The Darwin Elevator

Chapter Nine

Darwin, Australia

18.JAN.2283

Neil Platz scratched at his beard, still unused to the rough hair. When he pulled his hand away, black greasepaint stained his fingertips.

“I can’t believe this worked!” he shouted. The rush of wind coming into the water hauler’s cabin drowned the words. Neil had asked for the door to remain open so he could enjoy the salty air.

His assistant sat in the middle seat of the bench, flanked by more members of the supposed repair crew. Bodyguards, to a man. His assistant, rigid and green-faced, shook his head in response and pointed to his ear. The poor bloke had vomited shortly after takeoff from Nightcliff and looked close to doing so again.

Neil raised his stained fingers and wiggled them, grinning. The disguise, a black beard and the gray coveralls of an engineer, had worked to perfection. His heart still pounded from the sheer thrill of passing through Nightcliff, under the bastard Blackfield’s nose, undetected. No one recognized him, and after spending the last thirty-some years as the most famous man alive, Neil found the sensation of anonymity intoxicating.

Doubly so, since they’d come down on the only climber to descend in six days, carrying a council member to negotiate with Russell Blackfield. “Neil sends his regards,” he imagined Michael Carney telling the onerous man. “He regrets he could not make the trip in person.”

Neil laughed aloud. He felt alive, like he was half his age. The regrettable business aboard Hab-8 was already a distant memory. Men of power must make choices and move on. No point in dwelling on the past, and anyway there were worse skeletons in that closet. Far worse.

He looked forward to the return trip, to walk through Nightcliff again as a common man. Maybe he should have been a spy, or a con artist. Perhaps he’d missed his true calling, though he suspected many a former competitor would argue he was an accomplished swindler. The idea made him grin even wider.

The gigantic hauler cruised over the bay southwest of Nightcliff, en route to a spit of land called East Point. Neil strained against his harness, leaning out of the aircraft to look straight down. They were far enough from shore now that he could see the rippling ocean below, instead of the derelict boats that crowded the coastline. Whitecaps rolled toward the city. He inhaled deeply, and despite the slight hint of sewage, the air carried with it a flood of treasured memories.

When the engine noise began to drop, Neil looked ahead and saw the shore of East Point approaching.

Six massive desalination plants lined the coast. Square, sky-blue buildings each surrounded by a nest of pipes in every imaginable size. Intake pipes snaked far out into the ocean, disappearing in the depths. Giant towers spewed white plumes of nuclear-fired steam high into the sky. He swelled with pride at the sight of them, still churning through tons of seawater every day—decades of continuous operation. They were the first piece of the Platz empire that he took over from his father. By the time the Elevator arrived, the plants provided drinking water to nearly all of the Northern Territory, at a time when wars were fought over the commodity.

His father was the real genius behind the construction of the plants. He’d laid the groundwork for the water processors a decade before the need became critical. Bought the land, hired the right engineers, and greased the wheels of bureaucracy. When the alien-built space elevator touched down in Darwin, these plants were what allowed the city to grow so rapidly into a megalopolis.

An amazing stroke of luck for the Platz family, or so everyone said. The truth was a burden Neil intended to take to his grave.

In the post-disease world, these machines were a key reason humanity survived at all. In Darwin, and in orbit. The Elevator might protect from the SUBS disease but it didn’t sustain anyone. Neil considered that his job, thankless though it may be.

Fifteen other such facilities lay outside Aura’s Edge, dotting the northern coastline, lost to the world. They served as spare parts now, occasionally visited by scavenger crews. Only these, on the shore of East Point, could be staffed.

The aircraft angled toward the farthest plant in the line. As the pilot set the bird down on a landing pad behind the facility, Neil felt like a deposed president returning from exile. He reminded himself of his disguise; for the moment he was simply part of a repair crew.

He let his crew exit the passenger compartment first. Neil stepped out last and kept his head low. The engines howled as they wound down, deafening. He walked in a crouch, focused on his balance in the violent exhaust.

Already a team rushed toward the aircraft to begin detaching the empty water container slung beneath. Such productivity made Neil happy.

Inside the facility, he followed his team across the cavernous ground floor. The constant hum of the water processors, each as big as a family home, filled the place. Steam vented from a dozen relief valves. Banks of triacetate membrane arrays filled a quarter of the space, looking like rockets pointed downward.

He saw the intake pipes, tall as himself and dripping with condensation. Neil imagined the seawater rushing through, straight into a series of chambers where it would be flash-heated to separate the salt. He’d run this plant for years and knew each component by heart.

“I’m not happy about this, Neil.”

The familiar voice tore his attention from the machinery. Neil turned and confronted the plant manager, Arkin. “Keep it down, would you?”

The man fretted as he fell in beside Neil. “Nice beard,” he said.

“Grown just for this visit. I had to pretend my supply of razors ran out. How’d you recognize me?”

Arkin shrugged. “I’ve known you all my life. You walk like a tyrant.”

Neil barked a laugh.

“I’m not happy about this,” Arkin repeated.

“Let’s get off the floor, and we’ll talk.”



Arkin led the crew away from the water processing area and into an adjoining warehouse.

He walked at a hurried pace, giving Neil little time to study the contents of the storage area. Rows of wooden shelves held the spare parts that kept the facility running. Some sections looked sparse, but Neil decided now might not be a good time to point it out.

Water containers filled the bulk of the warehouse. The bulky cylinders were stacked from floor to ceiling, held in place by metal scaffolds. Neil glanced at each one, looking for signs of deterioration.

“Would you like to discuss your special containers first,” Arkin said, “or your, um, guests?”

“They’ve arrived, then?”

Arkin said nothing. Instead he led Neil and his team around the last row of water containers.

At the end of the building, near a series of loading docks and garage doors, an armored van waited.

Three guards stood nearby the vehicle, chatting. They came to attention at the sight of their boss.

Arkin stopped short of the van and pulled Neil aside.

“I’m not happy—”

“So you keep telling me,” Neil said. “How long have they been here?”

Arkin stifled his concerns. “Ten minutes, I guess.”

“Blindfolded?”

“As requested.”

Neil looked about the building, then focused on the van. “Let me take it from here. We’ll talk about the containers later. I want a full report. We may need to ramp up soon.”

“What of the climbers?”

“Don’t worry about that. A deal is being struck as we speak.”

Arkin hesitated.

“You’re not happy, I know,” Neil said. “Go about your business. I’ll have them out of here soon enough.”



Neil motioned for one of his bodyguards to open the van door. The vehicle had thick armor plating, and Neil thought it must have been used for bank deliveries in the pre-disease era.

Inside, on benches that ran the length of the compartment, two men sat facing each other. Both wore black hoods over their heads, but the similarity ended there. The one on the left was rail thin, the one on the right remarkably overweight.

A third man sat with them, near the door. One of Arkin’s security force. Neil leaned in to speak with the fellow. “How’d it go?”

“We found them at a café in the maze. A place called Clarke’s. Tracked the scrawny bloke to it, where the other was waiting.”

“And they came willingly?”

“More or less,” the guard said.

Neil nodded. “Take the fellow from Nightcliff out. I’d like a word with the other.”

With professional calm, the guard took the skinny man by his upper arm and guided him out of the van. Satisfied, Neil stepped inside, took the vacated bench, and slid the door closed.

“You,” Neil said, “must be Mr. Prumble.”

The fat man’s head tilted under the black hood. “At your service, Mr. Platz.”

Bloody hell. Neil snatched the black hood away and set it aside. “How did you know?”

“I know your voice,” Prumble said. “Heard your speeches.”

Neil regarded the smuggler. Sweat glistened on the man’s nearly bald head. He breathed with short, stunted exhalations, a side effect of his weight, Neil guessed. In a city full of starving souls, Neil had never seen someone with a weight problem. He found it mildly disgusting.

“Call me Neil. First name?”

“None worth remembering.”

“I see. Darwin was a fresh start for you, I take it?”

Prumble inclined his head. “We all made sacrifices to reach the city.”

Many used Darwin to hide from their past as much as a disease. And who could blame them? Neil thought. “Fair enough. Prumble it is.”

The huge man shifted in his seat. His long coat, a brown leather duster, squeaked as it rubbed on the vinyl bench. He made a show of reaching for an interior pocket, from which he produced a metal hip flask. He unscrewed the cap and offered it to Neil.

“No, thanks.”

Prumble shrugged and took a healthy swig of the drink. “Forgive my behavior, Mr. Platz. It’s not every day I meet an Orbital. Especially someone of your … stature.”

“Call me Neil,” he repeated.

Prumble tipped the flask back again. “Of course. I forgot.”

“Let’s get to business,” Neil said. “You were tasked with finding something for me in Japan.”

“Ah,” Prumble said. “You’re the buyer. I should have guessed from the extravagant reward.”

“I wanted to ensure my place atop the priority list.”

“Quite. Well, I believe I’ve succeeded.” Prumble returned the flask to his coat and fished around in a deeper pocket.

Neil reminded himself to relax. The stale air inside the vehicle smelled of sweat.

The big man finally pulled out the item from his pocket and presented it to Neil.

A child’s toy. A furry green monster with big eyes, white fangs, and one hand raised in menacing fashion.

“Not exactly what I was hoping for,” Neil said.

Prumble snickered. He pushed his fingers inside a small hole in the back and rooted around before removing the hidden contents: a small ceramic cube.

“My team found four of these,” Prumble said, placing the tiny storage device in Neil’s open palm. “Recovered from the facility in Japan, as requested.”

Neil took a close look at the object. The cube, a few centimeters on each side, had a white ceramic outer shell. A grid of dark graphene leads lined one edge. Inside, Neil knew an array of crystalline sheets held data in holographic form. A single cube could hold a vast amount of information. “I need to validate this.”

Prumble cleared his throat. “The others are safe in my office.”

“Naturally,” replied Neil. He turned and rapped his knuckles on the van’s door. When it opened, he summoned his assistant over. “My briefcase, please.”

The silver case in hand, Neil slid the door closed again. He placed his thumbs on each catch, his fingerprints triggering the locks. Inside, a portable terminal screen lit up.

“What will happen to my associate?” asked Prumble.

Neil looked up from the device. “Mr. Osmak has served his purpose. You will work directly with me now.”

Prumble grimaced. “That’s a bit unfair.”

“He’ll be paid handsomely,” Neil said. “I prefer to minimize the people involved in my affairs. Loose lips sink ships, as they say.”

The fat man laughed at that. A sly chortle, full of irony. “That puts me on shaky ground, then.”

The manifest from the data cube recovered without error and appeared on the screen. “Perhaps,” he said. “Who does your recovery work?”

“What, can’t picture me gallivanting about Japan?”

Neil grinned. “Stranger things have happened.”

On the screen, he saw a handful of markers—dates, the observatory logo, Japanese names—that confirmed the data matched Tania’s request.

We’ve got it, Neil thought. He forced himself to quell a rush of excitement. He could almost hear Tania reminding him that “it” might be nothing at all.

Prumble let out a sigh. “I contract with a variety of—”

“Names, Mr. Prumble. Security is a priority for me.”

Prumble licked his lips. “Maybe I should keep that to myself. For my own security.”

“I could ask Kip,” Neil said. “Wag the promise of a life in orbit before him, and I suspect he’ll do just about anything.”

The big man stared at Neil, his face a picture of concentration. “Are you wagging that prize in front of me?”

“Names.”

Another bead of sweat tricked down the man’s forehead. He mopped at it with his filthy handkerchief. “Fine. A pilot called Skyler Luiken, and his crew.”

“Trustworthy?”

“Extremely,” Prumble said, “though I can’t vouch for his entire team.”

“You’d better. I want them working for me, exclusively.”

“Skyler’s a good man. Terrible leader, too nice, but a good man. His crew is … unique.”

“How so?”

“They’re immunes. Every last one of them.”

Neil couldn’t mask his surprise. He knew that some people were immune to SUBS, a few dozen out of the million people still alive. He’d hired a few, in the early years of the disease, to be studied by his medical staff. Nothing conclusive came from the research, and the project was abandoned.

A group of them banded together as scavengers was a smart play. A good business move. The possibilities raced through his mind. They could stay outside for days instead of hours, and would never have to worry about an environment suit tearing. “They could be very useful,” he said. “And their aircraft, good ship?”

The fat man shrugged. “It gets the job done, as long as Nightcliff leaves them alone.”

There’s the rub, Neil thought. Of course such a crew would suffer additional scrutiny. Still, there were ways around that.

“Well,” he said, “we have the genuine article, it seems.” He removed the data cube and held it before Prumble. “I’ll have my men drive you back so they can collect the remaining three.”

“There’s still,” Prumble said, “the matter of payment.”

“When we have the data, you will be paid in full. Plus a retainer, for future requests.”

Prumble pursed his lips, as if holding words back. Neil knew the man would be deciding, now, if he could trust such an arrangement. Life in the slums of Darwin was one constant look over the shoulder, and such a state of mind was not easily changed.

Neil extended his hand. A gentle push toward agreement.

The big man reached and shook. A firm, if sweaty, clasp.

“We’re in business,” Neil said. “Put the hood on, please.”

Prumble compiled.

Satisfied, Neil put the cube back in his case and pulled the van door open. Outside the cramped vehicle he stretched and called his assistant over.

“Sir?”

“Any news from Nightcliff?”

The man nodded. “The climbers have resumed, for now.”

“Fantastic,” Neil said. “What did we have to give Blackfield for his cooperation?”

“Carney offered to let him meet with Alex Warthen, aboard Gateway. Blackfield agreed.”

“What an idiot,” Neil said. He suspected Russell was simply content that they’d offered anything at all. “Perhaps I should have Alex arrest him there and throw him in the brig.”

“They say a crowd is celebrating in front of Nightcliff.”

“No doubt singing Blackfield’s name.” The true reason behind the blockade, Neil guessed.

His assistant shifted, nervous.

“Is there something else?” Neil asked.

“Something happened aboard one of the farm platforms,” the man said, “an hour ago.”

“Well? Out with it, lad.”

“Security had to kill a woman. She went crazy, apparently.” The assistant swallowed, hard. “They say she had the rash.”

“Impossible,” Neil said, an easy lie even as his mind raced. The creature he and Kelly dispatched had been no freak of nature. Another subhuman found within the Aura? It signaled a potentially cataclysmic change. One with impeccable timing. A flaw in the Aura’s effectiveness now, so close to the next phase of the Builder’s plan, could be no coincidence. “I’ll look into it,” Neil muttered. “A mistaken diagnosis, no doubt.”

The comment did little to dispel his assistant’s worried look. The man turned his attention to the van. “What are your orders?”

“Take the fat one back to his place. He owes me three data cubes. When you have them, pay him, and leave him with a sat-comm and dish.”

The man nodded, then waved to the other guards to get back into the van.

“What about the other one?” he asked.

Neil looked toward the garage entrance, where Kip stood facing the wall, hooded head down. An armed guard waited next to him.

“We won’t be needing his services anymore,” Neil said. “Double his fee and drop him off at the dump where they found him.”