sent.
At the city outskirts he guided the alien tower over a short bridge that spanned a man-made tributary. Despite years of neglect, runoff still raced toward the Rio Pará. He nudged the tower around a derelict Toyota. The tall mass glided as if it weighed no more than Skyler himself.
He’d spent more time than he cared to admit pondering the point of the devices. Their usefulness was obvious: movable pockets of precious aura to fend off SUBS. His immunity didn’t lessen an appreciation for the gift.
But why? Usefulness aside, what were the bloody Builders up to? He shook his head again. More speculation. A pointless topic to ponder. Everyone at base camp had theories, from plausible to crazy and everything in between.
Someone had suggested that perhaps the Builders had intended to colonize Earth, had sent their construction vessels,but had themselves died along the way. That or the project lost funding, someone had joked. Skyler had barked a hearty laugh at that. “What a terrifying thought,” he’d said, “that they’re just as fucked-up as we are.”
Across the bridge he found himself in Belém’s vast outer slum. Kilometer after kilometer of shanty homes, hopeless churches, and the occasional grouping of shops and taverns. All abandoned, all in some state of embalmment by the unchecked growth of the rainforest. Skeletal corpses littered the ground with such number that they became as mundane as trees.
Skyler pulled the tourist’s map from his breast pocket, along with a permanent pen. Once he found his bearings, he began to walk again and make abbreviated notes. A pharmacy he noted with “rx.” Taverns and liquor stores got a little happy face. A circle around the marking meant he’d gone inside and found it to contain useful things. An X meant nothing worthwhile remained. The map had around fifty such markings already, all within a few kilometers of the Elevator. He’d barely explored the city at all yet.
For an instant his eyes lingered on the mark he’d made the day before. IMMUNE . The vision of that young woman, white dress billowing about her perfect legs, clouded his mind’s eye. He pictured her naked backside as she ran from him across the field. A longing stirred within him and he mentally slapped himself back to reality.
He drew a little monster wherever he encountered a subhuman. In the month since touchdown, only a handful had been encountered, until yesterday. The bizarre scene at that crash site explained their absence across the rest of the region. He drew a bold circle around the rough location of the crashed shell ship.
A chill coursed through his body and Skyler paused. He let the tower drift on and ducked into the shadow of a single-room home made of lashed-together aluminum siding. For a long minute he stood there, studying the surrounding homes. Nothing moved, save the occasional lizard sprinting across a wall, or birds darting from tree to electric pole.
He’d been deep in thought, and sensed something, heardsomething perhaps. The moment passed. With nothing else to go on, he readied his weapon just in case and jogged to catch up to the aura tower.
Halfway there he heard the faint sound again. A wump wump wump , scarcely loud enough to be heard over the constant background of birds, insects, and countless drips of runoff water.
A machine gun. A big one, at that. Not like the weapons some of the colonists carried.
He pushed the tower around a corner in the road to get a view south, toward the space elevator.
Sunlight caught the thin cord like a strand of spider silk. Skyler followed it to the ground and saw birds. Hundreds of them, streaming from the trees that surrounded base camp.
He started to run.
Some stupid sense of duty kept him from abandoning the aura tower altogether.
He pushed and guided it through the uneven grid of streets, around abandoned vehicles and the occasional tree sprouting right through the road.
The gunfire had stopped. Or at least he
At the city outskirts he guided the alien tower over a short bridge that spanned a man-made tributary. Despite years of neglect, runoff still raced toward the Rio Pará. He nudged the tower around a derelict Toyota. The tall mass glided as if it weighed no more than Skyler himself.
He’d spent more time than he cared to admit pondering the point of the devices. Their usefulness was obvious: movable pockets of precious aura to fend off SUBS. His immunity didn’t lessen an appreciation for the gift.
But why? Usefulness aside, what were the bloody Builders up to? He shook his head again. More speculation. A pointless topic to ponder. Everyone at base camp had theories, from plausible to crazy and everything in between.
Someone had suggested that perhaps the Builders had intended to colonize Earth, had sent their construction vessels,but had themselves died along the way. That or the project lost funding, someone had joked. Skyler had barked a hearty laugh at that. “What a terrifying thought,” he’d said, “that they’re just as fucked-up as we are.”
Across the bridge he found himself in Belém’s vast outer slum. Kilometer after kilometer of shanty homes, hopeless churches, and the occasional grouping of shops and taverns. All abandoned, all in some state of embalmment by the unchecked growth of the rainforest. Skeletal corpses littered the ground with such number that they became as mundane as trees.
Skyler pulled the tourist’s map from his breast pocket, along with a permanent pen. Once he found his bearings, he began to walk again and make abbreviated notes. A pharmacy he noted with “rx.” Taverns and liquor stores got a little happy face. A circle around the marking meant he’d gone inside and found it to contain useful things. An X meant nothing worthwhile remained. The map had around fifty such markings already, all within a few kilometers of the Elevator. He’d barely explored the city at all yet.
For an instant his eyes lingered on the mark he’d made the day before. IMMUNE . The vision of that young woman, white dress billowing about her perfect legs, clouded his mind’s eye. He pictured her naked backside as she ran from him across the field. A longing stirred within him and he mentally slapped himself back to reality.
He drew a little monster wherever he encountered a subhuman. In the month since touchdown, only a handful had been encountered, until yesterday. The bizarre scene at that crash site explained their absence across the rest of the region. He drew a bold circle around the rough location of the crashed shell ship.
A chill coursed through his body and Skyler paused. He let the tower drift on and ducked into the shadow of a single-room home made of lashed-together aluminum siding. For a long minute he stood there, studying the surrounding homes. Nothing moved, save the occasional lizard sprinting across a wall, or birds darting from tree to electric pole.
He’d been deep in thought, and sensed something, heardsomething perhaps. The moment passed. With nothing else to go on, he readied his weapon just in case and jogged to catch up to the aura tower.
Halfway there he heard the faint sound again. A wump wump wump , scarcely loud enough to be heard over the constant background of birds, insects, and countless drips of runoff water.
A machine gun. A big one, at that. Not like the weapons some of the colonists carried.
He pushed the tower around a corner in the road to get a view south, toward the space elevator.
Sunlight caught the thin cord like a strand of spider silk. Skyler followed it to the ground and saw birds. Hundreds of them, streaming from the trees that surrounded base camp.
He started to run.
Some stupid sense of duty kept him from abandoning the aura tower altogether.
He pushed and guided it through the uneven grid of streets, around abandoned vehicles and the occasional tree sprouting right through the road.
The gunfire had stopped. Or at least he
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