The Exodus Towers: The Dire Earth Cycle: Two

by Jason M. Hough

  With an effort she focused on the immediate room again. Natural light streamed in and fell upon four red love seats that formed a square. Two men sat there, each with a cup of tea in hand. They both stared at her but made no move to get up and greet her. Neither said a word.

  “I’ll be with you in a moment, friends,” Grillo said to them. He went to his desk and sat behind it. Above him on the wall an enormous painting had been hung. Two meters tall and a meter wide, the image depicted a ladder stretching up into a cloudy sky. The rails and rungs of the ladder, on closer inspection, were composed of people. They stood on one another’s shoulders, clasped arms, teamed together to hoist others higher, all in order to keep the ladder’s shape solid. The strain on their tiny painted faces was evident, even from where she stood. A superimposed image of Christ on the cross covered all this, with the ladder of course forming the vertical portion.

  The presence of the artwork dashed all remaining doubt Sam had as to Grillo’s level of involvement with the sect. He was in deep. Pigs in a blanket.

  “Where’s Kelly?” she asked.

  Grillo pointed toward a door off to her left. “You have an hour.”

  An hour. We could flee. Scale the wall down to the yard and run.

  As she stepped through the door, Sam pushed that line of thinking away. Grillo had promised to release Kelly to her if he decided she could be trusted. Months of hard work had her close to that goal, and once achieved they could flee on an aircraft at their whim. Find somewhere far away to live, or—Samantha reminded herself Kelly was not immune. Maybe they could join the runaways, then, wherever they were. Hide somewhere in Darwin as a last resort.

  That last would be difficult, she knew. Grillo’s grip on the city spread like a flu, and unless Darwin’s thousands of neighborhood kingdoms got their collective shit together, no one would be able to challenge him. She’d never been a big-picture kind of girl, and she still couldn’t decide if Darwin under Grillo would be a bad thing. There’d be food, order, and law. But she guessed there wouldn’t be much in the way of fun.

  Beyond the door, Samantha found another narrow flight of stairs that led to a heavy steel door. A faded plaque indicated “roof access.” Sunlight poured in as she pushed it open, and gravel crunched under her boots.

  Sam raised a hand to shield her eyes from the brightness as she scanned the rooftop. Kelly was nowhere to be seen. Instead, a Jacobite nun stood near the edge of the roof, in a hooded robe of white flowing cotton. If not for the frayed hemline at the woman’s feet, the garment could have been brand-new. The Jacobites’ red ladder-and-cross sigil had been painted on the back of the robe. Someone once told Sam the symbol was painted with the acolyte’s own blood as some sort of initiation rite. But she’d seen enough blood splash on her own clothing to know the color was wrong. Too bright, too red.

  “Hello?” Sam called out. “I was told I could find Kelly Adelaide here.”

  The priestess half-turned, and Samantha recognized her friend instantly. “Hello, Sam.”

  Unable to hold it back, Sam erupted into laughter. “What the fuck are you wearing that for?”

  Her laugh died when Kelly’s expression remained impassive. She looked thin, and her mannish hairstyle was gone. Gray-brown hair came down to her neck, combed straight and simple and framed by the white hood.

  “No, seriously,” Sam said, composing herself. “What the fuck are you wearing that robe for?”

  “I took the vows,” Kelly said simply. She held out a hand and added, “Come and speak with me.”

  Samantha crossed the roof one slow, tentative step at a time. When she stood next to her friend, the woman seemed like a complete stranger. All the fire, all the spunk was gone. Instead she seemed almost demure. Pious, Sam decided, and she wanted to spit.

  “It’s good to see you,” Kelly said as if reading a script. Her eyes flicked up and met Sam’s for an instant, and then she cast her gaze downward. “You look well.”

  “And you look … Shit, I hardly recognize you,” Samantha said. “What have they done to you?”

  Kelly’s lips pursed. “Nothing. I’ve simply discovered my true self, and found salvation.”

  The words sounded sincere on the surface. But Samantha knew Kelly. She’d heard her bluff past workers and even guards on Gateway Station.

  A gust of hot wind swept over the roof. The white robe billowed around Kelly’s body, revealing her shape beneath, a thin frame. Too thin, Sam thought.

  As the wind gusted around them Kelly whispered something. It sounded like “Listen to the ghost.…”

  The wind died out, and her strange words trailed off with it. Kelly’s mask of piety returned.

  For a time they stood in silence, Kelly soaking in the view of the city and Sam staring at her, looking for some hint as to what she meant. Listen to the ghost? I’m standing right here. How could I not be listening? Possibilities flooded her mind. Scenarios that would lead Kelly to don such vestments, which must be a deception. Perhaps it was part of some elaborate escape plan. Perhaps Kelly didn’t know that Grillo would soon let her leave to stay at the airport.

  “Have they treated you well?” Sam asked carefully.

  “I have my own room,” Kelly said, as if that settled the matter. Then she saw the dissatisfaction at her answer on Sam’s face and went on. “It’s not a cell, don’t worry. Your work has spared me from that. No, this was a hospital room once, but now it’s more like a hotel. I can see the city from my window. The stadium is magnificent to behold at night. But nothing compares to Jacob’s Ladder, when the climbers are on it. I can see that, too, if I lean against the window.”

  Sam’s mind raced. There were enough clues in that statement to guess where they held her. A hospital complex near Grillo’s headquarters in Lyons, just north of the football stadium. Samantha wanted to shout at her friend in frustration. Why tell me this? So I can break you out? You know Grillo plans to release you into my care, so what the hell are you up to?

  “Still,” Sam tried, “nothing beats fresh air, yeah?”

  “I get all the refreshment I need from reading the Testament,” Kelly said.

  In any other situation, Sam would have doubled over in laughter at such a statement from her friend. Here, though, it served only to unnerve her further. Kelly sounded like she meant it.

  Kelly stole a sudden glance back toward the door, then leaned in toward Samantha and lowered her voice. “I think they’re hiding something there, at the stadium. What it is I’m not sure, but it’s important. A ‘cube,’ someone called it. I have to find out—”

  “I know what it is,” Sam said. “I found it for them. It came from—”

  Kelly stepped back, her face hard and judgmental. She pressed a finger to her left ear. “The bird sings,” she said.

  Samantha didn’t understand. “What?”

  Kelly paid her no attention. “She spoke of it. She’s not ready.”

  Before Sam could say anything she heard the sound of the metal door creaking open. She turned to see Grillo at the doorway. He stepped out, and Kelly went to him, taking a place just behind his left shoulder.

  “Sam … Sam …,” Grillo said. “I thought we’d come further than this. You disappoint me.”

  She thought of protesting or playing dumb, but there seemed no point. She’d been sucker-punched by her last friend in the world, and all these months of work for this jackass were scattered to the hot wind. Sam felt a strong temptation to turn and step off the edge of the roof. She thought this must have been how Skyler felt when he crashed the Melville. Everything gone, taken. Skyler had fought on, though.

  “You’ve failed this little test, Miss Rinn. I can’t really blame you, though. You value your friends above all else. To a fault, unfortunately.”

  “Nail me to a cross then, asshole.”

  Grillo sucked in his lower lip, the composure on his face faltering for the briefest instant. “Anger is understandable. Your words, forgivable. But blaspheme again, Samantha, and I
will show you pain far beyond what the redeemer experienced.”

  Any urge she may have felt to test his promise fell away when she saw the calm in his eyes, the absolute confidence. All of a sudden she wanted to be very far away.

  “This transgression need not mean an end to our arrangement, Samantha. Just a delay, I’m afraid. I need to know you can be trusted, that you’re truly one of us. Kelly has seen the path—”

  “It’s not Kelly anymore,” the thin woman said.

  Grillo turned to her, one eyebrow raised.

  “I’m ready to take my sister name. I’m ready to leave my former self behind.”

  Samantha could only stare at her, the shadow of the woman she thought she’d known.

  “Have you chosen a name?” Grillo asked.

  “I have,” Kelly replied calmly. “It was my mother’s name.”

  Gabby, Sam thought. Kelly had told her many stories of her mum, Gab Gab, and how she’d been the very embodiment of the name. Always talking, always at ease in social settings. Kelly had envied that quality in her childhood, and strove to channel it as an adult.

  “Josephine,” Kelly said. “My mother would smile if she could see me now.”

  “She can, Sister Josephine,” Grillo said. “I’m sure she’s as proud as I am.”

  The name tripped Samantha, like the wrong punch line to a familiar joke. She realized her mouth was agape and snapped it shut, grateful that Grillo was looking at Kelly—Josephine—and not her. Josephine. The name rang a bell. Kelly had mentioned it before. No, Sam thought, she’d used it before.

  On Gateway they’d needed access to a new set of security codes, and set about stealing them from a room that stored archival data for the entire station. Sam had assumed they would wait for the room to be empty, but Kelly told her to wait and listen. She’d proceeded then to bluff her way in, claiming to be Josephine and saying she’d forgotten her key card. Her acting had been masterful, Sam recalled, and the technician on duty had waved her in as if they were old friends.

  Josephine. A persona Kelly had donned to steal something important. Listen to the ghost. Kelly is working an extremely long con, Sam realized, and this moment, right now, was the tipping point. Her friend wanted to remain in captivity in Lyons, or else whatever plot she’d cooked up would be ruined.

  And whatever she was up to, it was important enough to throw Sam under a bus.

  With sudden clarity she realized Grillo had been playing them both on the same angle. Convince him of their sincerity, and he’d reward them. Sam had been going along to win Kelly’s freedom, fully intending to escape with her friend at the earliest opportunity. Kelly’s reward seemed to be stature in the Jacobite church. To what end, Sam had no idea.

  “So what happens now?” Sam asked, buying time.

  Grillo turned back to her as if he’d forgotten she was there. “I’m afraid we’re back to square one. You’ll return to your duties and try to earn my trust again. That, or rot in a cell, I suppose.”

  “Maybe I could take the robes, too,” Sam said. “Say my Hail Marys or whatever you guys do.”

  “I’m afraid not,” Grillo said. “I’d hoped sending Sister Jo to live with you—Sister Jo, I do like the sound of that! I’d hoped she could bring you to our flock, but I think more time is required. Return to your duties, Sam, and meanwhile I will think on what has happened here.”

  “What if I refuse?” she asked.

  Grillo sighed. “Then you’ll leave this roof the quick way.”

  Outside, the sun baked the city. Dry air raked across the dirty yard of Nightcliff, whipping up bits of trash along with the constant spray of fine sand. Sam could taste the grit of it in her mouth, and would have spat if she could muster the saliva.

  The two guards who had escorted her from the building informed her that a car would be along to take her home. Courtesy of Grillo, they did not neglect to mention. Whether it was an offer or an order, she didn’t care. Sam told them she’d rather walk, and she slipped through the patrol door adjacent to the fortress gates before the pair of goons could stop her.

  In wet season Ryland Square was a sea of mud. Now, under the crush of sunlight and hot wind, the surface had become a cracked, brittle wasteland that crunched under her boots. Pigeons scattered as she crossed the center of the wide space, but would land again behind her the moment she passed. They squawked and fought over the corpse of a mouse, half-buried in the cake of mud.

  It would take hours to walk back to the hangar, but she needed the time and space to think, and that wouldn’t happen unless she avoided the scavenger crews. Lately they seemed incapable of even taking a piss unless she ordered it.

  Ryland Square butted against Nightcliff’s southern gate, and skyscrapers framed it on the three other sides. The square, a vast expanse of baked hardpan and broken concrete, was eerily quiet. Food riots, an almost daily occurrence during Russell Blackfield’s stand against the Orbitals, were now a fading memory. Whether that was due to ample supply, or suppressed citizens, Sam didn’t know. The cynic in her assumed the latter, but she’d brought enough soil and gardening equipment to Darwin in the last few months to wonder.

  Power remained stable on the Elevator’s cord, a fact that Blackfield tried to take credit for, and the city’s endless supply of street urchins would believe anything as long as their bellies were full.

  Grillo understood that tactic as well.

  A third explanation for the empty square became obvious as she approached the edge of it. Jacobites milled about the gaps between buildings. She saw only a few at first, but as she walked closer the shadows came alive. There were a dozen of them at least, at just this one entry point. They spanned every age, race, and size, and all were armed with simple hand weapons. One carried an AK-47 on his back. The leader of the little troop, Sam guessed.

  She realized then that she’d walked into Darwin unarmed. No wonder Grillo’s bodyguards were so surprised at her refusal of the ride home. The Jacobite thugs nodded at her as she approached, though. They must have watched her since the moment she left Nightcliff’s gate, and no one walked out of there alone and unarmed unless they were damn important. Sam hoped so, anyway.

  She ignored them as she passed, save for the one with the rifle. To him she gave a simple, stern nod, which he returned. A gesture of respect, she thought, though his eyes held a measure of contempt. Most likely because she did not wear their robes.

  Beyond Nightcliff’s shadow, the city began to show signs of life. Filthy couriers dressed in rags shuffled about barefoot, carrying sacks of unknown contents over their backs. Few people of means braved street level themselves. Much of their business was done with adjacent buildings, and wherever possible zip lines and crude rope bridges spanned the gaps of alleys, high above the ground. For matters that required venturing farther from home, it was far better to send some skinny ground dweller to deliver goods or pick up supplies.

  Grillo’s mark was evident out here, too. Jacobite thugs patrolled the streets in packs of four or five, and Sam noted how the ragged citizens gave them wide berths. She wondered if the slumlord’s sudden piety had more to do with the army he now seemed to command than it did any fervent belief as to the nature of the alien cable that stretched up into space.

  Whatever. They’re still freaks.

  The image of Kelly, wearing those robes as she stood above Darwin, brought the sour taste of bile to Sam’s throat. That moment would haunt her, no doubt. Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough, and hopefully she could leave the past where it belonged.

  “Keep telling yourself that,” she said.

  She reached the airport unmolested. A couple of teens slipped out of an alley in front of her at one point, but it took only the gesture of cracking her knuckles to send them racing away. No mugger wanted a victim who would fight back, especially with all the Jacobites patrolling the area.

  The guards at the airport gate were all Nightcliff supplied, and they waved her through without any fuss. Sam noted the total ab
sence of swagmen around the gate. In times past, there would always be a crowd of hopeful petitioners loitering there, hoping to bend the ear of a scavenger to fetch something for them. Skyler used to stop and listen to them, in the early days. Eventually even he had to snub them, though. There was no room for charity work in this world. Not anymore.

  A raucous sound came from Woon’s tavern. Laughter and loud voices, common in the late evenings, was rather unusual for two in the afternoon.

  Sam saw the backs of twenty people crowded near the door, facing within. Even more patrons were packed inside, all facing the bar. Another roar of laughter went up, and drinks were thrown back.

  “What the hell?” she whispered.

  She elbowed her way inside, and those behind her quieted. Others picked up the change in mood, turned, and went silent as well. By the time Sam reached the back of the room, all of the merriment had died out.

  Their attentions had been focused on a man who sat at the bar, and for a split second her heart leapt. Skyler?

  The man’s hair dispelled that. Dark, sloppy dreadlocks. Sam knew that hair, and couldn’t keep the grin from her face as she shouldered past the last row of onlookers.

  “Skadz,” she said. “You goddamn son of a bitch!”

  “Sammy!” her old captain beamed, a broad smile flashing across his dark-skinned face. “ ’Bout time you got here. I was running out of jokes to feed these blokes.”

  She drew him into a soldier’s embrace. “They’ve heard ’em all, I’m sure.”