Skyler gave up and sipped his beverage, enjoying the rich flavor.

He looked out the dirty window and watched the rain pummel the alley beyond. Merciless, tonight. He looked up the side of the building directly across. On every windowsill, containers of all sizes and shapes had been set out, precariously, to catch what water they could.

He wondered if anything would ever change here. The city was gradually dying. Entropy would win.

Sound from behind the bar caught his attention, and he turned back.

Prumble stood there, leaning on his cane, a huge grin across his face.

“I can scarcely believe my eyes,” he said.

“Prumble!” Skyler stood and embraced the man.

“I figured you were dead,” Prumble said, laughing.

“Likewise. I went to the garage …”

“Ah, yes. Blackfield’s work. I was inside at the time.”

“And you survived? Well, clearly. What were they after?”

Prumble sighed. The old woman set a cracked mug in front of him, and he thanked her. To Skyler, Prumble said, “Dirt on Platz. Something tipped them off.”

“I may know something about that,” Skyler said.

“Oh?”

Skyler leaned in closer. “Have you heard anything about Sam, or the others?”

The fat man shook his head. “I’ve been keeping a low profile. But your question fills me with dread.”

“A lot has happened.”

Prumble picked up his mug. “Come with me, and tell me all about it. I prefer not to sit next to a window under Nightcliff’s shadow. I’m a wanted man, after all.”

Skyler followed him through the curtain behind the counter, and up a narrow, steep flight of stairs.

“Renuka was kind enough to offer me a room,” Prumble said as he foisted his girth up the steps, “as long as I need it. Her husband and her son have both passed away, it seems.”

They entered a small room, with Prumble only just fitting through the door. It stank of old socks, and measured barely two meters on a side.

However, devoid of furniture, it provided enough room to survive. Instead of a bed, layers of threadbare carpet and blankets covered the floor. Moth-chewed pillows filled one corner.

“It’s comfortable enough,” Prumble said, carefully taking a seat on the floor. Skyler sat opposite him.

Prumble busied himself for a minute, adjusting the stack of pillows behind him to support his bad back. “Tell me,” the fat man said.

“In a moment,” Skyler said, lying down on the soft floor. It felt warm, and smelled of cinnamon. He closed his eyes.

Chapter Thirty-four

Anchor Station

9.FEB.2283

Tania kept her gaze on the floor. She pulled down a baseball cap she’d borrowed to hide her face. Surprise would be lost if anyone recognized her too quickly.

Two guards manned the security desk. They hunched over a well-worn board game and paid little attention as the cleaners arrived. Routine behavior, their reaction said. Both were lightly armed, with handheld toxin-based immobilizers and standard batons. Both were out of shape.

“Your weapons please,” said one of the cleaners. Another opened a canvas bag and held it out to them. “Slowly.”

The two guards looked up from their game, bewildered. From the back of the group, Tania observed unnoticed. The guards focused completely on the weapons now pointed at them. After a brief exchange of glances, they placed their weapons in the offered bag and slumped back, waiting.

“Show me the duty roster,” the leader said.

One of the guards cautiously picked up a clipboard from the desk and handed it over.

The cleaner did not so much as glance at it. Instead he passed it over his shoulder to another in the group. His attention never left the two confused sentries. “Access cards.”

The men hesitated, if only for an instant, before producing their key cards. These, and the clipboard, made their way back to Tania. She glanced at them and flashed a quick nod at the leader of their mutinous party. She realized she had forgotten his name.

The guards waited, confused.

“Where are your quarters?” the leader asked.

One of the guards said, “Green fifteen.”

“Green seventeen,” said the other.

“Lead the way.” Four of the supposed janitors followed as the two guards stood and shuffled toward their rooms. The other cleaners took positions around the security desk, pretending to do their jobs.

Time for Tania to play her part. Without a word, she turned and ran along the upward-curving hallway. After a few hundred meters she came upon another large cleaning crew milling about the door to the main computer lab, which had been propped open with a black plastic bucket.

Tania acknowledged them with a flashed thumbs-up and moved through the open door without breaking stride.

Inside the lab, she took a sharp right and angled toward a pair of double doors marked
Security Personnel Only
.

Karl waited there. She showed him the keys, flashing a smile, hoping it conveyed confidence. In truth, she felt nothing but dread at what they were doing.

“Good work,” Karl said. “Any problems?”

“They cooperated. I didn’t have to talk to them.”

A loud
clack
emanated from the lock as she swiped the card through the reader.

“No one enters,” Karl said to the crew at the main door. Then he led Tania inside the Anchor Station security control room.

She went immediately to a panel of monitors, swiped the card again, and tapped the screen until they were looking at Red Level. The cargo dock.

Karl stood next to her, and together they watched the second phase of their plan unfold.

On the screen, a maintenance crew mingled with four security guards. Tania replayed their planned story in her mind. The workers would tell the guards on duty that they were being punished for a well-intentioned but poorly executed prank against their boss. Their penalty: perform a full inspection of all climbers in dock, and check all the airlock doors for leakage. The guards laughed and waved them in.

Play on the universal disdain for bureaucrats, Karl had said.

Brilliant,
Tania thought.

Fully inside the docking area, the disguised workers floated into positions around the laughing guards. Red Level duty was considered a “short straw” security post, unlike the two slackers Tania’s group had encountered. These guards would be younger and prone to fight back. Karl’s words, and right again.

A melee erupted on the screen; a clumsy battle in the weightless environment. One guard had the sense to turn and push himself, flying toward an alarm panel ten meters away. No one gave chase.

The guard reached the lever and pulled it. And pulled it again.

“So predictable,” Karl said, tapping away on the adjacent monitor.

Tania watched as the man turned back to the fight. The other guards were clearly losing. And now three workers fanned out to take on this last. Tania held her breath. Weapons were drawn, and the idea of more bloodshed on the station terrified her.

Thinking better of his choice, the remaining guard let go of his weapon and raised his hands. The gun drifted away, and Tania breathed a sigh of relief.

Within a minute the guards were bound and gagged. According to the plan they would be locked in one of the offices on Purple Level, pending further instructions.

“It’s time, Miss Sharma,” Karl said.

Tania hesitated. “Can’t you do it?”

Karl gave her a gentle pat on the arm. “I clean toilets,” he said, “as far as these people know. A voice of authority is critical now. A familiar voice.”

She nodded. He was right, but it did not make this easier. “This is all happening so fast,” she said, watching the guards on the monitor get escorted offscreen.

“Neil has a plan,” Karl replied. “We’ve got to trust it.”

Tania wondered if Neil had really thought all this through. More than anything, she wanted to speak with him.
No,
she thought. More than anything she wanted to get back to her research and have no further part in activities like this.

Instead she would have to speak to the entire station. With trepidation, she picked up the microphone.

“Attention please. This is Dr. Tania Sharma. Due to an increasingly dire rift that has formed within the Orbital Council, I’ve been asked by Neil Platz to take control of the security situation on Anchor. Be assured I take no pleasure in this act. However, after a violent and unprovoked attack on Platz Station yesterday, I felt action was necessary to ensure the safety of everyone here. I have Neil’s full blessings in this matter.

“Security personnel have been temporarily relieved of duty, due to their association with Alex Warthen, who ordered the attack on Platz Station.”

“When the differences within the council are resolved, the situation will return to normal. Until then, Neil has appointed me director of Anchor Station. I ask that you go about your normal duties. The station is supplied with ample food, water, and air.

“It saddens me to inform you that external communications have been temporarily suspended. I know many of you have family elsewhere in orbit. I promise you this will be reversed as soon this crisis is resolved.

“I’ve called a meeting at ten this morning with all department heads so I can answer questions and explain the situation in greater detail. Please direct your concerns to them. Thank you for listening.”

Tania turned off the microphone and buried her head in her hands.

“You did fine,” Karl said.

“It won’t matter,” Tania said through her hands, “if Neil doesn’t resolve this soon.”

The important part done, Karl set to doling out specific orders to the rest of his group. “I need to think,” Tania said, and wandered to the back of the lab.