The Darwin Elevator

The Melville wasn’t built for extended use in orbit. He could generate minimal thrust with the small maneuvering rockets. They carried only enough chemical fuel for a few trajectory corrections, and the gauge already read 50 percent.

Drifting in the serenity of open space, the magnitude of what just happened became clear.

His crew, captured or worse. He’d killed a few guards himself during the mad escape.

The bizarre, harebrained scheme Platz had asked him to partake in. Save the Aura, and a life in orbit awaits. Not the most tantalizing reward for an immune, but the payment didn’t really matter. If the Aura failed, that would be the end of everything.

Despite a burning desire to turn around and try to rescue his crew, he knew that the task Platz gave him took precedence.

There really was no decision to make, he realized. He must return to Darwin. Regroup, somehow.

Skyler waited until he was well clear of Gateway Station and the thread of the Elevator. Then he fired the thrusters and began to descend toward Earth.

Chapter Twenty-one

Somewhere Above Australia

4.FEB.2283

The moment he hit the atmosphere, Skyler realized he was going to die.

Something prevented the Melville from staying at the proper angle to deflect the heat of reentry.

He remembered the urgency on Kelly’s face as she pointed frantically above the craft. She wasn’t telling him to hurry and leave: She was telling him the climber latch was still stuck to the top of the ship.

The damn thing had the aerodynamic profile of an elephant, complete with tusks. The two large arms extending from either side of the latch mechanism must be sticking out beyond the Melville’s profile, causing friction with the air.

The ship shuddered as its computer made thousands of small corrections to keep from flipping over backward. If that happened, disintegration would be instantaneous.

Skyler closed his eyes, and came the closest he ever had to praying.

Something tugged at his memory. Something Neil had said.

The stuck latch had been a ruse.

The simplest solution possible was what Skyler needed. He reached up and toggled the release switch that had failed them earlier.

The effect was immediate.

“Yes! Occam’s razor!” Skyler shouted as the latch released.

He heard the metal structure detach. An instant later, he heard it shear through the rear fin of the craft.

“Occam, you prick …”

Warnings lit up all over the cockpit. Skyler gripped the stick with both hands and put all his strength into holding it center.

Onboard computers sensed the loss of control from the rear fin and shifted to using the maneuvering rockets. The fuel gauge dropped faster as the ship’s altitude.

At an altitude of twenty kilometers, the rockets ran dry and the craft began to spin and tumble.

The Melville had no ejection seats.

Body pressed painfully into one side of his seat, Skyler decided to turn off the autopilot and level the craft out. Keeping on course for Darwin, at this point, was less important than surviving the trip down.

Falling at a terrifying pace, spinning out of control, Skyler shifted his focus to bailing out.

He clawed his way over the pilot’s chair, then over the navigator’s chair, and through the door into the cargo bay. The craft lurched from the turbulence. It took all the strength he had left to keep from getting bounced into the ceiling.

The scream of rushing wind outside grew ever louder. Skyler guessed he had about thirty seconds to get a parachute on and exit the doomed vehicle. He pulled himself up the wall and opened the locker where the chutes were kept. Quickly he threw on the pack, buckling only the main clasp. The rest he would have to deal with outside.

On a whim, he opened the next locker over, where the weapons were stowed. Grief swept over him when he saw Jake’s sniper rifle, Samantha’s shotgun beside it.

He shook his head clear and yanked out his machine gun, along with two clips of ammunition.

Fighting his way to the back of the cargo bay, he grasped a safety line with his free hand, wrapped it twice around his forearm, and then punched the red button.

A deafening howl of wind greeted him. The vortex pulled his legs out from under him, and Skyler just managed to hold on. If he let go before the door opened fully, he’d hit it on the way out.

He closed his eyes in pain as the line constricted around his arm, pinching off circulation.

Just below the rushing wind, Skyler could hear the hydraulic motor of the rear cargo door shut off.

The door was open.

He let go.

Wind buffeted him from all sides as he left the ship. As fast as his fingers would allow, Skyler finished strapping on his chute and securing the gun. He yanked the rip cord.

The chute deployed, whipping him around and upright, belts and straps constricting with brutal force. Then, peace. As if floating on a pillow of warm air, he drifted downward.

The urgency and altitude he’d misjudged. From the size of the buildings below him, he guessed he was a good thousand meters up. He could do nothing but watch as the Melville, his livelihood for the past fifteen years, spiraled toward a small city below.

The ship smashed into the side of a building at the center of town. Rock and fire spewed from the tremendous explosion.

He’d truly failed, now. Loss of crew and ship, a captain’s worst nightmare. He didn’t even have the nerve to go down with his vessel.

Anguish threatened to consume him, but somehow survival instinct won out. He had a window of opportunity to guide his fall. Shelter, water, and food were about to become the only concerns in his life. They always were, he supposed, but never in such a tangible way.

Using altitude to his advantage, he turned in a slow circle, scanning the horizon. The memory of doing the same for Tania rushed in. It may as well have happened years ago.

The sun filled the sky with an orange-colored haze to the west, above a landscape of mud flats and a sliver of ocean beyond.

Below, the deserted city loomed. He realized he didn’t have the height to steer himself outside it, so he looked for a good place to land. As far north as possible, he decided. Every inch closer to Darwin was one less he would have to walk.

A strong, warm, southwesterly wind pushed him over low, dilapidated buildings. Weeds choked every available opening. Abandoned vehicles crowded the streets. Desperately he tried to make a mental map of the town, looking for areas of commerce, areas where food might be stored.

Flames now engulfed the building struck by the Melville, a few hundred meters northwest of him. A column of black smoke roiled up into the darkening evening sky.

He drifted lower, guiding his chute to keep himself aloft as long as possible. Looking down at the rooftops, through holes worn by time and weather, Skyler tried to spot the telltale signs of subhuman life. Abandoned buildings were like caves to them.

He didn’t see the rusty antenna until it caught him in the legs. A spike of pain ran through him as the old brittle metal sliced into his calf. Skyler gritted his teeth, felt warm blood run down his leg. The aerial collapsed from the impact, over the edge of the roof.

It crumbled into a noisy heap in the dusty street below.

With the sound came a wild cry from somewhere below him. It echoed off the buildings. Others answered, from farther away.

The ghost town came to life.

Chapter Twenty-two

Gateway Station

4.FEB.2283

After an hour of lockdown, security finally came for Neil Platz.

He’d spent the time in his private office, running scenarios through his mind. What if the pilot Skyler hadn’t made it off the station? What if he failed to report back? A backup plan would be needed for inspecting the Aura’s generator deep below Nightcliff.

Neil toyed with the idea of explaining it to the council. Hell, even to Russell Blackfield. In the end he’d discarded that line of thought. If others knew of the generator’s existence, word would spread. Blackfield would be tempted to go poke around, perhaps making things worse. He might even do it on purpose.

All it took was one nutcase to go down there and set off a crude bomb, just as Sandeep had done to Foreshadow.

Neil still struggled with his options when he heard a commotion in the lobby beyond. Shouts, and tension thick as fog, came through the closed doors.

He stood and pressed the wrinkles from his slacks. After one last long look at Earth, he strode to the double doors and threw them open.

“What the devil is this about?” he roared.

His secretary stood behind his chair, pressed against the wall in the face of a squad of armed security guards.

“Search the entire place,” Alex Warthen said at the head of the group.

“Do no such thing,” Neil said.

The guards ignored the conflicting order and streamed by.

“This is an outrage,” Neil added.

Alex Warthen, pale-faced, mouth drawn in a tight line, stepped forward until he was just a few centimeters from Neil. He spoke in a quiet, deliberate tone. “What’s outrageous is the size of your damn testicles. You brought smugglers aboard my station under false circumstances.”

“I have no idea—”

“Enough, Neil. You’ve gone too far this time. You leave me no choice. I have four dead guards lying in the infirmary, along with two of your scavenger friends. One’s in the brig, and once she’s ready to talk, she’ll confirm what we already know.”

“This is all news to me,” Neil said. Two of the scavengers, dead. One captured. All he could think was whether Skyler had escaped. Warthen’s trigger-happy idiot brigade might have doomed everyone, and they’d never know it.

“We know one of them was here,” Alex said. “We have security cameras on the station, as you may be aware.”

“I can’t control every jackass who comes to this door. Present company included.”

Alex shook his head. He turned and waved to a guard behind him. The man came forward and handed Alex a portable terminal screen. Pad in hand, Alex tapped away for a moment before turning it to allow Neil to see.

“Watch,” Alex said.

“What is this?” Neil asked.

Alex produced a sad smile. “The earpieces my guards wear have cameras. This was recorded by the poor fellow assigned to escort the smugglers.”

“Roddy, what kinda piece they let you carry?” a young man asked. Neil had asked Prumble for a description of the entire Melville crew, and he guessed this was Angus.

The guard, Roddy, looked down at his drink. He picked up the glass and swirled it. “Just a little stunner.”

“Not the size that matters, eh?” a woman said with drunken mirth. Samantha, Neil surmised. The only woman in the crew, according to Prumble.

Roddy glanced up. The woman sat next to him, the young man just beyond her. “Only enforcers are allowed to carry coilguns. Too dangerous up here for the rest of us lugs.”

Samantha took a swig of her drink. She was uncommonly tall, with thick blond hair. “Can that little thing even put someone down?”

Roddy removed the device from his belt holster. He held it up in front of him. “Sure. The prongs go in, toxin releases, and whammo. Like they had a seizure.”

“Wonder if it could slow a sub down,” Angus said.

Roddy focused on him. “If one gets in here, I’ll find out—”

Samantha, studying the weapon, said, “Doubt it would work.”

Roddy looked from her, to the gun, and back. The motion of the video made Neil a bit nauseous. “You’ve faced one?”

“One? Hell, we’ve faced dozens.”

“Really?! What … I mean, how do you …”

Angus nudged Samantha with his elbow. “Company,” he whispered, just loud enough for the camera to pick it up.

Samantha whipped around to face the door, and Roddy followed her gaze.

The recording showed a squad of uniformed guards at the entrance to the bar. They fanned out to either side, while four entered and walked directly over to Sam and Angus.

They carried exotic weapons, Neil saw. He knew about coilguns: built for use in places where flames were something to avoid at all costs. Magnetized coils inside the body propelled special bullets that wouldn’t spark. No combustion and little recoil. Lethal at close range, but safe inside a space station. A few crates of the weapons were safely tucked away inside Hab-8, though Kelly said the risk of fire from a regular gun was actually quite low, and they need not bother. But Warthen’s people had regulations to conform to. Without such concerns, Kelly preferred overwhelming firepower, and trust in the fire suppression systems.

Roddy stood abruptly. “Evening, Commander Weck. Is something wrong?”

Commander Weck was a short man. Bald and soft, with a scowl saying he wanted to prove otherwise. “Who owns that boat in bay four?”

Roddy looked past the man, to a table in the far corner. Neil saw the last smuggler sitting there, the engineer named Takai. The poor fellow looked white as a ghost. The other chair at his table was empty. Skyler must have occupied it.

Roddy answered, “He’s right over … Well, he was over there. I …”

“Yes,” Commander Weck said, eyes darting toward the bar, the drinks. “Amazing that he escaped under your vigilant watch.”

Samantha came into frame, on her feet now. She dwarfed the watch commander. “Is there a problem, Bonaparte?”

“Who the hell are you?” Weck asked.

“Sam. I crew on that ‘boat,’ and my captain probably just stepped out to take a shit in your precious station. He might even do it in a toilet.”

The camera tracked Roddy’s frantic gaze from her to the young pilot. Angus winced at the woman’s slurred words.

“Ah,” Weck said, “you’re familiar with such a device?”

Samantha smiled. “Your face reminded me.” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">