The Plague Forge (Dire Earth Cycle #3)

In Ireland, lifting the object had triggered the release of subhumans trapped within what could only be called time bubbles. Near Belem, a localized earthquake had almost shook the cave down upon his head. “Ana,” he said. He made sure to lock eyes with her. “Something will happen when I lift this.”

“I know,” she said. “I’m ready, I think. Just do it and let’s go.”

“Right then.” Skyler heaved. The object didn’t budge. He adjusted his hands and tried again, emitting a grunt that turned into something of a shout by the time he gave up and relaxed.

“Let me help,” Ana said. She stepped forward.

“No, no. Stay back, I mean it.”

He saw the flash of an argument in the way her eyes narrowed, but she pursed her lips into a thin line and took one step backward.

Skyler adjusted his hands again, this time placing both hands next to each other. He dug his fingers into the edge of the object until the tips turned white, then red.

Something popped and the artifact lifted from the floor so abruptly he almost fell. Ana let out a little yelp of surprise from behind him as Skyler shoved one hand under the object and moved his other hand around to grip the opposite edge. The bottom of it must have formed a suction bond with the tile below, because now that the oval had lifted it weighed very little—less than half what the one in Ireland had weighed, he guessed. Skyler slipped it into the bag easily, zipped it up, and turned around.

Ana shrugged at him, a grin playing at the corners of her mouth. He returned the shrug and pulled the backpack on, again surprised at the relatively light weight of the object.

Skyler took the narrow bridge in one quick, long stride. He turned to Ana again. “Let’s—”

She had a finger pressed to her lips, her eyes cast upward at the ceiling.

“What is it?”

After a second she shook her head. “I don’t know … something’s different. I’m not—” Then her eyes widened. “The breathing. It’s stopped.”

Chapter Eighteen

Darwin, Australia

31.MAR.2285

In the end Arkin had offered to pilot the hauler himself, rather than risking the involvement of one of his pilots in the whole endeavor. The short hop across the water, undertaken many times per day and largely automated, was one the plant manager had taken upon himself to learn over the years. “Don’t have the luxury of hiring young pilots out of the air force anymore,” he’d said. “The only good one to come up since the plague hit took off to join one of the scavenger crews, and that was a couple of years ago.”

He’d meant Angus, Sam realized. She’d said nothing, and neither had Skadz.

Twinkles of fading orange sunlight glinted off the water below. The flotilla of boats, barges, and improvised rafts that crowded Darwin’s aura-protected shore lifted and fell as a gentle surf pushed beneath them.

“It’s a bit sad, isn’t it?” Sam asked, not speaking to either man in particular.

Skadz looked at her with mild annoyance. He always hated starting an op without a real plan.

Prumble, though, seemed relaxed, even happy, feet propped up on the duffel bag that held his custom-made environment suit. “Hmm?” he asked.

“All these boats, stuck here,” Sam explained. “I mean, the life of a sailor is all about the freedom to travel at will, to enjoy the open water, you know? It’s bad enough to have to live your life trapped in one city, but to do so while living on a perfectly mobile vehicle … It’s depressing.”

Skadz rolled his eyes and went back to staring at the roof of the cabin. No doubt he was playing out scenarios in his mind, trying to win the chess game before it started.

“There she is,” Prumble said, his face suddenly pressed against the window. He was looking at the ocean below.

“What did they decide?” Sam asked.

“Take a look for yourself.” He leaned back in his seat so she could see past him. Below she saw the edge of the flotilla. Despite the fact that nearly half of the precious aura generated by the alien cord covered water, the ships that had made it to Darwin mostly clustered together along the shore for the simple reason that they had to get supplies just like any other dwelling. Fish and rainwater would only go so far. A few boats, though, anchored farther out. Some were abandoned, already listing steeply and soon to be relics for the ocean floor. Most were fishermen, scavengers in their own right trying to bring in a haul of protein for the hungry city.

Prumble’s thick finger pointed at a dark mass beneath the waves, lurking just a few hundred meters from the flotilla’s border. A white shirt tied to one of the antenna masts that studded the bridge indicated the crew had voted to go along with the plan. Arkin and June, seated side by side in the cockpit, both turned and smiled at Prumble, though June looked decidedly more enthusiastic.

She forced her attention back to the submarine. “It’s … gigantic.”

“Alexander class,” Prumble said, “incredible machine. With minimal crew it can stay out at sea for almost a year without surfacing.”

“Wow,” Sam managed to say. “How often do they go out?”

“More than you’d think. Her captain once showed me pictures they take of coastal towns through the periscope. I think he was hoping I’d buy them, the pictures, as recon for scavengers like you.”

“Why didn’t you? They could have been useful.”

Prumble shook his head. “The resolution was very poor, the images from too far out.”

Skadz held his hand out near Prumble’s face and snapped his fingers. “Oy, mate. Can we focus on the bloody plan? This tub is going to land soon in the belly of the beast.”

The big man stared at the craft below for a few seconds longer, lost in thought as the ocean slid past. When he turned to face Skadz and Sam, his expression had hardened. “Arkin drops us off and stays with the plane with June. The three of us will make contact with Kip. Once we know where secure storage is, and how long it will take to get inside, we’ll enlist him in locating Arkin’s girl.”

“If he can’t,” Sam said, “I may know someone who can.” Whether or not she could find Vaughn was another issue entirely, but she let that detail slide.

Prumble nodded. “If possible, I think Kip should find the girl and deliver her to the aircraft. He may have the clout to do that without raising any eyebrows. We’ll meet him back there and all fly out together.”

“I don’t know,” Skadz said, tapping his chin with one finger. “I’d feel better if I was with him. In case a little force needs to be applied. I don’t think Kip is up to that.”

“An understatement if there ever was one,” Prumble said. “Sam, your thoughts?”

“I’d prefer we stick together.” She met Skadz’s gaze and saw the plea there; whether he’d meant to hide it or not, she knew he needed to do this. “But I think Skadz is right. Kip seems like the type who would bail out at the first sign of trouble, and if he comes back empty-handed Arkin may not fly us back out.”

“Fair enough.” He still seemed unconvinced, frowned even, but let it go. “Arkin will drop us at Aura’s Edge near the valley, then join the Zorich crew for their trip to Belem.”

Sam nodded. Skadz did the same.

“Now,” Prumble said, “on the off chance we’re unable to rendezvous with Skyler—”

Sam slugged him on the shoulder. “We’ll make the fucking rendezvous.”

“On the off chance Skyler is unable—”

“Skyler will make the fucking rendezvous.”

Prumble sighed. “It’s another option. I’ll leave it at that.”

“All right, you magnificent bastard,” Skadz said. “This is all bloody fascinating, but what about the vault? I wouldn’t mind some sort of plan for that, and we’ve got roughly zero minutes to cook one up.”

Prumble shrugged. “We’ll figure something out.”

“Kip said it was impenetrable; you said ‘leave that to me.’”

“Did I? Heat-of-the-moment thing, I suppose.”

“Prumble …”

“I’m kidding. Yes, the vault. I can get us inside the vault.”

Samantha folded her arms. “How?”

He flashed his mischievous grin again. “I’ve done it before. Twice, as a matter of fact.” At their incredulous stares he held up his hands. “No, I didn’t break in.”

“Then how?”

“I was invited. First time almost eighteen years ago, when I was merely an apprentice installer with Novak and Sons Security out of Wellington. Top-notch operation, mind you. World-renowned. The second time was, oh, seven years ago.”

“About when SUBS hit,” Sam noted.

“To the hour, as it happened. Uncannily good timing, you’ll note. I was, um, perhaps freelance is the best word? Use your imagination. Someone needed access to that vault in a hurry and flew me in for the job. It’s a long and sordid tale, and the reason I was even in Darwin at all when the world went pear-shaped. Nice bit of luck, eh?”

“Yeah.”

“Point is, I’ve got the level-one originator’s fail-safe code burned into my brain. Can’t be changed. If we can get to the damn thing, I’ll open it.”

The note generated by the aircraft’s engines spiked as it adjusted course for the approach to Nightcliff. Below, the sprawling fortress came into view. The morning was bright and warm, but Sam noted there were few people about.

Other than the impressive wall that surrounded the place, and the giant tower that surrounded the Elevator cord itself, she thought the whole place looked fairly bland. A spread of buildings small and large. A residential area, even the gaudy mansion that Neil Platz himself used to live in. She’d seen all this many times when, on occasion, she’d taken the co-pilot’s seat in the Melville on the return leg of a scavenger outing. But she’d never paid it much attention until now.

Her eyes gravitated to one of the converted high-rise hotels, the one where Vaughn now occupied a meager room on the third floor. The room where she’d slept with him just a few nights ago and warned him.

She wondered what would happen if they ran into him while inside. There were only two choices, really, and though she suspected her visit had swayed which side he’d come down on, she still had no idea which side that would be.

“Here we go,” Skadz said. “Prumble? A plan, my good man?”

Instead of answering he leaned forward and poked his head into the cockpit, where Arkin oversaw the hauler’s automated descent in toward the assigned landing pad. Prumble cupped one hand against the man’s helmet and said something to him. Arkin replied. They conversed in this way for thirty seconds or so. Finally Prumble clapped him on the shoulder. Then Arkin leaned across the cockpit and pulled a slate from a pocket near the base of the co-pilot’s seat where June sat. No, not a slate, Sam realized, an old-fashioned clipboard with a single laminated sheet held under the clip. Arkin took a grease pen from his breast pocket and scribbled something on the top sheet, signing it with a flourish.

Prumble leaned back heavily into his seat again and grinned with satisfaction.

Across from him, Skadz waited for an answer. Sam realized she wouldn’t mind hearing one herself, but the smug grin on Prumble’s face was one she knew well.

“Not funny, mate,” Skadz said. “Give me something here, I mean it.”

Prumble held up the borrowed object and tapped it. “Have clipboard, will travel,” he said brightly.

“Flank me,” the big man said.

As they had done when walking into Arkin’s office at the water plant, Sam took the right shoulder and Skadz followed at the left.

“Don’t brandish your weapons,” Prumble added. “But don’t attempt to conceal them, either. Squint a lot. Look both bored and alert.”

Weapons. Sam wanted to laugh. Skadz had taken one of the umbrellas apart and kept the central shaft. He’d offered her one as well, but Sam thought it would snap on the first skull it came down upon. Instead she had the shorter half of a broken broom handle stuffed into her belt at her lower back.

Skadz snorted a laugh. “This is perhaps the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever done.”

“Which is why it will work.”

“I think on my tombstone I want the words, ‘It’s the fat man’s fault.’ Sam?”

She considered. “Mine will say ‘Had clipboard, died miserably.’”

“Enough,” Prumble snapped with uncharacteristic impatience. “Focus now. Time to fool the fools.”

He strode from the aircraft like a lion loose in a zoo. Absolute confidence wafted off him and seemed to flow straight into Sam’s own psyche. Prumble selected a target and marched straight up to her. The woman seemed to be supervising the crew that had come out to unload the hauler. She glanced up just in time to see Prumble looming over her. Her eyes widened. “Who the—”

Prumble held the clipboard before her and tapped it with his index finger. “Who the hell am I? I’m the one you promised a new skid for the one your idiots cracked. That was a month ago. A month!”

“I … I promised?” she stammered.

“Not you specifically,” Prumble said. He glanced at the clipboard, which Sam saw held some old flight operations checklist. “Osmak. Kip Osmak. This is his signature right here, is it not? I refuse to let that water go until he comes out here and personally fits a new skid to this bird.”

Sam realized that Prumble had chosen his mark perfectly. The woman had probably been recently assigned, and though she was no doubt a fine little Jacobite, she had no experience or real authority out here on the landing pads. The woman withered under Prumble’s loud, angry tone. He stood at least a half meter taller than her and easily that much wider.