The Darwin Elevator

Chapter Two

Darwin, Australia

12.JAN.2283

Unsure what else to do, Skyler pressed his palm against the ramp control button.

A buzzer sounded from the ceiling, matched by a spinning amber warning light. The bulb flickered as if reminding him to replace it, a task he’d put off many times. Months without a successful mission meant necessities slipped by the wayside. Sorry, old girl, he thought. You deserve better.

Hydraulics below the floor whirred to life, and he stepped back from the ramp as it began to rotate down.

Rainwater from the earlier storm, whipped up by residual thrust from the Melville’s dwindling engines, sprayed in through the opening and lashed across Skyler’s face. He squinted as he wiped the water away with his sleeve.

As the ramp lowered, the sprawling compound of Nightcliff came into view. To Skyler’s left, the Elevator tower rose more than two hundred meters toward a dark purple sky. On any other night a string of climber car beacons would mark the actual Elevator cord, like a vertical strand of holiday lights stretching all the way to space.

But not tonight. With the climbers dark, the thin strand was all but invisible.

Skyler wondered if the stalled cars alone had driven the crowd outside to violence. Perhaps something had led to the shutdown. A spat with the Orbital Council, or striking water haulers. Rumors like that would spread like fire. The whiff of trouble, of a serious change to their already bleak situation, might spur such a desperate, violent action.

A group of tall buildings clustered around the base of the tower, obscuring from view the crater left behind when the cord punctured the earth. Climber vehicles were loaded and queued within the structures, behind massive rolling doors. A series of cranes, each more than fifty meters tall, ringed the area. Here cargo containers were attached to, or detached from, the climbers. Skyler noted an empty climber dangling from one crane. The spiderlike vehicles consisted of a central shaft that housed electric motors, inversion plates, and billions of tiny arms that gripped the incredibly thin cord. Attached to the top and bottom of the shaft were eight scaffold arms where cargo could be attached. A stack of the long steel boxes waited on the asphalt, idle workers huddled nearby.

To his right, toward the ocean-facing wall of the fortress, Skyler saw a jumble of barracks and other support buildings, including the old Platz family mansion, boarded up long ago. Someone told him once that the lavish home now served as storage. Such a waste.

The fortress at Nightcliff had been constructed out of pure necessity, to surround and defend the alien-built Elevator. Why the Builders placed the Elevator here thirty-two years ago, no one knew. Few cared anymore. The aliens never presented themselves, never said hello. No explanation, just an automated construction vessel settling into orbit and firing its thread to the ground like a fishing line.

Skyler subscribed to the “blind luck” theory. The cord had come down out of the sky, led by a dart-shaped black mass, and implanted itself deep below this small spit of land.

Almost overnight Darwin transformed from sleepy beach town to bustling metropolis: the center of the world. Skyler remembered the footage shown in school; before-and-after comparisons astounded his young mind. Such a time of progress and wonder. A time of hope.

It didn’t last.

Almost five years after the Elevator arrived, the disease appeared and spread across the globe. Why the Elevator negated it, or even how, remained a mystery. The two were linked, that much was obvious, but in that time of worldwide panic only one thing mattered: Get to Darwin. Darwin is safe. The city as it was collapsed under the onslaught of refugees, Skyler among them. Memory of that journey made him shiver even now. Amazing what humans could do to one another when their survival instinct kicked in.

The Melville’s ramp met concrete with a deep crunch, forcing Skyler’s attention away from the view.

Russell Blackfield, prefect of Nightcliff, waited on the landing pad. His presence dashed any hope Skyler had for a cursory inspection.

Flanking the powerful man were four guards, two on each side. They wore maroon combat helmets, the only common piece of gear among them. The rest of their clothing came from a variety of pre-disease military uniforms. Skyler saw mostly Australian army fatigues, of varying condition. One wore an ill-fitting Chinese officer’s coat.

Their weapons were trained on Skyler—sleek black machine guns, to a man. The uniforms might not match, but the guns did.

Russell stepped forward. “Come out of there. Your crew as well. Hands where we can see them.”

The man wore a simple white T-shirt, soaked. His closely cropped blond hair lay in wet clumps. Black cargo pants and military boots completed the outfit. He carried no weapon that Skyler could see.

Skyler glanced back to see that Jake and Samantha were already coming. “Jake, get Angus, would you?”

His sniper nodded and turned back.

Samantha walked between them, down the ramp to the tarmac. Russell followed her with a lecherous gaze, the conversation suddenly forgotten.

Skyler leaned into the prefect’s view. “What’s this all about?”

“Sabotage,” Russell muttered, craning his neck to see past Skyler.

Jake emerged from the ship a few seconds later, with Angus in tow. They took positions next to Samantha, hands outstretched.

“Right, then,” Russell said. “What the hell did you do to my Elevator?”

Silence fell over the yard.

With the Melville’s engines fully off, only the distant sound of the riotous crowd beyond the south gate could be heard.

Skyler saw genuine concern behind Russell’s dictator façade. “You think we caused that?”

The brusque man stepped in close. His eyes narrowed. “Power failed the exact moment you hit the bloody Aura. Exact. Play stupid all you want, scavenger, but we’ll get to the bottom of this.”

Russell gestured. Three of the guards jogged up the ramp and began to remove the yellow nets from the cargo bins. The fourth remained steadfast, his rifle pointed at the ground between himself and the crew.

Skyler could only watch, helpless. “Look, we were surprised to see the climbers go dark, just as you were. We’re not carrying anything that could cause that. I don’t even know how that could happen.”

Russell strode halfway up the ramp, his focus on the contents of the ship rather than on Skyler. “You’re the crew of immunes, right?”

“That’s right. In from a spec run up north.”

If Russell heard, or cared, he made no indication of it. His interest remained firmly on the crates of cargo. “Immunity. Must be nice to leave the city without a suit. To travel freely.”

“It’s no Eden out there,” Skyler said.

“Still, you have the choice.”

Skyler kept quiet. He rarely told people of his immunity to the disease, because of the questions that followed. They always asked the same things: Do you feel different? Do you think the Builders chose you? Could you search for my wife, or my child, or the earthly remains of a commune leader left behind?

And ultimately: Why do you bother coming back?

He had no answers that would satisfy them.

Most of all, he hated describing the world outside. The Clear, people called it. “What’s it like?” they would ask. No one wanted to hear that the world had fallen to shit, that all the great cities of man were now home to weeds, rats, crows, and worse. No, they wanted to believe that the world had recovered from the sins of man. They wanted a silver lining after everything that had happened.

Such questions from Russell Blackfield, the tyrant of Nightcliff, would have their own surreal flavor. Though he’d never admit it, Skyler wished he’d taken Samantha’s advice and ignored the call to land.

To his surprise, Russell skipped the topic. He seemed wholly uninterested. “Define ‘north,’” he said.

“Malaysia,” Skyler said. “An air force base.”

“Run into subs?”

“Not on this trip,” Skyler lied. He could feel the weight of the subhuman finger in his jacket pocket.

Russell stared into the cargo bay as if he expected a subhuman to leap out. “That’s smart,” he said, “hitting military bases. Plenty of spare parts and ration stores to pick through?”

“That’s the idea,” Skyler said.

“And weapons, too?”

Skyler shrugged at the rhetorical question.

“Like an EMP bomb, maybe?”

Which would knock out my own aircraft, and every other gadget in the city, moron. “I see where this is going,” Skyler said. “I’m telling you, we didn’t sabotage the Elevator. It’s our lifeblood, after all.”

“It’s everyone’s lifeblood,” Russell said.

“Even more to the point.”

The prefect walked farther up the ramp, to the lip of the cargo bay. His men were yanking everything out of the crates and tossing the items aside after a cursory glance. “Anything for the Orbitals in here?” Russell asked.

“I have no idea,” Skyler said. “Our agent provides a list, and we try to fill it. Who he sells to is his business.”

“Keeps your hands clean, eh? Deniability. I like it.”

Skyler shook his head. “I’d just rather focus on the mission.”

“Who’s your agent?” Russell asked. “Grillo?”

“Prumble.”

“Ah,” Russell said. He raised his voice, speaking to all of them. “A petty middleman like that is wasted on a squad like you. You should work directly for me. For Nightcliff.”

Skyler shot a glance at his crew. Samantha had folded her arms across her chest, her eyes brimming with defiance. Jake, unreadable as always. The young pilot, Angus, was staring at Skyler, craving a role model, it seemed from the look on his face.

“I could use a group like you,” Russell added. “There’s plenty of things we need here in Nightcliff to keep you busy, and you won’t have to deal with the rabble out there.” He gave a casual gesture toward the south gate, where the riot now raged, judging by the sound carrying over the high wall.

No one spoke. Skyler searched for something to say, a clever response to assert himself as the decision maker. But words eluded him, and the moment passed.

“Think about it,” Russell said as he strode up the ramp into the cargo bay.

They went through the entire ship, front to back, for almost thirty minutes.

At one point Skyler saw Russell speak into a handheld radio. A short time later another Nightcliff crew approached the ship. Not guards, but ordinary workers dressed in greasy overalls. They pulled a pallet mounted on a hand truck with them.

Under Russell’s orders, the men began to load select items onto the pallet.

Another failure, Skyler thought, dismayed. The fourth in a row. He doubted they could afford a fifth.

“Told you not to land,” Samantha said, just loud enough for Skyler to hear.

He shook his head, frustration brimming inside him. She never missed an I-told-you-so.

Russell then stomped down the ramp, his face grim, the case of onc-rope cradled in his arms. “You know I can’t allow shit like this in the city. I’ve stated this many times.”

“Packed it by accident,” Skyler said.

“We’ll be taking some things, as penalty.”

Skyler assessed the items being loaded on the cart. Three boxes of ammo, a case of whiskey, and a welding kit. The welder irritated him most. Prumble, likely on behalf of an Orbital, had specifically requested the device. A substantial payment would vanish along with it.

It could be worse. They could take it all, and he couldn’t stop them. Once again he kept his mouth shut.

A booming explosion shook the yard.

Distant, from the direction of the riot. Skyscrapers beyond Nightcliff’s wall lit up in the sudden flash. A fireball rolled into the air before dissipating.

The ground shook and rattled the Melville’s wings, sending a shower of fine droplets into the air. Skyler dropped to a crouch on instinct, and closed his eyes against the sudden spray. The sound of the blast echoed through the compound like rolling thunder.

Everyone flinched. Everyone except Russell Blackfield.

“See what I mean about explosives here?” He held the radio to his mouth again. “I want second battalion at the gate, full gear, in five minutes. Time to crush these lunatics.”

Skyler watched the plume of smoke rise into the sky. When he looked down, Russell stood only centimeters away. Their eyes met.

“I get it,” Russell said. “You provide a cherished service, I get it. But the contraband stops, right bloody now.”

“No EMP bombs aboard, though, right?”

“Don’t f*ck with me, Skyler,” he said. Then he smiled. “You’re off the hook, for now. Just remember I control your only access to our betters up above. I can lock it down just as easily.”

Skyler glanced upward, along the empty path of the hair-thin cord. “Point taken.”

“You’re wasting your time fetching junk for that rabble out there. Or the bloody Orbitals,” Russell said. He paused, and sized Skyler up. “Consider my offer. Before I take it off the table.”

“I will,” Skyler said.

Russell turned to the larger group. “I hate to cut our visit short, but I’ve got an adoring public to address.”

With that he walked away. A casual pace, as if nothing had happened. The guards and workers followed, prize cart in tow.

“Angus,” Skyler said.

“Yeah?”

“Let’s go home.”

The pilot needed no further prompting and jogged up the ramp.

Jake went next, quiet as always, his hard face impossible to read. The man kept his head clean shaven, and a vein bulged near his temple, the closest thing to a display of emotion he would likely show. In the years since they’d met, Skyler had never seen the man lose his composure. A good trait for a sniper, perhaps not so good for squad cohesion. Still, he got along with Samantha, which Skyler realized probably took a sniper’s patience.

The thought made him grin.

“Is this funny to you?” Samantha asked. She waited on the landing pad, arms folded.

“No, it’s just … C’mon Sam, it’s not a total loss. They didn’t take everything.”

“They took plenty,” she said. “Another cock-up.”

She stalked up the ramp, her combat boots pounding on the steel surface.

Skyler lingered, trying to think of something—anything—he could say to her that might win her support. He thought back to the crew as it had been, before Skadz walked away. The former captain had no problems handling Sam, somehow always turning her concerns into jokes.

He thought of kicking her out but dismissed the idea as quickly as it arose. He needed her, and not just because she had the immunity. There were precious few immunes in the world, sure, but Samantha could also fight.

Footsteps from the direction of the Elevator tower scattered his thoughts.

A pale man, and thin. Sickly, Skyler decided. Stringy gray hair hung in wet clumps around the man’s bony face. He wore a long, dark blue overcoat, which clung to him like a wet blanket. Both hands were shoved deep into the front pockets. Another Nightcliff official, looking for a bribe.

“You’re Skyler, yes?” he asked. “The immune?”

Not another special request, Skyler thought. “Maybe. Who’s asking?”

“You work through Prumble?”

“I do,” Skyler said.

The man paused, brow furrowed as if making a decision. “Would you deliver a letter to him? I can’t leave on account of the lockdown.”

Before Skyler could respond, the man produced a thin memory card from his overcoat. He pressed it into Skyler’s hand. “Thanks,” he said, and turned to go.

“Wait.”

“Yes?”

“What happened to the climbers?”

The sickly man cast his gaze upward. “Some kind of malfunction,” he said. “Power went away, then came back.”

A malfunction. The idea that the Elevator could fail sent a sharp ripple of fear through him. That would be the end, he thought, for everyone except himself and a handful of other immunes. “If power came back, why are they still not running?”

“Carpe diem on Blackfield’s part. It’s a game of chicken, now,” he said, and began to walk away.

Skyler didn’t know what that meant. He decided not to press. “Who should I say it’s from? The letter, I mean.”

The man in the overcoat kept walking. “Kip!” he shouted over his shoulder. “He’ll know. See that he gets it.”

As the stranger ambled off, Skyler pocketed the card.

Back in the cockpit, Skyler requested clearance to depart and the tower granted it. Angus did not wait for an order before he spun up the verticals.

On the short flight to the old airport, Skyler strained his eyes to find the Elevator thread, a difficult exercise without the beacon lights.

Eventually he spotted the dark climbers, still stalled on the cord. Bloated mechanical spiders clinging on for dear life.