Allegiance

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  “The sensors outside the barrier didn’t pick it up until too late,” Michael yelled back.

  They stood with Cricket inside the protected boat harbor, watching the rain pound the rising waves. A small flock of gulls and terns had taken refuge under the overhang. Birds knew better than to fly in the violent wind, but it hadn’t stopped X from sending Discovery to check on the warships.

  And now, thanks to a busted satellite, they had lost contact with the airship. Michael was part of the team preparing to get it back online.

  He took off his goggles and pulled his wet hair into a ponytail, wishing he had stayed in his Hell Diver armor and helmet. At least he had Cricket and his wrist computer. Bringing it up to his mouth, he called X.

  “I’m inside.”

  “On my way,” X replied.

  Cricket chirped as it hovered behind them. Michael checked the robot while they waited. He had replaced the electrical system fried by the EMP grenade at the prison in Jamaica, but he still needed to find two new limbs.

  The machine used one of its two remaining arms to hit the port’s door lever, sealing them inside. With the sirens and howling wind suddenly muted, the clatter and hum of machinery filled the enclosed space.

  “Come on,” Michael said.

  Rodger and Cricket followed him inside the port. Graffiti and mural art—images of fish, birds, and monsters—covered the massive concrete pillars that held up the overhead and the levels above. The Cazadores had decorated every part of their home, just as his people had decorated their home in the sky.

  Around the next pillar, several Cazador mechanics worked on a long cigar-shaped speedboat that had once belonged to el Pulpo. Samson barked orders at two of his engineers wearing the traditional light-blue coveralls.

  “Ah, Commander Everhart,” Samson said. “About time you showed up.”

  “Sorry,” Michael said. “I was helping secure the tarps over the gardens, but I brought Cricket along just in case we need it.”

  Samson turned his attention to Rodger. “And what’s your excuse? Been playing grab-ass with Magnolia again?”

  “I wish,” Rodger said.

  The two engineers laughed, but Samson was a tougher audience. “I need all trained hands on this boat. X wants it ready as soon as possible.”

  Rodger jumped into the cigar boat and ducked down to remove an electrical panel. Now that the Hive had been secured to the oil rig, he was back to getting damaged boats up and running again.

  All the smaller vessels were stored here, but the container ships and warships were anchored by an oil rig retrofitted as a massive warehouse. The rig was completely controlled by Cazador workers, with a catch—the militia had an outpost there that allowed Lieutenant Sloan and Sergeant Wynn to keep a close eye on the repairs.

  It was part of their plan to monitor the Cazadores on all the rigs.

  Two militia guards were present today, each armed with an assault rifle, watching the Cazador mechanics.

  “No!” shouted one of the men. He waved at Rodger, who held a panel in his hand on the boat.

  “What?” Rodger asked. “What’d I do now?”

  The Cazador spoke in Spanish while Rodger pushed his glasses farther up on his nose.

  “I think he’s saying the electrical panel needs to be replaced,” Samson said. He looked at the Cazador mechanic. “Well, why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

  The hatch to the harbor inside the rig opened, and the Cazador guard standing with the militia soldiers pounded his chest when he saw that it was King Xavier.

  “We ready to go?” X asked, striding out onto the pier with a blood-soaked bandage on his head.

  “Sir, we have a problem with the boat you requested,” Samson said.

  “So find me a new one,” X said. “I need to get that satellite back up and running pronto, Samson. It’s the only way to contact Discovery.”

  “We have others, but do you really want to take them out in this weather?”

  “I don’t care what we take,” X said. “Just give me something that runs.”

  Samson looked to the Cazador engineers and tried to speak in Spanish to them. He had already picked up the basics and was doing better than Michael in this new and necessary language.

  One of the men pointed at the back of the boathouse. X peered into the shadows and then smiled, and Michael saw why.

  The man was pointing at the Sea Wolf.

  “That thing?” Samson said. “I’m not taking it out in this.”

  “Relax, I’ll take the helm,” X replied.

  “Oh, that makes me feel so much better.” Samson pointed to his bag of tools, and Rodger picked them up. Then he and Michael followed the chief engineer and X down the platform, toward the boat.

  “She didn’t sink on our journey here,” X said. “And I pushed her through storms just as bad as this one, so don’t get your oversized undies in a bunch.”

  Samson patted his gut. “I take exception to that after all the weight I’ve lost.”

  “Just messing with you,” X said, clapping him on the shoulder.

  Michael took the access ladder down to the deck and went through a hatch to the bottom level. Cricket followed them into a brand-new command center with a new windshield and dashboard.

  X sat in the captain’s chair and fired up the engines.

  “All right, old friend, let’s see if you still got it,” he said.

  He steered the boat through the choppy water and around the neat rank of moored boats in the protected port. When they reached the big exit door, one of Samson’s engineers pulled the lever.

  The metal hatch opened slowly into a violent storm.

  Sheets of rain pounded the windshield.

  “You all know I can’t swim, right?” Samson said.

  X clenched his jaw, all business now that they'd left the safety of the port. Swells lifted and lowered the boat as they moved out into the open water, leaving the capitol tower behind them.

  “Have a seat,” X said to Samson. “You’re making me nervous.”

  The chief engineer slumped down in one of the padded leather passenger chairs. Michael felt like doing the same thing. After the morning’s training mission, he was running on fumes. All he wanted to do was get into bed with Layla and sleep for a day, but duty called.

  “You decide what you’re going to do with Ted yet?” Rodger asked.

  X kept his eyes on the controls. “I should make him climb this crane in the storm, wearing metal armor, but I don’t trust him, so he’s shoveling shit at the livestock pens.”

  “He’s lucky you saved him,” Michael said.

  “We got bigger problems than Ted,” X said. “The last transmission I got from Discovery before the satellite went down was that the Lion is smack in the eye of that hurricane.”

  “With the new shields I added to the exterior, Discovery should be fine,” Samson said.

  “I’m not worried about the airship,” X said. “I’m worried about losing a warship and her crew. We need every Cazador soldier to defend the frontier.”

  The rain continued drumming on the windshield as the Sea Wolf climbed and dipped through ten-foot waves, toward the unmanned oil rig. Cricket chirped when they finally reached the isolated platform.

  The winds had reached a steady twenty-five miles per hour.

  “The satellite dish is at the top of that crane,” Samson said.

  Michael couldn’t even see the dish through the sheeting rain.

  X pulled the starboard side along a concrete pillar, trying to keep the boat steady in the rising swells.

  “Son of a bitch,” he muttered.

  A wave knocked them against the pillar, with an audible crunch.

  “I don’t feel so good,” Rodger said, holding his stomach. X nodded toward the head, halfway down the passageway.


  “Good thing we got Cricket,” Samson said, “because we can’t count on Rodge.”

  “Michael, send out the bot and get us tethered up,” X said. “I’ll hold us steady.”

  Using his wrist computer, Michael directed Cricket to follow him outside. They moved past the head, where Rodger was embracing the toilet.

  “Tin,” X called out. “I mean, Commander.”

  Michael stopped at the hatch and turned.

  “Be careful,” X said.

  “Always.” Michael put on his goggles before opening the hatch. The wind and rain hit him so hard, he stumbled back a step.

  Samson stood in the passage, shielding his face from the wind. Michael gave him a thumbs-up and then closed the hatch. He turned to look at the rig looming above them. He still couldn’t see the satellite dish, but he could see the boom of the crane.

  “All right, Cricket, moment of truth!” Michael shouted over the wind. He moved over to the starboard rail and braced himself as another wave pushed them closer to the concrete pillar.

  Grabbing the bow rope, he uncoiled it and prepared to throw it over to a cleat, then realized they could not tether safely here.

  Michael wrapped the rope around his chest and tied it with a bowline, then brought up his wrist monitor. “X, I’m heading up with Cricket!” he shouted.

  A reply came just as Michael climbed onto the rail and jumped into the water. He sank beneath the waves and kicked back to the surface. Then he swam over to the ladder running down the concrete pillar and started up the rungs.

  He could hear the angry replies on the wrist monitor as he climbed, and looking over his shoulder, he saw the Sea Wolf pulling away. X raised a hand behind the windshield, probably unleashing a stream of curses in two languages.

  Michael’s robotic hand clamped down on each rung while Cricket fought the wind and hovered up to the first level of the rig. From there, they took an interior stairwell up to the fifth level. Michael stopped just inside the protected access to look up at the satellite dish. It was still pointed at the sky, and he didn’t see any external damage.

  Using his wrist computer, he directed Cricket to check out the dish. The drone rose into the air, battling the wind and rain. Several moments later, it was in position. Using one of its two arms, it reached out and opened the panel to the dish. Then it deployed a small metal finger into a slot to run diagnostics.

  Michael cursed when he saw on his monitor that the problem was electrical. Cricket didn’t have the tools to replace electrical cables, but Michael had them in his pack. He unslung the rope and, keeping his head down, crossed the deck to the crane.

  Cricket flew back down and met him there. With carabiners, Michael clipped one end of the rope to the drone, and the other end to his belt.

  If he fell, Cricket would at least be able to hold on to him.

  That was the idea, anyway.

  Michael looked up at the crane, thinking twice about the plan. He pushed his fear aside and started climbing the diagonal boom, keeping the metal between himself and most of the wind. Cricket rose back up to the dish, the rope paying out until little slack remained.

  If not for Michael’s robotic hand, he could not possibly have made it up the slick wet steel. Halfway up, he looked down. The Sea Wolf rode about five hundred feet out, disappearing behind a wave, rising again on the next one.

  Michael continued the ascent, hand over hand up the steel latticework, not stopping until he got to the dish. Cricket had the panel off now, exposing the guts of the dish. Michael hooked his robotic arm over a metal crossbeam, got a good footing with his boots, and dug into his tool kit.

  Carefully removing three different colored spools of insulated wire, he placed them inside the open dish. Then he found the proper tools and went to work.

  Cricket swayed in the wind ten feet away, its red hover nodes glowing in the gray sky. When Michael had the time, he would finally fix the machine’s thruster so it could fly and maneuver faster in conditions like these.

  It took fifteen minutes to replace the wires. Not as bad as he had thought. He brought up his wrist computer and yelled, “Now try hailing Discovery on the encrypted line!”

  Michael brought the device to his ear but kept the mechanical arm gripped tight on the crossbeam. The wind pushed and tugged his body as he waited for a response. It came a moment later.

  “We’re through!” X said. “Now, get your culo back down here!”

  Michael looked down and felt his gut sink. This wasn’t like diving into the sky. Unlike in a dark storm over the wastes, he could actually see what was below him.

  Cricket moved back over to button down the panel over the new wiring as Michael started off down the boom, keeping three points of contact, thanking all the gods for his robotic hand.

  A quarter of the way down, a violent gust ripped both feet loose, and he flapped like a pennant in the gale. Once his heart slowed, he continued down, making sure both boots had a firm purchase.

  Five minutes later, he was safely on the platform, where Cricket joined him. After coiling the rope—a precious commodity—they moved back down the enclosed ladder and came out at the bottom, where he flagged the Sea Wolf.

  X maneuvered the boat toward the ladder, and again Michael dived into the water. He swam the rest of the way and climbed the boarding ladder to the deck. Only then did Cricket fly down onto the boat.

  “Good work, buddy,” Michael said.

  The hatch opened, and Rodger was there, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

  “Did you do it?” he groaned.

  “Piece of cake,” Michael said. “Now, let me in.”

  Rodger moved out of the way to let Michael and the robot into the passage. The hatch clicked shut behind them, sealing out the howling wind and making the voices in the command center audible. From the sounds of it, X was talking to Captain Mitchells.

  “We’re still searching for their last known location,” Les reported. “I’ll let you know as soon as we find them.”

  “Copy that,” X said. He cradled the handset on the dashboard and looked back at Michael.

  “Ballsy, kid,” he said.

  “Like you with Ted this morning?” Michael replied.

  X touched his bandaged head. “I haven’t even told you about the Siren yet.”

  “Siren?” Samson said, looking over from behind the wheel.

  X laughed. “It’s a long story.”

  “I don’t have any pressing appointments,” replied Samson.

  “We got time,” Rodger said, slouching in a chair and holding his stomach.

  Michael took the seat beside him.

  “You best get cleaned up, Rodger Dodger,” X said. “Don’t want Mags seeing you like this, do you?”

  Rodger managed a shrug. “I don’t think anything I do will win her over. I’ve carved her animals, saved her life, and she’s even seen my butt. Few women can resist that.”

  Samson chuckled. “You’re forgetting about the rest of you.”

  “Give her time,” Michael said, punching Rodger on the arm.

  Rodger sat up. “I am, but she’s really playing hard to get.”

  “Layla was that way, too,” Michael said.

  X and Samson leaned forward as the boat approached the capitol tower.

  “What in the unholy wastes is going on here?” X muttered.

  The bow of the Sea Wolf cruised into the open boat port and a scene of chaos.

  Two militia soldiers had a Cazador mechanic pinned down on the dock where the cigar boat was tethered. Meanwhile two Cazador soldiers were shouting, holding their spears in a fighting stance.

  “Is that DJ?” Samson said, standing for a better look.

  The Sea Wolf motored closer, and Michael saw the engineer crumpled on the dock. His head looked like strawberry jam.

  X cursed l
ong and evenly in a low voice.

  “So much for that peace, King Xavier,” Samson muttered.

  SEVEN

  The nightmare was always the same. Les stood on the poisoned surface in Jamaica, in full Hell Diver armor and gripping a laser rifle. The defectors came storming out of the former prison, firing bright-red bolts that sizzled through the air.

  Trey ran with Michael and Magnolia while Les held his ground and covered their retreat. He went down to one knee and fired three bursts at the closest machine—humanoid in shape and wearing a vest of human skin. Red eyes glowed from a metal face also covered in hide.

  Les aimed and pulled the trigger, melting an orange hole the size of his fist through the titanium exoskeleton. He followed with a bolt to the cranium, and the machine slumped over, raising a poof of dust from the fractured pavement. Two more defectors strode out through the prison’s destroyed western wall. One dropped to all fours, charging like a lion.

  “Get in the air!” Les yelled. “go!”

  He punched his booster, and the balloon fired from its canister, filling with helium and yanking him off the ground. As he was being pulled into the sky, he fired at the hurtling machine. It leaped into the air, reaching for his boot.

  The dreamscape shifted, and he was on the bridge of Discovery with Michael and Magnolia. They both were dripping with sweat and screaming about the machines.

  “You have to drop a bomb!” Michael said. “We have to finish them!”

  “Before they take Trey and use …” Magnolia’s words trailed off.

  Trey. Where was his son? Les looked around him on the bridge and saw the horrified faces of Ada and Eevi looking back at him. Timothy was also here, looking as solemn as ever.

  “Les,” Michael said, grabbing him. “I’m sorry beyond words, but we have to drop a bomb on the prison and destroy the machines.”

  The nightmare then would transfer back to the surface, outside the prison. Les stood in the open; staring at the smoking helmet of a Hell Diver lying on the cracked earth. He choked as he walked toward his son.

  As he approached, something came whistling down from the sky. A thump sounded, then a beeping noise. The walls of the prison vanished in a burst of dazzling white. The fire engulfed Trey’s armor and rushed toward Les in strangely slow motion.