by Darren Beyer
Construction on buildings within the inner ring was nonexistent, as the temporary habs of New Reykjavik’s population were in the way. Just outside the maglev ring, a wall of buildings stood in various stages of construction, giving the city the look of a technological wagon wheel: AIC Tower high in the middle, surrounded by low temporaries divided by spokes of radial streets and ringed by the higher maglev rail and outer buildings. Jans liked the visual.
Beyond the buildings, the spokes continued into dense alien foliage. Already some clearing had taken place to provide space to build in what would be the middle ring, and a single perimeter road was cut where the outer ring would eventually be erected. One spoke morphed into the lightly curving road that connected the city to the spaceport. Jans could just make out the orbital shuttles and helos parked on the tarmac. Another spoke narrowed, becoming a gravel road to the beach on the Cadissian Sea.
The beach had been the location of a somber event: the first human death on Eridani. It hadn’t been an alien sea monster or exotic disease. Eridani had no large fauna in the sea and none at all on land, and its bacteria were surprisingly benign. A homesick construction worker had ventured too far from shore with no lifesaving equipment, got caught in the receding tide and drowned. It had been a tangible reminder of dangers even in paradise.
The lesson was not lost on Jans.
Below the maglev rail, throngs gathered to watch the train’s first journey. They waved to Jans and the accompanying engineers, and they all waved back. Dagan stood expressionless and silent during the trip.
When the engineers moved to the rear of the car to get a better look at the passing city, Jans moved close to Dagan.
“Danny, don’t take this the wrong way.” Jans knew his looks too well. “But lately you’ve been less and less fun to be around.”
“I am afraid what I am about to say will only reinforce that sentiment,” Dagan said, sighing.
“Give it to me straight.”
Dagan paused, working his mouth. “I’ve lost contact with Raymus.”
“Oh, shit.” Jans turned, staring. “Is Grae in trouble?”
“Unknown. He has missed two check-in cycles. Normally I would not worry, but—
“But Grae was our only way to give Dauntless the mission abort.” For the moment, Jans forgot the maglev train, the engineers at the windows, his spectacular city growing up all around him. “And if Raymus has been compromised—”
“Then Dauntless could be flying into a trap.”
Chapter 25
Earth
“We made it with a few hours to spare.” Grae stepped out of the small aircraft.
Mandi ducked through the door and stood tall to get her bearings, her eyes drawn to the spectacle of the green hills surrounding the spaceport. A large, snowcapped volcanic peak painted the perfect backdrop against a cool sky. Smaller mountains added their own dramatic beauty. In the foreground, an old city with impoverished edges sprawled in all directions. The tarmac of the Mariscal Sucre spaceport was littered with air- and spacecraft. A small commercial passenger terminal hosted half a dozen jetways. Regional aircraft sat connected to a couple and a sub-orbital on another. A number of aging orbital shuttles sat at the cargo ramp, their stubby, rounded old-style wings and heat shielding—more patches than original material—betraying their age.
Mandi had seen photographs of aircraft graveyards where old, worn out planes are left to die. These would fit right in.
Quito’s spaceport had the longest runway in South America and was the only one that could support the aging shuttles. While São Paulo and Buenos Aires hosted more modern shuttle fleets, Quito had the distinction of being the backwater of orbital cargo operations, a home for the equipment that no one else wanted or could accommodate. Half the shuttles lining the ramp clearly had been cannibalized for spare parts.
A loud roar turned Mandi around. A shuttle had begun its takeoff roll, its rocket engine spitting a cone of blue flame to push the spacecraft down the runway. The shuttle accelerated quickly, but as the amount of runway behind it grew and that in front shrunk, Mandi was certain that it wouldn’t make it off the ground before it ran out of pavement.
“Watch this,” Grae said, his voice filled with the exuberance of a young boy.
Just before the end of the runway, the shuttle seemed to hop up and then settle just a couple of meters off the ground. Pulling its gear up, the shuttle continued at that height, crossing the end of the runway, kicking up a torrent of dust and debris in its wake, before finally angling its nose upward and rocketing into the sky.
“The runway isn’t quite long enough for a fully loaded shuttle,” Grae said. “They pop up into the ground-effect to allow them to pick up enough speed to fully take off.”
“Good thing I’m not getting on one.” Mandi laughed.
The plane in which Grae and Mandi arrived had stopped on the tarmac in front of the private terminal. Grae helped the pilot pull their bags from the rear cargo hatch and put them onto a baggage cart. The two exchanged comments and briefly shook hands.
An aging Hispanic man approached from the terminal building, a big smile on his face.
“El Gris! ¿Como te vas?”
“Ernesto,” Grae clasped his wrist, smiling.
The men embraced warmly, saying a few words that Mandi could barely hear before turning to face her. Ernesto was older, but still handsome, with a close-trimmed, gray mustache and beard long out of style in most of the Euramerican Coalition. His face was weathered, but not worn, with a refined look and the air of someone who can, and does, get his hands dirty.
“Ernesto, te presento a mi amiga, Mandi.”
“Mucho gusto, Mandi.”
“Mandi, this is Ernesto, an old friend.”
“Hello,” Mandi said, shaking his hand.
Ernesto gave her a nod and a wink before turning to Grae. As the two continued their conversation in Spanish, Mandi realized that she’d been on a long flight without the use of a restroom.
“Grae.” Mandi laid a hand on his arm. “Is there a bathroom?”
“Sorry. In the office.” Grae pointed to a ramshackle building with the words “Cargo Condor” emblazoned on the door. “I’ll see you inside. Ernesto and I have some things to handle. Stay close, and don’t go anywhere near the main terminal.”
Mandi turned and walked quickly toward the cargo terminal. Inside, the building looked as though it hadn’t changed in fifty years. Old, worn sofas surrounded a common area where an ancient video screen played an Ecuadorian news station. A pretty, young woman behind a counter paid no attention as Mandi hurried across the lobby and nearly slammed into the restroom door. A paper sign taped to it read “No Funciona.” She rattled the handle as though that would make the locked door open.
“En el hangar proximo a la derecha,” the young woman at the desk called to her.
“What?”
“In hangar,” the woman said in a heavy accent, motioning with her arm.
“Thanks!” Mandi rushed to the front door.
***
“There is no fucking way I’m staying here three months.”
“It could be longer,” Grae responded. And you don’t have a choice. In twenty minutes, I’m getting on one of those orbital shuttles. The only person I know left on this planet who can keep you safe is Ernesto.”
“I’ve got friends in South Africa. I could get lost there.”
“Joburg?” Grae snorted. “They’ve already got surveillance on every single person you had contact with there. They’ve tapped into their comms with voice recognition and into every video feed in the country with FR. If you’re incredibly lucky, you might get to Joburg. You wouldn’t last an hour after you arrived.”
“You want me to hide out here in Ecuador indefinitely?”
“I want you to stay alive.” Anger built in Grae’s voice. “I made a promise, and I plan on keeping it.”
“Then stay with me. Help me expose this bullshit!”
“I’m no
t going to argue with you—”
“This is my life—”
“This is more than just your life!”
“El Gris,” Ernesto motioned to Grae from an office door behind the main desk. The smile and calm demeanor had been replaced by an all-business look.
“Stay here.” Grae quickly stood and crossed to Ernesto’s office.
“This discussion isn’t over!” Mandi set her jaw and followed him.
Ernesto’s office was cluttered with old furniture and stacked packages. He pushed on the edge of a bookcase full of tattered old binders, and it rotated on its center, exposing a small, darkened room beyond. Ernesto entered, followed by Grae, while Mandi stood on her toes to look over their shoulders. A number of decrepit LED screens adorned the walls, their dead pixels giving them a scattered look as they displayed the blurry video from security cameras.
“There,” Ernesto said in accented English, pointing at a car on one of the screens parked on a road. “Oculto, the secret police. And there.” He pointed to another screen.
“Are these—” Grae gestured.
“Off network, all hardwired.” Ernesto finished Grae’s thought. “No one spies on my spying.” He chuckled.
“I take it this is unusual?”
“I pay the police to stay out of my business, but they—¿que quiere decir?—snoop. Do you see anything unusual here?” Ernesto pointed at a camera directed toward the cargo ramp, where a FedEx supersonic transport was taxiing in.
“It’s the middle of the day,” Mandi blurted. “FedEx planes fly in the morning and evening.”
“And it’s supersonic.” Ernesto gave a nod and an approving wink. “We never see those here.” He drummed his fingers on the small desk. “I do not like the timing.”
On another screen a third non-descript Oculto car arrived.
Grae stared for a few moments. “Did you go outside, anywhere?” He turned to Mandi.
“No—wait—oh, shit,” Mandi gasped. “A couple hours ago, when we first got here, the bathroom was out of service. I went to the hangar next door—”
“Any networked cameras there?” Grae turned to Ernesto.
“None that I know of, but I do not sweep it often. Nothing of consequence happens there.”
A nondescript white van came into view on the tarmac, driving to the rear of the FedEx supersonic. Their eyes were glued to the screen. The camera facing the street picked up another identical van pulling up down the block.
“Tenemos que irnos ahorita,” Ernesto said. “We need to go. Right now!”
The words hadn’t left his mouth when a number of masked and armed black-clad men ran down the plane’s cargo ramp to jump into the white van. Down the street, an Ecuadorian police assault team leapt out of their own white van.
“Come.” Ernesto stood. “Quickly!”
He led Grae and Mandi to a file room adjacent to the hangar. Once inside, he closed the door and moved quickly to the rear of the room where he knelt and pried a tile from the raised floor. The room was dark, but Mandi could make out a void underneath the tile. Ernesto sat on the floor, dangling his feet into the hole, and braced with his arms to lower himself in. He had to turn diagonally and raise his arms above his head to get through.
“You’re next,” Grae said.
“How am I—” Mandi said, looking at her arm.
“I’ll help.”
Mandi followed Ernesto’s lead, dangling her legs and attempting to lower her body through the hole. She couldn’t brace herself and began to fall. With a cry of pain she leaned heavily on her bad arm to catch herself. Grae was there in a heartbeat, holding her under the armpits as Ernesto guided her feet below. She landed hard in a shallow puddle of water, almost falling to her knees. In the glow of old, yellow halide lights, Mandi strained to see down the long, narrow corridor, which stretched out of sight in two directions. Pipes of all sizes flanked both sides, seemingly running forever. A musty, oily odor assailed her nose. Above her, Grae wedged himself into the false floor just long enough to replace the floor tile, and then he jumped down, splashing in the same shallow puddle.
“It’s like a catacomb,” Mandi said in awe.
“This way,” Ernesto said as he hurried down the corridor.
“One person with a rifle at either end, and we’re done for.” Grae’s eyes darted in both directions before following him and pulling Mandi along.
“These are old steam tunnels,” Ernesto said over his shoulder in the yellow halide light. “They travel the length of the spaceport industrial area. They have been out of service for years. All access points are closed or controlled.”
Ernesto stopped at an access ladder, where a number of gray coveralls hung from one of the pipes. Next to them, laminated badges dangled from their lanyards off a long-unused valve handle. Ernesto rifled through the musty garments until he found a small pair, which he threw to Mandi. Grae found his own pair and began efficiently pulling them on over his clothes. Mandi stepped into her own and struggled with her makeshift sling before yanking it off. Pain shot through her as she slid the coveralls over her injured arm. Grae was at her side in an instant. His touch was surprisingly gentle as he guided her arm into the front of her coveralls and zipped them up. She held her arm close, secure against her chest.
Beyond them, Ernesto climbed the ladder. There was the sound of an old combination padlock opening and the creak of a hinged door at the top.
Grae steadied Mandi on the ladder as she gripped it with her good hand. She’d never tried climbing with only one hand and quickly realized how difficult and painful it could be. A few rungs up, she almost fell, and realized that Grae was right behind her, a single hand hovering protectively at her back. Ernesto helped her up the final few rungs and guided her by the elbow into a cramped utility closet. The only light came through a gap at the bottom of the closet door. As Grae made his way up, Ernesto cracked the door and peered through before opening it fully and ushering both Mandi and Grae out.
They were at the rear of the passenger terminal baggage-handling area. Workers in gray coveralls dealt with baggage from an arriving flight, while others loaded outbound carts.
Ernesto surveyed the bay, then gestured to Grae and Mandi. Trying to look nonchalant, the three made their way across the pitted concrete floor to an unattended tow tractor trailed by two empty baggage carts. Ernesto motioned for Grae and Mandi to get into one of the carts and as they climbed on, he lowered the canvas weather flap behind them.
There was a long pause, but then with a jolt the cart lurched forward. Mandi was thrown off balance, but Grae was at her side to catch her. The ride was smooth for a few moments before a single bump, accompanied by the cacophony of sounds of the spaceport, indicated they had crossed the threshold between the baggage area and passenger terminal tarmac outside. As they maneuvered, Mandi sought for a grip with her good hand. Nothing was to be found, and she rocked against the support of Grae’s steady body. With her only sight the dim interior of the cart and her hearing dulled by the white noise outside, her anxiety grew. They travelled for several minutes, until a final jolt threw Mandi forward as the tractor came to an abrupt halt. Mandi and Grae looked at each other anxiously in the faint light. Suddenly, the weather flap was torn open. Sunlight streamed in, blinding Mandi. Grae put up a hand reflexively to shield his own eyes.
As Mandi’s sight adjusted, she saw Ernesto in front of the cart motioning them out. He had pulled up next to one of the old orbital shuttles. A pilot wearing the black pants, white shirt, and insignia of a professional stood at the access stairs, a dumbfounded look upon his face.
“Jefe— qué pasa? ¿Por qué llevas el uniforme de un maletero?” The pilot was a thin Ecuadorian, seemingly too young to fly the aging craft.
“Angel.” Ernesto addressed him. “Vamanos ahora.”
Angel paused, still confused.
“¡Ahora mismo!”
Angel snapped out of it and bounded up the stairs into the shuttle. Ernesto and Grae followed, but M
andi hesitated, looking up at the dilapidated spacecraft.
“Mandi, we’ve got to go.” Grae stopped at the top of the stairs and beckoned to her.
“Grae, I—”
Grae’s attention shifted down the flight line. His eyes narrowed. Grasping the stair rails, he vaulted to the pavement and pulled Mandi by her good arm up the stairs and forced her into the shuttle. Startled by a loud crash behind her, she turned to see that Grae had pushed over the metal stairs outside and was swinging the shuttle door shut. It closed with a loud slam and locked with a pneumatic hiss.
“Come on,” Grae said as he moved forward.
Mandi took quick breaths as she followed, picking her way through the packed cargo hold. Shipping cases of all shapes, sizes, and colors were strapped to the floor with large yellow woven straps. Some were refrigerated and connected to the shuttle’s power. Others were varieties of plastic bins and containers. The entrance to the small passenger area was tight, forcing Mandi sideways to get through. The eight seats were packed with small cargo containers secured with shoulder harnesses and seatbelts. The cockpit door stood open, and she could see the back of Ernesto’s head as he readied the shuttle for takeoff alongside the copilot, Angel. Her pulse quickened as Grae ripped open the harness of one of the aisle seats and yanked out the cargo to give her a spot. Once she was secure, he joined the two men in the cockpit.
Mandi slid into the seat, surprised to see a crumpled laminated safety brochure in the half-ripped seat pocket in front of her. Not knowing what else to do, she pulled it out. The title read “Lambier XCF-800 DSTO,” with “Dual Stage to Orbit” printed in small letters below. The two stages illustrated were distinct, two internal propulsion systems to carry the shuttle out of the atmosphere. One stage was a fuel-thirsty, high-impulse rocket that launched the shuttle off the runway and up to speed. The second, more efficient stage employed scramjets to carry the shuttle into the upper atmosphere. At the altitude limit of the jets, the high-impulse rocket took over again to push the shuttle the rest of the way into orbit. Mandi was heartened to see there were two over-wing emergency exits. Looking to the rear of the cabin, the feeling dissipated as she noticed they were blocked by cargo in the overloaded shuttle.
