The Exodus Towers (51 page)

The security chief glanced at the rum that still dripped down the thick glass wall. The liquid gave the abstract impression that Australia bled. “We could have supplied the climber.…”

“What’s the big fucking deal, Alex? So anxious to be rid of me? Do I need to log my every movement with you?”

Alex held up his hands. “Calm down. We were just worried. You and I both know the importance of keeping a strict climber schedule. When you didn’t turn up, well, people don’t just miss a climber departure.”

“Well, shit, Alex. I’m sorry if I put a wrench in the schedule. What did you think, someone jumped me in a hallway? That the ghost had returned?”

The man took a deliberate look at the glass lying on the floor by the window. “Honestly, we figured you’d passed out somewhere.”

Russell got up and strode to the wet bar tucked in the corner of the room. “I’m not that deep into my cups yet, Alex. A bit buzzed, maybe. Give me an hour and you’ll find me facedown in some obscure corner of this sodding place.” He poured another glass of rum. Russell didn’t particularly like rum, but everything else was empty, and anyway alcohol
was alcohol when you got down to it. “I would have thought the old man would keep a selection in here worthy of his riches.”

“He did. But that was during a time when things like liquor were tacitly allowed through Nightcliff. Not the most important thing to send up. No one was going to suffocate if it didn’t make it through. But it made life in these enclosed spaces a bit easier to cope with, so we all used to turn a blind eye. Grillo, on the other hand …”

The rum burned pleasantly in Russell’s throat and warmed his stomach. He could guess easily enough where this conversation was going, and he didn’t think there was enough rum in all the world to suffer through it again. “Go on, say it.”

“Grillo didn’t get the memo. Or,” Alex said somberly, “more likely he did and tore it up. His doctrine doesn’t seem to leave room for drink. Or anything else, for that matter.”

Another gulp and Russell found enough fortitude to return to the couch. He plopped down with a sigh and put his feet up on the coffee table. He clasped his hands behind his head and stared at Alex for a long moment, trying to see through the man’s stoic façade. Not an easy thing to do when sober, and all but impossible now. Russell gave up, spread his hands, and said, “How long until we run out?”

“A month, my guess. Of course we’ll still have cider from the farms.”

Russell wrinkled his nose. “That shit is vile. Does the job though, I guess.”

“Unfortunately,” Alex said, “most of the farms with apple crops are still with Tania Sharma.”

“Jesus. If I’m not getting it in one end I’m getting it in the other.” He leaned forward and rubbed his temples, suddenly wishing he could think clearly. “So are you telling me it’s time to relieve Grillo of his duties?”

Alex shrugged. “Rein him in a bit, maybe. He’s cooperating on the whole, but you give him too long a leash, Russell. If he turns on us—”

“Goddamn, is this what I’ve become?”

The comment stopped Alex short. He looked at Russell with confusion.

“Did you and Neil Platz used to sit here and talk about me like this?”

“Well …”

“I’ve become Neil Platz, haven’t I? Deposed the fucker just so I could deal with the same shit.” He figured he shouldn’t say anything else, but the rum let his mouth keep going. “I figured this would be the best bloody job in the world. Top dog, all that shit. Instead it’s one long series of headaches.”

Alex let the rant fade before he spoke. “I really don’t understand you.”

“Huh?”

“I mean, deep down …” Alex paused. He shifted in his seat, leaned forward. “Deep down, what do you actually want? No, I’m serious. We pulled off our coup. We got rid of Neil, disbanded the council. We had everything, and then out of nowhere you gave half of it to a zealot slumlord.”

“Didn’t know he was a zealot at the time.”

Alex ignored him. “The other half you’ve shown almost no interest in managing, despite the fact that you continue to insist on being involved in every little decision. It’s like you climbed Everest and all you could think to say was, ‘Er, bit cold, isn’t it?’ ”

“Bad analogy. Implies there’s nowhere to go but down.”

Alex spread his hands wide. “Isn’t that the truth? You’re at the pinnacle of humanity, and you spend the time drunk or disagreeable. Both, more often than not. I mean, what did you hope would happen when we started this endeavor?”

Where’s this “we” shit coming from all of a sudden? You were laid up with a broken collarbone the entire time
. Russell sighed and turned to the view of Earth again. A sudden melancholy fell over him like a blanket. He took a deep breath, then went to sip his rum, only to realize he’d left the glass on the wet bar. He clenched his fist instead. “What I wanted was to tie everything together, you know? Darwin and orbit in one cohesive whole, instead of the constant pissing match and forced friendship. Both sides reliant on each other and yet reluctant to share, it seemed like a recipe for disaster.”

“And you had that,” Alex said, “but you broke it apart again when you gave Darwin to Grillo. I don’t understand.”

Russell shook his head. “No. It broke apart before that. We were close, but then Tania had to go and take all the brightest minds, not to mention our food supply, and bugger off to South America. So you see, we never were whole, Alex.”

“That’s going to twist in your gut until the bitter end, isn’t it? Tania.”

“Yeah. Problem?”

Alex sank back in his seat. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, either deep in thought or profoundly tired. Probably both. Russell waited. He looked at his hand again for the liquid confidence, saw it was still empty, and briefly entertained the idea of getting up to fetch it. Given Alex’s mood, he decided it could wait.

The man’s eyes blinked open again and he met Russell’s eyes. “You’re a hunter, Blackfield.”

“Eh?”

“A hunter. Not an administrator. The role you fought for will never make you happy because you need prey.”

“What the fuck are you on about? Are you my shrink now?”

Alex shrugged. “Just telling you what I see.”

“Fascinating,
Doctor
Warthen.”

“You had drive and ambition in Darwin because you had Neil Platz to plot against. Before that I’m guessing you spent your time scheming to take Arthur Braithwaite’s job in Nightcliff.”

“That guy was a spineless fop.”

“No argument there,” Alex said. “Point is, you need an enemy. It’s just who you are.”

The words somehow broke through Russell’s state of intoxication. He could almost taste the truth in them, and it tasted like salty chips. He swallowed with some effort, and for the first time in as long as he could remember, he wanted a glass of water.

Russell Blackfield hated a lot of things, but near the top of the list was being predictable. Being solved. For all his adult
life the only prompt he needed to change course was when someone had known the course ahead of time. Knowledge of the future was a powerful thing, and while some people simply found comfort in knowing that what happened today would happen tomorrow, rinse and bloody repeat, others wielded that information like a weapon. They’d be one step ahead, always. Russell’s own mother had been the grand master of this. For most of his childhood he’d thought her to be some kind of psychic, a mystical witch of a woman. Try to take money from her purse only to find a mousetrap inside. A little note for him to read through the pulsing pain of fingers nearly broken. “Piss off, get a job and make your own way.” He’d sneak in through the back window after a night of drinking and vandalism to find the chair he’d carefully placed before leaving missing a leg, rigged to collapse. The fall to the floor hurt like hell, but worse was the fact that she’d fucking known.

Her lessons were supposed to teach him to be a fine upstanding citizen. It even worked, for a while. But then he realized that if he stole money from her purse on random nights, instead of every Friday, no trap would be set. If he came in through the front door, an hour earlier than usual, she’d miss him. The new tactic worked so well that Russell decided to have the letters
VTP
tattooed on his right forearm. Initials of some fallen friend, most people assumed. They stood for “Vary The Pattern.”

Alex Warthen went on. “You’re a mess lately, and I think it’s because you’re torn between some feeling of obligation to ‘run things’ while what you really want to do is bring the runaways back into the fold. You’re unable to focus. And on top of that is the knowledge that you handed Darwin to someone else, and he’s doing a damn fine job.”

“I’m only letting you say this shit because I’m too drunk to stand up.”

“But it’s true, right?”

“Yes it’s fucking true!” Russell shouted more than said. “Doesn’t mean I have to like hearing it. I still don’t understand what the hell you expect me to do. Go down to Darwin
with a squadron of thugs and kick Grillo out? Won’t be pretty, and like you said, he’s the bloody messiah down there.”

“What I’m saying,” Alex said with pointed patience, “is that you should put all your energy into the runaways, from now until the situation is resolved. And I mean really do it, not just talk.”

Russell opened his mouth to speak but Alex’s upheld hand stopped him.

“Hear me out. You focus on Tania and the new Elevator. Whatever it takes, just bring them under our umbrella. You know it’s what you really want to be doing, anyway. Let myself and a few of the old council members deal with the minutiae of keeping these space stations provisioned.”

“And Grillo?”

“I thought I might try handling him.”

“Oh? What difference would that make?”

“Your first instinct was to take a squad of thugs down there. I thought I might try a little diplomacy.”

Russell rolled his eyes. “Oh God.”

“It worked well enough with you for years.”

“Now you’re just being a prick.”

Alex brushed the comment aside. “You tell Grillo I’ve been placed back in charge of managing shipments on the cord, and I’ll take it from there. Once you’ve got the Brazil situation under control, if I don’t have Grillo behaving to our liking then you can turn your guns on him.”

The plan had a sobering effect. Alex had him figured perfectly, and he couldn’t deny the appeal of putting all his attention into revenge against Tania Sharma. “Grillo promised me fighters. He’s been dodging that ever since.”

“I’ll make it a priority that he deliver.”

Russell nodded, then turned to the blue planet out the expansive window. The deal was done. “Neil, Tania, maybe Grillo after that. What happens then?”
What happens when I run out of prey?

Alex inclined his head slightly. “Well, there’s always the Builders.”

Belém, Brazil

12.JUL.2284

T
HE THIN CORD
plunged into darkness, well beyond the limit of Skyler’s flashlight. Radiance danced along its length, as if a strand of shiny black hair had been stretched right down the middle of the abyss.

He pulled a glow stick from his vest pocket, shook it until his arm hurt, and then cracked it. A green glow built within the childish object.

With his flashlight turned off, the space beneath base camp became pitch-black save for the faint green glow coming from the stick. Skyler held it out over the precipice and dropped it.

It seemed to fall forever, spiraling on the hot air that rose from the power source below. The glowing stick fell until he almost couldn’t see it. Finally, the object stopped, as if it had become caught in some invisible field within darkness. Skyler put his binoculars to his eyes and tapped the autofocus until the green glowing stick came into view.

The surface it rested on was another iris, just like he’d seen below Nightcliff. This came as no surprise. Skyler had been down here many times since the tunnel team finished their work, months ago, but he still liked to survey it for any changes. Any hint that it might experience the same failures Darwin’s had. The room where he stood, twenty meters beneath the center of camp, had been carved largely by hand after a tunneling machine bored the main access way. Warm air from the alien generator below gave the space a sauna’s climate. Moisture dripped down the packed soil walls,
traced lines along the rocks too big to remove. Wooden beams were irregularly placed around the circular space, with a simple square formed across the top to presumably hold up the “ceiling.”

Something about the pit drew him back, time and time again. It never looked any different, of course. Nothing led him to believe it would, but he still felt the need to check. Part of him wished it would change, that he’d stare down into the hole and see brilliant yellow light emanating from the alien thing, beckoning him to dive in again and become enveloped in the light, in the machine. To feel every memory held within his mind splayed out before him again—

“There you are.” It was Karl’s voice, from the access way.

Skyler turned from the pit and raised an arm to shield his eyes from the bright light the other man carried. “I usually get some peace and quiet in here.”