The Darwin Elevator

Kip Osmak looked up from the wireless. “Nothing. Second Squad is still silent.”

Russell did not like the man. He handled traffic control for the Elevator in Nightcliff, and until recently worked as an intermediary smuggler, a role that gave him a useful set of contacts, such as Grillo. But he also had a reputation of taking monthly trips to the nearby brothels in Darwin. Russell didn’t understand why any man would pay for sex in a city where one could do anything he pleased. Russell had resigned himself to keeping Kip on a short leash until his usefulness wore out.

The thought of whores reminded him of Natalie. He looked out across the smoldering plain, seeking her. At a distance, everyone looked the same in their environment suits, but he spotted her. The wandering way she moved, and her lack of a weapon, gave her away. He didn’t see the harm in letting her wander around. There was nowhere to go but into the flames, the river, or back aboard a ship.

She stood near the edge of the perimeter, facing the jungle. Transfixed by the flames, no doubt. He wondered if she’d ever seen fire before.

Russell picked up his rifle and trekked across the clearing to her.

“You’re looking the wrong way,” he said, startling her. “It’ll come from above.” For effect, he looked up at the amazing sky. A brilliant gradient, cobalt blue to the east giving way to a deep black in the west. Smoke from the fires billowed in a massive column, chasing the darkness out toward the ocean, a few thousand kilometers away.

“I’ve never been outside the city,” Natalie said. Her voice was distant. “Never seen so many trees.”

“You know what I see?” Russell asked.

She turned her head slightly, looking at him out of the corner of her eye.

“Lumber.”

Natalie blinked in reaction. The rest of her face was placid. The face of someone who knew she was doomed.

“Blackfield!” The voice came from behind them, full of panic. A chorus of shouts went up with it.

Russell turned around to see what the commotion was. These men panicked at every little thing.

Next to him, Natalie began to run, straight into the burning jungle.

Russell looked back and forth, confused, unsure whether to go after the woman or find out what had spooked his troops. Had the so-called newsubs finally shown up?

The soldiers were all shouting, scattering, pointing to the sky. He looked up, hoping for a glimpse of the thin black thread of the new Elevator descending. To be present when it made landfall, that was the type of thing legends were made of. Russell wanted that perhaps more than anything.

Instead he saw a fireball.

A huge ball of flame, rolling off a dark mass at the center, growing larger by the second. It broke into a thousand glowing pieces as he watched.

Someone bumped into him, running away. The jolt interrupted his trance. Russell spun, saw Natalie heading into the trees. He raced after her.

The first explosion lit the entire area in a brilliant yellow light.

Russell dove as the second explosion hit. He landed hard on his elbow before skidding to a halt in the soil.

Stay down, a voice in his head shouted. More blasts erupted behind, buffeting him with pulses of scorching wind. Chunks of rock and dirt whooshed past him, threatening to tear his hazard suit to shreds. He knew he had to get away, get far away.

Like Natalie. She’d run the instant she could.

The bitch knew.

Russell ignored the voice in his head and willed himself to his feet. He jogged toward the tree line, swaying with the force of another explosion, only just keeping his balance. The ground heaved and fell like the chest of a frightened beast.

Whatever it is, it’s not the elevator, he thought. The crater left behind when Darwin’s arrived was no bigger than a city bus.

He reached a slope that led into a narrow gully. Natalie scrambled up the far side. She turned and looked right past Russell. Even through her face mask, at this distance, he could see her eyes widen. In a calm, fluid movement, she stood, lifted her head to the sky, and spread her arms to welcome her fate.

At the same instant, the world tinted brilliant orange. Intense heat baked his back.

Russell dove for the edge of the slope as a tremendous explosion filled the sky.

In midair his legs were lifted, causing him to somersault before landing on his back. The air in his lungs rushed out from the shock of the impact. Closing his eyes, gasping for air, he slid down a dank hill, lumpy with vines.

Through the plastic mask, Russell saw a sky filled with smoke and fire. Shrapnel from the blast rained down around him—from minute pebbles, to chunks of earth the size of a fist. The partial torso of a man landed nearby, with an arm still attached.

Russell brought up his hands, terrified that he would see the piece that would take his own life before it hit.

The shower of debris abated. A few rock-sized chunks hit him in the chest and calf, hard enough that they would leave nasty welts, but not enough to rupture the suit.

He did not know how long he remained on the slope, lying there with his face covered. A cowardly position. He sat up, ignoring the sharp pain in his back from landing on top of his own air-processing gear. That bitch Natalie was nowhere to be seen.

“I knew you were lying!” Russell shouted at the jungle, his voice echoing inside his mask. He burst into laughter, unable to contain it. Not only had Natalie lied, but Tania Sharma had tried to kill them both for it. A damn trap, and he had to tip his hat for that. It even came close to working. His laughter abated, leaving him with only a thirst for revenge.

When the smoke faded, Russell crawled to the edge of the slope and took in the scene. A crater, filled with smoldering pieces of twisted metal, had replaced the clearing.

He checked his own condition. The hazard suit looked terrible, all scratches and burn marks. Yet it appeared to be intact. He reached behind his back, probing the air tank, felt the reassuring vibration from its tiny motor. Still working, and no alarms from it. The suit still protected him from the disease.

Russell stumbled through the debris field. He wondered what had fallen on the site. A meteor? Impossible. This had been aimed with precision. Whatever it was, it must have been massive. Wreckage filled the shallow, wide crater. The point of impact straddled the edge of the river, just beyond the circle of aircraft he had assembled in the clearing.

Not quite a bull’s-eye, but damned close.

He ignored the impact zone, sure that no one could have survived. His path wound through a field of bodies, a few still moving. Russell ignored them, too. Their suits were in tatters. Good as dead. He’d shoot them himself if he could spare the bullets.

Opposite the crater, a few aircraft still remained. He walked past each one. “Anyone there?” he asked, again and again. A fear grew within him. To survive such a calamity, suit still sealed, only to be stuck out here. Left to wander the African jungle until his air ran out.

Russell could spare a bullet for himself. That much he knew.

“Here,” someone said, a feeble voice that came from behind. Russell turned and saw a man emerging from the rear hatch of an aircraft.

“Are you a pilot?”

The man shook his head. He limped down the ramp, putting no weight on his left leg. “What happened?”

“Find a pilot, or we’re stuck out here. Is your suit intact?” Russell walked up to him, looking for holes in the material. The man probed it frantically with his hands, moving with sudden panic. “Relax. Turn around,” Russell said.

Just above the left knee, Russell saw a hole no wider than a pinky finger with a hint of blood underneath. He gritted his teeth. “You’re fine. Look for a pilot, right? I’ll go this way.” He gestured toward the river.

The man nodded, yet his face was twisted with pain. His gaze swept across the destruction, eyes widening.

“What’s your name, son?”

“Charlie.”

“Relax, Charlie,” Russell said. “We’ll get out of here in no time.”

“Find a pilot,” Charlie said. “Find a … pilot.” He staggered off, away from the river, dragging his left leg behind.

Russell loosened the pistol in his holster, eyes locked on the back of Charlie’s head. The poor bastard probably already had the disease. He hesitated, then let the man walk away. There was still plenty of time, and right now Russell could use the extra set of eyes. Charlie might be good for another hour.

He continued through the maze of aircraft, toward the river. Most of the planes had been tossed around like leaves. Such an incredible waste. Russell had assembled nearly every aircraft he could for the mission. He’d ordered them pulled up the Elevator, and tapped deep into Nightcliff’s power reserves to spool their ultracaps for the long flight. Most could only handle the long-range trip due to the fact that there was no cargo to bring back.

Russell wanted enough men here to secure the site, on the chance that the missing fighters loyal to Platz had a way to get down here.

The sound of an engine whirring to life interrupted his thoughts. It came from somewhere ahead, near the river. Russell ran as fast as the hazard suit would allow him.

On the bank of the Congo, he found the plane. The thrust from the engines steadily rose, bending the knee-high reeds below until they lay flat. Russell pumped his legs, drew his weapon. He came to stand in front of the cockpit, making eye contact with the pilot. Aiming his gun, Russell motioned downward with his other hand.

The pilot stared back, hovering in place, the engines howling under the strain. Russell did not know if his gun could penetrate the window, not that it mattered. His threat had the desired effect. The big craft eased back to earth.

Russell met the coward at the door. “Saving your own skin, eh?”

“I was going to circle,” the pilot said. A woman, Russell realized. “Look for survivors from the air.”

“Forget it, there’s no one. Take me back to Darwin.”

Her eyes searched the tortured landscape behind him. He could see the glistening of tears forming. Perhaps she had friends out there. A lover, maybe.

“Belay that,” Russell said. “I need to use the radio. You have a look around.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I want to know how many birds can still fly, and how many pilots survived.”

“Understood.”

“You know a guy named Charlie?”

She shook her head.

“Well, if you run into him, be wary. His suit is punctured, only matter a time before he goes all subby on us.”

She saluted and ran out into the reeds.

Russell watched as she clawed her way up the embankment and stopped dead, now able to see the entire clearing. He’d give her five minutes to search.

In the copilot’s seat he found a headset connector and pushed it into the jack near the waistline of his suit. The aircraft had modern controls, built after the Darwin Elevator arrived, no doubt. He slid a gloved finger over the touch-activated screen and it blinked on. The interface had a soothing amber hue. He dialed in the frequency.

The burst of static in his ears was laced with a thin voice. “… Alpha One this is Beta One, are you there?”

“Blackfield here,” Russell said. “We had the bogus location. Secure the new elevator site and we’ll join you—”

“Negative,” the voice said. “There’s nothing here.”

The truth hit him, then. They had both lied. Or, he allowed, Natalie believed her story, and it was Tania that had fooled them both.

Neither location would be the site of a new Elevator. Hell, there might not be one at all. He’d been played and could not escape that fact. “Forget it,” he said. “Evacuate the area immediately, return to Darwin.”

“Copy that,” the voice said. “Pull out and return to base.”

Russell lowered himself into the plush copilot seat and let out a long breath. He grasped the armrests and squeezed with all his strength.

Later, the pilot returned. A solemn group followed her into the plane, six in all.

Russell looked over the sorry group with concern. “Is that all?”

She shook her head. “We split them up among the planes.”

“Did you check their suits?”

“They’re clean,” she said. “A few weren’t. They ran when they saw me, or tried to.”

“What about the aircraft?”

“Seven in flying condition.”

“Seven. Shit.” Seven out of eighteen. The number of aircraft on Earth known to be functional just dropped considerably. Russell felt his chest constrict. Tania had dealt humanity’s survival chances a major blow, whether she intended to or not.

He glanced at each of the survivors, now secured in the two rows of seats that lined the fuselage walls. “Any of you see what hit us?”

No one said a word.

And then, from the cockpit, “Nightcliff is on the wireless.”

Russell felt a dark void, deep in his gut. “Don’t tell me they were hit, too.”

“No,” the pilot said. “Something fell, but it exploded just outside the Aura, in the old downtown. They’re saying—hold on. Gateway reports that all of the farm platforms have disappeared.”

“What the hell does that mean, ‘disappeared’?”

From the cockpit she turned to face him, holding a finger up, listening. “They detached and drifted away. Part of Anchor Station, too.”

Part of Anchor Station.

Russell felt nauseous, dizzy. His hands went cold and his vision blurred. The idea that Tania would do this, that she could orchestrate it so precisely, staggered him. He had underestimated her, catastrophically.

Still, she had missed. And she would suffer for it, he would make sure of that.

As the aircraft lifted away from the scorched earth, Russell Blackfield smiled, despite himself. 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">