The Darwin Elevator (42 page)

Alone, she slipped into the research room and logged in. The high-resolution image from the telescope’s nightly scan awaited her. She took one more glance at the door and then filled the bank screens with the picture.

The Builder’s ship sat in the center, a dark mass against the blackness of space. She enlarged that portion and studied the telltale oblong shape. Because of the dark material there still wasn’t enough detail to discern any purpose, but she could just make out what looked like a shield covering the nose of the vessel.

Tania walked around the desk to stand directly in front of the screen. She traced a finger along the vessel’s length, looking for any other differences, and found none.

She stepped back and took in the whole scene. A few small discolorations caught her eye. On the left monitor, near the top corner, a tiny gray blob could just be seen. Another sat near the center. She studied the monitor on the right and found another.

“Multiple ships?” she whispered.

Concerned, Tania moved back to the console and set up Natalie’s program again, flipping the image through the entire sequence captured by the telescope. Only three images had been captured, but when they were shown in sequence Tania could see the tiny blobs moving in loose formation with the new Builder ship, which dwarfed them in size. Even with just three pictures to study, Tania realized the small objects were breaking away from the craft.

She counted five in all, and what purpose they served she couldn’t begin to imagine.

Chapter Thirty-five

Gateway Station

9.FEB.2283

Inside the primary cargo bay on Gateway’s lower ring, the Nightcliff men floated around like balloons set adrift. Only a few managed to keep with Russell as he moved for the exit, where a stocky Gateway security officer waited for him. The man had a face like a bulldog and kept his sand-colored hair closely cropped. Ex-military, through and through.

“Jarred Larsen,” the man said, extending a hand to Russell as he drifted in.

“I was expecting a horde of nurses and decontamination showers,” Russell said.

“There’s no time.”

“So we depart for Platz Station soon?” Russell asked, grabbing a handhold. Two of the three soldiers who had followed him across the room found something to grab, and landed reasonably well. The third bounced off the wall and drifted slowly away.

Russell wrinkled his nose.

Jarred either didn’t notice, or didn’t care. “No need. They came to us. Platz’s men hold the upper ring, but so far we’ve managed to contain them there.”

“They took the offensive? How did they even make it off the climbers?”

“Didn’t use climbers. They came on lifeboats. Somehow they sealed the section remotely,” Jarred replied.

“Bold son of a bitch, isn’t he. Where’s Warthen?”

“Still in the infirmary, sedated. You got here just in time. We’re about to try to retake the section. On any other day I’d have your men trade their weapons for coilguns, station regs, but we’ll make an exception today.”

Russell turned to his soldiers. Slowly they were managing to orient themselves and float toward the exit. “I need a word with your dockmaster.”

Jarred called out to a woman on the far side of the bay; she was directing a team who were unloading supplies from the first climber. She heard her name and launched across the bay with expert precision. One of the Nightcliff soldiers nearly collided with her as she sailed past.

“Listen,” Russell said to her, “there are nine more climbers right behind this one. I realize the supplies are badly needed, but if you’d be so kind as to, uh, assist my soldiers in getting to the outer ring?”

“Sure,” the woman said. “Anything else?” She directed the question to Jarred.

He shook his head. The woman, Williams, nodded to each of them and returned to her crew. Russell and Jarred watched as she had her team efficiently gather the remaining infantry, who floated around the room like so many dead fish, and deposited them along the wall near the exit. A rail ran the length of it, and luckily the men were smart enough to grab it.

“She could be useful,” Russell said, “for training my men to fight up here.”

“I agree. Hadn’t thought about it until now. I think our men will handle any zero-g business until then.”

Russell continued to watch for a few more seconds, mesmerized. His attention eventually returned to the task at hand. “Lead on, Captain Larsen.”

The burly man moved quickly along the access tube that led from the inner cargo bay to the outer ring. Russell mulled the skipped decontamination. He’d never heard of that happening before. The situation must be dire indeed.

The access tube gradually changed from something they moved along to something they fell down. Red metal bars spaced along the walls turned from handholds to the rungs of a ladder.

Captain Larsen stopped suddenly in front of a large schematic on the wall. “There’s a map at each main junction,” he said. “Best to memorize it, though.” His tone had more authority than Russell cared for, but he allowed it. He already envisioned this man as a platoon leader; might as well let him get comfortable in the role.

The men studied the map. One asked, “Where’s the conflict now?”

Russell pointed at three locations marking junctions between the uppermost deck, in terms of distance from earth, and the one next to it. “Platz basically owns Section H. He has a suite of offices there. Some storage. He sealed these doors remotely,” he said, indicating them, “preventing us from stopping them at the climber bay.”

“Platz is with them?”

Jarred shrugged. “I use the name loosely. We don’t know.”

“Are the doors still closed?” Russell asked.

“Not completely. We were in the process of forcing them open when the shooting started. At this point, we’re just managing to keep them contained to Section H.”

“How many are we talking about?” someone asked.

“Unknown,” Jarred said. All business, no bullshit—Russell really liked this guy. “Four small shuttles docked, but we don’t know how many were aboard.”

Blackfield studied the map. “Is there any other way into that area?”

“Via the climbers,” the captain said, pointing along the Elevator thread. “You’d be a sitting duck coming out of one, though. Surveillance cameras, when they were working, showed they have the cargo bay well guarded.”

Russell had an idea. “I need a volunteer,” he said to his men. No shortage; every hand went up. He picked one at random. “Listen up. Go back to the dock. Your mission is to lead the rest of the troops, as they arrive, to the three combat zones, until you hear otherwise. Spread ’em evenly, got it?”

“Yes, sir,” the man said. He seemed to regret volunteering to miss the battle.

“While you wait,” Russell continued, “see if you and the dockmaster can find some empty air canisters. Load a climber full of them, rig it with something that looks like a fuse, and send it up to the climber bay in Section H.”

“Sir?”

“Keep them on their toes,” Russell said. “They’ll waste time and people on it until the jig is up.”

The soldier smiled, as did the others. “Good idea.”

“Get moving,” Russell said. As the man turned and hustled back the way they had come, Russell turned back to Captain Larsen. “Lead on.”

Not thirty seconds later, an alarm sounded.

Jarred stopped in his tracks and tapped the small communicator in his ear. All of the Gateway security personnel wore them, Russell realized. The little device added a certain air of importance to the wearer. He made a mental note to ask for one.

The captain listened for a few seconds and then shot a sidelong glance at Russell. “Trouble at the brig.”

“What?”

“An escape attempt,” Jarred said, still listening to the report. He began to run, and shouted over his shoulder. “This way!”

Russell ordered his men to secure the entrance to the brig. He followed Jarred into the small room that fronted a row of four cells.

A guard waited there, his face pale and flushed. He kept one hand pressed to the back of his head. “I was just sitting here at the desk,” he told Jarred. “Then … nothing. I woke up a few minutes ago.”

“You were alone?”

“No,” he muttered. His eyes shot left toward the only open cell door. “Found Barry in there, instead of the prisoner. He’s dead.”

“Step aside,” Jarred said. Instead of going to the cell, as Russell expected, he went to the desk. “Cameras may have captured something.”

As he tapped away on the terminal, Russell walked around to the cell door. It appeared undamaged. Inside, a guard lay on the floor, one arm folded awkwardly underneath him, bruising around his neck. “The prisoner lured him inside, perhaps?” Russell said, to no one in particular.

“No,” Jarred said. “Take a look.”

The screen in front of him showed the view from a camera mounted in the ceiling.

“Fifteen minutes ago,” Jarred said.

In the footage, the guard at the desk waved as another guard approached, carrying a covered bowl. Food, Russell guessed. There was no sound, but Russell could see the two men chat for a few seconds. Then the food carrier moved on to the cell block.

Ten seconds passed. Then the man at the desk stood up abruptly and turned around. He’d heard something.

A person approached him from the entrance, toward his turned back. A woman, Russell saw. Small and lithe, wearing a skintight black outfit. She hit the guard on the back of the head with something—a gun, perhaps—and he dropped like a bag of sand.

What happened next startled him. The woman reached over the desk, without even looking at the terminal. Her hand raced across the keyboard, and the video feed died.

An absolute pro. Russell whistled appreciation. “Who the hell is that?”

“The ‘Ghost,’” Jarred said. “Kelly Adelaide. Works for Platz, though he denies it. An enormous pain the ass.”

“And who was in the cell?”

The dazed guard answered. “A scavenger from Darwin. A woman.”

“The immune? Samantha?” Russell asked. When the guard nodded he turned to Jarred. “Tough as nails, that one. I’ve had a run-in with her before.”

“Good to know.”

“They can’t be far,” Russell said, clicking off the safety of his pistol.

Jarred shook his head. “She’s with the Ghost. They’re long gone, trust me. They’ve been trying to find her for almost week.”

A week
. Russell found it hard to believe, in a tin can like this, that anyone could even get thirty seconds of privacy. “Well,” he said, looking over the scene, “standing around here is pointless, then. Let’s go crack some skulls.”

Halfway to Section G, Jarred pressed a finger to his ear and began to run. “They’ve broken through,” he said to Russell. “Pushing our men back.” His own soldiers, four in number, ran ahead with him.

When the combatants started to come into view, Russell slowed down. He turned to his twenty men. “Listen up,” he said. “They’re all using pansy tactics. Pop up, shoot, duck, repeat. I’ll have none of that. We’re going to barrel in there like a bunch of subs and scare the hell out of ’em.”

Everyone nodded. They were smiling. Russell realized he wore a wide grin, too.

Russell turned toward the battle and started to jog. The jog turned to a run as his men caught up to him. Some even passed him. Bloodlust took over, and he loved it.

They rushed forward as if they were playing rugby, shouting as they raced toward the enemy, shooting wildly. A shocking and effective tactic.

Platz’s forces, caught off guard, crouched behind whatever cover they could find under the hail of bullets and bloodcurdling cries. Before they could return fire, the Nightcliff guards were right on top of them. Russell ran as hard as he could, and still he fell toward the back of the group. Their boldness filled him with pride.

A slaughter ensued, beyond Russell’s expectations. In seconds, five Platz soldiers lay dead or dying. Some already on the ground received a second bullet.

Blackfield’s soldiers pushed on, into the junction corridor, leaving the shocked Gateway guards to secure ground already gained. The junction hall was a narrow space—no more than three people wide—with nothing to hide behind along the twenty-meter stretch. They surged forward.

Russell passed Jarred Larsen, who was crouched behind a metal table turned on its side. Jarred shouted something. It sounded like a warning. Russell laughed and ran on.

Jarred shouted again, much louder. “Blackfield! Ambush!”

He heard the cry two steps before entering the corridor. Something in Jarred’s tone resonated. At the last step he angled into the wall next to the door.

A storm of gunfire erupted from the Platz-held end of the junction. Men screamed and toppled.

Fish in a goddamn barrel,
Russell thought.
Oops!

Whipping around, he held a hand up, ordering the men still behind him to halt. Most were able to heed the call, angling to take cover along the wall next to their leader. A few could not overcome their momentum and died in the open doorway.

Jarred moved up and took a place on the wall next to Russell.

In the junction, on the other side of the wall, the wounded men screamed. “I guess we got carried away,” Russell said. No one laughed.

One soldier managed to crawl out, a bloodstain spreading across his lower back. Russell pulled him through to safety.

“How many up there?” he asked the fallen man.

Through clenched teeth he said, “Couldn’t see. They’re dug in.”

Russell took stock of his men along the wall. Ten of the twenty were still standing. A sobering number. Russell saw no fear in the survivors’ faces, but the cockiness had definitely been smothered. He leaned to the next man on the wall. “We hold this position, until the rest of the boys arrive. Spread the word.”

As the orders spread down the line, Russell pulled Captain Larsen aside. “The second squad is bringing tear gas. That’ll clear them out.”

“Can’t do that. The circulators will suck it in and spread it all over the station.”

From within the junction corridor, Russell heard a deep clang. The sound reverberated through the floor and walls. “The hell?”