Goliath, p.19
Goliath, page 19
“We’re running out of cable.”
“Shit. Seventy-five.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Nothing.” Seventy-six. Seventy-seven.
“We’re about to have a problem,” Sollander warned.
“Damn.” Davido shifted his position slightly, trying to get her breastplate out of his side.
“Careful!” she snapped, almost losing her footing.
“Bloody stupid idea this,” he muttered.
“Hey!” Sollander yelped as they both fell over backwards, the weight suddenly easing from the line. Giddy she clung to the hard rubber surface, fearful of sliding off the other edge.
“Sorry!” Marco called. “I think I’m there.”
“Thanks for the warning. I thought you were going to let us know.” Davido untangled himself and peered over the edge. Marco’s lamp flashed below as he panned it around, revealing indistinct, angular shapes.
“Sorry, Boss.”
“Describe what you see,” Sollander suggested.
“Parkes Aerofreight.”
“What?”
“Looks like freight containers. That’s the name on the sides, Parkes Aerofreight. They’re all sealed up. Looks like thousands of them.”
“Have you reached the deck yet?” Sollander asked.
“No. I’m on top of one of the containers. Bloody hell, it’s slippery.”
“Be careful. Have you unclipped yourself?”
“Yeah, don’t fancy it cutting my ear off. Hang on, I think I can get down.”
“Be careful.”
“Yeah.” They heard grunting over the radio as Marco worked his way towards the edge and looked down. “Ah,” he said. “They’re stacked on top of each other. There’s two beneath this one. So I’m ... about ten metres from the deck.”
“Can you climb down?” Davido asked.
“Dunno. Hang on, I’m putting the radio down.” They heard a bump as he set it down on the container’s roof. “I’ll look around here.” His voice moved away from the microphone.
“I don’t think we’re going to learn anything from this,” Davido commented.
“Give him time. He’s only just got there.”
They heard a distinct yell from the radio, followed by silence.
“Marco? What are you up to? Stop fucking around.” Davido stared into the darkness, trying to find sign of his companion below. His lamp had either gone out or had passed behind something solid. There was nothing but darkness below. “Marco?”
“Bloody idiot. What’s he done?” Sollander joined Davido at the edge and looked over. She could see no more than he could.
“Marco!” Davido shouted over the edge, ignoring the radio. It was delivering nothing but silence.
“Quit shouting,” Sollander said uneasily. She could still feel the eyes on her.
“Bloody idiot. Hey, Marco, you’re fired! You hear that?” Davido ignored her. “I might keep your brother. I need someone with brains around me!”
“We have to go down there,” Sollander realised.
“How? You said only one person could use this.”
“We have to find a way around then.”
“Good luck with that. I've not seen any stairs anywhere.”
“We could have missed them.”
“Not likely. We were looking for them.”
“There’s got to be another way down. We just have to find it.”
“It might take us hours ... days. It could even be on the other side of this walkway. The one that seems to have stopped in mid-air.”
“We can’t leave him there,” she observed.
“Watch me.”
“I can’t believe you. He’s your man after all, don’t you care?”
“If he’s gone and gotten himself killed it’s his own fault. I don’t need no idiots in my organisation. He knows that. He knows how this works.”
“Fine. You can explain that to his brother then.”
That gave Davido reason to pause. Duncan would not understand. “Shit. He’ll flip out.”
“Well, at least one person cares.” Sollander began winding the cable back in.
Davido ran his fingers along the edge of the walkway. Finding something he leaned over carefully and looked beneath it. The walkway was constructed of some metallic substance he didn’t recognise. It couldn’t have been steel; steel would have buckled under the weight a long time ago. It did look like steel though. It was about as thick as his hand was wide, a featureless strip with no rivets, bolts or any other kind of joining. It was as if the entire walkway was constructed of a single length of material. Fortunately there was some kind of lattice work running along its underside, offering it greater rigidity. It was this that interested him.
“I think we can both get down there,” he said.
“Who’s going to hold onto the cable while we do that? The others have been out of radio range for quite a while.”
“Turn it around,” he said. Clip the end of cable to this.” He pointed to the lattice work. Sollander gingerly lowered herself to her knees and looked over the edge. “We can use the motor to lower ourselves down, one at a time.”
“You know, that’s not a bad idea. I’ll have to go first, unless Marco left the harness attached to the other end.” She resumed reeling it in. Within moments they found out. “Looks like me first then. Here, I can’t reach.”
Davido took the end of the cable. The first metre or so was yellow, the hair thin strand covered by a protective coating. The clip was a heavy duty carbon composite. He fed it through the lattice work, winding it in and out of three support braces before clipping it back on itself. “There, that’ll hold.”
“It had better do.” Sollander looked over the edge again, steeling herself.
“Don’t slip off the container’s roof like Marco did,” Davido said.
“You can’t fire me; I don’t work for you.” Sollander settled her rucksack’s straps carefully over the breastplate, ensuring it wouldn't slip awkwardly as she descended. Grimacing she reversed up to the edge and carefully eased herself over. A curse of a most unladylike nature uttered from her lips as she slipped, her full weight falling onto the cable. The cabled twanged, taking her weight and swinging her around dangerously beneath the walkway.
“Don’t touch the cable,” Davido warned.
“Yeah. Great. Thanks.” She steadied herself against the underside of the walkway before taking a deep breath. “Well, here goes.” One hand on the reel she carefully started lowering herself into darkness.
Davido suddenly felt very alone. Shivering he cast his light up and down the walkway. Nothing had changed. He sat back so that he didn’t have to look over the edge at the void below and settled down to wait. Slipping his own rucksack off his back he selected a wedge of cheese and a flask. With the whiskey burning cheerily down his throat he started feeling somewhat better.
“You still there?” Sollander asked over the radio.
“Um? Yeah.”
“I might have enough cable to reach the deck. Marco estimated it was still ten metres to go. If he was accurate I’ll be able to make it.”
“If not?”
“Well. Then I’m jumping. Coming to the containers now.” Sollander paused her descent, shining her lamp around her. The containers were oblong shapes in the dark, stacked on top of each other. They stretched beyond the lamp’s beam, row upon neat row filling the bay’s deck space. A number of different logos adorned their multicoloured sides, some of the containers so dented and scratched the logos were no longer legible. They had certainly seen a lot of use. There was a narrow alley left between the rows, barely enough room for someone to squeeze down. It was into one of these Marco had fallen.
Dropping herself down by increments Sollander discovered his discarded radio and scooped it up on her way past. She kicked herself off the edge of the container and scanned the narrow gap between it and the one alongside. No Marco. She slipped down into the narrow passageway, the reel whining as it sensed it was coming to the end of the cable. Still a metre from the deck it stopped, and no amount of chivvying it on could get the thread to extend any further.
“Oh, well. I’m down,” she announced. “Sort of.”
“Can you see him?”
“Not yet. Hang on.” Positioning herself carefully, she hit the cable release. “Aw, shit.” Falling clumsily her head connected with a hard metal corner. “Bloody hell.”
“What? What?” Davido stared over the edge. There was nothing to see, Sollander’s lamplight had disappeared between the rows of containers.
“Nothing. I’m ok.” Sollander rubbed her head gingerly, her fingers coming away sticky with blood. Cursing she felt the wound carefully. It wasn’t bad, but then head wounds always bled profusely. She pulled a cloth from a pouch and held it to the cut, trying to staunch the bleeding. At least the containers didn’t appear to be rusty, tetanus was the last thing she needed.
“So, you’re going to send the harness back up? I’m getting lonely up here.”
“Hold on,” Sollander said impatiently. Standing carefully, supporting herself with a hand up against one metal wall, she edged around the container Marco had landed on. “Marco!” she hissed, wary of making too much noise. “Where the hell are you?”
It didn’t take her long to find him. Rounding the container, she saw a leg protruding from the opposite corner. It wasn’t moving. “Got him,” she reported back.
Marco had fallen awkwardly. He was lying on his face, his limbs twisted around him. There was no blood, but it was impossible to say whether he’d broken anything. Sollander knelt down carefully and checked his pulse with her free hand.
“He’s alive.”
“Good. Can’t kill a dead man,” Davido commented.
Sollander checked the blood coming from her wound. It was still bleeding, but it wasn’t very heavy. Needing her hands free she unfolded the cloth and wound it around her head, struggling to tie a knot in the tiny ends she was left with. The task finally achieved she turned her attention to Marco.
“Marco. Can you hear me?”
“Send the harness back up,” Davido said.
“Hang on, he’s still wearing it.”
“Take it off him.”
“First things first.”
“I can help.”
“You any good at first aid?”
“Some. Are you?”
“Just hold on.” Sollander checked his limbs first, ensuring they weren’t broken. The ones she could get to appeared fine, she couldn’t get to his left arm—he was lying on it. “Marco.” Careful not to move his head she opened his eyes and shone her light into them. His pupils were dilated, but they did contract with the light. That was good news.
Marco shuddered and groaned. “Fuck me. Fuck me.”
“I think he’s going to be ok,” Sollander said.
“Shit. Get that light out of my face. Damn, that hurts.”
“What hurts? Don’t try to move.”
“It’s ok. I’m ok.” Wincing he tried to lever himself up, only to flop back down again. “I think my arm’s broken.”
“Great. We’ve barely been here three hours and we have one member lost, and another with a broken arm,” Davido commented over the radio. “We’re not doing much better than the first lot.”
Sollander ignored him. “How’s your neck? Your back?”
“Fine. It’s just my arm. Sorry, Boss. I messed up.”
“He tells me you’re fired,” Sollander said. “Although it might take him a while to process the paperwork.”
Marco laughed. “Too right. Here, help me up.” He waved his free arm in the air so Sollander could take hold of it. Bracing herself between the containers she pulled, hauling him upright. He hissed in pain as his broken arm moved.
“Here, let me have a look,” Sollander said once he was upright. She felt his arm carefully though his jacket. The bone was broken between his elbow and his shoulder. Not the greatest place for it, but it did seem a clean break. “We need a splint.”
“One of the crates is open,” he said, feeling dizzy from the sudden movement. “It was what I went to look at. It’s just over there.” He pointed with his uninjured hand. “There’s some rope there too.”
“Ok. Let me get this harness off you first.” Sollander unclipped the harness. “Stay here for a moment. You want to sit down?”
“No. I don’t think I’d get up again.”
Leaving him for a moment Sollander returned to the pulley and attached the harness to it. She instructed it to wind itself back in again and let Davido know it was coming. That done she went looking for the open container. It wasn’t difficult to find. The door was slightly ajar, plastic and foil containers scattered on the deck about it, blocking the alley way.
“Food containers,” Sollander said. She picked one up and turned it over in her hands. Ainsley’s Pork and Beans, it proclaimed. Self-warming. “Lovely.” She put it aside and looked into the container. The interior had been ransacked at some time in the past. Food packages were scattered all over, the neat racks they had been stored in bent as if someone had been quite eager to get to their contents. A number of the packages themselves were ripped open. She studied one carefully, sniffing the congealed mass within.
“Someone’s been here. And recently,” she said. “These have been opened within the last few days.”
“You found survivors?” Davido asked, sounding a bit out of breath. He wasn’t enjoying his trip down from the walkway.
“No, just evidence they came this way. That’s something at least. Plus, we know they’re not starving.” She turned the opened package over in her hand. There was no use by date listed. Possibly Confederate food containers lasted forever.
Returning to the task at hand she dismantled part of the already wrecked shelving, producing a hollow tube about fifteen centimetres long. She tried to bend it experimentally. It seemed rigid enough. Satisfied she looked for the rope Marco had mentioned. “Where’d you see the rope?” She asked through the radio.
“It was hanging down in front of the container.”
“I don’t see anything.” She lifted some binders from the jumble and tested them quickly. They’d do.
“It was there,” Marco assured her.
“It isn’t now.” She returned to where she’d left him. “Take off that jacket.”
“I’d rather not.”
“Mmm. This might hurt.”
“Where are you?” Davido landed on the deck in the adjoining alley.
Sollander ignored Davido, concentrating on her task. She grimaced as Marco yelled in pain, broken bones moving in his flesh. She didn’t allow that to stop her, her fingers accustomed to manipulating uncooperative machinery she quickly secured his arm, careful not to bind it so tightly that it cut off circulation. That done she fashioned a sling and then stood back to admire her handy work.
“There you are.” Davido shone his lamp over them. “What have you done to yourself?” He noticed the bloody cloth about Sollander’s head.
“It’s nothing. Although I think we’ve had a breakthrough.”
“What?”
“It’s pretty obvious. Someone else has been here.”
“Oh, good. We’re on the right track then.”
She was silent for a moment. “Yep. And I think they’re still here,” she said softly.
Chapter Seventeen
Silence still ringing in his ears Singh arrived at the prefect’s office two hours later. The pager had buzzed twice more, the messages becoming more and more curt. The prefect did not like being kept waiting. Drenched in sweat, his clothing damp and creased and breathing hard he swept past the prefect’s secretary.
“The prefect awaits you.” Allihar, Drefus’ secretary, waved him through.
Taking a deep breath Singh steeled himself and stepped through the doors to the inner office.
“Where the hell have you been?” Drefus greeted him.
Singh’s legs failed him, finding Drefus lounging behind his desk, his eyes flashing in anger as his toady wandered in very late indeed. Confused Singh could say nothing. The prefect had clearly beaten him up to the tower, even though he had used many shortcuts he wasn’t aware anyone else knew about. Additionally, the prefect had changed into his customary white court clothes, his waistcoat starched tight about his bony frame, his hair immaculately styled. The man had certainly not just run up several hundred stairs to return to his office ahead of Singh.
“I... I am sorry, Prefect. I was delayed.”
“Someone else is more important than me?”
“Ah, of course not, Prefect.” His hand went to the torque. For once it didn't tighten.
Drefus glared at him. “I would like to know what makes you think you can keep me waiting, however we currently have more urgent matters to discuss.” He turned away from Singh to address his other visitor. “Although be sure, we will discuss this later.”
“Of course, Prefect.” That gave him some time to think up an excuse. He doubted it would do him any good, nothing had occurred to him during his frantic climb back up through the city, then to Hub One and finally to the cable car. Although most of that time he had been pondering on what he had witnessed. The screamer no longer screamed. He couldn’t imagine what was so monumental about those simple few words that they would quieten it. The heretics had been talking to it for years. Talking, singing, and praying: everything imaginable in the hopes of quieting its stricken spirit. Nothing had had the slightest effect. Yet those few words had. He doubted it was a good portent. If anything the silence had been more terrible than the screams. What could be said when a machine could no longer find it in itself to scream?
“You know my toady, Inspector?” Drefus said to the man seated before him.
“We have met, Prefect,” Inspector Isskip said, nodding slightly in assent.
“Good, good. Well, be seated man! You’re cluttering up the place!” This last outburst was aimed at Singh, who was still stood in the entrance.
Swallowing dryly Singh did as he was bidden.
“Right, where were we?”
“We were planning the mission to the Goliath, Prefect,” Isskip said. “We need to capture the killer and bring him to justice.”
