The Plague Forge [ARC] (30 page)

Prumble’s thick finger pointed at a dark mass beneath the waves, lurking just a few hundred meters from the flotilla’s border. A white shirt tied to one of the antenna masts that studded the bridge indicated the crew had voted to go along with the plan. Arkin and June, seated side by side in the cockpit, both turned and smiled at Prumble, though June looked decidedly more enthusiastic.

She forced her attention back to the submarine. “It’s … gigantic.”

“Alexander class,” Prumble said, “incredible machine. With minimal crew it can stay out at sea for almost a year without surfacing.”

“Wow,” Sam managed to say. “How often do they go out?”

“More than you’d think. Her captain once showed me pictures they take of coastal towns through the periscope. I think he was hoping I’d buy them, the pictures, as recon for scavengers like you.”

“Why didn’t you? They could have been useful.”

Prumble shook his head. “The resolution was very poor, the images from too far out.”

Skadz held his hand out near Prumble’s face and snapped his fingers. “Oy, mate. Can we focus on the bloody plan? This tub is going to land soon in the belly of the beast.”

The big man stared at the craft below for a few seconds longer, lost in thought as the ocean slid past. When he turned to face Skadz and Sam, his expression had hardened. “Arkin drops us off and stays with the plane with June. The three of us will make contact with Kip. Once we know where secure storage is, and how long it will take to get inside, we’ll enlist him in locating Arkin’s girl.”

“If he can’t,” Sam said, “I may know someone who can.” Whether or not she could find Vaughn was another issue entirely, but she let that detail slide.

Prumble nodded. “If possible, I think Kip should find the girl and deliver her to the aircraft. He may have the clout to do that without raising any eyebrows. We’ll meet him back there and all fly out together.”

“I don’t know,” Skadz said, tapping his chin with one finger. “I’d feel better if I was with him. In case a little force needs to be applied. I don’t think Kip is up to that.”

“An understatement if there ever was one,” Prumble said. “Sam, your thoughts?”

“I’d prefer we stick together.” She met Skadz’s gaze and saw the plea there; whether he’d meant to hide it or not, she knew he needed to do this. “But I think Skadz is right. Kip seems like the type who would bail out at the first sign of trouble, and if he comes back empty-handed Arkin may not fly us back out.”

“Fair enough.” He still seemed unconvinced, frowned even, but let it go. “Arkin will drop us at Aura’s Edge near the valley, then join the
Zorich
crew for their trip to Belém.”

Sam nodded. Skadz did the same.

“Now,” Prumble said, “on the off chance we’re unable to rendezvous with Skyler—”

Sam slugged him on the shoulder. “We’ll make the fucking rendezvous.”

“On the off chance Skyler is unable—”

“Skyler will make the fucking rendezvous.”

Prumble sighed. “It’s another option. I’ll leave it at that.”

“All right, you magnificent bastard,” Skadz said. “This is all bloody fascinating, but what about the vault? I wouldn’t mind some sort of plan for
that,
and we’ve got roughly zero minutes to cook one up.”

Prumble shrugged. “We’ll figure something out.”

“Kip said it was impenetrable; you said ‘leave that to me.’”

“Did I? Heat-of-the-moment thing, I suppose.”

“Prumble …”

“I’m kidding. Yes, the vault. I can get us inside the vault.”

Samantha folded her arms. “How?”

He flashed his mischievous grin again. “I’ve done it before. Twice, as a matter of fact.” At their incredulous stares he held up his hands. “No, I didn’t break in.”

“Then how?”

“I was invited. First time almost eighteen years ago, when I was merely an apprentice installer with Novak and Sons Security out of Wellington. Top-notch operation, mind you. World-renowned. The second time was, oh, seven years ago.”

“About when SUBS hit,” Sam noted.

“To the hour, as it happened. Uncannily good timing, you’ll note. I was, um, perhaps
freelance
is the best word? Use your imagination. Someone needed access to that vault in a hurry and flew me in for the job. It’s a long and sordid tale, and the reason I was even in Darwin at all when the world went pear-shaped. Nice bit of luck, eh?”

“Yeah.”

“Point is, I’ve got the level-one originator’s fail-safe code burned into my brain. Can’t be changed. If we can get to the damn thing, I’ll open it.”

The note generated by the aircraft’s engines spiked as it adjusted course for the approach to Nightcliff. Below, the sprawling fortress came into view. The morning was bright and warm, but Sam noted there were few people about.

Other than the impressive wall that surrounded the place, and the giant tower that surrounded the Elevator cord itself, she thought the whole place looked fairly bland. A spread of buildings small and large. A residential area, even the gaudy mansion that Neil Platz himself used to live in. She’d seen all this many times when, on occasion, she’d taken the co-pilot’s seat in the
Melville
on the return leg of a scavenger outing. But she’d never paid it much attention until now.

Her eyes gravitated to one of the converted high-rise hotels, the one where Vaughn now occupied a meager room on the third floor. The room where she’d slept with him just a few nights ago and warned him.

She wondered what would happen if they ran into him while inside. There were only two choices, really, and though she suspected her visit had swayed which side he’d come down on, she still had no idea which side that would be.

“Here we go,” Skadz said. “Prumble? A plan, my good man?”

Instead of answering he leaned forward and poked his head into the cockpit, where Arkin oversaw the hauler’s automated descent in toward the assigned landing pad. Prumble cupped one hand against the man’s helmet and said something to him. Arkin replied. They conversed in this way for thirty seconds or so. Finally Prumble clapped him on the shoulder. Then Arkin leaned across the cockpit and pulled a slate from a pocket near the base of the co-pilot’s seat where June sat. No, not a slate, Sam realized, an old-fashioned clipboard with a single laminated sheet held under the clip. Arkin took a grease pen from his breast pocket and scribbled something on the top sheet, signing it with a flourish.

Prumble leaned back heavily into his seat again and grinned with satisfaction.

Across from him, Skadz waited for an answer. Sam realized she wouldn’t mind hearing one herself, but the smug grin on Prumble’s face was one she knew well.

“Not funny, mate,” Skadz said. “Give me something here, I mean it.”

Prumble held up the borrowed object and tapped it. “Have clipboard, will travel,” he said brightly.

“Flank me,” the big man said.

As they had done when walking into Arkin’s office at the water plant, Sam took the right shoulder and Skadz followed at the left.

“Don’t brandish your weapons,” Prumble added. “But don’t attempt to conceal them, either. Squint a lot. Look both bored and alert.”

Weapons. Sam wanted to laugh. Skadz had taken one of the umbrellas apart and kept the central shaft. He’d offered her one as well, but Sam thought it would snap on the first skull it came down upon. Instead she had the shorter half of a broken broom handle stuffed into her belt at her lower back.

Skadz snorted a laugh. “This is perhaps the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever done.”

“Which is why it will work.”

“I think on my tombstone I want the words, ‘It’s the fat man’s fault.’ Sam?”

She considered. “Mine will say ‘Had clipboard, died miserably.’”

“Enough,” Prumble snapped with uncharacteristic impatience. “Focus now. Time to fool the fools.”

He strode from the aircraft like a lion loose in a zoo. Absolute confidence wafted off him and seemed to flow straight into Sam’s own psyche. Prumble selected a target and marched straight up to her. The woman seemed to be supervising the crew that had come out to unload the hauler. She glanced up just in time to see Prumble looming over her. Her eyes widened. “Who the—”

Prumble held the clipboard before her and tapped it with his index finger. “Who the hell am I? I’m the one you promised a new skid for the one your idiots cracked. That was a month ago. A month!”

“I … I promised?” she stammered.

“Not you
specifically,
” Prumble said. He glanced at the clipboard, which Sam saw held some old flight operations checklist. “Osmak. Kip Osmak. This is his signature right here, is it not? I refuse to let that water go until he comes out here and personally fits a new skid to this bird.”

Sam realized that Prumble had chosen his mark perfectly. The woman had probably been recently assigned, and though she was no doubt a fine little Jacobite, she had no experience or real authority out here on the landing pads. The woman withered under Prumble’s loud, angry tone. He stood at least a half meter taller than her and easily that much wider.

“Just a second,” the woman said. She fumbled for a handheld that was clipped to her belt, almost dropped it, then dialed it on and brought it to her lips. “Could someone find Kip Osmak and put him on, please?”

A long twenty seconds passed, Prumble tapping his foot impatiently to mark the time. Behind them, the engines of the water hauler dwindled down to zero. The yard became silent save for the sounds of people working. There were few people about, Sam realized, and then she remembered it was Sunday. Maybe they congregated in the mess for prayers or whatever it was they did. Idly Sam wondered where Sister Haley’s famous book was. Grillo’s breast pocket seemed the most likely answer.

“Uh …,” a static-laden voice said. “This is Kip?”

The woman eyed Prumble as she spoke. “There’s some people down here from the water plant; they said—”

Prumble snatched the radio from her. “Kip, you’d better get down here and make good on your promise. Otherwise I swear I shall take this to a higher authority.”

His response came out like a squawk. “You’re here? I mean. Yes, of course. Um. Meet me in the lobby in five minutes.”

The big man grinned, shoved the radio back into the still-cowering woman’s hands, and said, “You … deserve a promotion. Thank you.” The change in her facial expression came instantly. The quivering lip and wide, terrified eyes vanished in place of something like awe.

“Where’s this lobby?” Prumble asked her.

She pointed to the centerpiece of Nightcliff’s grounds—the Elevator tower.

“Of course. Again, my thanks. You might as well give your crew a dinner break while we sort this out.”

With that Prumble snapped his fingers at Sam and Skadz, turned, and marched toward the massive structure. Sam kept on his heels, fighting to suppress her own grin. Skadz shot her a sidelong glance and gave a little shrug. “Have clipboard, will travel,” he mouthed.

Halfway across the yard Sam felt the ground move beneath her feet. Not enough to make her want to dive for cover, but more like if a large lorry had rumbled by. A queer sound like a cable being twanged followed. She glanced up at the source of the noise—the Elevator cable.

“Someone’s found another object,” Skadz said.

“And if it was Skyler,” Prumble replied, “he could be here in a matter of hours.”

Sam couldn’t see the cord vibrate, but the noise unsettled her. It seemed louder than the previous instances, though of course she hadn’t been standing right under the thing then. Certainly it went on longer. The initial noise seemed to trace a quick path up the cord’s slightly tilted length. Then, a few seconds later, it rippled back down. It reminded her of the highly stylized sound effects often heard in sensory shows about starships and laser weapons, not of anything a real-world object could generate.

She glanced down at her feet, trying to imagine the generator somewhere below that Skyler had visited. Had it initiated the vibration? Some change in state or perhaps, more unsettling, had it shut off? Sam nudged Skadz and leaned in to whisper to him when he turned to her. “Keep an eye on Prumble,” she whispered. “In case that noise was the aura shutting down.”

His eyebrows arched.

“It happened a few times, before you came back.”

“I heard about that.”

Sam glanced downward, pointedly. “Skyler said the generator was down there, somewhere.”

There were no guards stationed in front of the lobby, and the wide sliding doors were fully open. Prumble breezed inside and then halted, looking about for the man Osmak.

Samantha took in the vast room. The ceiling soared more than twenty meters above them. Made of glass and supported by thin metal rods, it had once no doubt provided a nice view straight along the cord. For reasons she’d never understood, the thread didn’t go precisely straight up, but rather at a slight angle that tilted toward the equator. Eventually the path of it leveled out, but from here at the base the effect made her feel slightly off balance. The tilt made sense, no doubt, from a physics standpoint, but from here she thought it looked ready to topple over.

She turned her gaze to the lobby itself. Two curved staircases wrapped around a wide central shaft that no doubt concealed the Elevator cord, for it, too, rose at that slight grade. The stairs ended at a second-floor balcony that looked down over the main floor where she stood. People milled about, some running in or out, most talking in urgent tones. Only one was a guard, for he wore the maroon helmet, but he also had on the white Jacobite garments over his ad hoc uniform. He was staring up at the Elevator tower, one finger pressed to his ear.
The vibration on the cord has them all spooked,
Sam thought.

On the main floor there were four square areas evenly dispersed, with low couches facing in toward coffee tables. It had no doubt once been very slick and high-end, but not anymore. The couches were grimy, with tears in the upholstery either covered in tape or simply left exposed.

Around the perimeter were doors. Sam noted signage for men’s and women’s bathrooms, plus one for families. Platz probably thought this place would act like an airport terminal when he’d funded it, she mused.