The Darwin Elevator (6 page)

An old oak desk, well worn by time and use, dominated the room. An enormous map of Earth covered one wall, marked with hundreds of colorful thumbtacks.

Every flat surface in the office hid under piles of books and papers. Skyler noted technical manuals and medical texts chief among the stacks. Such items were favorites of Prumble. Small and highly valuable. He would spend hours cataloging them. Skyler took the chair by the door, moving aside some books about home childbirth and midwifing.

Prumble went to the map on the wall. From a box on the shelf below it, he removed a blue thumbtack. Skyler watched in silence as the big man placed the marker just north of Kuala Lumpur. Blue represented a scouted site.

“Any subhumans?” Prumble asked.

“No.”

He took a green tack and placed it next to the blue. “Anything of value still there?”

“Plenty,” Skyler said. “A few trips’ worth.”

A white tack went up.

Satisfied, Prumble lowered himself into a huge suede executive chair behind the wooden desk and dabbed his forehead again. The handkerchief vanished into his coat, replaced by a yellow pencil.

Skyler pulled his own jacket tighter and wrung his hands together to chase the cold away.

“Down to business, then,” Prumble said. His pencil hovered over a thick, leather-bound ledger. “My coveted arc welder is in Blackfield’s hands?”

“Sorry about that,” Skyler said. Part of him wanted the big man to fly into a rage at the news of another failure. Skyler tried to think of something—anything—he could say to redeem himself. Nothing came to mind.

No admonishment came. Instead, Prumble calmly jotted a note in his ledger. “At least when we scavenge for the Orbitals we can factor Nightcliff’s greedy hands into the price. They control the Elevator, and fair’s fair.”

“He doesn’t seem content with that anymore.”

Prumble grunted. “If he’s going to start rummaging through our bread and butter …”

“So he implied,” Skyler said.

The pencil hovered as Prumble digested the statement. “I suppose you did the right thing. Landing, I mean. The way Blackfield is behaving, he may well have shot you down just to send a message to the other crews. The man has become unpredictable.”

“And the climbers?” Skyler asked. “Think that’s a message, too?”

“Yes,” Prumble said, “but not to you.” His face grew sour. “This is all posturing. A power loss, even for just a fraction of a second, is disturbing, sure. But to shut all traffic down for a day? Days? No, he’s thumbing his nose at the Orbitals.”

“Why?”

“Boredom, probably.” Prumble’s pencil moved over the ledger again. “Traffic will resume. They need our air and water; we need their food. There’s no other choice. Right, then. What else did you find?”

From memory, Skyler rattled off the list.

“I can fence the rations and first-aid kits,” Prumble said. “Did you bring them?”

“It’s all in the truck.”

“What else did the bastards take, aside from the welder?”

Skyler recounted the story. In hindsight, it could have been worse. They could have taken everything, even the
Melville
. He shuddered at the thought. Nightcliff’s odd exclusion from the Orbital Council had left Blackfield beholden only to his own whims. And by all accounts he had whims in abundance.

“For what it’s worth, we found the old man,” Skyler said. “The one the roofers wanted closure on. He was full sub, but tell them he was already dead. Brought back a sample, a finger actually.” He gently set the sleeve on the edge of the desk.

Prumble eyed it. “That’s something. While you were gone I found a hoodwink who can test the DNA. The poor guy doesn’t get much work these days. If the sample matches you might at least break even.”

“Oh,” Skyler said, remembering the stranger. “I also have a letter for you.”

“Now you’re the postman, too?”

Skyler took the memory card from his jacket and tossed it onto Prumble’s desk. “Some bloke in Nightcliff asked me to deliver that. Weird guy. Can’t remember his name, but he knew mine.”

The big man plucked the card with two thick fingers, eyebrows arched. “Kip Osmak,” Prumble said.

“That’s him.”

Prumble stood and crossed to an old safe, the size of a refrigerator, and dialed in the combination. The thick door swung open and he began to rummage through the contents.

Skyler couldn’t help but peek over Prumble’s shoulder. Within the safe he saw an array of high-value items—primarily ammunition. A case of hand grenades. The top shelf was filled with bottles full of seeds, each meticulously labeled.

The big man finally settled on what he was looking for: a yellow envelope. He kicked the safe closed and gave the tumbler a spin before returning to his chair.

Skyler cleared his throat. “Who is this bloke?”

From the envelope, Prumble removed a second memory card and a rigid sheet of white plastic. He set the sheet on his desk and placed both cards in the upper corners. Black text began to fill the programmable “paper.”

“Kip Osmak is a weasel of a man,” Prumble said without looking up. “A well-connected weasel, as it happens.”

“Speak for yourself,” Skyler said.

Prumble ignored the jibe, his gaze dancing across the letter before him. His face lit up as he read.

“What is it?” Skyler asked.

“I may have some work for you.”

Skyler grunted. “I certainly need it. The crew will mutiny if I offer another spec mission.”

Prumble frowned. “Skadz used to run them all the time.”

“His were successful.”

The fat man’s frown grew deeper. “Don’t offer missions, Skyler. Lead them.”

Skyler had no retort for that. He studied his boots instead.

“When was the last time you pillaged in Japan?”

Skyler winced at the choice of words. “Two years, give or take. This better not be a bloody Tokyo mission. Nothing but bad news up there.”

“You have an irrational fear of urban places, my friend.”

“I disagree. It’s quite rational.”

A strange look came across the man’s face. Wistful and childlike. “How I wish I could venture out with you. Get away from this tomb. Darwin, I mean.”

Then he fell silent, his gaze on the wall map. Skyler waited. He could think of nothing to say. Prumble did not have the immunity and so would need a special environment suit to leave the city. Skyler knew of no suit large enough to fit the enormous man.

“Can that ship of yours reach the island without a drop from the Elevator?” Prumble finally asked.

Mentally Skyler calculated the electricity burn. The ship’s ultracapacitors could handle it, but it would take a few days to spool them unless he paid Woon for a feed. The subtext concerned him more: a long-range mission without using the Elevator meant working off Nightcliff’s radar. Given the inspection yesterday, Skyler wondered how easy that would be. “Depends,” he said at last.

“Good answer. Read this.”

Skyler took the plastic sheet and scanned it. “Toenail clippers? It’s amazing how these pricks live.”

Prumble removed a bottle from his desk drawer, along with two glasses. “The interesting bit is on the last page. Care for a drink?”

Skyler nodded. He scanned the entire list:

Titanium-oxide powder—4,200/gram

Seeds (citrus), any type/quantity—100 per seed

Gauze and bandages—negotiable

Zigg ultracapacitors, all sizes—6,000 per

Cartridge filter pack for Aqua-Solve M7 membrane array—17,500

The list went on, for two pages, covering all manner of desired goods. Vitamins, electronic components, chemicals, and so on. A typical list, in Skyler’s judgment. Then he came to the last page:

Prumble,

An anonymous client wishes the following item to be recovered:

- NEO Telemetry Logs (cubeSTOR preferred), Torafuku Observatory, Toyama, Japan. Full set marked 93093xxxxx or 97259xxxxx.—200,000 per set (pending verification)

The amount is not a mistake. Knowledge of this request will be denied by myself and my client should it be confiscated.

If this item is not delivered to me at Clarke’s on 16 January, I will contact other suppliers.

Skyler whistled, took the offered glass, and threw the drink back in one gulp.

“That last was encrypted.”

Skyler felt the alcohol warm his throat and let the sensation fade before talking. “Not fooling around.”

“And time critical,” said Prumble. “Three days, or he shops it elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere meaning Grillo.” Skyler uttered the name of Prumble’s chief competitor like a curse. Grillo ran a crime syndicate that all but ruled Darwin’s eastern slums. He also owned a handful of unscrupulous scavenger crews, using the old football stadium as an air base.

“Grillo, naturally.” He handed Skyler a pencil and a sheet of yellow paper torn from his ledger. “Write it all down.”

While Skyler copied the list, Prumble sipped his own drink.

“It’s risky,” Skyler said. “There might be nothing out there. But the payment …”

Prumble nodded. “Risk and reward.”

“What are these numbers?”

“No idea,” Prumble said. “You know these scientists. They speak their own language.”

“No kidding. And ‘NEO’?”

Prumble shrugged. “The verification bit concerns me. You may retrieve the item, only to have it declined.”

“Still, two hundred thousand in stamped council notes. If this pays off, it more than makes up for the last two outings.”

“Four outings.”

“Well don’t rub it in, damn you.”

Prumble went back to the map on the wall. “And if it doesn’t pay out, certainly your costs will be covered by some of the other items. If you can find them,” Prumble said. “Japan is still fairly ripe. Not many subs, either.”

“Except Tokyo. I’m not going anywhere near that dump again.”

“Fair enough,” said Prumble. He traced a finger over the city of Toyama. “This is hundreds of kilometers from there. Rural. Are we in business?”

“Can you front me the spooling cost? I can’t charge the
Mel
’s caps fast enough, not without Woon’s reactor coupling.”

Prumble sucked a breath through clenched teeth. “Skadz never asked for that.”

“He had a mind for these things.”

“Had. Past tense,” said Prumble. An uncomfortable silence followed. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought him up. Sure, I’ll float you. An advance against the goods in your truck.”

“Then we’re in business. First thing tomorrow if Nightcliff will clear us.”

Prumble removed a stack of bills from his desk and passed them over. “This cover it?”

After a rough mental estimate, Skyler nodded. He stood and stuffed the money inside his jacket.

“You can let yourself out,” the fat man said. “Be sure to tell your driver about my well-armed guards.”

Chapter Five

Darwin, Australia

13.JAN.2283

A few dozen swagmen loitered near the old airport gate.

They waved with desperation at the sight of Skyler’s vehicle and shouted for attention, bare feet splashing in the muddy road. A handful of mercenaries kept them at bay, pushing the ragged bunch back with ease.

Skyler did his best to ignore the sorry lot. They would wait there, day and night, ready to petition any crew heading out of the city. Most often they wanted medicine, offering in exchange their food, or labor. A sister or daughter, in those rarest acts of desperation. Sometimes they would write their requests on scraps of paper and push them through the chain-link fence. A thousand such scraps littered the ground just beyond the barricade; a mulch of ignored hopes. A waste of paper.

He felt sorry for them. They had no other options. Scavengers represented the only way to acquire something from beyond the Aura. Yet he knew their requests were low paying, and often impossible to retrieve. Items rendered useless by time or the elements.
Preservall
could only do so much. Skyler used to try to explain this, or tried to direct them to Prumble, but he’d given up long ago. Let the short-range crews handle it, assuming any needed work that badly.

Beggars harried the group of petitioners in turn, hands out with palms turned upward, dressed in soiled rags and makeshift sandals.

Part of the crowd, away from the gate, stood in a circle facing inward. A body lay in the mud at their feet. Skyler squinted, catching glimpses between muddy legs. A child, a girl, he guessed, lay dead. Her eyes were still open.

He sucked in his breath when he saw the telltale rash of a subhuman on her neck.

A commotion erupted near the corpse. The crowd pushed an older man back and forth, shouting at him. He screamed back, naked terror on his face.

“Slow up,” Skyler said.

Angus eased off the accelerator as they reached the mercenaries guarding the entrance.

Skyler rolled his window down and waved to one of the men. “What happened?”

The man turned his head and spat. “Crazy sheila was full-blown subby. Ran out from the shanties and started clawing at one of the swags. They beat her till she dropped, Sky. Can’t blame ’em.”

Skyler nodded. Desperate beggars were known to push children out beyond the Aura, long enough to develop symptoms. They would let it develop until the rash became visible, enough to mark them, and thus make them useful as a sympathy tool. They would pull the poor kid back in, and the Aura would keep the disease in stasis, indefinitely. No worse, no better, for the rest of their pitiful life. Scrubs, they were called. “A scrub, huh? Looks like she was left out a bit too long.”

“Her pa there swears she’s never been outside,” the mercenary replied. “A lie like that is going to get him killed, too.”

Skyler could only shake his head. Such a ridiculous claim meant the father was either incredibly stupid …

Or he actually believes what he says, Skyler thought. Insane, more than likely. “Drive on, Angus.”