The Exodus Towers #1

27.APR.2283

AT THE RESERVOIR Skyler decided to ditch the bike.

Rain had begun to fall in large, irregular drops and when the paved portion of the road ended he found that even the knobby tires on the motorcycle had trouble keeping their grip. Worse, tall grass choked the land around the square, man-made lake.

He slowed enough to keep from killing himself, and upon reaching the lake he dismounted and sought a dry place for the motorcycle. A worthy candidate came in the form of an office behind the deserted purification facility, and Skyler tucked the bike inside, harboring selfish hope that it might still be here the next time he needed it. The colony, being populated entirely of Orbitals, had a strong “community property” bent. Teams of technicians and scientists worked out here frequently, trying to get the machinery back online. After two months, the colony still had no way to purify large quantities of water, a situation now at the top of the priority list.

He set the motorcycle’s key on top of the back tire, gave the machine one more appreciative look, and left. Outside again, he traced a path around the water’s edge. Swelled by months of near-constant rainfall, the water nevertheless gave Skyler pause. If he stuck his arm in up to the elbow, he doubted he’d be able to see his fingers in the greenish brown murk.

At the far side of the lake, he turned north and trudged across the wide field that buffered the water from the rainforest. Rain began to fall in a steady thrum. Skyler stopped in the tall grass and knelt. He’d taken to keeping a wide-brimmed bushman’s hat on his back, and flipped it up onto his head. The dark brown leather reeked when wet, but it kept the rain at bay.

The reservoir, despite being less than a kilometer outside the city, was completely surrounded by thick rainforest. Belém’s eastern edge transitioned from slum to forest so abruptly that Skyler had been initially reminded of Aura’s Edge in Darwin. On one side dense slums and concrete buildings were packed in with a density that rivaled the Maze. Walk a few paces east across a street or creek and the rainforest took over. He guessed some sort of conservation law had been in place here before the disease came, designed to protect the resource that brought in wealthy would-be adventurers from everywhere else. Unlike many cities, Belém had grown up instead of out.

From his position, Skyler heard no choir. The mild storm, thwacking against both his hat and the endless green canopy, would likely cover up any such sound, if it even existed. He had his doubts. More likely the missing colonists all ate the same tainted food.

A thorough scan of the horizon produced no hint of an aura tower above the treetops. This came as no surprise, as the mobile work crews were usually assigned the smaller towers, the assumption being that the tall towers were “better” and thus more valuable. Skyler knew of no evidence for this, but he had long given up arguing such trivial points.

He moved on. A perimeter road, almost consumed by the regrowth, marked the border between the clearing and the imposing tree line. A crude barricade, less than half complete, was being erected along the meter-wide path, more to keep local wildlife out than subhumans. Skyler walked to the endpoint of the improvised fence and took in the surroundings. The work had stopped at a sharp corner in the perimeter, and from there a wider dirt road forked off and plunged straight into the dark heart of the rainforest. The canopy stretched over the trail from one side to the other, forming a natural tunnel filled with weak green light. The ceiling of broad leaves also served to keep the dirt below mostly dry.

Dry enough to still hold evidence of an aura tower’s passage, at least.

Despite being small, the aura tower still left a wide, smooth trail in the muddy path. Though the towers seemed to float above the ground when they moved, the “cushion” field they created still smoothed out the rougher parts of the ground beneath. A clean series of footprints trailed in the wake, spaced at a walking pace. Skyler concluded that the missing team must have been calm and in control when they left. The accepted practice for moving with an aura tower was to keep one person on each side of it, ready to nudge it should the thing start to drift. Once in motion the towers would keep moving, and thus they were prone to stray if not kept under constant watch. But they could just as easily become tangled or stalled if they collided with anything of significant bulk or height, thus the need for spotters ahead and behind the alien objects.

Beyond the four guides, anyone else in a party tended to stay out in front, ready to warn the others if a course correction might be needed.

In a low voice, Skyler spoke into his radio. “I’m at the point where they left the perimeter. Looks like they went into the rainforest here. Going to follow.”

A few seconds passed before Karl replied. “You made good time. Any sign of the alleged choir?”

“Negative,” Skyler said. “But I did pass a simply lovely string quartet.”

“Keep in touch, you prick,” Karl replied, chuckling.

Skyler clung to the edge of the path, where a carpet of fallen leaves served to keep his boots from sinking into the hungry organic mulch beneath. Flush tree limbs made a cathedral ceiling above him, thick with flowers and birds and strangler vines. Emerald-tinged light filtered down in tiny patches, and the air smelled of fresh rain mixed with old decay.

The path had once been a narrow road. Chunks of blacktop poked through in places where the relentless rain had eroded everything to the hardpan and beyond. Mother Nature had already won this war, and Skyler thought even the hint of a path here would disappear in another five years, giving way to ferns, roots, and strangler vines.

Ahead, as the road crested at a low rise, Skyler saw a break in the canopy and a wisp of rising smoke. The acrid smell of flame hit him an instant later.

A memory tugged at him of his descent on that first climber down to Belém. There’d been smoke northeast of the Elevator base, debris from the climber destroyed in orbit earlier that same day. But that had been months ago, and rain had fallen almost daily since. Surely those flames had long since been banished.

Campfire then?

He readied his new weapon, a compact machine gun scavenged a week earlier from the basement of a Belém police station. Skyler left the path and worked his way parallel to it through the forest. Years of wet dead leaves softened his footfalls. Even just a few meters off the road the forest became dark as night. Almost no vegetation grew this low to the rainforest floor, with so little sunlight available, but vines hanging from the branches above still forced him to take a winding path. It took every ounce of self-control to keep his machete sheathed against his leg instead of slicing back and forth across the tangle all around him. Such a sound carried, even in rain this heavy.

At the crest of the rise he paused to study the scene before him.

The path made its way through a ruined village, long succumbed to the unchecked forest growth. Vines as thick as Skyler’s arm snaked their way through every opening. Tall grass sprouted in damp clumps from the fractured soil.

A body lay just inside the perimeter of the small town, facedown in a puddle of brown water. Skyler dropped to a crouch and brought up the rifle scope to his eye, clicking off the holographic target in order to clear the view.

Other than the body, the village looked empty. He could not see the far side through the misty rain, however. Near the corpse, white smoke rose from the wall of a tiny wooden shack. Flames licked out from an object lodged there, too small to discern at this distance.

He let a moment pass before creeping down the rise. A backpack lay discarded just off the path, ten meters from the body. Stepping over it, Skyler raised his gun again and crept forward.

It was a woman. A colonist, from the clothing. He could see the rash on her neck clear enough, but walked to her anyway and used his boot to nudge her onto her back.

Facedown in the dirt, that’s no way to go. Skyler kept walking.

The meager fire came from a flare. It struggled to burn the moldy, rotten wood of the structure. Someone had fired the thing straight into the building, either in self-defense or a botched attempt to launch it into the sky above. The glowing fuel within the yellow shell sizzled under the falling water.

Two more bodies lay near the center of town. One still held the ankle of the other in a viselike grip, and both had the rash. SUBS affected people differently, and a propensity for either fight or flight often manifested first. In Skyler’s experience, the fighters survived more often—assuming their brain wasn’t crushed by the infection.

“That’s three,” he muttered to himself, glancing left and right. “Where are the rest of you?”

He found the aura tower on the far side of town, resting against a low building of rotten wooden walls. Some planks had snapped where the tower’s hard edge collided, and only vines now held the flimsy single-room structure together.

The stillness of the tower’s idle state gave Skyler a chill. He wondered if the thing would move an inch, or look any different, should a billion years pass. In the wan light he could just make out the strange, overlapping geometric patterns that laced the surface of the alien object.

He stepped around a Land Rover parked near the small home. Weeds and wild grasses burst through every seam in the rusted body panels. A power coupling was still attached to the recharge port on the rear flank, though the cord had all but disintegrated.

Someone—something—nearby coughed.

Skyler jumped at the hacking noise, which carried through the static of rainfall like glass shattering in a silent room. The sound came from within the damaged hovel, still five meters away behind the hulking form of the aura tower.

Without a second thought he clicked his holo-sight back on and brought his newfound gun to a ready position. Stepping sideways, he moved in a slow arc around the crumbling shack.

“Someone there?” he called.

Another cough came in response, muffled this time.

“You can come out, I won’t hurt you.”

In a span of five seconds, the rain dwindled to a sprinkle, and then stopped completely. Only residual runoff could be heard, clacking against the forest floor from the lush canopy that ringed the village.

Still moving sideways, Skyler continued his curved path until he’d come around to the back of the building. There were gaps, once filled by a door and window, now rimmed with pale yellow vines, like maggots clogging a wound. The room within remained shrouded in total darkness.

Skyler paused long enough to click on the flashlight slung below the barrel of his weapon. The strong LED beam had limited impact outdoors, but it was enough to cast the interior in pale white.

Having already announced himself, Skyler strode to the window frame with little concern for the plodding, crunching sounds his boots made.

Two meters from the opening the creature leapt out at him.

He fired on pure instinct, the bullet leaving a coin-sized red splotch in the center of the being’s forehead. Only after it slumped to the ground did he allow himself to exhale. He quelled the urge to put another round in its back, and swept the room with his light instead.

Another body slumped against the wall. A man, his throat torn out in a bloody mess that made Skyler’s stomach clench. No rash marked the poor bastard’s neck, which meant he’d managed to stick close enough to the aura tower to survive, for a time. Too bad his comrades hadn’t.

Five of the six accounted for, Skyler backed away from the building and walked a wide circle around the edge of town. Made up of perhaps fifty small structures, the tiny village turned out to be otherwise devoid of life. He crisscrossed from building to building and found nothing larger than a two-meter-long snake, which he happily left alone.

Satisfied there was no immediate danger, he returned to the aura tower and sat near it. A full hour passed in quiet solitude. He ate some dried mango, a staple of the fledgling Belém colony, and a Preservall-packaged granola bar, something he’d pocketed earlier in the day. It tasted like almonds and honey, not bad if he ignored the chemical aftertaste the preservative gave. Two long draws from his canteen washed down the midmorning meal, and he took his time refilling the stainless steel bottle with rainwater dripping from a plate-sized leaf, allowing the carbon filter in the canteen’s lid ample opportunity to purify the cool liquid.

The sixth member of the doomed group never materialized. Skyler had no trouble imagining the man or woman lying dead in the tangled undergrowth, vibrant rash proudly worn on their once-human neck. Or maybe they were a survivor, doomed to a life as a subhuman, and even now were stumbling through the rainforest in search of a meal or shelter like any other primal creature.

Whatever their fate, he doubted they would ever be found. Certainly they posed no danger to him anymore.

He lifted his radio and spoke. “Karl, Skyler. I’ve got bad news.”

When Karl responded, Skyler painted the scene for him. He knew the stoic man well enough not to sugarcoat any of it.

“The Mercy Road team brought back a bunch of stretchers,” Karl said, sounding numb. “We’ll send a team back out there tomorrow to recover the bodies and their gear.”

“Suits me,” Skyler said.

“Can you bring the tower in?”

“Sure,” he said. “See you soon. Over.”

Ten minutes later, as he packed his gear in the shadow of the aura tower, Skyler heard singing.

Not singing, he decided.

No, this was a chorus of primal humming. He knew the sound well enough: subhumans, and a lot of them. The sound was distant still, coming from the northeast, by his estimation.

He listened for a full minute. The voices were just on the edge of his hearing, fading in and out. There was, he realized with dread, an unmistakable rhythm to their hum.

“Perfect,” he said to himself. “Every time I figure you bastards out, you change again.”

Kneeling in the mud, Skyler set to work disconnecting the flashlight attached to the barrel of his gun. He slipped it into his backpack and pulled out a plastic green case. Willing himself to remain calm, he thumbed the latches and opened the hard-shell box, revealing a grenade launcher within.

He’d yet to fire it. The weapon had been recovered the same day he found the gun itself, in the munitions locker of a Belém police precinct. Normally he would test any equipment before taking it into a dangerous situation, but with only five rounds of ammunition, he’d erred on the side of conservation. The flashlight would do him little good in the outdoors, though, so he took the risk and slid the launcher module into position until it snapped into place.

Skyler slipped his backpack on again and pulled the shoulder straps as tight as they would go. Satisfied it wouldn’t jostle about, he focused on the sound and began to walk toward it.
Melville Station

27.APR.2283

“REMOVE YOUR CLOTHING,” Zane Platz said, “and lie facedown on the floor. Please.”

Tania held her breath and watched, uncomfortable with the order but unable to deny the wisdom of it.

The new arrivals glanced at one another. Their surprise and discomfort at the order came through the video feed with surprising clarity, by way of nothing more than their body language. Some of them must have recognized Zane’s voice, too, which only added to their confusion.

Tim suggested the strip-down tactic after the first batch of colonists came aboard, one month earlier. With them, the order had been to simply sit on their hands and wait to be searched. The process took far too long, she thought. More important, after studying the video they’d found a correlation between those who obeyed eagerly and those who were spies.

A request to remove one’s clothing, Tim suggested, would be even more telling. The idea surprised her coming from the young man. Or, man, rather. She’d learned over dinner recently that he was a year older than her, despite his boyish looks. It was the freckles, Tania decided, that seemed to radiate youthful innocence.

One of the forty individuals began to disrobe without hesitation.

Zane put one hand over the microphone. “Spy,” he said.

“Yup,” Tim replied from behind. “That one, too,” he added, pointing. “Too eager to comply. See?”

Tania grinned and shook her head at the same time, as if she’d lost a friendly bet. She wrote quick descriptions of the two on a pad of graph paper, marking their rough position within the larger group. By the time she looked back up, all of the candidates sent from Darwin were in the process of undressing. A few already lay naked on the deck of the curved room. Only then did she find she could exhale.

That first moment, when the fresh arrivals walked out of their capsule, terrified her. Up until that instant, all she could picture was a stream of well-armed Nightcliff guards rushing forth from the makeshift shuttle. Or worse, no one at all, but instead a bomb with a red ribbon tied around it. Russell Blackfield is toying with us, she thought. He needs the food, yes, but not enough to set aside his wounded ego. Sooner or later he will try something, something more ambitious than a handful of informants. At least this second shipment contained no overt surprises.

There was still the matter of interviewing the newcomers. They’d be photographed, too, the images sent up to Black Level and down to Camp Exodus so existing members could look for people they recognize, vouch for them. She promised herself she would apologize personally to all the legitimate colonists. Tim’s technique for rooting out spies might be effective, but she wanted to make sure the others realized they were leaving indignity like this behind.

Of course, she had more to apologize for. Leaving in the first place, taking the farms. The innocent scavengers and crews who’d died when the farm platform came down in Africa. These crimes weighed on her, as if she bore the corpse of her former self on her back.

“Are we ready?” Zane asked.

“Ready,” Tim said.

“I’d feel better if Skyler were here,” Tania said. “We’re not as good at judging people.”

“There’s too much to do down below.…”

“I know, I’m just …” Tania let the sentence die and handed Tim the graph paper. “Take the team in, and be careful.”

He took it and offered her a reassuring grin. Then he vanished through the door of the tiny security office.

A section of hallway one level over had been designated for “colonist processing,” if for no other reason than it had lockable doors at both ends, and an access tube up to the cargo bay. Tania felt strongly that no one should be in direct contact with an arriving group until they could ascertain that none carried concealed weapons. As with the first shipment a month ago, Russell appeared to be exercising some restraint once again, if the nude bodies on the monitor said anything.

“We’re at the door.” Tim’s voice, over the handheld.

Zane replied, “It’s still clear, son.”

On the screen, the door at the far end of the room opened, and Tim entered with the processing team, a group that consisted of seven other fighters trained by Kelly Adelaide months earlier. Most had either a military or law enforcement background.

The process went smoothly. The fresh colonists were escorted in groups to cabins that lined the hub hallway beyond. Each would be interviewed later, the spies or miscreants sent back at the earliest opportunity.

Soon only the two men marked as spies remained. Tim returned with four of his team in tow. The suspected Nightcliff agents’ bags and clothing were searched, and then Tim gave them a short speech. “Sorry, going to need to hold you two for a while.”

Slumped shoulders and heads hung low, the two men walked between an escort of guards toward their improvised cells. They weren’t stupid.

“I wonder how many more we’ll find,” Zane said, “in the interviews.”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Tania replied, standing. She dreaded this but saw no other choice. So much work had yet to be done on the ground, not to mention the myriad of tasks being neglected on the farm platforms.

Before she reached the door of the security office, the comm activated and Karl’s face appeared.

“I’ll take it,” Zane said. “Hello, Karl.”

“Zane. Is Tania around?”

“Right here,” Tania said, stepping back into the room. “How about some good news?”

Karl grimaced.

Oh, hell, Tania thought.

“Just talked to Skyler. He found the reservoir team. Looks like they let their tower get away from them somehow. All are lost, I’m afraid.”

Tania slumped into her seat, her eyes never leaving Karl’s sad, exhausted face. “Go ahead without me, Zane,” she said flatly. Her focus went to Karl. “Tell me what happened.”

She closed her eyes as Karl recounted the story. Memories of Hawaii, of battle and the crumpled bodies that resulted, helped her picture what Skyler found out there. More than anything, she wished a role could be found for him here, in orbit, next to her.

His immunity still meant too much, though. Despite the aura towers, Skyler’s unique attribute and his ability to find things made him ideal for scouting and mapping the city. If anything he could help even more down below by training others to scavenge. They had two years, a bit less now, to get Camp Exodus running smoothly before the Builders’ schedule indicated another event would occur.

Schedule. The concept still boggled her mind, even though the math worked. For reasons she figured she’d never understand, each Builder event arrived after a specific fraction of time from the last. First the Darwin Elevator arrives, then almost twelve years pass and the SUBS virus begins its relentless march across the planet from somewhere in Africa. A bit less than five years later Tania spots the next ship, the one that brought the Belém Elevator and the strange aura towers. Forty-two percent of the time elapsed between prior events. If that pattern holds, in just about two years something new will happen.

She shuddered. On most days two years seemed like a luxurious amount of time to her. Sometimes, though, it seemed like a blink of the eye. She had to resist the urge not to rush things. They’d only get one chance to start over, of that she felt sure.

“How’s it going up there?” Karl asked, breaking her train of thought.

She sighed. “So far, so good. Only a few obvious spies this time.”

“A welcome change, I guess.”

“Tim is processing them now. Anyone able-bodied we will send down to you as soon as we can.”

Karl nodded. “I do have some good news. We’ve got a climber loaded with a partial shipment of water and air. The crane just hoisted it onto the cord, and it should begin the climb in about ten minutes.”

“That is great to hear,” Tania said. Other than a few test shipments, no significant delivery of air or water had occurred since they arrived above Belém. She’d already moved all noncritical personnel down to the surface and closed off empty portions of the station. Recyclers were few and far between on Platz-built stations, as the design specifications relied heavily on the promise of resupply via the space elevator. “Cheaper that way,” Neil used to say.

Karl glanced at the watch on his wrist. “Twelve hours, give or take, and you’ll have it.”

Under any other circumstances, Tania would have called for celebration. Her mind returned to the dead colonists instead. “About the lost team. We’re not going to … leave them out there, are we?”

“I’ll take a group out there tomorrow,” Karl said. “Recover the bodies and give them a proper burial.”

“And the tower?”

A flash of disapproval crossed his face. “Relax. Skyler’s handling it,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “The loss is heartbreaking. I shouldn’t be bothering you about the tower. It’s just—”

Karl held up a hand. His attention had shifted away from the camera. She heard a faint noise through the speaker. It sounded like an argument.

“Just a second, Tania, there’s shouting outside.”

“What’s going on?”

Karl stepped away from the camera, out of view. “A sub at the perimeter, maybe? Hold on.”

Her view now consisted of the wall behind Karl’s seat. The corner of a map of Belém filled the left side of the screen. She heard a rustling sound and then saw light as Karl opened the door, off camera.

“Who are you people?” Karl barked, his voice faint but unmistakable.

A second later a form flashed across the image: Karl, falling. His shoulder smacked against the table and knocked the camera on its side.

Tania stood, tilting her head to match the angle. “What’s happening? Karl?!”

A gloved hand came into view, straight to the camera.

The image went black.
Belém, Brazil

27.APR.2283

TEN STEPS INTO the rainforest, Skyler came to a steep embankment that dropped two meters down to a narrow stream. Rivulets of water traced miniature caves and waterfalls into the earthen wall. He hopped down and crouched by the water. The rhythmic sound of subhuman humming danced at the edge of his senses, as the dense foliage confused and baffled the noise. He forced himself to pause in order to ascertain the source’s direction and let his eyes readjust to the twilight darkness of the world below the treetops.

Satisfied he had the right vector, Skyler moved ahead. As the sound grew ever louder, he took care to step over any fresh-fallen twig or leaf in his path that might otherwise crack beneath his boot.

The trees here were tall, forming a ceiling above that blocked almost all hint of the sky. Raindrops fell in irregular places as they percolated through the maze of broad leaves and smooth branches. Insects small and large buzzed around his face, an annoyance he’d grown accustomed to since arriving in Belém.

A chill swept over him. With so little sunlight, the air here had a surprising bite. Skyler zipped his vest all the way to the top and did his best to ignore the tingle from his earlobes and nose.

After fifty meters, the chorus of crooning subhumans became unmistakable. The farther Skyler crept, the more voices he estimated were part of the inhuman choir. They came from left, right, and center. After a dozen more steps, a growing fear slowed his pace to a crawl. He’d stepped over countless roots and vines, ducked under as many low branches. Retreat would be slow, should he need to run. Part of him said to go back now, report the subhuman tribe, and come back with twenty armed colonists.

Yet the strange noise pulled him. He couldn’t deny that, and he had to know what the miserable beings were doing out here, in the middle of nowhere, deep in the Amazon rainforest, singing softly in a babble of meaningless sounds.

Skyler slowed further when he came to realize a thick mist enveloped the forest ahead. He thought it might be smoke at first, but no odor accompanied the haze. Against every instinct save curiosity, he took another step. Then another. Before long the still mist surrounded him, and visibility fell to five meters or less.

“Stupid, stupid,” he whispered, even as he took another step.

Individual subhuman voices stood out against the thrum now. The sounds came from the left and right, but not from ahead, he realized. It was as if the beings were formed in a line, and he’d just crossed it. He glanced left and tried to peer through the heavy mist. Just at the edge of his vision he thought he saw a human form, swaying on its feet as if in a trance. To the right he saw the same, or thought he did. The cloud made it hard to trust his eyes.

Only then did it occur to him that there were no trees here. None upright, anyway. Fallen trunks of shattered wood littered the ground around him, some still tucked in the embrace of strangler figs. He stepped around the huge stump of a kapok tree. The smooth, fleshy base ended in a violent mess of splinters. Another nearby had been uprooted completely. The chill he’d felt before vanished, replaced by humid warmth that grew with each step.

The mist cleared slightly, if only for an instant, and Skyler realized he’d walked into a wide ravine with curved walls. The ground beneath him sloped gradually downward.

Not ten steps later a wall of earth loomed ahead of him, and then he saw the mouth of the cave. Or, more aptly, the tunnel, for this huge circular opening was clearly not a natural formation.

Skyler knew then, with sudden certainty, where he was.

Something had crashed here. It didn’t take much imagination to guess what. The proximity to the Elevator, the ring of chanting subhumans lining the site …

He’d found one of Tania’s five mystery shell ships. Of this he had no doubt. The objects had trailed in behind the Belém Elevator’s construction vessel, and then she’d lost track of them. In truth, no one had given the objects much thought since then. Not that he was aware of, anyway.

Swallowing a growing dread, Skyler crept forward, gun constantly sweeping the fog ahead of him until he reached the mouth of the tunnel.

Faced with that black opening, tall as a two-story home, and no backup, Skyler finally stopped. He stood there, caught between the sane choice of returning to get help and the intoxicating urge to see what lay within.

A vision hit him. The colonists, huddled around the comm, a dozen people speaking at once and as many more coming through the speaker, as they debated the proper course of action to explore the crash site. If it even was a crash site. A slew of other theories were offered. Fair or not, the mental image resonated.

“Yeah,” Skyler said to himself, “enough of debate and consensus.”

He set to work on his gun again, taking care to keep noise to a minimum. The grenade launcher came off, the flashlight taking its place once again. Backpack re-slung over his shoulders, he took a few tentative steps into the darkness. He glanced back with each step, waiting until he could see little of the ground outside before turning on the flashlight. The last thing he needed right now was for a slew of subhumans to spot him and come charging in.

Root systems from the trees above the tunnel dangled from the ceiling, charred and gnarled. The air had an overpowering smoke scent to it. Exposed rocks dotted the curved wall of the circular passage, some cleaved in half, signs of slag from the heat of whatever had forged this cavity. Water trailed down the center of the floor, eroding a jagged path into the darkness.

When the trickle of runoff began to widen into a pool, Skyler knew the back of the tunnel loomed. The diameter of the cavity began to shrink as well, and the heat became stifling. Without taking his eyes off the dark passage, he reached and unzipped his vest. Moisture and sweat trickled down his neck and sides.

Two steps later he caught the first hints of a shape in the gloom. The light from his gun struggled to illuminate the form at first, as if it were somehow absorbing the beam. Each step brought more clarity, and Skyler was up to his knees in water when he finally had a clear view.

A shell ship, just as he thought. Perhaps ten meters long, miniature compared to those above Belém and Darwin. It rested on the bottom of the tunnel, a portion of it submerged in the pool of runoff. How the Builders’ vessel had forged this cave so much wider than its own girth, Skyler had no idea.

The tapered end wasn’t quite circular, he realized, but ovoid. The very tip of it folded inward on itself in a sharp beveled edge, not unlike the corners of the aura towers. He stepped to one side, staying behind the hulking black form, to study the length of it. Much of the fuselage lay submerged in the rainwater, obscured by steam where the cold pool met balmy air.

His beam caught a gap in the center of the vessel, as if part of the shell had torn off. The gap spanned three meters left to right and went clear over the top of the vessel.

Knee-high in cold water, Skyler froze up. He dared not draw a breath.

Something lurked within.
Belém, Brazil

27.APR.2283

DESPITE THE INTENSE heat, Skyler shook all over. It took a conscious effort to suck in a breath. His heart raced unchecked.

Contact. My God, like this. Contact.

After a time the shiver abated. His breathing returned to something akin to normal, his hammering heart slowed.

Skyler swallowed. “Hello?” he said. It came out in a croak, and he coughed. “Hello?” he repeated. No response from within the vessel. No movement, either. Yet he thought he heard something. Breathing.

Yes, breathing.

Fighting every instinct he had, Skyler waded forward toward the hole in the ship. He kept to the edge of the tunnel as best he could. The deeper he went into the water, the more the humid mist clinging to its surface obscured his view. Yet he found he couldn’t move any closer to the fuselage of the ship.

The water came halfway up his abdomen before he finally got a clear view inside the hole. A hexagonal pillar rested in the center, perhaps a half-meter high, topped with a myriad of irregular protrusions, the tallest no longer than Skyler’s hand.

The surface of the object resembled the aura towers: matte black with geometric indents layered across. As he took in the sight, the barest hint of red light pulsed within those patterns, tracing impossibly thin lines in a wave across the surface.

Movement caught Skyler’s eye.

At the base of the pillar, something stirred. He took a step back on reflex, and in that small movement lost what little clarity he’d gained by approaching the ship. Mouth dry, eyes itching from the strain, Skyler leaned in toward the ship even as he backed away.

Hands gripped the base of the pillar. Human hands, if only in shape. The skin had been replaced, or covered, in that same black material.

Frozen with pure fear, able only to move his eyes, Skyler glanced along the being’s arms. Near the shoulder the black material became fractured, like broken glass tattooed onto pale skin.

On the neck he saw the subhuman rash.

The creature was on its knees, legs bent all the way, perfectly still. It was naked, most of the body still exposed, pale where grime and bruises didn’t mar the skin. A woman, he realized.

Her face, though, had become partially enveloped by the Builder material. Even as Skyler watched, one of the sub’s ears vanished underneath the material. In the span of ten seconds the other patches of skin still visible on its head were obscured.

The sound of breathing stopped, then.

Skyler stepped back, unable to quell his instincts any longer. His foot slipped on debris hidden below the water’s surface, and he stumbled before righting himself.

The splash he made broke the intense silence.

He heard an alien noise. Like breathing, but coming in sharp bursts. Glancing back to the cavity in the ship, he saw the woman again.

Her head turned, until she faced him. That same red glow rippled across the surface of her alien skin, coalescing where her eyes and mouth should be, before fading.

Skyler turned and fled.

He waded through the water in a panic, until his knees were free of the liquid and he could run. He stumbled twice, landing hard on his elbow once. If it hurt, he had no idea. Every neuron in his brain screamed Run, RUN.

Boots heavy, fluid sloshing with each awkward step, Skyler flew from the tunnel and back into the gray mist outside.

Subhuman wails rose all around him. He had enough sense to ready his weapon, and he surged forward, not wishing to slow down and allow himself to be surrounded.

A human shape formed in the mist ahead. Skyler fired without thinking, and the creature dropped. He did not break stride, even as he heard snarling from left and right.

He dodged shattered stumps and fallen trees, using the angle at which they lay to tell him which way was out. When he reached the stream he leapt across, took a sharp right turn, and followed the water. Skyler had no idea whether he had the direction right. He just ran. Figure it out later.

After a time he chanced a quick glance over his shoulder, then slowed to a stop when he realized he’d outrun them.

“The hell I did,” he muttered. Never in the last five years had he outrun a sub over any significant distance. They stopped short, for some reason. Baffled, he took a knee and waited for five long minutes. When his breathing and heart rate returned to normal, and no subhumans came loping out from the undergrowth, he stood and forced himself to relax.

Suit yourselves, he thought, and started walking. He let his feet guide him where they may, his mind wholly consumed with the image of that … thing … inside the shell ship. Patterns of red light pulsing through the microscopic lines of its skin, converging where its eyes should have been. He replayed the scene over and over, hoping it would become less terrifying. The fact that it didn’t only served to scare him more.

After a few hours of wandering he found himself back at the tiny village where the abandoned aura tower still waited, lodged into the side of a shack. The sun sat low in the western sky, kissing both horizon below and rainclouds above.

Halfway through securing a small home to make camp in, Skyler swore. He’d never reported his findings.

“Karl, come in,” he said after fumbling with the radio. “Hello? I need a team sent out here at dawn; it’s urgent. Full kit. We have a problem. Please acknowledge.”

Silence.

Skyler smacked the radio with his palm, tried again, and found the same result. Either his device had failed, or Karl’s had. He tried a quick search of the dead colonists’ bodies, but if any had carried their radio out here, it had been lost in the confusion of their demise.

He had no other option but to camp here and return at dawn, and went about securing a small outlying building to serve as shelter. Satisfied he wouldn’t be surprised in the night, he ate a quick meal and cocooned himself in a blanket on the gritty tile floor.

Drifting off, beneath the insects, frogs, and other wildlife, Skyler thought he could hear the chanting again. It lulled him to a dreamless sleep.

He woke in a foul mood.

The sun blazed, already well above the horizon. Clouds huddled in angry clumps, scattered evenly across the sky, allowing long periods of sunlight to fall. Not even noon and the day promised uncomfortable heat. At least in Darwin the ocean breeze provided some respite.

After washing his face and swishing the staleness from his mouth, he heated a military-style packaged meal over a small flame. “Pork in rice,” the Aussie army package boasted like a dare. With some hot sauce it might have had enough flavor to excite a taste bud or two, but Skyler ate the mush just the same. Calories were calories, and it sure beat munching on another goddamn mango.

Sweating through breakfast, slapping his neck when insects landed there, Skyler mentally plotted his course. His duty to return the aura tower prevented him from reclaiming his motorcycle, so he saw no need to return via the reservoir and Water Road. Besides, he thought it best to keep the bike secret as long as he could. Instead he decided to take a shorter path to Belém’s edge, then return to camp via the straight and wide city streets, which were somewhat easier to navigate with a giant alien device.

Skyler took some time cleaning up the camp. He found the breakaway colonists’ backpacks and piled them neatly together under an awning. With no way to carry them all, Skyler figured they were safe enough after he draped a parka over them. Next he searched the bodies, finding only a few useful items: a pocketknife, a flashlight, and two compasses. Bloody amateurs. He made a mental note to prescribe a standard kit for any “away team” traveling beyond the established perimeter. The adventure travel store he’d found three weeks back would provide all the gear necessary and could be emptied out with one well-staffed mission.

He tried and failed again to contact Karl with his radio, then dashed the useless thing against a brick wall.

Belatedly he remembered it might be Karl’s radio on the fritz.

By the time he’d dislodged the aura tower and started to guide it back toward the Elevator, Skyler had begun to dread the colony’s reaction to what he’d found. They would probably debate it for a week, if not two.

So it had been with every topic in the last two months. He imagined that even the sighting of an actual Builder would be unlikely to change that.

Back during those first few exciting days he’d pictured himself in lockstep with Tania, working side by side with intelligent, highly motivated scientists and techs. Good people making good decisions, all under a clearly defined goal of building a colony worthy of the price they’d all paid to leave.

Bollocks.

Skyler paused to take a drink of water. The liquid came out warm and tasted of minerals. He twisted the bulky cap back onto his canteen, but the threads didn’t line up. He tried again, gritting his teeth. The cap slipped again, and Skyler threw it in frustration before catching himself. He stood there in the muddy road, breathing evenly and unclenching his fists, until the emotion passed.

“Let it go,” he whispered to himself. “They’re doing the best they can.”

The truth was, most of the colonists in Belém hadn’t asked to leave their previous situation, in orbit around the Darwin Elevator. Tania had taken them when she detached Black Level. There’d been no time to explain, and most thought it was simply a temporary measure to escape the heavy-handed guards of Nightcliff. In the afterglow of their escape, they were seduced by the news of a fresh elevator. Another gift from the Builders.

And then came the aura towers. The scientists were in nirvana, for a time.

Less than two weeks later, the grumbling started. Scratching out an existence was hard enough. Add to that the grueling work of loading climbers to get supplies on the cord before the farms began to fail. With astonishing speed, questions were raised about societal structure. Who put Tania in charge? When will we have an election, a constitution? Who gets to live in orbit? Who is this dirty scavenger from Darwin and why isn’t he out finding us some meat?

Most Orbitals were used to buying their survival.

Rock bottom was reached, in Skyler’s opinion, when the first shuttle load of colonists arrived from Darwin. Tania and the others had really botched this part. Skyler found himself shaking his head even now, two weeks on.

Blackfield sent over an even mix of Cro-Magnon rejects from Nightcliff security and coughing swagmen from some forgotten corner of the Maze. The ones who showed any intelligence at all were so obviously spies that Skyler found himself chuckling about it right in front of them. “Back inside, mate, and give Russell our regards.”

Sam had not been among them, nor Kelly, despite his request to Tania that they be asked for by name. Blackfield claimed he was trying to track them down, and Skyler could practically see the smirk surely on his face while making that claim.

Slogging through the mud and broken concrete, he guided the device roughly in line with the road, fine-tuning its pace until he could walk beside it without exhausting himself. The queer creaking sound made by a moving tower still raised the hairs on his forearms, but he found it somehow comforting. The constantly shifting form of the tower’s base, as it altered its shape to track the ground beneath it, mesmerized him. Informal tests done at base camp implied the towers could deform over and around objects about thirty centimeters high, and climb inclines as steep as twenty degrees. At least, that was the maximum slope they had available to try.

Remarkably, the towers required human contact, the firm press of an ungloved hand, to be set in motion. The implication rattled many in the camp, that the Builders had somehow “keyed” the objects to humans. It meant their actions were specifically targeted at us, and not just a random event. So the theory went, anyway. Skyler thought they were jumping to conclusions, and besides, what difference did it make?

He heard the scream just before impact.

The creature plowed into him and they both went sprawling into the mud of the road, Skyler falling backward, his hands pinned down, gun slung over his shoulder. The subhuman hit him squarely in the abdomen, wrapping strong arms around him. They tumbled and rolled, down the sloped road back toward the village.

Mud filled Skyler’s mouth and nose. He gasped and spat, blinking his eyes. Kicking wildly, he yanked his arms straight upward, freeing them even as he rolled. The tumble ended with Skyler on his back, the sub clawing at him. Skyler threw a blind punch, cuffing the animal on its ear. It held on, so he hit it again, and then once more, before it finally fell away and scrambled for a better position.

Skyler rolled in the opposite direction, using one hand to push himself to a crouch and the other to wipe the mud from his eyes. He cleared his vision enough to see the sub—a woman—bounding toward him again. No time to ready his gun, Skyler dipped his shoulder low and let the creature topple over his back. He jerked upright at the same time, raising his shoulder, sending the creature in a full flip straight into a thorny, gnarled bush.

It shrieked and flailed, which only served to entangle it further.

Skyler spat more mud from his mouth, feeling the grit between his teeth. He brought his gun to bear and unleashed two rounds into the creature’s torso.

A tech from Belém, the clothing implied. The sixth member of the missing team.

“There you are,” Skyler muttered, between gasps. Everyone present and accounted for, finally.

When the creature drew its last breath, Skyler slung his weapon again and washed the mud from his face with water from the canteen. The earthen taste in his mouth took some time to cleanse, ample opportunity to come down from the adrenaline high.