There were surface farms of course, which provided for the majority of the planet’s dietary requirements, but the underground gardens continued to be important. Especially given the population explosion now under way. All of which accounted for the dark, dingy cloak that the Egg Orno pulled over herself, prior to securing a grip on a single bag. After that it was a simple matter to follow a ramp down into the servants’ quarters and open the small door located toward the rear of the dwelling. A puff of incoming air brought the pungent odor of feces with it. The Ramanthian’s olfactory antennae began to writhe, and the aristocrat’s breakfast threatened to rise as she forced herself to step through the opening into her own version of hell. A dark, shadowy place, where thousands of Skrum untouchables collected, processed, and distributed the fi?lth generated by their social betters. But once the door closed behind the Egg Orno it locked, which meant there was no going back. So, nauseated though she was, the Ramanthian had no choice but to pull the tattered cloak about her and follow a narrow ramp to the passageway below. There weren’t very many lights, nor were they required, since the untouchables had far better night vision than the upper classes did. However, thanks to what few glow cones there were, and the map the female had downloaded three days earlier, she was able to fi?nd her way. The paved sidewalk that the Egg Orno was on paralleled the train tracks one level below and continually split into narrow paths that led up to the domiciles and businesses above. She noticed that the specially designed wheelbarrows rattled as the untouchables pushed them uphill but were generally silent as they were brought back down, prior to being emptied into one of the open cars on the tracks below. By timing her movements carefully, the matron was able to avoid physical contact with the Skrum who passed to both sides of her. For to do so would be equivalent to touching what they touched, a possibility that fi?lled her with horror.
It was warm under the city, way too humid for comfort, and noisome as electric-powered trains rattled past. The incessant rattle of click-speech could be heard as the untouchables spoke to each other in their own semiliterate dialect. About her? Yes, the aristocrat thought so, because as she followed the main passageway south, the Egg Orno felt sure that her social inferiors had seen through her disguise to the being within. But there was no way to know if that was actually true as the matron made a sharp turn to the right, counted off a series of narrow access ways, and followed the fourth up toward the city above. Once she arrived at the door, the Egg Orno knocked three times. There was no response. So she tried again, and again, until the door fi?nally swung open. A low-level functionary motioned for her to enter. If the male was surprised to see a visitor emerge from the city’s depths, there was no sign of it as he led her up a ramp into what appeared to be a warehouse. Utility lights threw a harsh glare down onto the polished fl?oor, brightly colored cargo containers had been stacked along one of the walls, and a loader was parked off to one side. There were no workers to be seen, as the aristocrat followed her guide across a large open space.
Though never privy to the details, the Egg Orno had always been aware that there was a dark side to her surviving mate’s activities, as was to be expected of any functionary who rose to high offi?ce. Still, she was impressed by the extent to which Alway could infl?uence events on Hive, as her guide stopped in front of an open shipping container. A well-padded nest had been created within, complete with a cell-powered light, and what looked like a cooler. “The module has its own oxygen supply,” the functionary explained earnestly. “And will be fully pressurized during the journey into orbit. You’ll fi?nd both food and water inside the cooler. The trip will last about twelve hours. Once aboard the Thraki vessel, you will be released. So now, if you would be so kind as to enter, I will seal you in.”
The Egg Orno entered the module, took the only seat available, and strapped herself in. The functionary wished her “a safe journey,” closed the door, and locked it. The fear the female felt as she eyed the dimly lit walls around her was mixed with excitement and a sense of anticipation. Because Alway was waiting, and every fi?ber of her being yearned to be with him.
Fifteen long minutes passed before some muffl?ed sounds were heard, the cargo container shook as a pair of metal forks slid beneath it, and the entire box was plucked off the warehouse fl?oor. And it was then, as the module was being transferred to a truck, that Chief Chancellor Itnor Ubatha shuffl?ed out onto the warehouse fl?oor. The head of the Queen’s Intelligence Services appeared to join him. Because, rather than alienate someone with that much power, Ubatha had chosen to partner with the other offi?cial instead. That would mean less credit if their scheme proved successful but less blame if it didn’t. Not to mention the beginning of what could be a profi?table alliance. “Well, there she goes,” Ubatha observed. “I trust your people are ready?”
“Very much so,” came the confi?dent reply. “My operatives will follow the Egg Orno every step of the way.”
“It should be quite a reunion,” Ubatha commented, as he imagined the moment when the Ornos met.
“It certainly will be,” the intelligence chief agreed.
“Once the Egg Orno draws the ex-ambassador out of hiding, the hunt will end.”
“Her highness will be pleased,” Ubatha said, as a big door rattled open and the truck passed through it.
“A most pleasant prospect indeed,” the other offi?cial agreed. “Would you care to join me for breakfast?”
“Why yes,” Ubatha replied contentedly. “I believe I would.”
ABOARD THE BARF BUCKET, IN ORBIT AROUND THE PLANET JERICHO,THE RAMANTHIAN EMPIRE
Thousands of pieces of debris orbited Jericho, most of which were left over from battles fought back during the Hudathan wars, or had been jettisoned by vessels like those presently in orbit. The menagerie included fi?ve Thraki freighters, two Ramanthian destroyers, the massive Imperator, and four tugs brought in to serve her exacting needs. One of the tugs was currently outbound to the CE, or cable end. If that particular vessel had a name, none of the POWs knew what it was, which was why they called the ugly vehicle the Barf Bucket, in honor of the effect weightlessness had on some of them. Not all of them, though, since most of the naval personnel were used to zero-gee conditions.
Unfortunately, Vanderveen, wasn’t very experienced in spite of the fact that Lieutenant Mary Trevane probably had been. So there was nothing the diplomat could do except ignore her rebellious stomach in hopes that she could complete the coming evolution without barfi?ng in her helmet. A catastrophe that would not only force her to complete the mission with big globules of foul-smelling vomit free-fl?oating all around her face—but would necessitate hours of painstaking cleanup back on the Imperator. Because while the techs were willing to repair the diplomat’s suit, they were not required to clean up after what the navy people heartlessly called a “chucker.” Meaning anyone stupid enough to hurl in their helmet. Knowing that, Vanderveen struggled to focus all of her attention on the big cable reels that occupied the otherwise-open space directly in front of her. Like its sister ships the tug’s U-shaped hull was built around a pressurized control room located at the center of the connecting bar. Powerful engines were mounted on each of two trailing pylons, both of which were capable of swiveling up, down, or sideways.
The POWs were required to ride in specially equipped slots located along the inside surface of the pylons just forward of the engines. The location put the slaves in close proximity to the twin cable reels that sat side by side on an axle stretched between the pylons. From that position the spools looked huge—large enough to blot out most of the stars—which made sense given that each reel carried a tenmile-long section of cable. So, assuming that each team of POWs successfully “hung” two sections of fi?ber per trip, and each of the four available tugs completed eight missions per standard day, that meant the 23,560-mile-long elevator would be completed in approximately thirty-six days. Except that wasn’t going to happen, not if the prisoners could prevent it, which the LG was pretty sure they could. Various possibilities were currently under consideration, ranging from an attempt to hijack all four tugs to some sort of sabotage aboard the Imperator. But regardless of which method of sabotage they chose, the space elevator would be destroyed.