man. “So how do I stop you all?” There was no response from Deimona, no movement of his sightless eyes.
Duran already knew the answer.
One at a time.
10
The dirigible skimmed across the sky so low that the ropes that hung from its underbelly almost touched the rooftops on the buildings below. Knile glanced up as its bloated shadow drifted across the street. It was close enough for him to make out the faces of one or two of the occupants as they leaned out of the gondola and looked down on the city beneath them. With dread Knile realised that one of them was a child younger than Roman, an innocent floati ng toward the unforgiving defenc es around the Reach. Toward destruction.
Turn back , he thought. Turn back now while you still can.
But the dirigible continued on its path, an inexorable curve that would lead it toward the towering monument in the distance.
Down on the street, the convoy was making good progress. Knile gripped tighter on the wooden handle as he helped pull a cart laden with produce, trying his best to concentrate on the task at hand. It wasn’t easy. There was a knot in his stomach as he thought about approaching the gate that lay at the bottom of the Reach, a feeling that he was rushing things, that he wasn’t prepared. That was true, of course, but there had been no other choice. This opportunity had come upon him so suddenly, offering salvation should he choose the right path and destruction should he not. He had to rely on his ability to improvise if he was going to make it through to the end.
As such, he couldn’t decide if each plodding step along the asphalt was bringing him closer to freedom or closer to death.
To his left, Roman shuffled along with a handle tucked under his arm, doing his best to shoulder his end of the load. It was not by chance that Knile had ended up beside him – he’d sought the boy out when assuming his place – but Roman had maintained a stoic silence for the duration of the journey, failing to acknowledge that Knile was even there.
Knile had considered a dozen ways of apologising during the journey, imagining ways he could smooth things over with Roman, but up to this point he had held his tongue. All of the excuses he’d come up with sounded weak before they’d even left his mouth. If he couldn’t even accept them himself, how could he expect the boy to do so?
Instead, he decided to talk. Not to beg forgiveness or make up stories about why he hadn’t been around. Just talk.
“Did you know it was once a military installation?” he began. “The Reach.” He looked over at Roman, but the boy kept his eyes on the road ahead. “That’s how it started. Probably why it’s so ugly, too. It was built to be functional, not for the aesthetics. Over the years there were parts taken off, and others added on, and that’s why it looks the way it does. All lumpy and asymmetrical, like they didn’t have a clue what they were doing.”
Roman wiped sweat from his brow but gave no indication he was listening. Knile went on.
“Don’t let looks fool you, though. It’s quite the piece of engineering. They had to develop a new kind of alloy just to make it strong enough to stand up under its own immense weight. The tallest man-made structure ever built, back in the grand old days of progress.
“The military used the Reach not only as a way of getting personnel and equipment into space, but also as a kind of city. Infantry, officers and support staff and their families lived inside. There were residential levels, industrial levels where weapons and spacecraft were assembled, greenhouses for growing food, manufacturing plants, you name it.
“Of course, with the breakdown of society and the colonisation of other worlds, the military gradually left. Did you know that, once, there were almost fifty space elevators in operation across the globe? When fossil fuels dried up, so did the rocket
Duran already knew the answer.
One at a time.
10
The dirigible skimmed across the sky so low that the ropes that hung from its underbelly almost touched the rooftops on the buildings below. Knile glanced up as its bloated shadow drifted across the street. It was close enough for him to make out the faces of one or two of the occupants as they leaned out of the gondola and looked down on the city beneath them. With dread Knile realised that one of them was a child younger than Roman, an innocent floati ng toward the unforgiving defenc es around the Reach. Toward destruction.
Turn back , he thought. Turn back now while you still can.
But the dirigible continued on its path, an inexorable curve that would lead it toward the towering monument in the distance.
Down on the street, the convoy was making good progress. Knile gripped tighter on the wooden handle as he helped pull a cart laden with produce, trying his best to concentrate on the task at hand. It wasn’t easy. There was a knot in his stomach as he thought about approaching the gate that lay at the bottom of the Reach, a feeling that he was rushing things, that he wasn’t prepared. That was true, of course, but there had been no other choice. This opportunity had come upon him so suddenly, offering salvation should he choose the right path and destruction should he not. He had to rely on his ability to improvise if he was going to make it through to the end.
As such, he couldn’t decide if each plodding step along the asphalt was bringing him closer to freedom or closer to death.
To his left, Roman shuffled along with a handle tucked under his arm, doing his best to shoulder his end of the load. It was not by chance that Knile had ended up beside him – he’d sought the boy out when assuming his place – but Roman had maintained a stoic silence for the duration of the journey, failing to acknowledge that Knile was even there.
Knile had considered a dozen ways of apologising during the journey, imagining ways he could smooth things over with Roman, but up to this point he had held his tongue. All of the excuses he’d come up with sounded weak before they’d even left his mouth. If he couldn’t even accept them himself, how could he expect the boy to do so?
Instead, he decided to talk. Not to beg forgiveness or make up stories about why he hadn’t been around. Just talk.
“Did you know it was once a military installation?” he began. “The Reach.” He looked over at Roman, but the boy kept his eyes on the road ahead. “That’s how it started. Probably why it’s so ugly, too. It was built to be functional, not for the aesthetics. Over the years there were parts taken off, and others added on, and that’s why it looks the way it does. All lumpy and asymmetrical, like they didn’t have a clue what they were doing.”
Roman wiped sweat from his brow but gave no indication he was listening. Knile went on.
“Don’t let looks fool you, though. It’s quite the piece of engineering. They had to develop a new kind of alloy just to make it strong enough to stand up under its own immense weight. The tallest man-made structure ever built, back in the grand old days of progress.
“The military used the Reach not only as a way of getting personnel and equipment into space, but also as a kind of city. Infantry, officers and support staff and their families lived inside. There were residential levels, industrial levels where weapons and spacecraft were assembled, greenhouses for growing food, manufacturing plants, you name it.
“Of course, with the breakdown of society and the colonisation of other worlds, the military gradually left. Did you know that, once, there were almost fifty space elevators in operation across the globe? When fossil fuels dried up, so did the rocket
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