The Exodus Towers: The Dire Earth Cycle: Two

by Jason M. Hough

  With food and alcohol consumed the birthday party started in earnest. Skyler and Pablo handled the task of clearing the table by flinging dirty dishes from the fifty-seventh-floor balcony. Ana fiddled with the entertainment panel until she had the entire place flooded with music that blended electronica, fizz-def, and traditional Latin instruments. Soon she and Vanessa kicked off their shoes and the two danced on top of a polished teak coffee table, Ana with a bottle of champagne in hand, as the deep rhythms boomed.

  Skyler thought back to the first time he’d ever seen her, twirling in graceful arcs, a long white dress flowing around her toned body. Her movements had been fluid, even delicate. Now, dressed in khaki shorts and a stained tank top, her hiking boots kicked off, she showed a different side. Skyler thought of the university girls who filled dark clubs in Utrecht on the weekends. More than a few had warmed his bed back then, during the peak of his transition to manhood, before he’d joined the Luchtmacht. The Darwin Elevator had arrived a few years before, but the explosion of hope the device created in the world’s youth still raged. A fine time to be an eighteen-year-old, he mused.

  Ana’s eyes were closed, lost in the thumping, aggressive tune that blared from recessed speakers in the walls. For her to come of age in a post-disease world somehow filled him with more anger at the Builders than all the billions who had died or succumbed, and all the survivors who remained trapped within the auras. They’d stolen a proper, carefree childhood from this young woman, and so many others. Ana just had the fortune, or misfortune, perhaps, to live on as an immune. How could he begrudge her the desire to act with reckless abandon now and then?

  She had earned the right, and much more.

  Well after midnight, the four immunes lay haphazardly on cushions they’d amassed on the wide balcony. Stars filled the sky above, and the silken voice of Ella Fitzgerald wafted over them from the penthouse suite, just loud enough to fill the occasional lapse in conversation.

  Each immune shared their story, in more detail than previously given. Pablo, with a little wine, showed signs of a sly sense of humor under his strong and silent façade. Even Vanessa, who spoke last, opened up somewhat. The mental scars she bore from her imprisonment in Gabriel’s lodge ran deep, though, and she avoided the topic entirely.

  Skyler’s experience in Darwin fascinated the others, and so he spent the most time talking. He told them of the events that led to Tania’s discovery of the new Builder ship, and how they wound up coming to Belém. He also told them of the scavenger crew he’d run, and the fate that had met both them and their beloved aircraft, the Melville.

  Wine began to dwindle as dawn approached, and the gaps in conversation widened. Soon the others slept soundly under the stars, but Skyler found it difficult to snooze there. He’d always preferred a dark, quiet room. More than once he found himself jerking awake, caught halfway between a dream and reality. At some point Ana decided to use Skyler’s stomach as a pillow, and he had to cup her head in both hands to get out from beneath.

  He left the three of them there and crept inside. A long draw from his canteen chased the aftertaste of alcohol and roast pig away. More time would be required before it could do the same for the headache he felt coming on. He relieved himself out the window of one of the bedrooms, then grabbed a blanket and pulled it over his shoulders.

  Yawning, Skyler settled on the big leather couch in the main room of the suite, and slept.

  He woke to bright sunlight, reflected into the west-facing room off the white marble pillars that lined the edge of the balcony outside, and promptly snapped his eyes shut again. It must be past noon already, he thought, and wondered if their absence from the colony had become a concern. He’d neglected to bring a handheld.

  The smell of coffee kept him from a return to sleep. When he sat up, he realized a mug rested on the table near him, steam rising from its lip. He rubbed his eyes and took in the room. Ana, Vanessa, and Pablo all sat on the floor around the low table, each with a mug of their own in hand.

  “Morning,” Skyler said, and sipped. He would have used more sugar, but he didn’t complain.

  “We need to speak with you,” Pablo said.

  Uh-oh. “Should I switch back to wine first?”

  “Stick with the coffee,” Ana said, her voice light.

  He didn’t know exactly how to take that remark. After a quick study of the dark brown liquid in the cup, he tilted it back and downed the remainder. “Right, then. What’s on your mind, birthday girl?”

  “The three of us have been talking,” she said, “since dawn. Talking about our future, and yours.”

  “Is there more coffee?” Skyler asked, glancing toward the kitchen.

  “We talked about what you told us,” she went on, ignoring his lame attempt at evasion. “About your crew, I mean.”

  “Oh,” he managed to say. The three of them looked very serious now. All the previous night’s revelry banished with the break of day. My old crew. Yeah, I really fucked that up, what about it? “Is there more wine?”

  “We thought it might be best to make this little band we’ve formed official,” Vanessa said, imparting an authority in her voice like only a lawyer could. “We want to be your new crew.”

  Skyler stared at the three immunes in stunned silence.

  Pablo spread his hands. “We already are, really. It’s just never been … eh, stated.”

  “You all are free now,” Skyler said. “You don’t have to do this. Stay if you like. Relax. Hell, you deserve that. Or go, as Elias did. I don’t need—”

  Ana moved to sit beside him, and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Skyler, each of us decided to stay for our own reasons, since that night. Since Elias left, though, things have been different. It’s like none of us want to become too close, in case someone else leaves.”

  “Or dies,” Pablo noted. The offhand comment stalled Ana’s speech.

  “Yes. Or that,” she agreed, her eyes as distant as her voice. After a second she shook her head slightly and focused on Skyler again. “You shouldn’t have to wonder if we’ll be around tomorrow. You shouldn’t feel guilty asking us to help on your scavenging trips. We want this little family, this crew, to be official. So the camp will know they can rely on us. So you can rely on us.”

  Skyler stood and walked to the kitchen. He emptied another packet of powdered coffee into his mug and poured hot water on top. A new crew. The thought repeated over and over in his head.

  The faces of his former crew flashed in front of him. Jake, Angus, Takai … all dead. Then there was Samantha. Skyler felt guilty about a lot of things he’d done since the disease drove him to Darwin, but none more so than the day he left Samantha behind on Gateway. For all he knew, she was dead, too. He wondered if he’d ever find out.

  Why anyone would want to follow him he couldn’t fathom, and yet it seemed to be a curse he couldn’t shake. But deep down he knew one thing for certain: He didn’t want any of his new friends to leave. He wanted them at his side. Needed them. No matter how much he might try, he would always be the oddball among the colonists. The idea of spending the rest of his life as some loner, some freak of nature, filled him with dread.

  Skyler stirred the coffee with an ornate silver spoon. “If you guys fall in with me, call me your leader, wouldn’t that make me some kind of replacement Gabriel?”

  “No. For starters,” Vanessa said, “you’re not a complete asshole.”

  “Or a murderer,” Ana added.

  “Or a rapist.”

  Pablo said the last, and to Skyler’s surprise Vanessa didn’t recoil from the word.

  Skyler fought a smile and focused on his drink. “That may be true, but I don’t want to be some dictator here. If we’re going to be a crew it’ll be a crew of equals. I may call the shots on one mission; maybe it’s one of you on the next. Everyone gets a say in where we go and what we do.”

  “Fine with me,” Ana said.

  “Yes,” Pablo said.

  Vanessa nodded.

>   Only after he’d said the words did he realize he’d just proposed that their crew run the same way Tania ran the colony. Consensus, discussion, mutual respect. He wondered if he’d been too hard on her. Karl and the others, too.

  A few seconds of silence followed, and then Skyler raised his mug and held it over the table between them. “A crew, then.”

  Each raised their own cup, and the four clanked together.

  “Wait,” Skyler said. The others froze and watched him retreat to the kitchen again. He found four clean champagne flutes in a cabinet, and an unopened bottle. “Where I come from, it’s bad luck to toast with anything other than alcohol.”

  They each smiled and plucked an offered glass. “To the crew,” Ana said, raising her flute. The toast was echoed in unison, and everyone drank. Skyler never cared much for champagne, but here, now, the bright and sweet liquid seemed the perfect choice to seal their pact.

  “So,” Vanessa said when her glass was empty, “what will we do first?”

  Despite all of Skyler’s talk about being equals, they all looked to him. He finished his drink and set the glass down. “First? I think we’ll become teachers.”

  Darwin, Australia

  30.AUG.2283

  GRIT AND SAND filled the air of Nightcliff’s landing yard, churned by the thundering engines of the Advantage.

  Even from within the windowless cabin, Samantha could hear the fine powder blast the aircraft’s fuselage. Some portion would get sucked back into the turbofans themselves, which meant hours of cleaning and tests later.

  The Advantage had been originally specced for short-range delivery work. Packages and parcels mostly. As such the interior had no conveniences for passengers. Just a pair of hot seats that butted against the cockpit wall. The rest of the cargo compartment was all bare steel walls, ugly rivets, and rows of ring hooks on the floor and ceiling to attach plastic nets.

  The netting draped over four large stacks of pillow-shaped bags, each filled with topsoil from a field in nearby Queensland. On the trip out, the same space was occupied by fresh environment suit packs. More aura-scrubbed air and water for the workers who filled the dirt bags.

  She’d made the trip dozens of times in the last few months. All the scavengers had. The crews ran like clockwork and worked like slaves, all under her stern direction. And she under Grillo’s.

  The craft lurched and Samantha heard a dull thud. “Secure on pad three.” The pilot’s voice came through her borrowed flight helmet. She didn’t bother to acknowledge. Instead she stood and tossed the helmet into the foldout seat she’d occupied. Tired legs carried her past the cargo to the rear-loading ramp. At the flip of a switch, the aircraft’s rear hatch opened like a whale’s mouth.

  Bright sunlight began to fill the cabin, in a sharp line that climbed her boots, then her legs, then her torso. Sam raised her arm instinctively as the glaring rays reached her face.

  Once her eyes adjusted, she realized a welcoming party waited outside. The sight gave her a brief flashback to the inspection Russell Blackfield had made of the Melville, so many months ago. Only it was Grillo who now waited at the bottom of the ramp, and his posse of bodyguards were plain-clothed.

  She’d seen little of Nightcliff’s leader since the alien cube had been recovered from Old Downtown. He’d left her at the airport gate that night, almost as an afterthought, before he and his Jacobite friends had caravanned off with their strange prize.

  What had become of the object, Sam had no idea. Grillo had not mentioned it once, and she’d been reluctant to ask. Whatever the hell it is, I don’t want anything to do with it. Nightmares of that mission still woke her some nights, and Sam wanted nothing more than to forget she’d ever seen the thing.

  Since that day, all of her scavenging requests came via messages delivered by courier. His promise to allow her a visit with Kelly had not been mentioned, and with each day her desire to keep working for the man dwindled.

  “Dirt,” Sam said by way of greeting. “Six tons. As requested.”

  “Nutrient-rich topsoil,” Grillo said to correct her. “Excellent work, Miss Rinn. As always.”

  Sam shrugged, leaned against the aircraft’s wall, and studied the men with him. They made no move to come aboard and start the unloading process. “Dump it here as if my plane had a bowel movement, or …?”

  “A crew is on the way to handle transport,” Grillo said. “I came to see you, actually.”

  “Well, here I am.”

  A patient smile formed on the slumlord’s thin lips. “Would you come with us, please?”

  “Am I in some kind of trouble?”

  “No, no,” Grillo said. “The opposite, in fact. Kelly’s here. I thought you might want to see her.”

  Sam bounded down the ramp, the clangs from her boots echoing off the interior of the cargo bay. “Here? Why?”

  Grillo dismissed her concern with a wave. “To get her some fresh air, I suppose.”

  “What kind of hole have you kept her in?” Sam asked. Four heavy steps down the ramp and she stood in front of Grillo, towering over him. His bodyguards moved forward, hands reaching for concealed weapons.

  “Relax, everyone,” Grillo said. His voice had an uncanny ability to calm, and he used it to full effect. “Kelly waits for you on the roof above my office. I’ll give the two of you some time to chat, and then we can discuss the future.”

  The future. Sam let her fists unclench, and she thought back to the terms Grillo had set when she started working for him. He wanted to be convinced of her allegiance. Only then would he release Kelly.

  He gestured toward the control building that straddled the Elevator cord. Sam glanced back and barked an order to her pilot, James, to return to the airport after the workers emptied the cargo bay. The old man waved from the interior door. A former commercial pilot, he had no nose for combat but handled any aircraft they sat him in as if it were an extension of himself. When sober, at least.

  Grillo set a languid pace across the dusty yard. In dry season Nightcliff became a miserable place, hot and bone dry. The sweet salty smell that came in from the ocean during the wet months turned into an odor Sam liked to call “rotten seaweed.” Gusts came in from the water in irregular intervals and filled the air with that stench. Less than a minute out of the Advantage Sam found herself breathing through her mouth.

  “Three months,” Samantha said. “I’ve been wondering when you’d make good on your promise. I figured you’d forgotten about it after we found that—”

  “I must remind you not to talk of prior missions,” Grillo said in a rush. “Forgive my delay. I’ve been busy.”

  He had at that. Though Sam had not been allowed to leave the airport, she had heard plenty of talk at Woon’s. Garden buildings fell to Grillo on an almost daily basis. Every week one of the skyscrapers that still had power seemed to suddenly find reason to form an alliance with the man. Those that didn’t were increasingly isolated, and talk of running street battles was a constant topic at the tavern.

  Gardens flourished on the rooftops of those buildings that did join his fold, and they were defended with zeal by Jacobites according to the gossip. Indeed the sect seemed to be experiencing an explosion of converts. Some spoke of groups of the religious freaks patrolling streets around the fortress and out into the Maze. Temple Sulam, the Jacobites’ original house of worship in Darwin, attracted huge crowds on Sundays now. Ten thousand worshippers on a recent morning, by some accounts.

  Sam stole a glance at Grillo and wondered how deep his ties to the cult ran.

  The inside of Nightcliff’s control tower offered little respite from the repugnant furnace of the yard. A bit cooler, perhaps, and the smell changed from ocean decay to the stale, sweaty scent of a locker room. Air-con on the fritz, Sam guessed. She knew of at least a dozen places within a two-hour flight from Darwin to fetch spare parts for the equipment, but she kept that to herself.

  Grillo took the stairs with the same maddeningly slow pace. Sam mustered ever
y last ounce of self-control not to elbow him aside and rush to the roof to see her friend.

  The flights of worn concrete steps ran together in a blur. Sam had made this trek once before, when Grillo summoned her the night of her escape attempt, but it hadn’t seemed so far. Her thighs burned from the effort by the time two of Grillo’s bodyguards stayed behind on a landing, an indication that they were close.

  The slumlord opened the next door and Sam was hit by a wall of humid air. He went through and led her down a narrow corridor that vaguely reminded her of Gateway Station, and for a second she saw herself back there, Kelly in front of her as they scurried from one junction to another evading Alex Warthen’s guards. Unpainted concrete walls were almost hidden beneath pipes that rusted at their joints. The heat made breathing a chore.

  A door at the far end entered into another stairwell, and here Grillo went down. Odd route, Samantha thought. Grillo must be trying to prevent her from seeing something. That, or he didn’t want her to be seen. Either option made gears turn in her mind.

  He descended only one flight before he pushed through another door. This one led into a foyer Samantha had previously seen. It fronted the office Grillo used, formerly occupied by Russell Blackfield.

  “Still warming Blackfield’s chair?” she asked before her brain could tell her mouth to shut.

  Instead of a spoken response, Grillo forged ahead through double doors.

  Sam barely recognized the office within. None of Russell’s sloppy furnishings or tasteless decorations remained. Cramped and haphazard before, the space had seemed modest, if not small.

  Now, though, the room bordered on palatial. A simple wooden desk sat at the middle of the far wall, with two identical chairs on either side of it. A matching wood file cabinet was parked underneath. To Samantha’s right, two large windows framed the corner of the room, with a wide view of Darwin’s crowd of skyscrapers.

  The view of the crumbling city from here impressed her, despite the fact that she’d seen Darwin from aircraft a thousand times. Samantha could see east to the horizon, over the garden-studded rooftops of the chaotic Maze. South loomed a wall of skyscrapers, the lower floors hidden under a crust of bolted-on rooms where living space had been extended to the maximum. The upper floors were a patchwork quilt of glass panes and improvised coverings in the numerous places where the glass had long ago been broken. Drapes, blankets, and plastic tarps of every color and pattern filled the holes. Some open windowsills had cups, bottles, and buckets along the bottom to catch what rain they could. In wet season every window would, but during these months the chances were few and far between.