by Linda Nagata
“Sooth.” The suit offered him a straw, and he took a long sip. Only two jumps, and already his body felt like it was about to give out. The suit gave him clearance. He jumped again.
AFTER THEY’D TRAVERSED FIVE MILES, Gent let them rest for a few minutes. The city no longer loomed like a roof over their world. It had shrunk against the vast spread of the milky sky. Far below, tiny sparks of lightning flickered among the cloud tops.
Lot huddled against the column, too tired to feel either fear or wonder. He hadn’t slept for almost two days. Slowly, his eyes closed. He only opened them again when he felt a nudge against his arm. He turned his head, expecting Alta. But it was Urban.
“What’s with the little monster?”
Lot followed Urban’s gaze. With a start of surprise, he realized Ord still clung to his shoulder, its tentacles looped under his arms. “Hark, climbing, climbing,” Lot muttered at his suit. He got a hand free, and used it to nudge Ord, but the robot didn’t respond. It felt stiff; its tentacles almost brittle.
Urban stared at it malevolently. “It’s gone dormant?”
“Guess so. It must need O2 to function.”
“Then dump it, fury. Just drop it.”
Lot’s eyes widened in shock. “Why?”
“Come on. It’s your best chance to get rid of the thing. You like it tagging after you?”
Lot frowned. Ord was annoying. Certainly it had messed him up in front of Kona. But Ord hadn’t reported him to authority when they’d been down in cold storage. And Ord hadn’t tried to stop him running away through the tunnels… .
“You know,” Lot said, feeling himself on the defensive. “Ord has a lot more data storage and analytical facilities than we do.”
Urban rolled his eyes in disgust. “Come on, Lot!”
“It might be useful on the planet,” Lot added quickly. “You never know.”
“Or it could trank you when you’re not looking.”
True. Still, Lot couldn’t bring himself to just drop the DI. “You like it,” Urban accused.
Lot shrugged. “Hark, release both hands.”
In a voice that sounded distinctly disapproving the suit asked, “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Let’s try it.” Lot strove to keep his weight over his calves as he slid first one arm, then the other, out of Ord’s frozen embrace. After that he carefully pressed against the tentacles, and with some effort was able to squeeze them down against Ord’s body, winding them into tight coils.
“Now drop it,” Urban said again.
But Lot just swung his pack down on one shoulder and stuffed the robot inside. “Could be useful,” he said again.
Urban swore softly. He slammed his anchor against the wall and punched it flat, then kicked off the column, dropping away while Lot was still trying to get his pack strapped down.
AUTHORITY FOUND THEM JUST BEFORE DAWN. They’d dropped almost a hundred miles beneath the city. Lot’s body felt numb. Whether that was because his onboard Makers had flooded him with painkillers, or because he was just too tired to feel anything, he couldn’t say. Gent moved with him on every jump now, reminding him to grab the wall, to lay out the anchor, encouraging him to drink from the suit’s feeder tube. Lot tried to talk to him, but his words slurred. He would find himself gazing down at an infrared glow that spanned the thickening atmosphere below them, wondering what produced it, and what it might be like to be down there in that light. The glow had beckoned to them for hours, so he guessed it was a chemical or electromagnetic effect rather than a harbinger of dawn. He was locked in one such circular contemplation, waiting for Urban to complete a jump, when a new voice broke into his sensorium.
“Urban!”
Lot started. He swiveled his head wildly, looking for the speaker.
“Urban, I have to hope you can hear me.”
“Daddy?” Urban croaked, as he swung into the column.
“It’s your old man,” Lot blurted the obvious.
“Urban, I don’t know what you’re doing. I don’t know why. But if you descend any farther, we can’t let you back in the city.”
Urban froze up, dangling on the end of his line, only one hand secured against the column. “Hark: climbing, climbing,” Lot growled at his suit. He shrugged off Gent’s cautioning hand, then traversed the wall until he could reach Urban’s arm. He yanked hard, pulling Urban against the security of the column’s face.
“Urban, listen to me. You might not be able to ascend, but don’t go any farther down. We’ll send someone for you… .”
Lot put his arm around Urban’s shoulders.
“I’m okay, fury.” His voice overrode Kona’s continued pleas as the suit sought a clear channel. He glanced up, as if he might see Kona looking down on him, like some dark god at home in the sky, the deity that had ruled his life … or that had sought to. Urban’s apostasy had begun years ago. “Think he can hear us?”
“It’s not likely,” Gent said. His voice was soft, as if that would make any difference. “The suit transmissions are fairly weak.”
“—a lot of anger. Too many people are in custody. Urban, we need you to speak to the ados—”
Alta completed her jump, her boots touching lightly over the column’s face as she slowed. “Urban as authority’s mouthpiece. Now that’s an enthralling concept.” She swung in close, peering into Urban’s eyes past the shading of his visor. Lot could see the humor in her own eyes gradually drain away. “Hey. You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”
“No.” Urban ducked his chin and started pounding his anchor against the wall.
Lot backed off, but Alta did not yield Urban any space. “You’re thinking your old man might still forgive you.”
“I’m not asking for it.”
Alta said, “I hope you’re not looking for it, either. You know Kona wouldn’t be so nice if he had the deck guns at hand. It’s lucky for us they were moved out to the burster’s orbit.”
Lot shivered. The city’s bulk shadowed them from the defensive lasers on the upper column, but they would have been wide open to the deck guns that were normally mounted below the city … if those had still been in place.
Urban’s hand stiffened against the anchor; he seemed ready to denounce what Alta had said. But then the rigid set of his fingers relaxed. He stroked the anchor’s smooth surface. “You might be right.”
Lot felt his own heart hammer, wondering how long it would take to retrieve the deck guns from their high orbit and bring them into firing position. “We should hurry.”
“… won’t be any prolonged internment. We’ve contacted Null Boundary and he’s agreed to come in-system. Lot, return to the city. You’ll be given passage on the ship. Freedom. We won’t—”
Urban hissed. He twisted around to look at Lot and excitement enlivened his eyes. Freedom. It was a rousing promise: Get out of Silk free. Go away. Find new worlds, new systems. Never have to face the Well, not ever. Lot felt the temptation himself—and immediately reviled himself for it. He slammed his anchor against the wall, and started pounding it flat, unnecessarily chasing the moving ripples outward from the mat’s center. It was empty temptation anyway. “You think Kona would let you go?” He glared at Urban, the charismata of his anger impacting against his own cheeks. “Kona didn’t say he was getting on the ship. He’ll exile me, but he won’t risk you on it. You said it yourself: Null Boundary’s same as the old murderers in their eyes.”
“You don’t know.”
“So climb back up and ask him!”
“What’s rotting you? You know I’m never going to be authority’s puppet. But if there is a real chance of getting out—”
“I don’t want out! I’m going down. That’s why I’m here. That’s what we came here for.” Lot adjusted his cassette, ready to kick off. But then he hesitated. He looked at Urban, while something seemed to open up inside him, a blade of loneliness cutting a red swath through his chest. The tension gathered, while Kona’s pleading, reasoning, rational voice worked on.
Finally, Gent broke the spell. “What are you going to do, Urban? Going up? We’ll need the supplies you’re carrying.”
Urban laughed softly. “Shit. Say it. You’ll need me.”
“Maybe.”
Urban nodded slowly. “Lot’s probably right anyway. The old man wouldn’t let me near that ship.”
“Does seem likely,” Gent agreed.
Lot wanted to say something, but his own pride was so thick in his throat he couldn’t force words past it.
“Let’s get going then,” Urban said. His voice sounded strained, but there was a note of victory in it too. “Before they bring the lasers around.” He looked up at the city one more time, while Kona talked ineffectually on. “Hark,” he said to his suit DI. “Edit that. I don’t want to hear anything else from the city.” Then he kicked off the wall.
Lot watched him fall, and when Urban completed his jump, Lot followed. But it was three more jumps before the tension had bled away enough that he could talk to Urban, and that Urban could talk to him.
DAWN CAME QUICKLY IN A GLARE OF WHITE LIGHT that swept across the massive cloud structures below them. Their suits glittered silver, reflecting away the radiation. The sight triggered memories, and for a moment Lot felt as if his will had slipped away. He felt hollow inside, waiting … for something, he wasn’t sure what.
Gent nudged his elbow. “You okay?”
Lot shook his head to clear it. “Yeah. Just tired.”
Fatigue had become a real hazard, and they moved more slowly now. Spots drifted in Lot’s vision, disorienting him, so that more than once he thought he saw the lasers drifting into position in the dark void overhead.
Daylight also revealed a knob on the column below them. Urban mentioned it first. “Yeah,” Gent said. “I think it’s an elevator car.”
Lot leaned away from the wall, looking down past his shoulder. Half in light, half in shadow, a tiny bump was visible on the column. He couldn’t tell how far away it was, or how large. He tried blinking his eyes up to telescopic, but he couldn’t get his vision to work right.
He didn’t think about the car again for a couple of hours. By then the anomaly had grown large in his vision, and he could clearly make out the truncated crescent of the roof. Even through his fatigue, a chill knotted his gut. Jupiter had left the city. But even authority didn’t know if he’d ever reached the planet.
They climbed out on the car’s roof around mid-morning. They’d come down 140 miles, but a 60-mile climb still lay between them and the planet. They’d gotten no glimpse of the land yet. A storm system hung over the ragged edge of the continent, and all that lay below them was a white glare of cloud tops.
The elevator car hung like a small building against the column, slightly curved to match the slow curvature of the wall. Alta jumped down on the roof first, her bundled anchor swinging at her waist. Lot followed her to the roof’s outer edge. They looked over the side, peering down the building’s face. He could see the glitter of windows, and seams that marked three sets of doors at the car’s lowest level. “We could climb down there.” He looked at Alta, and she nodded.
Gent had already gone down the car’s side. Now he climbed back up, examining the seam between the car and the elevator column. “It’s fused. All around, as far as I can tell. It must have bonded when the tracks were slagged.”
Lot looked up. The column above the elevator was scarred, as if it had been partly melted and the slag dragged downward. “You think it’s still pressurized?”
Gent shrugged.
“We need to look.”
“Sooth.” Gent dropped his anchor at his feet, then stepped on it a bit to smooth it out. Lot copied him. He ordered his cassette to feed slowly, then dropped over the side, letting his boots stick and rip across the face of the wall.
He looked in a couple of windows, but they were opaque against the sunlight. Next, he dropped down to the bottom of the car and examined the middle set of doors. But he couldn’t find any way of opening them. Gent swung over to join him. “Have you got any more of that explosive spray?” Lot asked. “We could try it on a window.”
Gent nodded. His eyes looked grim.
Lot hung on his cord while Gent painted one of the midlevel windows; then they both retreated several yards.
The window blew out in an explosion of debris: blankets like slow birds, dropping in long arcs, keeping pace with squat pillows and pieces of electronic junk glinting in the sunlight.
When the debris had cleared they returned to the window. Looking inside, Lot saw a small cabin. Double bunkbeds hung on two walls, stripped of their bedding. The door was open only a few inches; it looked to have been wrenched off its runners. Debris clogged the gap: blankets, packs, shed exoshell armor. Lot swallowed hard, then climbed through. He pulled some of the debris clear of the doorway, then leaned on the door, forcing it to open wider. “Careful,” Gent said.
Lot glanced back, to see Urban and Alta climbing in through the window. He nodded at Gent, then squeezed through the gap and into the hallway.
Doors on both sides stood partly open. Gent joined him, and together they moved cautiously down the hall, glancing into each cabin, stepping carefully over debris that had been scattered across the floor by the sudden depressurization. Lot saw a thigh guard and helmet. A pack of the design issued to Jupiter’s army. A woman’s white crystal hairbrush.
At the end of the corridor an escalator descended to the next level. They walked down its frozen treads, counting three more levels of deserted cabins. Dust clung in static attraction to the walls, growing thicker as they descended.
They found the bodies on the lowest floor.
Lot performed a rough count, and decided there had been perhaps 180 people aboard. They’d gathered in prayer circles in the open space of the lobby. A few had been reduced to white bones bedded in dust. Others were mummified, their skin like rough wood, stretched taut over protrudent bones. But most had avoided decay.
Lot walked between the kneeling figures, gazing into faces that seemed almost alive beneath an encasement of wrinkled, glassy skin. They were terribly thin. Their fat and muscle had burned away as their Makers had used the only available energy source to secure the sanctity of tissue pattern. But their structure remained. They could be brought back. Maybe. If their Makers had successfully preserved the patterns of their brains.
Lot walked carefully between the circles, crouching to examine each preserved face, trying to see in the withered features people he’d once known. He accessed fixed memories he hadn’t explored for years, and gradually attached identifications. Gent helped, and Alta too.
Urban kept his distance. He sat on the escalator watching them, his dark eyes unreadable. Lot tried to copy his expression, scared again of falling down a pit of black emotion. Trapped in his suit, with no outside input… .
The harsh croak of Urban’s voice interrupted his thoughts: “There must be a radio system in this car.”
Lot looked at him, not understanding. “You want to call your old man?”
Urban shook his head slowly. “These people. They must have screamed for help for days … over the radio. The real people must have listened to them begging for help … for days.”
Lot frowned. It could be. The direct-line transmission would be easy. “They would have switched off their atriums, I think.”
Urban stared at him, and Lot figured he’d said something dumb, but he was too tired to think about it.
They were nearly through the prayer circles when Urban asked in an artificially casual voice, “Jupiter with them?”
“He’s not here!” Lot snapped, not knowing until he said it how much that question had been weighing on him.
“Be sure of it, fury,” Urban said. “I don’t want to drop into the Well if there’s not even a ghost to chase.”
They made sure of it. Alta and Urban searched the upper floors, while Lot and Gent recorded the identities of everyone in the lobby. They didn’t find him. “There
could be more cars,” Urban said.
Gent nodded. “We’ll check them too.”
After nearly an hour they gave in and retreated to the upper floor. Gent told everybody to rest, then went outside to survey the elevator column and the void overhead for any sign of pursuit or attack from the city.
Lot kicked a clear space on the floor and settled into it. His suit offered him a straw, but he ignored it. Through a dull buzz in his ears he only half-heard the start of a conversation between Urban and Alta on the dwindling state of their nutrient supply. Alta asked him a question, but he didn’t remember answering. The next thing he knew Gent was shaking him awake. It was past noon, and they had to get moving if there was any hope of getting down before dark.
CHAPTER
22
A GRIM MOOD SETTLED ON LOT AS HE WORKED HIS WAY across the face of the car and back to the elevator column. His body hurt, and hunger cramped his belly. The suit didn’t offer to feed him anymore. It was the same for all of them. Nutrient reserves had been consumed far faster than expected, and the suit DIs had changed strategy, conserving what was left for their own use.
“It’s bit garbage,” Urban told Gent. “The way these suits are sucking energy, they have to be flawed. There’s an error in the reconstructed design, and you didn’t catch it.”
Gent answered stonily, “There’s no flaw in the design.”
Lot nodded, fairly sure the real source of the drain lay elsewhere. “It’s us. We run hot.” And the ripping damage of jump after jump had placed a high demand on all their self-repair systems.
“Sooth.” Gent sounded worried. “Our metabolic rates are likely higher than the norm when these suits were written. I didn’t take that into account.”
“Then,” Urban said, “we better start breathing slow.”
Alta answered him, her voice softly confident. “This is not a bad thing. If we run hot, at least we fix fast. An antique metabolism might have failed the cumulative repair.”
Lot liked the neat circle of her reasoning. “So we’re paying for an advantage?”
“Sure.”
“That’s very nice,” Urban said, “if we’ve got the currency.”
