The Darwin Elevator by Jason Hough

more than likely. “Drive on, Angus.”
    The rain had stopped, giving way to a clear sky and oppressive sun. Heat shimmered off the cracked asphalt at the far end of the airport. Lightning rippled through dark clouds far to the east.
    Angus steered the vehicle through the gate and then along a dirt path that paralleled the old runway. The kilometer-long tarmac, once needed for aircraft to take off and land, now served as a foundation for an array of hastily constructed hangars, barracks, and warehouses.
    Through the windshield, Skyler watched a fifty-year-old crate hauler descending. Thrusters wailed as the aircraft angled for a landing.
    Angus saw it, too. “Whose is that?”
    Skyler studied the markings on the side. “One of Kantro’s old birds.”
    “What do you think they’re hauling?” the young man asked.
    “Soil. That old girl doesn’t have much range, so Kantro does the Bathurst run most of the time.” The island, some twenty kilometers off Australia’s northern shore, was a safe bet for work beyond Aura’s Edge. Isolated and cleared of subhumans long ago. The land had been stripped clean as a result. “Miserable work,” Skyler added.
    The truck jostled over the uneven ground, mud sloshing from beneath the tires. Skyler noted a patrol walking along the high fence that lined the airfield. Volunteers from the crews that made home on the old runway. The sight reminded him to check the duty roster, written on a chalkboard hanging in Woon’s tavern, and find out when he should next make the circuit.
    Angus pulled the truck off the dirt road and onto the flat asphalt runway, a welcome end to the bumpy portion of the ride. He drove down a narrow alley, created by a gap between a pair of concrete buildings, before emerging into sunlight.
    The center of the old runway buzzed with activity. Crews swarmed over their aircraft, unloading cargo or preparing for takeoff. Many more sat idle, waiting for repairs, spare parts, or simply a mission worth flying.
    Angus weaved between a dump truck and an ancient sky crane. The enormous aircraft could pick up and move an entire shipping container, and lift an massive amount of weight. Too bad her range is so limited, Skyler thought.
    They rolled to a stop in front of a weather-beaten old hangar. Angus laid on the horn, four times.
    Huge doors creaked and rolled back. The Melville loomed in the center of the room. Her name was written on the side in small, simple white letters, just like the first time Skyler had seen her, when she was sitting forgotten on a landing pad in the Netherlands. An old, scarred aircraft painted in olive green. Four massive engines dangled from wings that sagged under the weight, a design that allowed for ample access to the craft’s belly. Originally built to carry a small attack force to the far corners of the planet, with gear and one vehicle, the cargo bay provided Skyler and his crew modest room for scavenged goods. What she lacked in space she more than made up for in range.
    Ceramic tiles covered the underside, a feature that allowed atmosphere reentry. The squares were charred from frequent use. No one alive knew how to repair the heat shield, as far as he knew, and as soon as even one block showed a crack Skyler would have to retire the bird.
    Angus parked to the left of the aircraft and powered off the truck’s engine. The electric motors whined to a halt.
    “Don’t get comfortable,” said Skyler, “I need you to round up Jake and Takai.”
    Angus frowned. “Where are they?”
    Skyler jumped down from the passenger seat. “Jake’s probably drinking down at Woon’s. Takai, well, look for repair work on the strip, and he’s probably helping.”
    “Got it.” Angus wiggled out of the driver’s seat and dropped to the concrete floor of the hangar.
    “Oh, Angus. Ask Takai if he’ll jump with us. We need a translator.”
    “You want me to ask him that?”
    Skyler shrugged. “Soften him up at least. Make things easier for me. Take