Gosh, thanks! “You’ll miss all the fun,” Russell said. “I’ll put a squad together. Who can help get these old boats out of storage?”
“Larsen can point you in the right direction. A couple of my older guards are rated to fly them.”
“Good. Rest up; we’ll deal with this.”
“I’ve got an agent in Anchor Station,” Alex said as Russell turned to leave. “She can help you get set up.”
“Name?”
“Natalie Ammon. Tania Sharma’s assistant.”
Russell cracked a sly grin. “I like the way you think, Alex.”
Without warning, the power went out, plunging the room into blackness.
In the dark, Alex said, “Get going, then. I’ve got a vermin problem to deal with.”
Beyond the curtain, they heard the medical staff scrambling through the dark before emergency power kicked in, bringing a soft green glow to the room.
Chapter Thirty-six
Darwin, Australia
10.FEB.2283
Skyler awoke with a shudder. He jerked upright, tense and confused.
The motion brought fresh pain to his cracked rib. He padded the area with his fingertips and, though it was still unpleasant, he thought the worst had finally passed. If he moved with care, he could live with it.
Prumble sat next to him. Two bowls of steaming noodle soup waited on the carpet by the door. A stick of incense burned in a small brass holder, filling the room with the rich aroma of cinnamon.
“Good morning,” Prumble said.
“How long was I out?”
“Sixteen hours, if you can believe it. The rain has passed.”
“Sixteen? Hell.”
“You woke once,” Prumble said, “for a sip of water. And promptly fell asleep again.”
Skyler sat up and grunted. He leaned against the wall and flexed the stiffness from his arms and legs. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and scratched at the stubble on his face. “Did you salvage anything from your garage?”
Prumble cracked a sardonic grin. “They didn’t quite wipe me out. Something you need?”
“How about a new plane and the crew to man it?”
The fat man’s grin half-faded. “Fresh out, I’m afraid.”
“Your sat-comm, the one Neil Platz gave you?”
The grin disappeared entirely. “Blackfield took it.”
“I’ll settle for a razor,” Skyler said, scratching at the stubble on his neck.
“You’re in luck.”
“That’s a start then.”
Prumble handed him a bowl of soup and began to slurp from the other.
Skyler set his aside, and leaned against the wall once more. He closed his eyes for a moment, then stared at the ceiling.
Prumble waited, lifting the clay bowl to his mouth and shoveling in hot noodles with a pair of well-worn chopsticks. “For my money, Skyler, the great ramen heist you and Skadz pulled off … when was that?”
Skyler held up three fingers.
“Three years ago,” Prumble went on, “is never to be topped.”
“That’s why it’s called ‘Top Ramen.’”
The fat man groaned at the lame joke, then chuckled between mouthfuls.
“Everything we worked for is gone,” Skyler said. To his own ear, his voice sounded distant and hoarse.
“I am well aware.”
“What will you do now?”
Prumble sighed. “Retire, I suspect. Buy this place if I can. Or barter my way into a rooftop commune. We know one that owes us a debt of gratitude, don’t we? That finger you brought back? It matched, by the way. They were very pleased. Yes, I could call upon them. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t eat much!’” He fell into a hearty laugh, hugging his massive belly.
Skyler studied his old friend. “No thirst for revenge?”
The big man grinned. “I said ‘enjoy,’ did I not? Revenge means stewing over the past, and that doesn’t agree with me. You could join me in retirement, you know.”
“Someday, maybe. Turns out I still have a job to do.”
“Oh? Do tell.”
Skyler explained the meeting with Platz and the mission to investigate the Aura generator. He also recounted the tale of his escape from Gateway, and subsequent crash-landing in Gunn. How the subhumans had chased him into the basement of a medical office building, a basement that turned out to be a veterinary clinic, a stroke of incredible luck amid such terrible events. He’d passed out there, awoken hours later, and paused only long enough to bandage his wounds. Lastly, Skyler told of the misery of his hike back to Darwin, the only bright spot being his discovery of a long-abandoned police van, parked in front of a wealthy enclave, in which van he’d found a few precious clips of ammunition that fit his weapon. Prumble listened intently, asking only a few questions.
Skyler’s hunger finally won out and he picked up his bowl. The room fell quiet as both men ate.
“I’ve heard interesting rumors around here,” Prumble said. “Blackfield elected to the Orbital Council, Platz resigning in protest.”
Skyler paused, mid-bite. Nothing good could come from an expanded power base for Russell Blackfield. The phrasing Neil Platz had chosen, about leaders and fighters, came to mind. “The old man won’t go quietly,” Skyler said.
“It’s said that Nightcliff is sending climbers full of troops up the ladder.”
“I saw them, on the way here. Looked like a strand of pearls.”
Prumble studied his friend. “What are you planning to do, Skyler?”
“I need a way into Nightcliff. Platz said the entrance to this generator is below the old mansion.”
“Seems like a fool’s errand,” Prumble said. “No offense.”
“None taken.”
“And after that? You have no way to deliver him your findings.”
Skyler leaned forward. He set the empty bowl aside. “I need to get to orbit, then. Back to Gateway, at least. I can send him his bloody information, then find out what happened to the crew. If necessary, offer myself in exchange for their freedom.”Prumble coughed. “Nothing so ambitious as a garden commune, then.”
Skyler shrugged. “I’ve got nothing left here. Can’t imagine rebuilding, and I can’t shake the feeling that I left my people behind up there.”
“The Aura is more important,” Prumble said. “You did what you had to do.”
“And with such success,” Skyler said. “The idea was to save the ship. Made a fine mess of that. Once again, my leadership shines.”
“Better to have stayed? Wound up dead or in jail?”
Skyler shrugged, unsure which outcome would be best.
“Enough with the self-loathing,” Prumble said. “You’re upsetting my delicate stomach.”
Skyler stared at the trail of smoke from the incense stick.
“So,” Prumble said, “a way into Nightcliff?”
“I was hoping you might have some ideas,” Skyler replied.
“I can do better than that.”
Skyler met his smiling eyes.
“Up for a bit of a walk?” Prumble asked.
Skyler walked next to Prumble through the narrow alleys of the Maze. The rain had lifted, true to Prumble’s word, and the city bustled in the reprieve. Rain would have been preferred. Rain can’t pick pockets, or drive a knife into the small of the back.
Yet the crowds parted. Prumble strode through the morass with total confidence. Chin up and arms turned inward like a body builder, his leather duster trailing in the wake. He held his cane in one clenched fist, as if he might lash out with it on a whim.
The sight of some Jacobites, preaching to a small crowd in a side alley, brought a taste of bile to Skyler’s throat. Swallowing, he kept his eyes forward.
Prumble took a bizarre, twisting path, full of sharp turns, sudden stops, and retraced steps. He paused the march frequently, ducking into shops or small alcoves, where he would massage his aching leg.
“We can sit somewhere,” Skyler said, “if you need a rest.”
“The leg is fine,” Prumble said, leaning on his cane while he rubbed his knee. “But my belly is rather distinct, and I fear Blackfield’s agents are still looking for me.”
Another dozen turns transpired and Skyler became truly lost. Then Prumble turned down an alley that stopped at a dead end. He kicked away the only tenant of the bleak space: an enormous gray rat. At the back of the alley was a nondescript steel door. Prumble produced a key ring from his jacket, selected one key from the hundreds that hung there, and opened the door. He propelled Skyler through it by the elbow, following right on his heels.
Down a damp stairwell, the pair approached a padlocked door engraved with Power & Water Corp and Maintenance Access Only. It looked at least a century old. Prumble shook his key ring, thumbed through the silver and brass objects, and selected another.
The small room beyond was just big enough to fit its only feature: a round steel hatch on the floor.
A ladder led down into darkness and the pungent smell of sewage.
“You clever bastard,” Skyler said as they reached the bottom and entered the wide sewer tunnel. “This leads into Nightcliff?”
“Yes,” he said. “Well … sort of. You’ll see.”
From another jacket pocket, Prumble produced a small handheld LED lantern. The wan blue-white light hinted at a cockroach infestation of epic proportions. The insects scattered from the light source and gave every shadow a swirling, shimmering depth.
The tube-shaped tunnel was perhaps five meters wide. A meager stream of putrid water, maligned with rotting chunks of unidentifiable refuse, meandered along the bottom. Running along one side was a narrow walkway, lined by a rusted old railing. Skyler had to lean to his left to keep from scraping his head.
“Amazing,” he said. “I never knew this existed.”
“Few do,” said Prumble. “I found this place by accident.”
Skyler glanced in both directions. “You’d think there’d be more water.”
Prumble shook his head. “It’s the original system, from when Darwin was little more than a town. The modern system of microtunnels is just above us; that’s where most of the runoff goes.”
A familiarity in Prumble’s words told Skyler the man had spent a lot of time down here. Prumble probably moved his wares through here, or paid others to do so.
The fat man inhaled deeply. “Not too bad down here after a good rain!”
The stench made Skyler’s eyes water. He could hear the chattering echo of rats, somewhere distant. “Who else knows about this?”
“Occasionally I come across other people down here, usually lowlifes moving their drugs. They’re easy enough to scare off.”
“How far does it go?”
“Covers the extent of the old city,” Prumble said. “Though some tunnels have been blocked with grating or even filled with concrete.” They walked to the first intersection of tunnels. “How are you for supplies?”
Skyler tapped his weapon. “Enough ammo to stop an army. Provided that army is only two men.”
“We’ll make a detour then,” Prumble said.
Most of the journey passed in silence. After thirty minutes, Skyler felt nauseous from the stench. Finally they left the walkway and climbed another stairwell, which led to a heavy, locked door. Prumble had the key.
Skyler followed the giant man into a room stacked full of metal lockers and various sundries, like a miniature version of Prumble’s garage. A table made of thick wood dominated the center of the space.
“What is all this?” Skyler asked.
“My private reserve,” Prumble said with a flourish. “We are directly below my garage. As luck would have it, I was down here when Blackfield struck. They didn’t find the secret hatch.” The giant man moved to the left wall and started opening cabinets.
“Holy Mary Mother of God,” Skyler said.
Weapons, of all shapes and sizes, filled the cabinets.
“Some judicious skimming of your deliveries, in truth. Hope you can forgive me.”
Skyler walked forward and picked up a high-powered assault rifle.
“I plan to sell most of this,” Prumble said. “It is all I have left, after all. But you, my friend, are welcome to take what you need for your suicide mission.”
Skyler prickled. “I plan to live.”
“Suit yourself.”
Skyler put the rifle back, knowing that his task ahead required subtlety. Instead he pocketed five clips of hollow-point ammunition for his submachine gun.
“This might be useful,” Prumble said, offering him a small black cylinder. A holographic targeting sight, which attached to the top of his weapon. “Take a few grenades, too.”
Skyler did so, pushing them carefully into his backpack. “Listen. About the second half of this plan,” he said.
“What about it?”
“I was, you know, hoping you’d tell me what it is.”
The fat man grinned. “The sewers do in fact lead to Nightcliff,” he said, crossing the room to another cabinet. “But a series of iron gates block access. I never ventured farther, alas, as I have no key. You, however, do not need to exit the way you came.”
With cautious movements, Prumble removed a brown cardboard box from the cabinet and set it on the table next to Skyler.
Inside were wrapped bars of plastic explosive. Enough to take down a small building, Skyler guessed. Prumble set another box beside it, full of blasting caps, laser initiators, and a spindle of fiber optic cable.
“They’re old,” Prumble said, “but should suffice.” He selected one of the bars and hefted it. “Two should do the trick, so we’ll bring four, yes?”