Free The Plague Forge [ARC] by Jason M. Hough Page A

his core lay a thirst for revenge. The slumlord-turned-ruler was currently atop that list, from the look on the man’s face. “That so?” he said, mustering an impressive disinterested tone.
    “You can help, Blackfield.”
    “How?”
    “Patrol routes. Door combinations. Weapon storage locations. Medusa launch codes.” Skyler saw a flash of interest in the man’s face and went on. “How to gain access to the secure storage.”
    “Is that all?”
    Skyler shrugged. “Anything else you can think of that will help, I’m listening.”
    Russell held up his hand and gave a thumbs-up. He held it there in silence for a long time.
    A hot flare of temper began to course from Skyler’s head down to twitching fingertips. He checked it, took a breath. “You’ll want to start helping right about now, or this ends badly for you.”
    Blackfield raised his thumb higher. “I am helping.”
    Skyler drew his pistol.
    “This,” Blackfield said, wiggling his thumb. “Everything you asked for Grillo would have changed. He’s smart, that one. But one thing he can’t change is the biometric access for the locks. Those are keyed to my thumbprint.”
    “If he’s so smart, wouldn’t he have them re-keyed?”
    “Sure. And he’ll succeed, for the primary access. But I was there when the system was recalibrated. I bribed the contractor to use my print for the maintenance access. The fallback in case all other parties leave or die. He had to fly someone in from his home office in New Zealand on the same day SUBS hit, just to make that happen. On the down low, if you get me. Cost me a fucking fortune. Point is, Grillo won’t be able to change that. He probably doesn’t even know it’s in there.”
    Skyler put his pistol away and removed a knife instead.
    “A pulse is required,” Russell said with a wry smile. “You can put that away.”
    He walked to the man anyway, and slipped the knife back in its scabbard easily. He dumped the duffel bag slung on his shoulder at Russell’s feet, stepped back, and nudged it toward him with a toe.
    “What’s that?” Blackfield asked, rubbing his wrists.
    “Open it.” When he started to unzip the bag, Skyler continued. “I figured you’d try to turn this into a free ride back to Darwin, so I planned ahead. If that fits, you’re coming with us.”
    Russell glanced at the elaborate suit in the bag. “And if it doesn’t?”
    “Hope that it does, Blackfield, because if it’s your thumb I need it’s your thumb I’ll get. And honestly, dragging a subhuman version of you to Darwin might be less of a hassle.”
    The suit fit.
    Half an hour later, Skyler led Russell Blackfield from his cell. Hands retied, and the prospect of returning home if he just kept his mouth shut, made him a cooperative prisoner. Whether or not Blackfield sensed the clandestine nature of his removal from captivity, Skyler figured it didn’t matter as long as he said nothing and went where he was guided.
    None of the colonists questioned the sight of Blackfield being led from his cell. Skyler had broad authority to do as he pleased inside Camp Exodus and beyond. The people he passed probably thought he was moving the prisoner to a more secure holding place, or perhaps taking him for questioning. For those who bothered to ask, he had a simple answer: “You don’t want to know.” Not exactly a lie.
    La Gaza Ladra was already provisioned and charged when he led the prisoner inside and chained him to a seat. They’d stored enough air tanks for Russell to last forty hours. Plenty of time, Skyler estimated, to reach the circle drawn by Nachu on the map in central Africa and locate the “yellow” towers. They could refill the tanks there using a compressor, then worry about the next leg of the journey to Darwin. Skyler knew that distance was beyond the Magpie’s range but figured they’d still have time to stop somewhere—Yemen, perhaps—and locate a thorium reactor to spool from for a few hours.
    A lot could go