The Darwin Elevator (54 page)

Larsen spoke in a low voice. “Something wrong?”

“Maybe. Have you got a wireless?”

“In the office.”

“I want this hall sealed off. Ay-sap.”

Larsen hesitated. “Shit,” the captain said aloud. Too loud.

“What?”

“Forgot to update the water distribution orders,” Larsen said.

Weak acting job,
Blackfield thought. “So what?”

“A real bitch to fix once the climbers leave. We’d better take care of it.”

Russell sighed. “Run on ahead. I’m exhausted. Meet you there.” Russell snapped at two of his guards who were close behind. “You and you, go with him.” They both nodded.

Larsen jogged ahead, the two soldiers falling in with him. Russell waited until they were out of sight.

He slowed to a stop, turned to the one remaining guard on his right. “Soldier, your boot is untied.” Russell gave a deliberately exaggerated nod toward the floor.

“Sorry, sir,” the guard said. The man took his time, pretending to tie the shoe.

At last, competence.
Russell leaned against a support beam on the wall, pushing his hands and the pistol into his jacket pockets.

He strained his ears. Beneath his own breathing, the fidgeting soldier, and the constant vibrating drone of the air processors, he heard the sound again. The barest whisper of metal scraping metal, from behind the kneeling guard.

Russell removed the loaded gun from his pocket and licked his lips. He would bring his wrath down upon this ghost—

He felt strong hands grab his ankles, and yank.
Hard
. At the same instant something big hit him square in the back—a shoulder. He nearly lost the gun as his hands instinctively shot out to brace his fall. Too slow. His chin cracked on the tile floor.

He caught a brief glimpse of his lone escort. The guard also lay on his stomach, a shout forming on his lips as he disappeared into an open vent behind.

Russell rolled onto his back as he felt himself yanked toward the opposite wall. He caught a glimpse of blond hair in the darkness in front of him.

Russell raised his weapon and pulled the trigger.

Chapter Forty-five

Gateway Station

16.FEB.2283

The bullet missed a centimeter to the left, as he intended. A warning shot, and damn close at that.

“Enough,” Russell said. “The next one is through your eye.”

The woman stopped pulling his legs. Her grip relaxed.

Over his shoulder he yelled, “You too, or your friend here dies!” The commotion behind him ended abruptly.

Russell scooted out from the ventilation shaft and rose to one knee. “Hands where I can see them,” he said. “Now! Both of you!”

A pair of hands protruded from the darkness. Then another, from the opposite side.

The guard who had waited with Russell, and performed such an impressive acting job, crawled away from the opening and stood, somewhat unsteady.

Russell kept his gun trained on the blonde. He looked at the dazed guard and jerked his head toward the other vent. The man got the hint, collected his machine gun, and pointed it at the opening.

“Let’s come out of there,” Russell said. “Take your sweet time. I’m in a patient mood.”

The woman emerged from the vent. Tall, intimidating. The recognition did not take long.

“We meet again,” Russell said, craning his neck to face her. “Hardly recognized you with your clothes on.”

She stared back at him, eyes full of simmering rage, and kept her mouth shut.

“Who’s your friend?” He reached out and removed a pistol from her belt, then tossed it down the hallway. “Disarm her, too,” he said to the guard.

“My name is Kelly Adelaide,” the other woman said.

Her voice had a flippant tone that Russell hated the instant he heard it. He fought the urge to shoot her right then.

A sound caught his attention: the sound of running men. Within seconds Larsen and the other guards joined him.

“Your ghosts, Captain,” Russell said.

“Nicely done.” He breathed hard from the run. “What are your orders? Shall I take them to the brig?”

A thrill coursed through Russell at the word
orders
. Maybe Larsen would fall in line after all. “We all know that’s not good enough,” he said. “I’ll bring them with me, and show them some Nightcliff hospitality.”

Aboard his climber, Russell made sure the women had been properly bound. His men had been a bit too eager, perhaps—they looked like a pair of mummies.

Natalie sat alone by the far wall, strapped into a seat, as far away from the prisoners as possible. Her face bore a look of revulsion. Russell thought about chastising her for that, but he still had work to do.

He floated up to the second-level compartment, where the climber’s lone terminal resided, and punched in the code for Nightcliff’s control room.

“Put Osmak on the line,” he said to the person who answered. “I’ll wait. Be quick about it.”

“Quick” left a lot to interpretation, he realized as he sat waiting. A few minutes passed before he finally felt the climber jerk and heard the hum of the grip apparatus as it began to propel itself along the Elevator cord.

Earthbound
. An expedition to Africa. He smiled. He could see it already, standing there in the tall grass, arms folded across his chest and a welcoming grin on his face. Zane Platz, the bumbling fool, staggering out of his climber into the bright sun and staring straight into the muzzle of a machine gun.

“Osmak,” came a voice from the terminal.

Russell had watched the fellow with some amusement over the years, allowing his little smuggling operation. As long as it didn’t get too ambitious, everyone could benefit in their own way. That is, until two days ago. Russell let the hammer fall. He needed the man’s contacts. “How goes the planning?”

When they’d talked the day before, Russell had given specific, ambitious orders, under threat of torturous death: “Find me ten aircraft, at least, that can travel as far as Africa with minimal cargo,” he had said. “Environment suits for fifty men. Survival supplies for a few days.” He told Kip that he didn’t care whom he had to pull in, or what threats he had to make. “Just get it done,” he had told him.

Kip Osmak cleared his throat loudly. “We’ll be ready, Mr. Blackfield.”

“Excellent.”

“You, um …”

“What is it?”

“The scavenger crews aren’t flying since the raid. I’m not sure how to—”

“There’s no time to deal with them. Contact Grillo, he has enough planes.” Planes, and ambition. The slumlord had been trying to earn Russell’s favor for months. Time to see just how deep his ambition ran.

Chapter Forty-six

Approaching Anchor Station

17.FEB.2283

Spaceflight, Skyler discovered, was not very exciting.

After leaving Gateway he drifted a few hundred meters away from the station, aligned himself with the Elevator cord, and fired the thrusters until he’d reached a decent cruising speed. His gut wanted to push the little ship faster, but he knew he’d need fuel to slow down at the other end, and he didn’t want to risk overshooting the station and spending the rest of his life drifting out into space. A life that would last a week, according to the readout that showed his air supply status.

He made only a few small course corrections during the flight, in order to avoid a collision with the much larger farm platforms clustered in groups at various intervals along the cord. He’d even slept a bit, and combined with the rations he found below the seat, he felt refreshed and alert when Anchor Station finally loomed ahead. He turned around and decelerated.

The state of affairs within the station was a total mystery. Blackfield had left, that much Skyler knew. For a time, during the trip, he had debated removing his Nightcliff uniform, in case the local station staff was back in control. He nixed the idea when he realized he had nothing else to wear. Wrinkling his nose, Skyler realized clean clothes should be near the top of his list once inside.

Feeling more confident with the controls of the tiny ship, he used the maneuvering thrusters to push out farther from the massive rotating rings. The small craft drifted toward the ring at the middle. He noticed there were large gaps between the center ring and those above and below it, and he quickly realized why.

The Darwin Elevator ended here. Surrounded by the slowly rotating central ring of the station, he could see, were the remnants of the Builders’ ship, at the very tip. He’d seen pictures, everyone had, but the sight still awed him.

He allowed himself a moment to take in the spectacular view.

The Builders’ ship, resting there like a fossil, unsettled him. What purpose had been served, sending a craft across the vast emptiness to build a space elevator? Had they picked Earth specifically, or was it blind luck? He doubted anyone would ever know.

Earth loomed out his port-side window, gently spinning in all her grandeur. The sight calmed him.

He focused, scanning the station rings for docking ports or cargo bays. The ring closest to Earth had a port, of course, but Skyler guessed it would be heavily guarded.

The uppermost ring also appeared to have a cargo bay, too, but that level sat out beyond the end of the Elevator’s cord, and thus probably never received traffic at all. He wondered if it even functioned as a result, and he decided to keep looking.

The level immediately below the central ring was the only other choice. He spotted a pair of cargo doors on the side of the inner hub. Skyler took a long breath, oriented his craft, and pulsed the thrusters, wondering how he would open it.

Fifty meters from the station, a panel lit up on the cockpit window, marking the door and offering docking options.

“How kind of you,” Skyler said. He tapped the option for manual door override, which required a secondary confirmation. Once done, he sat back and watched as the computer handled everything.

The door slid open in silent welcome. His craft eased inside at a precise, slow pace, spinning to face out toward space at the last possible second.

A backward-view image appeared on a panel below his window. Skyler let out his breath at the sight of an empty bay.

The ship halted with perfect smoothness, in the far corner of the small bay. Skyler waited for the lights on each side of the bay door to turn green before unbuckling himself and switching off the small craft.

He gulped the last of the water and ate a Preservall packet of applesauce mixed with some kind of grain. It tasted like air. Then he sat there for a long minute, eyes closed. If anyone came to investigate the cargo door opening, he would say he’d been on the verge of a joyride but had thought better of it.

No one came. Skyler crawled out of the repair ship and smoothed the wrinkles from his clothes. He ran a hand through his hair before placing the Nightcliff helmet back on. Then he shook the lethargy from his limbs. In the back of the ship’s small cockpit a sealed container held his urine and excrement from the flight, the only real evidence he’d been in there for so long. He debated finding a place to stash it, or simply venting the entire bay, to cover up his use of the ship. The idea the ship would be searched that thoroughly seemed absurd, so he left it there and exited the bay.

From the start, Anchor Station felt decidedly more modern than Gateway. Skyler guessed it had been built from a careful plan, not haphazardly like the lowest station. He floated, then climbed, down the tunnel that led to the outer section of the ring he’d entered. Gravity, at least the illusion of it, was a welcome sensation after two weightless days inside the tiny repair craft.

Skyler stepped off the ladder onto a floor of forest-green tiles.

“Who the hell are you?”

He turned at the voice, his heart racing. A Nightcliff guard stood just a few meters away.

“Nera,” Skyler said. “Who the hell are
you
?”

“You with the relief squad?”

Skyler took the opening like a surprise birthday gift, and nodded. “I was told to patrol here.”

The man shifted on his feet, eyes narrow now. “Who told you that?”

Careful now
. “Probably just a mix-up.”

“Well,” the guard said, “I don’t need any help. Go get a different assignment.”

“Will do. Um, which way back?”

The guard sighed, and jerked his head to Skyler’s right.

“You have
no
special skills?”

Skyler stood in the security office on a level with green floors, in front of the man Russell Blackfield had placed in charge. “I always complete my patrols on time,” Skyler said.

“Whoop-dee-effin’-do.” The man threw his pen down and ran a sweaty hand over his long face. “Some post this is, the ass end of the ladder with a bunch of idiots.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

“Yes, sir.”

The man leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. “Well … go patrol then, since you’re so punctual at it. Pick a level; they’re all understaffed even with you newcomers.”

“Anywhere?”

“Except White Level; I don’t need anyone else there. Everybody wants to see the whatever-the-fuck.”

Skyler had seen a map of the station, briefly, in the hall outside, but he had no idea where Tania would be. He needed to find a local who could tell him. “Okay. Which one has the cafeteria?”

“Jesus,” the man said. “I’m surrounded by lazy morons.” He punched the keys of the terminal on the desk. Skyler suspected the man had no idea how to use it. “You can eat when everyone else does. Go patrol Black Level, as far away from me as possible. One rule, though. Blackfield said nobody touches the scientist named Sharma. He’s got ‘dibs.’ Christ. Whatever, just keep away from her. You feel any
urge
that way, go to the monitoring room. They’ve got a vid of her in the shower.”

She’s here, at least there’s that
. Skyler didn’t want to think about the last part. He fought an urge to strangle the man. “Yes, sir.”

“The next bloke who walks in here better know how to fix a goddamn terminal.”

Skyler saluted, a motion that went unnoticed, and marched from the room.