“Doesn’t matter,” he gasped. “We’re all dead now.”
“What’s down there?” Simon said. “What’s happening?”
The pilot’s eyes fluttered. He closed his eyes. His head fell to the side as he lost consciousness entirely, slumping over in the chair.
+230…+210…
“Shit,” Max said. He hesitated for an instant, then jumped forward, and ripped the unmoving pilot’s uniform from his body.
Nastasia blanched. “What are you doing?”
With sudden ferocity he grabbed her by the collar of her exo-suit and dragged her to him, putting his mouth close to her ear, speaking in a very fast, nearly-silent whisper.
“The AI hasn’t noticed us coercing him. Which means there’s no voice recognition—she doesn’t pay attention after the first security check. So I have to try this. Help me.”
It was a thirty-second struggle to get the suit off the dying pilot and on to Max. The instant it was in place, he threw himself into the pilot’s seat and scowled at the freight elevator’s indicator:
+120.
He looked frantically around the console, trying to understand the complex array of gadgets. Where was the starter? Where was the fucking weaponry? Whatever was coming down that shaft was not going to be friendly; he had to be ready for it.
+50…
They began to feel the vibration of the massive elevator as it approached. Only then did Max decide what to do.
He put his hands on the control and pulled back, just a little. The DITV obeyed and moved back.
“Lazarus-9905,” he said. “Open central shaft.”
The door to the left of the approaching elevator obediently, swiftly, opened wide.
Simon lifted the rifle that he was holding, well aware that it would be useless to stop any real threat.
+20…+15…
Bright light poured from the elevator door as it cracked open. Max had made sure the DITV’s sensors showed the space inside was empty, so he didn’t hesitate. He moved his wrist forward, and the DITV responded instantly, trundling into the massive elevator. To their surprise, before the treads had engaged the edge of the door, a voice command prompted permission.
“You are clear, 9905, for your coordinates at 2,435 meters. Please confirm depth.”
“Affirmative,” said Max. He had no idea if that was the correct response.
He had guessed right. The doors slid shut and the lights blinked off, plunging them into total darkness yet again.
Their stomachs sank as the descent to Central Command began.
Two seconds later at Dragger Station, the elevator to their right opened wide, and Blackburn emerged.
“Report?” he demanded.
No one said a thing.
“Report!”
* * *
Below him, falling away, Nastasia felt her world closing in.
She didn’t belong here. She knew that. But fate had chosen her, and it was time to do what had to be done.
* * *
Blackburn clenched his teeth as the freight elevator reached the level of Dragger Pass, and continued downward. He had no idea that Simon, Max, and Nastasia were literally a few feet away from him, descending to the Nest in the adjacent shaft at a speed only slightly slower than his own. The padded interior cast an eerie effect from the dim blue lights mounted along its interior edges.
His detachment of soldiers was absolutely silent behind him; he knew they were the only men in the entire Vector5 organization with the clearance—and the courage—to enter the Nest…and he wasn’t sure if he was glad of that or concerned. This was his operation—his goal. He didn’t want to share it, not even with his own men.
The holo-display made the depth reading float in the open air, each numeral as large as the palm of his hand. As he watched, it slowly reached the magic number -2,153 meters, the base level of Central Command—and continued to fall. The calm, slightly amused voice of the AI that controlled the lift said it out loud, “Two thousand, one hundred and fifty-three meters,” it said. “Continuing…”
This final trip was only beginning. They had another one thousand meters to travel.
Blackburn was thinking about the man who was waiting for him at the bottom of the shaft. He knew that Oliver was very ill, perhaps terminally. I wonder how long he’ll live, he asked himself. That is, assuming he decides to cooperate.
The AI’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Two thousand, six hun—”
“Shut up for a second,” Blackburn said. Another voice—a human one, one he recognized—was buzzing in his ear, coming from the earpiece in his helmet. He tapped his shoulder to receive the incoming message.
“Go ahead,” he growled. “I’m listening.” The men around him didn’t flinch; they knew the drill. Blackburn was the chief