Allegiance

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  “She never got to see all this,” Layla added. “The way the world was meant to be.”

  Michael gave a quiet sigh. “A lot of people gave their lives so that we could have a second chance.”

  “That’s what I’m worried about, Michael. That you’ll be next. Trey didn’t get his second chance.”

  The guilt Michael felt about Jamaica gnawed at him. “If I end up going, everything I do will be with you and Bray in mind.”

  She clutched him tight. “You promise?”

  He gently took her hand and put her palm over his chest.

  “Maybe we should make this official,” he said.

  “Official?”

  He shrugged. “You know, like, get married.”

  “Well, that’s romantic.”

  “Sorry, but …”

  “It’s fine,” she said. “I don’t love you because of your charm. You are the guy who took me on a ‘date’ to the weapons operation room or whatever it’s called, back when Discovery was Deliverance.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, but that was fun, right?”

  “It’s very possible Bray was conceived there.”

  Michael leaned down in front of her stomach. “You hear that, little guy? You were conceived in the weapons operation center, which means you’re going to grow up to be a badass!”

  Layla shook her head but had to laugh. She pulled Michael up straight, and he kissed her again.

  “I’d better get to the library,” he said. “X is going over the Cazador maps.”

  “Okay, I’ll just stay here and do …” Layla looked at the pile of unfolded clothing. “House stuff, I guess. Never thought I’d say that.”

  “I’ll make it up to you when I get back tonight. How does dinner in the hall and then stargazing sound?”

  Layla shrugged a shoulder and grinned. “Maybe you are a romantic after all,” she said.

  “Don’t get your hopes up.”

  Michael chuckled and left their small quarters and went to the great hall where the council chamber was located. The Cazadores had turned this fortress into an impressive place, but it lacked the technology the airships had.

  Part of the reason, Michael suspected, was that they didn’t need to fix things with the same sense of urgency. Their lives didn’t depend on staying in the sky, and they had far more access to food sources here on the sea.

  The bigger part, though, had to do with keeping this place a secret. So far, their lack of tech had kept them safe from the machines and everyone but his people.

  Vaulted ceilings rose above Michael as he crossed the tile floor. A militia soldier and a Cazador soldier stood sentry beside the steel doors of the council chamber.

  Michael walked down a passage lined with paintings of Cazador warriors. The men, and a few women, were dressed in armor and holding their weapons of choice.

  General Santiago was there, gripping an axe with a blade the size of his head. Dozens of other generals, living and dead, seemed to watch the young commander’s progress, assessing his worthiness. But one section of wall was blank—the picture of el Pulpo, removed by the sky people.

  Soon, there would be a picture of the man who killed him—assuming someone could get X to stand still long enough for a portrait. So far, he had been “too busy.”

  Sconces with burning candles guided the way to the study. Michael passed several doors, one of them open to reveal an armory turned museum. Inside were glass cases full of swords, spears, bows, and old-world rifles that looked like antiques. On the walls hung suits of armor, helmets, and chain mail.

  Around the next corner, he spotted the open doors to the study, or what his people called a library. The long room was far more than a library, though. Above the level furnished with hundreds of bookshelves was a meeting area with round wooden tables and several offices.

  He had spent many hours in this place, going over records of the Cazadores’ travels, most of which had been limited to the Caribbean and the eastern coasts of the Americas. Only a few warriors had led expeditions across the Atlantic Ocean to West Africa or Europe. None had returned.

  The library’s few patrons sat at tables, reading under lamps with orange shades. At the front desk sat Jason Matthis, the former librarian on the Hive, who had taken a beating from the militia during the dark days under the tyrant Leon Jordan.

  The door shut behind Michael with a click, and Jason looked up with cloudy eyes.

  “Who’s there?” he asked.

  “Michael Everhart, sir.”

  Jason rose from his seat and turned toward the voice. “So good to hear your voice, Commander. King Xavier is expecting you.”

  “Thank you, Jason. It’s good to see you, too.” Michael walked down the rows of tables and stacks. The place had an academic vibe that didn’t really fit the Cazadores’ Spartan warrior culture, though the paintings on the walls helped bridge the gap—scenes of battles in the Sky Arena, on the open seas against mutant sharks and giant serpents, and on the mainland with Sirens and killer birds.

  A voice called out from the balcony above. “Come on, kid,” X said. “I still haven’t gotten my daily swim in.”

  Michael took the stairs two at a time up to the second level. X motioned him over to a large rectangular table draped with maps. Magnolia stood with her arms folded across her purple jacket.

  Les was also here, in uniform. “Commander,” he said.

  “Captain, how are you?”

  “Worried,” Les replied.

  X leaned with his palms on the table, looking down at the maps and then up at Michael. The concern in his gaze told Michael there was more to this meeting than simply discussing the SOS signal and the message, which he still hadn’t heard.

  “We discovered something else after the council meeting,” Les said.

  “This stays between us,” X said. “Got it? No one in this room says a word.”

  Michael, Magnolia, and Les all nodded.

  At a sudden movement under the table, Michael backed away. Miles stuck his head out to see what was going on.

  “You, too, buddy,” X said. “Not even a growl.”

  The dog whipped its tail and went back under the table.

  X spread out a map. It showed eastern South America and a dead old-world city called Rio de Janeiro, where the signal originated.

  Then he flattened a rolled-up square of paper on the table. It was a Cazador expedition log.

  “What’s it say?” he asked.

  “It’s a record,” X replied. “The Cazadores have been to this city before. Ten years ago.”

  “And did they find anyone?”

  “We don’t know.”

  Michael scanned the log, realizing it was incomplete. “They never came back, did they?”

  X shook his head. “Nope.”

  “This message could be a trap from the defectors,” Les said. “The same one that got my son killed.”

  The words stung Michael’s ears. He glanced at the captain, then looked away. Michael knew that Les blamed himself, but he also put some of the blame on Michael, who had led the mission on the ground.

  “It could be a trap, yes,” said X. “But this time we know for a fact that there are survivors. We heard their voices before you got here.”

  Les placed an electronic tablet on the table. “The original audio is in Portuguese, but Timothy has translated in his own voice.”

  Michael stepped closer and bent down to listen as Les touched the screen.

  “We have women and children. Please, if you’re out there, we need help. Our water system is failing, and our last crop yielded only half the normal rations. We are slowly starving, and if we can’t fix our water system, we will die.”

  Les let it play twice before hitting the off button.

  “This is what we’ve been waiting for,” Michael sai
d. “Real survivors that need our help.”

  “We also know that the Cazadores have encountered defectors before,” X said, “and if they never came back from this area, those machines could be why. It’s possible the machines are already there, and thanks to our signal, now they know the survivors’ location.”

  “That’s why I’m requesting to take Discovery, sir,” Les said. “We have to eradicate the threat before they also find us.”

  Everyone stared at Les in surprise.

  “If there are survivors, I’ll bring them back here,” Les said. “And if there are defectors, I want to be the one to destroy them.”

  “Discovery is grounded, Captain,” X replied.

  “Please, X,” Les said. “Don’t make me beg. Let me take the airship and avenge my son.”

  “I’ll think on it,” X said. “In the meantime, Commander Everhart, get your divers ready.”

  “For what?” Michael asked.

  “We’re doing another training run, but this time it’s going to be outside the barriers, in the storms.”

  THREE

  Captain Les Mitchells returned to his quarters on the capitol oil rig right after the council meeting. He wanted to see his daughter and wife before heading back up to the skies. The new training mission would take the greenhorn divers into storm clouds for the first time.

  After his son’s death, Les had considered temporarily stepping down from captain to spend more time with his wife and daughter.

  “We can find someone else,” X had said. “Take time to grieve your boy.”

  In the end, though, Les decided that his duty was not just to his family, but to all humankind. And knowing that the defectors were out there and programmed to obliterate all human life made the decision an easy one.

  Now was not the time to grieve. Now was the time to go on the offensive and fight.

  “Daddy!” Phyl called out as he shut the door. She ran over from the table facing the sliding door to their balcony. Katherine was there, too, but she did not get up to greet her husband.

  Les bent down to hug his daughter. He averted his gaze from the open door to the quarters she had shared with Trey.

  Katherine got up from the table, but instead of coming over to greet him, she moved into the small kitchen area.

  “Are you hungry, Daddy?” Phyl asked. “We’re making dinner.”

  “Starved,” Les lied. “It takes a lot to feed a giraffe.”

  Phyl grinned, and he followed her past the other bedroom and the tiny bathroom, into the space that served as both kitchen and living room.

  Katherine had her back turned to him and was chopping up carrots on a plastic board.

  “What are we having?” Les asked.

  “Fish chowder,” Phyl said enthusiastically. “Are you still taking me fishing later tonight? That’s when they bite the best, right?”

  Les could have kicked himself, remembering his promise. The smile on his young daughter’s face quickly turned to a frown when she sensed he had forgotten.

  “I can’t tonight,” he said. “I’m sorry, but I will take you soon, I promise.”

  Katherine looked over her shoulder and raised a brow at him before turning back to finish cutting the vegetables.

  I know, I know. I can’t keep breaking promises.

  He had already broken the most important promise in their twenty years of marriage, by failing to bring Trey home alive—or at all.

  He swallowed hard at the image that kept popping up in his mind’s eye, of the flash and then the mushroom cloud from the bomb that incinerated his son’s body. It had destroyed the defectors that killed Trey, but that was small consolation. Bottom line: he had not been there on the ground to save his son.

  His wife must have sensed his moment of weakness, and put the knife down, but she stopped shy of coming over to give him what he needed most: a sign of love. A kiss, a hug, a soothing murmur … Anything.

  He longed to have her support again, but he didn’t blame her for the resentment in her gaze. He had failed his son and his entire family.

  Nothing he could do would bring Trey back, but he would be damned if he didn’t track down and eliminate the defectors before they could destroy what was left of his world.

  Leaving his wife and daughter to finish making dinner, he went out to the balcony. When they had first moved in here, he would sit with his family for hours, looking out over the water and watching the sun rise and set each day.

  But tonight, he hardly even looked at the tangerine glow in the west. Instead, he set his backpack down and fished out his tablet. Sitting on a plastic chair, he touched the screen and pulled up the data he had on Rio de Janeiro.

  The beachfront city was vast and, according to records, had not sustained a direct nuclear hit during the war. The nuke had instead hit the ocean, creating a massive tsunami that washed away much of the city, but it had also crushed the reactors of a power plant there, causing a meltdown.

  The logs from a Cazador scouting mission showed radiation readings of a yellow zone, but the team that was eventually deployed never came back to give a firsthand report.

  Les put in earbuds and clicked the audio file. He had already listened several times but wanted to hear it again. Timothy’s clear, soothing voice filled his ears, translating the SOS.

  A finger tapped his shoulder, and he turned to find Phyl, beaming at him and holding a bowl of soup. He took out his headphones and smiled at her. Katherine was already sitting at the table.

  “Dinner, Daddy,” Phyl said.

  He had to smile. “Okay, please set it down for me on the table. I’ll be right there.”

  She set the bowl down at his spot as he gathered up his things. He left the sliding door open so they could eat in the cool breeze.

  His wife avoided his gaze when he sat, and he avoided looking at the empty spot where Trey had sat. His family had changed so much in a few short months.

  Les swallowed, but the lump in his throat remained. He looked out over the water, watching the sunset fade to a purple bruise over the horizon.

  Trey had hardly gotten to enjoy the sunshine and the water.

  A tear glazed his eye, and he discreetly turned and wiped it away while pretending to scratch his nose. His family didn’t need to see him like this. He had to be strong.

  He held out his hands for his wife and daughter to take. They always gave thanks for their food, but tonight Les had something to add to the usual blessing.

  Katherine took his hand, but her grip was limp. He squeezed her hand and Phyl’s while thinking of the survivors out there starving in the darkness.

  “Tonight, we give thanks for being together in this place where we have food, water, shelter, and safety,” Les said. “And we thank Trey for giving his life so that we and others can have these things.”

  Katherine squeezed back. It was a start, but he had a lot to do to help his wife heal. He let go of their hands and picked up his spoon.

  “What were you listening to out there?” Katherine asked.

  “An SOS from survivors,” he replied.

  Phyl tilted her head slightly. “What’s SOS?”

  “A message from people asking for our help.”

  “There are more people out there?” Katherine asked.

  Les nodded. “We mustn’t tell anyone, though, okay?”

  Phyl no longer seemed interested in her meal. She had too many questions.

  “Eat, kiddo,” Les said. “After dinner, we’ll go fishing for an hour before I have to go back to the sky.”

  * * * * *

  At midnight, two dozen newly minted Hell Divers huddled outside the fence of tropical trees on the rooftop of the capitol oil rig. The growing canopy, still a bit tattered from the hail of gunfire during the battle with the airships, swayed in the light breeze.

  X sto
od behind a bullet-scarred coco palm, watching as they waited for their ride into the sky. None of the new divers had been outside the barriers of the Vanguard Islands, and he knew they could never be truly ready for what awaited them.

  But others were ready. Silhouetted against the rising moon, four veterans stood in front of the greenhorns. Michael and Magnolia were flanked by Edgar Cervantes and Alexander Corey, two of the three surviving members of the USS Zion team. Alexander’s wife, Eevi, had also lived through the Zion’s epic sea battle but was now an ensign on Discovery.

  X moved closer for a better look at the four veterans who had taken the leadership mantle of Teams Raptor, Angel, Phoenix, and Wolf. They all looked skyward for the airship being piloted by Timothy.

  “Captain on deck!” someone shouted.

  Les ran out in uniform, apologizing for being late. If he had his way, he would take them all on a machine-hunting mission. But X knew from experience that a mission of revenge, especially with so many rookie divers, was a sure recipe for mistakes—and unnecessary deaths.

  He knew because he had seen it happen many times before.

  If anyone was going, it would be the vets and perhaps a small handful of the best new divers. Tonight, X would learn who the standouts among the greenhorns were. They weren’t diving through the fluffy white clouds of the Vanguard Islands, either. They would be tested in a way they have never been tested before.

  X had approved the mission even though he wasn’t sure they were ready, because he had no choice. The only way to get them ready was to throw them in the meat grinder—the same thing the Cazadores did by sending their trainees to an island they called the proving grounds.

  The whir of the airship made a gradual crescendo, and he could make out a red light blinking in the sea of stars. X remained in the shadows, unseen by the divers and captain. He would’ve liked to be out there giving them all a talk before this important dive, but that was no longer his role and would undercut Michael and the other commanders.

  Still, X wanted more than anything to join them. Just thinking of torpedoing through the clouds warmed his blood.

  A voice spun him about to face the darkness of the forest. His sword flashed.