The Exodus Towers: The Dire Earth Cycle: Two

by Jason M. Hough

  Shrieking tires and anxious shouts were heard behind him. They’d stopped short of driving onto the dock then, killing Skyler’s hopes for a farcical end to the chase. He let his pace dip so that he could get his breathing under control. Everything stank, worse than even Darwin’s choked shoreline. The odor brought tears to his eyes.

  He jumped over a corpse, a dockworker judging by the faded coveralls. Nothing but bone and some gray skin with matted hair underneath the brittle clothing now. Bodies were everywhere in the urban places Skyler had visited, but once in a while he saw one that still disturbed him. They were a hard reminder of the billions that died in the first months of the disease.

  He heard footsteps somewhere behind, and took the next corner to put himself between buildings again, facing the brownish river now. Guessing his pursuers would flank him from both ends, he stopped and lay down on the grimy wood. A hard three-count later, he rolled back around the wall with his gun at the ready.

  The man pursuing him was looking down, stepping around the decayed body of the dockworker.

  Skyler lined up the red dot of his holo-sight on the man’s chest and squeezed off two rounds. The gun’s sight made his aim virtually flawless, and the poor fellow collapsed on top of the body that already lay there. One more to the tally.

  A pang of regret gripped him for shooting a fellow immune, something he’d never done before. The sound of approaching footsteps meant he would have to repeat the performance if he didn’t get away. So Skyler set aside his instinctual urge to search the body, stood, and ran.

  Moving quickly again, he dashed along the backside of the warehouses, scaling one chain-link fence and ducking through a gap in another. Near the end of the dockyard he heard shouts off to his left, over a series of ragged grunts.

  Then came a familiar wail.

  Subhumans.

  He never thought their presence would be so welcome.

  Against a backdrop of shouting and gunfire, Skyler left the dockyard and bolted straight into the dense slums of Belém, head thick with confusion and numbing fear.

  Melville Station

  29.APR.2283

  TANIA COULD NOT look Zane Platz in the eye.

  He sat across the metal table from her, drumming his fingers like his older brother had sometimes done. Between them lay the comm, their link to the ground, theoretically. Nothing had come across in forty-eight hours.

  They should be celebrating. The first climber to rise from Belém with a significant shipment of air and water was supposed to have arrived hours ago, a critical milestone in the colony’s survival. But the climber never left the ground. Instead Tania had seen Karl thrown violently across the screen, then a hand deactivating the camera. Five seconds later a simple message filled the screen: “Connection lost.”

  “Something has to be done, Tania,” Zane said, in a quiet and pitiful voice.

  People, Karl had said, not subhumans. People. It couldn’t have been a mistake.

  “Tania …”

  She kept her eyes on the comm. “What did he mean, ‘Who are you people?’ What people?”

  Zane ran a hand over his tired face. “We’ve been over this many times.”

  “Suppose Blackfield snuck an aircraft in and has taken over? They could be on their way up.”

  “The controller still shows red. The climber is attached, but it hasn’t left Belém.”

  Tania grimaced. “What other explanation is there?”

  Zane broke eye contact at that. He stared at the table in front of him, a vein visibly pulsing at his temple. After a moment he pinched the bridge of his nose and winced. “I should have a lie-down.”

  Tania studied him. His face contorted in pain for a few seconds, then he seemed to relax. “Okay. We can talk later,” she started.

  “My headache can wait,” he grumbled. “This decision can’t.”

  “Maybe it’s the Builders,” Tim said. He leaned against the wall by the closed conference room door, a steaming cup of tea in his hand. “Maybe they look like us, like people.”

  Zane did a half turn in his chair. “You’re worse than she is.”

  “I’m just saying—”

  “Tania,” Zane said, gathering himself, “we can’t continue to sit here and speculate endlessly. It’s been two months since we had a solid shipment of consumables. We’ll have to evacuate soon. Crops are starting to brown—”

  “I know,” she said.

  “Something’s gone wrong down there, and we need to act—”

  “I know, dammit!” She looked up at him, finally. Met his eyes, saw the thick black bags under them. She saw his fear, his yearning to fix things, but most of all she saw his plea for someone, anyone, to make a decision. Zane had spent his whole life leaving the decisions to his deceased brother, Neil. In many ways she had, too, and she wondered if Zane saw the same plea in her eyes. She turned back to the screen. “The climber controls show red. We can’t send anyone down to investigate, or rescue them, or anything else.”

  Zane and Tim both stared at her with glum expressions.

  “Worse,” she added, “we can’t evacuate.”

  “Not to Belém,” Tim whispered.

  A long silence followed. Until now, no one had voiced that option. Tania forced herself not to speak until she could control her voice. “Returning to the Darwin Elevator is a last resort, agreed?”

  “Personally, I’d rather suffocate,” Zane said.

  “Hear, hear,” said Tim.

  Unable to stare at the comm any longer, Tania stood and paced the back wall of the room. Tim’s posture by the door made her feel trapped.

  Think, think.

  More than anything she wished she could talk to Skyler. Increasingly gruff attitude aside, he still had a certain knack for laying out stark options in a clear manner. Somehow it made things easier. Taking a deep breath, Tania decided to try the technique herself.

  “Let’s assume for now that Nightcliff has taken over the ground colony below us.”

  “We don’t know—”

  “Would you just listen for a moment, please?”

  Zane closed his mouth and gave a slow nod. Despite his words, she caught a glimmer of relief in his eyes.

  “Nightcliff holds the ground. Fine. Let’s get Blackfield on the comm, then, and find a way to resolve this. We still hold the farms.”

  “You’d think he would have contacted us by now,” Zane mused.

  “If they hold the Elevator base, the air, and the water,” Tim said, “we’re in no position to negotiate.”

  “We have to try,” Tania said. “It’s the only logical action at this point. Unless you have other ideas?”

  Neither man offered a suggestion.

  “Okay, settled,” Tania said. “Tim, see if you can get us a connection, and patch it through here, please.”

  “You got it,” he replied.

  A half hour later, Tania found herself looking at Russell Blackfield. He looked like he always did. His blond hair was uncombed and close-cropped, and stubble shadowed his face. His eyes perpetually gave the impression that he was about to spar and wanted to win.

  “A video feed this time,” he said with a grin. “How lucky for me.”

  She made a conscious effort to keep her face blank. They’d spoken only three times since she’d tried to kill him, and she’d avoided video in those calls lest he see the fear and uncertainty in her face. This time she decided it was worth the risk, so that she could study his expression as well.

  “Hello, Russell.”

  The man nodded. “Nice to see you, too. I’d forgotten what a lovely woman you are.”

  Tania fought to keep a wave of revulsion behind her mask. Dark memories of a dank cell below Nightcliff, two foul-smelling guards scrubbing her naked body as she stared at herself in the wall-sized mirror, retreating within, knowing somewhere in a deep corner of her mind that Blackfield watched from the other side. She’d refused to acknowledge it, and sat there in numb stillness with no effort to cover
herself. The lack of struggle had been seen as an invitation to continue. A shudder rippled through her.

  “Talkative as ever,” Russell added.

  “We need to discuss the situation here,” she said, surprised at her own words.

  His eyes dipped for a moment, and he shifted his weight in his seat. “Was our second delivery of slaves—pardonnez moi, volunteers—not up to snuff?”

  Tania kept her eyes on the screen, but in the corner of her field of view she could see Zane Platz. His eyebrows went up, and she knew they shared the same thought: Russell doesn’t know. He doesn’t know about the silenced colony, he doesn’t even know where they are. The tone of his voice told her this with absolute certainty.

  “The new colonists will do fine,” she lied. “We’re still placing them.”

  “Oh, colonists. What an interesting word to use, as it implies a colony.”

  Dammit.

  A sarcastic grin stretched across his face. “Let me know when you’re ready for more.”

  Tania drew a breath. “About that. We would like to change the parameters of the next shipment.”

  “Want a few whores this time? We’ve got plenty of them. Nothing keeps a bunch of cooped-up men happy like a few loose tarts.”

  She refused to be baited. “No, thanks.”

  “Handling the needs of the men yourself?”

  If not for their predicament, she would have ended the call right then. She would let Darwin starve, just to avoid ever speaking to this man again. If only … if only the colony wasn’t offline. If only supply shipments were coming in at a reliable pace. If only they’d had more time to think this whole endeavor through. If only Skyler would rescue me again so Russell didn’t have to, she thought, lamely.

  Tania wanted to slap herself for that. She felt weak and helpless, and despised that feeling even more than she despised the man on the screen in front of her.

  There were no other options though. Time was not on their side, either. Something had to be done. “No people this time, Russell. We’d like you to deliver two standard shipments of air and water.”

  Russell’s laughter came through the speaker so loud that Tania winced.

  Across the table, Zane had his hands over his face. He was shaking his head.

  What? Tania mouthed, but Zane didn’t see.

  “Wow,” Russell said, his chuckling finally under control. “Bad move, sweetheart. You admit to me that you’re all about to die. Unless we help, of course.”

  Tania’s hesitation gave him his answer, and Russell pounced.

  “Now I have you over the barrel,” he said. “God, the visual that gives me.”

  He pretended to daydream for a few seconds, and Tania could only watch.

  “Sorry,” Russell said, “I was in another place there for a second. Air and water, eh? Tell you what, love, I will trade you … oh, let’s see … twenty standard shipments, for the return of the farm platforms.” He folded his arms in satisfaction, leaned into the camera, and smiled.

  She held his gaze for a few seconds, aware of the stunned silence coming from Zane and Tim. “Two. We just need two shipments.”

  “But I need all the bloody farm platforms, and not dropped on my head this time, please. Twenty shipments in exchange is my very generous offer.”

  There were nineteen farm platforms, and they represented the Belém colony’s only leverage against Darwin. To give them up, she knew, would either make Belém dependent on Darwin or force the abandonment of the colony’s other two space stations. Neither scenario could be allowed.

  Tania exhaled, slowly, through her nose. “Nine shipments, for nine platforms.”

  “Deal,” he said, without hesitation.

  Zane stood, red-faced. She’d never seen him angry before. “Hold please,” she said, and tapped the corresponding icon on the screen. When Russell’s face vanished behind a red overlay, she met Zane’s eyes. “What?”

  “What the hell are you doing?” he barked.

  “Buying us time.”

  “You’re giving away our leverage!”

  “Less than half of it,” Tania said. “They’ll still need us. We’ll probably get fewer people now, but considering the quality of the first two shipments, I don’t think a deluge of spies and vagrants is what we need right now.”

  Zane grimaced. “We should have discussed this first.”

  If Skyler had been in the room, Tania expected he would chuckle at that. “Everything’s a discussion now,” he’d said to her in frustration a few days ago.

  Tania gathered herself. “If the two of you are going to sit off camera every time we have to deal with Darwin, I’m going to take that as permission to act on our behalf.” The words tumbled out before she could think to soften them.

  Tim stopped leaning against the wall. His hands went to his sides and he glanced at Zane, then back. “Come on, Tania, it’s not like that. You’re just … the face of things.”

  “Just a pretty face?”

  “I didn’t mean that, you know I didn’t. Er, that didn’t come out right. Pretty, obviously, but … can I start over?”

  “Tania,” Zane said, “you put too much burden on yourself. This … Camp Exodus, Melville Station, all the farms, this was Neil’s plan. We all followed it, we all knew the risks and knew what we were leaving behind. You don’t have to redeem yourself.”

  “There’s plenty of people here who didn’t ask to come.”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong,” Zane said, “but no one has yet requested to go back to Darwin with the food shipments, despite the blanket approval to do so.”

  Tania checked herself. Anger had risen so quickly she’d failed to recognize it, and had let it sneak out. “You’re right,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

  Zane cleared his throat. “Still, you make a good point. Major decisions should be put to a vote, as a general rule. That being said, sometimes it’s better to show decisive strength. Neil knew this.”

  “He was the master at it,” Tania pointed out.

  “And you may be right,” Zane went on, nodding. “We’re overburdened dealing with all these farms. Picking and packaging the food, the logistics of shipping ninety-five percent of it to Darwin. We have as many people working on that as they’re sending us, so what’s the point?”

  “My thoughts, exactly,” Tania said.

  Tim cleared his throat. His cheeks were still red from his earlier flub. “Nine shipments of air and water will last us months, a big chunk of the two-year plan. And half the remaining platforms will still be enough to feed us all, many times over, for years after that. I say we proceed.”

  Zane took a breath, then nodded.

  Tania tapped the hold icon again, and made her deal with the devil.

  Darwin, Australia

  29.APR.2283

  RUSSELL BLACKFIELD PROWLED across the rooftop, back and forth, barely able to contain his glee.

  “I should call Alex first,” he said to himself. Gloating would feel so good.

  Ten minutes earlier, before Tania came begging, he’d been slumped over his desk, beset by problem after bloody problem. A strike across the bay at the water plants. Confusion and lack of cooperation from the remaining space stations. Scavenger crews refusing to fly. Whispers of more rioting from the hungry mouths of Darwin. Rumors of the missing farm platforms sparking turf wars among the rooftop garden communes. From his vantage point high above Nightcliff’s yard, Russell could see a handful of smoke plumes rising off the skyscrapers that surrounded his fortress.

  It all came back to food. And I’ve just solved that. “Thank me later!” he shouted at the city below him. “Ungrateful sods!”

  All he wanted to do was get back to orbit, away from this miserable mess. The farms would come back soon. Not all, but enough to placate the miserable masses. He’d be the hero again and could focus on the most important issue: wrapping his hands around that gorgeous woman’s Indian neck and—

  “Mr. Blackfield?”

  Russel
l spun at the voice. Kip Osmak stood in the doorway that led downstairs to the office, stringy gray hair framing his skeletal face. He might be, Russell mused, the ugliest secretary in the history of mankind.

  “You’re supposed to bow,” Russell said.

  “I … what—”

  “I’m joking, you moron.”

  Kip nodded. “Sir.”

  After a few seconds of silence, Russell spread his hands. “Well? The fuck do you want?”

  “Mr. Grillo is here to see you,” Kip said flatly.

  “What the hell does he want? Is he at the gate?”

  Kip stepped aside.

  Grillo stood in the stairwell behind him. He stepped forward onto the roof, gingerly, as if afraid to get his shoes dirty.

  The slumlord stood well short of two meters tall, his stature so slight that Russell thought he could pick him up with one hand. He wore narrow glasses low on his nose, and kept his black hair slick and combed back. A neat gray suit covered his thin frame, over a black turtleneck sweater. Russell had no idea how the man didn’t faint from the heat. How this slim and prim man built an empire of thugs and pushers across Darwin’s eastern quarter was an even bigger mystery.

  “Greetings,” Russell said.

  “Your grace,” Grillo said, with a respectful if sarcastic bow.

  “Very funny,” Russell said. “Kip, shut the door behind you.”

  Once the secretary clicked the door closed, Grillo stepped farther out, avoiding the puddles, until he reached the roof’s edge. He looked over the press of buildings beyond Nightcliff’s wall, ignoring Russell’s gaze.

  They’d spoken by comm, briefly, after the fiasco in Africa. Russell had made a point not to apologize for the loss of aircraft, many of which Grillo had provided. The last thing he wanted was to admit any debt to the man. Instead he’d given him a scavenger list.