The Plague Forge [ARC] (9 page)

Skyler put his pistol away and removed a knife instead.

“A pulse is required,” Russell said with a wry smile. “You can put that away.”

He walked to the man anyway, and slipped the knife back in its scabbard easily. He dumped the duffel bag slung on his shoulder at Russell’s feet, stepped back, and nudged it toward him with a toe.

“What’s that?” Blackfield asked, rubbing his wrists.

“Open it.” When he started to unzip the bag, Skyler continued. “I figured you’d try to turn this into a free ride back to Darwin, so I planned ahead. If that fits, you’re coming with us.”

Russell glanced at the elaborate suit in the bag. “And if it doesn’t?”

“Hope that it does, Blackfield, because if it’s your thumb I need it’s your thumb I’ll get. And honestly, dragging a subhuman version of you to Darwin might be less of a hassle.”

The suit fit.

Half an hour later, Skyler led Russell Blackfield from his cell. Hands retied, and the prospect of returning home if he just kept his mouth shut, made him a cooperative prisoner. Whether or not Blackfield sensed the clandestine nature of his removal from captivity, Skyler figured it didn’t matter as long as he said nothing and went where he was guided.

None of the colonists questioned the sight of Blackfield being led from his cell. Skyler had broad authority to do as he pleased inside Camp Exodus and beyond. The people he passed probably thought he was moving the prisoner to a more secure holding place, or perhaps taking him for questioning. For those who bothered to ask, he had a simple answer: “You don’t want to know.” Not exactly a lie.

La Gaza Ladra
was already provisioned and charged when he led the prisoner inside and chained him to a seat. They’d stored enough air tanks for Russell to last forty hours. Plenty of time, Skyler estimated, to reach the circle drawn by Nachu on the map in central Africa and locate the “yellow” towers. They could refill the tanks there using a compressor, then worry about the next leg of the journey to Darwin. Skyler knew that distance was beyond the Magpie’s range but figured they’d still have time to stop somewhere—Yemen, perhaps—and locate a thorium reactor to spool from for a few hours.

A lot could go wrong, which normally implied a bad plan. But here the net result was a 90 percent chance of death for Russell Blackfield. Or, maybe Skyler would get lucky, and the bastard would survive infection and become a subhuman with one very useful thumb.

This started with a finger,
he thought,
and it’ll end with one.

Tania, Karl, Tim, Zane … none of them need ever know the outcome. He’d simply explain the reason he was forced to bring Blackfield along, and make up something plausible for the rest. The colony was better off with Blackfield gone, and Skyler figured if everything worked out and the man somehow did manage to help them enter the bowels of Nightcliff, well, that was simply a debt repaid. He could decide then if the man could live. He might just leave him in Darwin, alone and unarmed, hopefully still fostering a thirst for revenge against Grillo. Russell could certainly be a threat when he set his mind to it.

Or Skyler would just shoot him, and be done with it. The world would be a better place. He doubted Tania would understand, much less approve, of such an action. “So be it,” he muttered to himself as the Magpie’s engines roared to life. Maybe he and Tania could call a truce then, wipe the past away, and get on with their lives.

He took off with a terse goodbye to Tim and flicked off the comm before any questions could be asked about why the prisoner had been taken aboard.

Chapter Five

Darwin, Australia

28.MAR.2285

Approaching the mouth of an alley in the Narrows, Pascal yanked hard on the truck’s steering wheel. Samantha winced as the metal side of the vehicle scraped along the brick-and-mortar wall of the building there, until she remembered the vehicle was borrowed.

The truck rocked as portions of the wall came free and went under the rear tires. The side mirror on the passenger side next to Samantha crumpled and tore free. Pascal stomped on the brakes and came to a sudden stop.

“Jesus,” Skadz said from the backseat. “Take it easy.”

“It has to be convincing,” Pascal replied. “Go now. Go!”

Sam pulled the door handle and pushed. It didn’t budge. Behind her the back door opened. She heard Skadz and Prumble slip out. “Help me with the door,” she called to them.

Skadz’s face appeared at her window. He motioned for her to lower the window, and when she did he grabbed the frame of the door with both hands and pulled.

Sam put her shoulder into it and pushed. Nothing.

“Hurry,” Pascal said, “they’re coming.”

“Fuck it,” Sam said. She yanked the seat recline lever and lowered herself instantly to a prone position. Then she pushed herself into the backseat and went out that door.

A cloud of dust from the collision filled the air. She grabbed Skadz by the elbow and urged him deeper into the alley as angry shouts began to drift in from the street on the other side of the supposedly crashed vehicle. The locals would be angry until the nearest Jacobite patrol arrived, which wouldn’t be long.

Prumble was already at the first turn in the alley, coughing from the concrete dust in the air. Sam urged him around the corner and then forced herself to walk. Per the plan, Skadz ran ahead to the far end of the L-shaped lane. He glanced out into the street, looking left and right, then turned and flashed an a-okay.

“Clear,” Sam said.

“All this to visit the tailor,” Prumble replied. He moved to a door on the back of an unremarkable three-story building. A sign at eye level read
PRIVATE
. And below that,
CUSTOMER
ENTRANCE
AT
THE
FRONT
.

Prumble tried the handle, found it to be locked, and gave a sharp rap on the door. Sam drew her pistol and waited.

A muffled voice from inside answered Prumble’s knock. Sam couldn’t understand the words, but the tone was clear:
Go away
.

“It’s Prumble. Open up, Jaya.”

“Piss off.” Sam heard that response clearly enough.

“You owe me, dammit. Open the bloody door.”

The door swung open so fast Prumble almost fell backward. Inside stood a short, balding Indian man wearing a dirty white tank top that accentuated a round belly. Thick glasses were pushed high up on his bulbous nose, tape holding together the wire frames. “I owe you?!
I
owe
you
?! What the fuck—oh, hello, Sam.”

“Hello, Jayateerth.” She mustered her best apologetic smile and glanced into the room behind him. Though dimly lit, she saw reams of heavy fabric, enormous canisters of one chemical or another, and part of a machine. She saw no one else inside.

“Uh,” the tailor said, suddenly confused. He scratched absently at the greasy, curly gray hair that ringed the bald dome of his head.

“We need your help,” Sam tried. “Can we come in and talk, at least?”

He hesitated. Sounds of commotion came in from the mouth of the alley around the corner. “Heard a crash,” Jayateerth said. “That you?”

“We needed a distraction,” Prumble replied.

The tailor nodded solemnly, as if he’d just accepted the way the city worked now. In years past all the scavengers came to Jaya’s shop for patchwork on their environment suits, and they paid handsomely for it. They still did, but under Grillo’s watchful eye. There was only one reason someone needed an environment suit, and Grillo wanted total control over who came and went from the city. Word had come down months ago that anyone wishing to procure the services of one Jayateerth Laxman had to have their order approved by the Jacobite leadership. As far as Samantha knew, there was no one else alive who could be trusted to patch the suits. Certainly there was no one who could provide what they’d come for.

“Fine,” the man said, and waved them in. When he turned to go back inside she saw a silver pistol tucked into the back of his pants. He drew it and stuffed it inside a cubbyhole on a shelf near the door.

Sam glanced to where Skadz waited. He gave her a single nod, and she returned it. They’d agreed he’d stay out of sight if possible. Jaya was known to be trustworthy, but if there were any Jacobite minders within it would be good if they didn’t provide a description back to Grillo. Skadz had already tempted fate with his initial presence at the airport, but so far they’d been lucky. None of the Jacobite guards seemed to know who he was, and Sam had talked the other scavengers into silence. Walkabout or not, Skadz was one of them.

Sam followed Prumble inside and closed the door behind her, leaving it unlocked. The room stank of glue and fabric, electronics and lubricant. LEDs hanging from the ceiling provided the only light, and implied the space was powered. This came as no surprise. Jayateerth’s trade required electricity, and even in a city controlled by Grillo no one would dare shut the man down.

Environment suits of every size, shape, and color lay in stacks along one wall of the long room. Floor-to-ceiling shelves along the opposite contained all manner of supplies and spare parts, organized in a way Samantha figured only Jaya could understand. Mismatched tables ran down the center of the space, each covered with suits in various states of assembly or repair. Scraps of fabric littered the floor.

At the far end of the room was a closed door. Next to it, a scrawny child slept on a cot.

“Blink!” Jaya called out.

The kid, a girl of no more than ten, Samantha decided, rose immediately and stood on bare feet, eyes still bleary from sleep. She blinked rapidly.

“Go out front, girl, and make a ruckus if anyone comes in.”

The child gave a nod, her eyes continuing to blink erratically. A nervous tic that had earned her her nickname, apparently. She turned and slipped through the door.

In the front room Sam glimpsed through the door there were cardboard boxes, some stacked, some open as if being packed.

“All right,” Jayateerth said. “I’m listening. What do you need?”

“An environment suit,” Prumble said.

“This I know.”

“For me.”

“This is impossible.”

“In two days.”

“This is goodbye. Thank you for the visit. Nice to see you.” He swept his arm toward the exit.

Prumble didn’t budge. “You have to help us, Jaya. It’s important. For old times, please.”

“Old times?” The short man leaned against his shelves and folded his arms. “My recollection of old times is that you still owe me a lot of equipment. Things I paid for in advance.”

“Blackfield blew up my garage! I’ve been in hiding!”

“Two years and you can’t send a messenger?”

Sam sat on one of the tables, testing it first and deciding the wooden thing was sturdy enough. “C’mon, Jaya. Everything’s changed. None of that matters anymore.”

The man ran a hand over his face and stared up at the ceiling for a long moment. Then he turned to Sam, the look in his eyes profoundly sad. “I’m tired, you know? Tired of all this. I just want to tend my garden and watch the sun rise and set. I didn’t want any trouble with Platz, or Blackfield after him. Especially not with these new fuckers.” His voice dropped to something just above audible on the last word.

No one said anything for a long time. Then Sam tried a different tack. “Jaya, what’s with the boxes out front. Going somewhere?”

He waved a dismissive hand toward the door Blink had used. “In a week, to a place over by the stadium. Something about consolidating essential services. Can you believe that shit? I’ve been in this building for sixteen years. Now I’m going to be stuck in some basement at Selby, surrounded by Jakes, Grillo breathing down my ass.”

“Selby,” Sam said. “That rings a bell.”

Jaya nodded. “Selby Systems, Limited. The only remaining supplier of propellant for moving those stations around. They had an exclusive with Platz back in the day. Grillo’s got the factory running again.”

“That explains a lot of the lists Grillo’s had me handing the crews lately.”

“A lot of raw materials for that goop they produce, you know. And they’ve got it fired up to full capacity.” Jaya ran one hand tenderly along the wooden table in front of him. Years of stains and scrapes marred the surface. He let his hand fall to his side. “Once I’m over there Grillo will have all his Orbital needs under one roof.”

She glanced at Prumble, and he stared back at her. “One place to guard,” the big man said.

“Yeah,” Sam replied.

Finally, Jayateerth turned to Prumble. “What do you need a suit for, anyway? What business do you have outside that you can’t just send her?”

Prumble fixed a hard stare on the man. “We don’t plan to come back, Jaya.”

“You’re going to die out there? A bullet would—”

“There’s another aura,” Sam said. That stopped the man cold. “Another safe place.”

“Ridiculous,” he said. He wanted to believe her, though. She could see it in his eyes—a flicker of hope like a match being lit and settling into steady flame.

“Skyler found it.”

He glanced between the two of them, then his gaze became distant. “Where?” he whispered.

“Make the suit,” Prumble said, “and we’ll tell you.”

A light rain had begun to fall when Sam stepped back out into the alley. Skadz stood casually at the western end, one foot propped on the wall he leaned against, cap pulled low as if he slept. She glanced at her wristwatch. They’d been inside for just under an hour as Prumble’s measurements were taken. Jaya had grumbled and moaned at the difficulty of making a suit that would fit, but in the end declared they could pick it up in twenty-four hours. The prospect of moving somewhere, anywhere, other than Darwin turned out to be a fantastic motivator.

Telling him about Belém was a risk, but one she thought they’d forgive at the prospect of having someone with Jaya’s skills in their fledgling camp.

Sam whistled to get Skadz’s attention, then pointed at her watch. The rendezvous was only minutes away. He waved and remained in position while she walked east to the bend in the alley.