The Descent

Soon  Ali  was  sweating  and  breathing  hard.  She'd  known  there  would  be  a  period  of adaptation  to  the  trail,  that  it  was  going  to  take  time  to  acclimate  to  the  depths,  to build  up  their  quadriceps  and  adjust  to  new  circadian  rhythms.  The  stench  of  animal carcasses  and  the  mining  network's  sewage  didn't  help.  And  an  obstacle  course  of rusting  cables,  twisted  rails,  sudden  ladders,  and  staircases   made   progress   more difficult.

Ali reached a clearing. A group of scientists was resting at a stone bench.  She  got  out of  her   pack   and  joined  them.   Farther   on,  the   trail   dropped   in  a  deep,   winding staircase.  The  masonry  seemed  old,  fused  with  accretions.  Ali  looked  around  for carved  inscriptions or other signs of hadal culture, but there  was none.

'That's got to be the last of our people coming down,' a trekker  said.

Ali  followed  his  pointing  finger.  Like   tiny   comets,   three   points   of   light   slowly descended  in  the  darkness  with  silvery  filaments  for  tails.  Ali  was  surprised.  For  all the  walking  they'd  done,  the  platforms  were  not  so  far  away,  maybe  just  a  mile. Higher,  at  the  edge  of  the  rim,  the  town  of  Esperanza  was  visible  against  the  black night,  a  dim  bulb  indeed.  For  a  moment  she  saw  the  boomtown's  painted  cliffs.  The bright blue color twinkled in the toxic mist like a wishing star, and so she made a wish. After  their rest,  the trail changed. The  swamp receded.  The  reek  of  death  fell  away. The  trail rose at a pleasant incline. They  came to a ledge overlooking a flat plateau.

'More animals,' someone said.

'They're  not animals.'

Once  upon  a  time,  in  Palestine,  people  had  made  human  sacrifices  in  the  valley  of Hinnon,  later  using  the  valley  as  a  dumping  ground  for  dead  animals  and  executed prisoners.  Cremation  fires  could  be  seen  burning  there  night  and  day.  With  time Hinnon  became  Gehenna,  which  became  the  Hebrew  name  for  the  land  of  the  dead. Ali  had  become  something  of  a  student  of  the  literature  of  hell,  and  could  not  help wondering if they  had stumbled upon some modern equivalent of Hinnon.

As they  trekked  onto the plateau, the image  resolved  itself.  The  bodies  were  simply men  lying  in  an  open-air  camp.  'They  must  be  our  porters,'  Ali  said.  She  estimated  a hundred or more men gathered  here. Cigarette  smoke mixed with their  pungent  body odor. Dozens of blue plastic drums shaped on one side to  fit  the  human  spine  gave  her a clue.

They  had  reached  the  rendezvous  point.  From  here  the  expedition  would  truly launch.  Like  uninvited  guests,  the  scientists  waited  at  the  edge  of  the  encampment, not quite sure  what  came  next.  The  porters  did  nothing  to  accommodate  them.  They went on lying about, sharing  cigarettes  and  cups  of  hot  drinks  or  sleeping  on  the  bare ground. 'They  look... tell me they  didn't hire hadals,' a woman said.

'How  could  they  hire  hadals?'  someone  asked.  'We're  not  even   sure   they   exist anymore.'

The  porters' incipient horns and beetling brows and  their  body  art,  almost  defective in  its  jailhouse  shabbiness,  had  a  certain  pathos  to  it.  Not  that  anyone  would  have pitied  these  men  to  their  faces.  They  had  the  bricklike  stare  and  keloid  scars  of  a street  gang.  Their  clothing  was  a  mishmash  of  LA  ghetto  and  the  jungle.  Some  wore Patagonia  shorts  and  Raiders  caps,  others  wore  loincloths  with  hip-hop  jackets.  Most carried knives. Ali saw machetes – but no vines.  The  blades  were  for  protection,  from the animals she'd been passing for the  last  hour,  and  possibly  from  any  stray  hostiles, but above  all from one another.

They  had fresh white plastic collars around their  necks.  She'd  heard  of  convict  labor and  chain  gangs  in  the  subplanet,  and  maybe  the  collars  were  some  sort  of  electronic shackles. But these  men looked too physically  similar,  too  familial,  to  be  a  collection  of

prisoners.  They  must  have  come  from  the  same  tribe,  the  front  end  of  a  migration. They  were indios, though Ali could not say  from  which  region.  Possibly  Andean.  Their cheekbones were  broad and monumental, their black eyes  almost Oriental.

A huge  young  black  soldier  appeared  at  their  side.  'If  you'll  come  this  way,'  he  said,

'the colonel has hot coffee prepared.  We just received  a  radio  update.  The  rest  of  your group has touched down. They'll  be here soon.'