The Darwin Elevator (25 page)

27.JAN.2283

From his vantage point, Darwin looked like scattered glowing embers, as if God himself had stood at a fire pit and kicked the smoldering coals in pure frustration.

Russell Blackfield liked to imagine himself in the role of God.

He spent most nights here, relaxing on a tattered old recliner on the roof of his headquarters in Nightcliff, a patio umbrella to keep the rain off his head. He brought three things: a lantern, the shipping manifests for the next day, and whatever bottle of alcohol he could get his hands on.

From midnight to dawn, he memorized the shipments that would come through Nightcliff the next day. It was his secret. Among the administrators and inspectors, his knowledge of all things coming and going had acquired legendary status. In truth he was never more than a day ahead, and the memorization process took him hours.

He allotted himself two swigs from his bottle per climber memorized, until the task was done. Then the floodgates could open. He would drink, and watch the city wake up. A million souls, or so the estimates went. His own sleep would come with the sun.

But tonight his mind drifted. Events beyond his control clawed at his attention, like hungry kittens. Word of a subhuman running loose in orbit had spread like wildfire across the city. It dwarfed the news that a few had appeared inside the city as well—that, at least, could be explained.

Power outages continued to plague the climbers, more occurrences happening by the day, and no one had a good explanation. Not even the council. Or perhaps they just weren’t sharing. Scared shitless, more likely.

Russell took a swig of vodka and drew his arm across his mouth. Change didn’t scare him. Change meant opportunity for those willing to grasp it.

He heard footsteps behind him and sat up slowly. His staff knew to leave him in peace up here. Footsteps meant something important.

“Sorry to disturb you, sir,” came a voice.

Russell turned to see a uniformed guard. Too dark to distinguish whom, not that he cared much. “What is it?”

The man stopped at a respectful distance. “The missing worker from yesterday’s climber.”

“What of it?”

“There was a scavenger ship that went up just after—”

Russell felt his temper rising. “The
Melville,
yes?”

“It just returned, sir.”

Russell set his bottle down. “To the old airport?”

“No sir,” the man stammered. “We ordered it here. It’s in the yard. The crew has been quarantined.”

Russell held back his surprise. Quarantined, no less! Competence like this deserved a toast, so Russell pressed the bottle to his lips and tilted it back. “And our missing woman?”

“One of them matches her description. We’ve put her in a separate room.”

“You …” Russell started, then paused. “You’ve done well. I’m shocked.” He handed the half-full bottle to the man. “Get yourself rotten. I’ll take it from here.”

Quarantine situations were handled in the basement of the old asylum, conveniently situated within Nightcliff’s walls. Russell strode inside and was greeted by the nurse on duty.

“Status,” he said.

The heavyset woman fell in step next to him. “Got three of them together in room D. The fourth I was told to set aside, so she’s in room H. Real looker, she is. You’ll like her. In shock, I think.”

“Shock? From being captured?”

The woman shook her flabby head. “Nah, she was like that when they pulled her from the ship. Seems they got into a bit of a scrap out there.”

Russell picked up the pace. “Out where?”

“Hawaii, they said.”

That matched the flight plan put in when the
Melville
’s captain purchased lift rights.

“Is she exhibiting any symptoms?” he asked.

“She had a hazmat on. The rest say they’re immune.”

“They are, I know them. Room H first,” Russell said.

The obese woman had to jog just to keep up with him. Waddling on her stubby legs, she led him through a series of empty hallways and abandoned waiting rooms.

The quarantine rooms consisted of two sides, one for the patient and one for the observer, separated by a wall-sized one-way mirror. Russell entered the observation area ahead of the nurse and looked through the glass at the woman on the other side.

Tile covered the walls, floor, and ceiling in the holding cell. Once gleaming white, the grout had now blackened, and mildew stains bloomed everywhere. The detainee sat on a metal bench, the only furniture in the room. She hugged her knees to her chest and rocked gently back and forth. Her eyes were closed.

“She is lovely, isn’t she?” Russell asked.

“Told you so,” the nurse said. The hag licked her lips.

“You get a name?”

“No,” she said. “She keeps mumbling about someone named Jake, that they left him behind. Then she said she wanted to speak to Neil Platz. Can you believe that?”

Russell smiled. He could believe it, in fact. “She looks a bit dirty,” he observed. “We should clean her up. What do you think?”

“Very prudent, sir.”

Russell found a simple chair in the corner of the observation room and pulled it close to the glass. “Right, then. Get someone in there and give her a good scrubbing.”

The ugly woman broke into an evil grin. “Right away,” she said.

“Tell them,” Russell said, “to be thorough.” He settled into the chair, leaned back, and crossed his hands behind his head.

On the whole, the resulting show disappointed. The gorgeous woman had an exceptional body, no question. But she never
struggled
.

He sighed. His cock barely twitched the entire time.

“In shock. What an understatement,” he said to himself.

They left her sitting naked on the narrow bench, still dripping from the buckets of cold, soapy water thrown on her. She made no effort to cover herself after the medics left the room. Instead she stared straight ahead, straight at Russell, as if she could see him through the mirror.

Maybe when she gathered her wits, she’d put up a bit of sport. Then Russell could swoop in, play the helping-hand card. Whisk her to his private quarters, away from such savage behavior.

But not yet. Bored, Russell left the observation room. The head nurse waited for him in the hall. “What should I do with her?”

Russell paused. “Let her stew in there. I’ll be back.”

“What about her clothing?” the nurse asked.

“Burn it,” Russell said. “And I suppose you should examine her closely for any signs of infection. Can’t have a goddamn sub get loose in here.”

A disgusting smile grew across the old woman’s face. “Thank you. Very good.”

“Same goes for the others we brought in,” he said.

“Yes, certainly,” said the nurse. “I’ll start with her, I think.”

Russell paused. “Hurt her in any way, and I’ll cut your fucking hands off.”

She recoiled, almost tripping on her own feet. He doubted he would have accomplished the same reaction had he physically slapped the shrew.

The
Melville
rested on the same landing pad from which it had departed. When Russell arrived, a team of cargo inspectors at his back, the ranking guard on duty greeted him.

“Evening, Mr. Blackfield, sir,” the boy said.

Russell read the name off his uniform. “Officer Decklan. What have we got?”

“Craft is Dutch Air Force, built in 2204. Registered as the
Melville,
owner Sky—”

“Skyler Luiken,” Russell said for him. “I know all this. The scow’s been through here many times before. What’s
inside
?”

Decklan stammered. “One full bag, and one metal case, locked.”

“That’s it?”

The guard swallowed, and nodded.

All the way to Hawaii for so little?
“And in the bag?”

“No idea, sir. Orders were not to touch anything.”

Russell nodded. “Well done.” He motioned to the three inspectors he’d brought along and pointed them toward the open cargo ramp. To Decklan he said, “No one in or out, without my permission.”

“Yes, sir!”

Russell followed his inspection team up the ramp.

The ship’s cargo hold, packed full on the last inspection, stood nearly empty now. Laid bare, the bird looked her eighty years. The fact that she still flew regular missions spoke volumes of the love her captain had for her. That, or the skill of whoever repaired the thing. Russell made a mental note to find out who the engineer was and try to woo him away.

“Sir, have a look,” one of the inspectors said.

Russell knelt over the metal case. Well made, from brushed aluminum, Russell guessed. The locks looked military grade. “Not the type of thing a wag from Darwin would carry about,” he said.

The inspector, with a gesture of permission from Russell, picked it up and turned it over, examining all sides. “It’s got the Platz logo, here,” he said, pointing.

Russell smiled. He couldn’t wait to tell Alex about this.

“Want me to open it?” the man said.

“Not yet,” Russell replied. “Give it to me for now.”

One of the other inspectors had opened the large black duffel bag. He stretched the opening for Russell to see. A random mess of cables and other spare computer parts filled it.

Russell looked around at the rest of the cabin. He recalled his meeting aboard Gateway. “Exercise some subtlety,” he said, echoing Alex’s words. It had a nice ring to it. “Take a handful each, no more.”

“Sir.”

Time to consult with his counterpart above, Russell decided. “I’ll be back. Conduct a thorough search, lads. I want a list.”

The three men nodded in unison.

He took his time returning to his office, climbing the twenty flights of stairs to the top floor with no great hurry. The stairs always gave him time to think, and got his heart beating nice and fast.

Inside, he first went to his desk and removed an old camera. Setting the briefcase on his desk, Russell photographed it.

Next he powered up his antique terminal, transferred the picture to it, and dialed Alex Warthen.

It took some shouting before Gateway’s graveyard shift agreed to wake their boss.

“Three in the bloody morning, this better be good,” Alex said.

Russell sent the photo to Alex as he spoke. “I have the most exquisite woman down here. Snuck away to Hawaii with a scavenger crew. She’s demanding to speak with Platz.”

“Who is she?” Alex asked.

“Not sure yet. I was hoping you could help with that,” Russell replied. “Are you near your computer?”

“I can be.”

Russell struggled to keep his patience in check. “I’ve sent you a picture of a briefcase the woman was carrying when we apprehended her.”

“What’s she look like?”

Russell closed his eyes, remembering the examination. “Medium height. Fit. Black hair. Of Indian descent, I’d guess. Very pretty. Small mole on her left ass cheek.”

“Pardon me?”

Russell laughed. “She’d been outside Darwin. A full examination was required.”

A brief pause from the other end. Russell could hear Alex activating his computer.

“Well,” Alex said, “my guess is the woman is Tania Sharma, a scientist from Anchor Station.”

“Long way from home,” Russell said.

“The briefcase … looks like a standard secure model.”

“There’s a Platz logo on the bottom.”

Alex took a moment to reply. “Tania and the old man are acquainted.”

“Why would she be down here? Cavorting with smugglers outside the Aura—”

“That,” Alex said, “is a damn good question. Maybe something to do with these power failures, and the subhuman outbreaks. If they’re researching it on the sly, they must know something.”

Russell ran his hand over the sleek object. “Maybe I can sell it back to the old prick. The girl, too.”

Alex let out a long breath into the receiver.

How bloody annoying,
Russell thought.

“I have a better idea,” Alex said. “I’m going to send you down a small tracking device. I’ll—”

“What good does that do me?” Russell asked.

“Hear me out,” Alex said. “Platz is up to something. If we figure out what, we’ll have the upper hand.”

“We have the upper hand now. The case, and the woman.”

“The woman is nothing,” Alex said. “What’s in the case, what she risked a trip to Hawaii for, that we must determine.”

It made sense, Russell had to admit. “So we attach this device. Then what?”

“Let her go. I’ve got agents on every station. Sleepers. We’ll see where she takes it and find out the details without tipping our hand.”

Russell drummed his fingers on the case. He didn’t like the idea of putting his playing cards in Alex’s hand, but fostering a sense of teamwork might have advantages later. And sleeper agents? Alex had alluded to such a plant inside Nightcliff when they met before, and now he admitted to more. Russell wondered just how wide the net had been cast.

“Look,” Alex said, “if Platz thinks we’re on to him, the trail stops.”

“Fine,” Russell said. “Once the case is tagged, I’ll let her go.”

“Unmolested.”

Russell laughed at that. “Unharmed. I have a reputation to keep.”

Tania lost all track of time. She sat on the cold bench, shivering and naked, unable to focus her mind in any meaningful way.

Some time ago, hours it seemed, a nurse had come in. The old woman was very sweet, sickeningly so, and her hands were cold as ice. The lengthy, probing examination she performed would have been humiliating, repulsive, had Tania been able to bring herself to care.

In her mind she kept seeing the look on Samantha’s face when she had emerged from that cursed building. The way Skyler’s knees had buckled. They had lost one of their own, for a cause they knew nothing about.

Then she recalled the way Skyler had shouted and struggled in vain when they separated Tania from the others upon entering the infirmary. He’d punched a guard before they tackled him. Even after the loss she’d caused him, he still fought for her.

When the door finally opened again, Tania hardly noticed. Two men entered, one carrying a folded gray jumpsuit. She did not move. Instead she kept her eyes locked on her own reflection in the mirror. She pretended to be that woman, the one watching with numb disinterest. They lifted her to her feet and dressed her, guiding her legs into the stiff, scratchy cloth, using their hands more than necessary as they pulled the garment above her waist and chest.