The Descent

Promptly  at  1700  hours,  the  expeditionaries  boarded  their  electric  buses.  They  were loaded  with  handouts  and  booklets  and  notebooks  numbered  and  marked  Classified, and  were  sporting  pieces  of  Helios  clothing.  The  black  SWAT-style  caps  had  proved especially popular, very  menacing. Ali contented herself with a T-shirt  with  the  Helios winged-sun  logo  printed  on  the  back.  With  scarcely  a  purr,  the  buses  eased  from  the walled compound out onto the street.

Nazca  City  reminded  Ali  of  Beijing,  with  its  hordes  of  bicyclists.  At  rush  hour  in  a boomtown  with  streets  so  narrow,  the  bikes  were  faster  than  their  buses.  They  had jobs  to  get  to.  Through  her  window,  Ali  took  in  their  faces,  their  Pacific  Rim  races, their humanity. What a feast of souls!

Declassified  maps  showed  boom  cities  like  Nazca  as  veritable  nerve  cells  reaching tendrils  out  into  the  surrounding  space.  The  attractions  were  simple:  cheap  land, mother lodes of precious minerals and petroleum, freedom from authority, a chance to start  over.  Ali had come expecting glum fugitives and desperadoes with no  other  place to   go.   But   these   were   the   faces   of   college-educated   office   workers,   bankers, entrepreneurs,  a motivated  service  sector. As a port city of the future, Nazca  City  was said  to  have  the  potential  of  San  Francisco  or  Singapore.  In  four  years  it  had  become the  major  link  between  the  equatorial  subplanet  and  coastal  cities  up  and  down  the western  side of the Americas.

Ali  was  relieved  to  see  that  the  people  of  Nazca  City  looked  normal  and  healthy. Indeed,  because  the  subplanet  attracted  younger,  stronger  workers,  the  population abounded  in  good  health.  Most  of  the  station  cities  like  Nazca  had  been  retrofitted with   lamps   that   simulated   sunlight,   and   so   these   bicyclists   were   as   tan   as beachcombers.  Practically  everyone  had  seen  soldiers  or  workers  who  had  returned to the surface  several  years  ago  suffering  bone  growths  and  enlarged  eyes  or  strange cancers, even  vestigial tails. For a while, religious groups  had  blamed  hell  itself  for  the physical  spoliation,  calling  it  proof  of  God's  plan,  a  vast  gulag  where  contact  meant punishment.  But   as   she   looked   around,   it   seemed   the   research   labs   and   drag companies  really   had  mastered   the   prophylaxis   for   hell.   Certainly   these   people exhibited  no  deformities.  Ali  realized  that  her  subconscious  fears  of  turning  into  a toad, monkey, or goat had been for nothing.

The  city  was  a  vast  indoor  mall  with  potted  trees  and  flowering  bushes,  clean,  with the  latest  brand  names.  There  were  restaurants  and  coffee  bars,  along  with  brightly lit stores  selling everything  from  work  clothes  and  plumbing  supplies  to  assault  rifles. The  neatness  was  slightly  marred  by  beggars  missing  limbs  and  sidewalk  merchants hawking contraband.

At one intersection an old Asian woman was selling miserable puppies lashed alive to sticks. 'Stew meat,' one of the scientists told  Ali.  'They  sell  it  by  the  catty,  500  grams, a little more than a pound. Beef, chicken, pork, dog.'

'Thanks,' said Ali.

Obviously  it  intrigued  him.  'I  went  exploring  yesterday.  Anything  that  moves  goes into the pot. Crickets, worms, slugs. They  even  eat dragons, xiao long, their snakes.' Ali peered  out. A long gossamer sausage stretched  beside the road, twenty  feet  high, a  football  field  in  length.  The  plastic  had  bold  hangul  lettering  along  the  front.  Ali didn't read Korean, but knew a greenhouse when she saw one. There  were  more, lying end   to   end   like   gigantic   plump   pupae.   Through   their   opaque   walls   she   saw fieldworkers  tending  crops,  climbing  little  ladders  propped  in  orchards.  Parrots  and macaws   soared   alongside  the   convoy   of  buses.   A  monkey   scampered   past.   The subsere  – the secondary population of invader species – was thriving down here.

In the far distance a detonation rumbled gently. She'd felt similar vibrations through her bedsprings all night. The  incessant  construction  work  was  evident  everywhere.  It didn't  take  long  to  detect  the  man-made  edges  of  this  place.  The  neat  right  angles abutted  raw  rock.  Pressure  fissures  spiderwebbed  the  asphalt.  A  patch  of  moss  had grown heavy  and peeled from the ceiling, exposing mesh and  barbed  wire  and  surging lasers overhead.