Free The Darwin Elevator by Jason Hough Page A

what we’re missing.”
    The beam of her flashlight swept the room. Boxes, containers, and canvas bags were lashed together in rough aisles. They stretched from floor to ceiling.
    “I’d better have a look around, then,” she said.
    “Thank you, Kelly. By all means.”
    She pushed off toward the ceiling and tumbled around to land with her feet. With deft, precise movement she propelled herself toward the far corner of the room, then quickly vanished behind the tightly packed goods, out of Neil’s view.
    He settled in by the door, and wondered if he’d gone overboard in this endeavor. He could hear Tania, and her oft-repeated caveat: It’s just a theory . She would uncover the truth on her own soon enough, and then Neil could feign his surprise and act on the news openly. Besides, Tania could figure out the specifics, the piece of the puzzle Neil so desperately needed. The devil, as always, hid in the details.
    “Thought I’d find you here, fuhkerrrrrr!”
    Neil jumped at the slurred, raspy voice.
    One of the crew floated in the doorway. The sick one, the one who’d left the game with a stomach problem. His face had an odd red pall. “Mysterious room … seventeen—”
    “—is off-limits,” Neil said. “You should be in your quarters.”
    The crewman ignored the order. Instead he doubled over and gripped his head in front of the ears, as if trying to tear away some invisible pair of goggles. For a second he drifted free, utterly consumed by pain, his face contorted in anguish.
    “Bloody hell, man,” Neil said. “What’s the matter with you?”
    The tortured look vanished as quickly as it had arisen. He pushed his way into the room with a queer violence, shouldering Neil out of the way. “Been wondering what secrets you’re hiding in here,” he slurred. “What the point of this bloody station is.”
    Before Neil could object, the man collided with the crate of Sonton handguns. The lid came loose and floated open.
    “Stay away from that,” Neil said. The words sounded ridiculous, weak.
    “The hell?” the man said. He picked up a pistol and studied it, alcohol-fueled confusion plain on his face. “Guns? What … what the fuck, Platz?”
    Be calm, Neil urged himself. Think . He shot a glance in the direction Kelly had gone, and found no sign of her.
    The man turned. The gun waved casually in one hand. His other hand had gone back to his temple. His fingers probed for relief before drifting lower, scratching along the neck.
    Neil noticed the rash.
    He froze, unable to believe what he saw right in front of him. It was, frankly, impossible.
    The man had SUBS. Of this Neil had no doubt, and it made no sense whatsoever. The crewmen had been stationed here for weeks, no way to have traveled beyond the Aura.
    The gun nearly slipped from the man’s hand. He caught it and tightened his grip, all the while waving it about like a toy.
    Neil had no idea if the weapon was loaded. “Put it back, friend. You’re ill, you need help.”
    “Friend?” The man scratched his cheek and neck with the butt of the weapon, so hard that Neil thought he might draw blood. “You’re my bloody boss, not my friend. What’s all this for, Platz?”
    “None of your concern.”
    “Bullocks!” the man shouted, enraged now. The disease would amplify his emotions. It would grow worse by the minute until it consumed him.
    Something had to be done, and soon.
    “Bullocks,” the crewman repeated, a darker tone now. He blinked, stuttered. “Something’s going on here. I should tell someone. The Council … yeah.”
    Neil steadied himself. “We need to take you to quarantine. You’re talking nonsense.”
    The crewman shook his head, an attempt to focus. His breathing became a husky growl, an animal sound. “I slept … all my time. Clear now, and watered.”
    A shadow, along the ceiling, caught Neil’s eye. No, a ghost. Kelly . She’d turned off her light.
    “What did you say?” Neil asked. “You make no