Allegiance

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  Rodger walked to the edge of the boat, hearing it too.

  “What the hell is that?” he asked.

  Magnolia had her pistol out, and Rodger bent down and grabbed the small semiautomatic from his ankle holster.

  “What?” he said when he saw her staring.

  “How many bullets does that hold, two?”

  “No,” Rodger said. He released the magazine, looked, and reseated it. “Six.”

  Magnolia rolled her eyes before taking the access ladder to the pier. Then she set off for a hatch that led from the rig’s protected boat harbor to the docks outside.

  “Hold on,” Rodger said, opening the hatch and stepping through first.

  The rain had mostly stopped, though clouds still blocked the stars and moon over the capitol tower. On the horizon, just outside the barrier, the clouds flashed blue from the outer edge of the storm, which had finally passed.

  The water was mostly dark, with a few lights from boats moving between the rigs.

  Magnolia glanced up at the platform where el Pulpo had once sat and watched his wives lying out on the sundeck near the pool. Several militia soldiers and sky citizens stood there looking out over the water.

  “What the hell is going on?” Rodger asked.

  She unslung her backpack and pulled out her binoculars. Then she motioned for Rodger to follow her to the elevator cage.

  She hit the lever, and the chain started pulling them skyward. When they were a few floors up, she looked through her binos, zooming in on several Cazador boats.

  Dozens of people stood on the deck of each vessel. But it was the massive container ship that caught her attention. On the deck, hundreds of Cazadores held torches in a circle.

  “Well, what do you see?” Rodger asked.

  “Trouble.” She could hear the fear in her own voice. Her gut told her that the Cazadores knew about the crew of the Lion and were coming for revenge.

  Why else would an entire fleet of boats be sailing in the open water while Klaxons blared from the other rigs?

  The cage clanked to the top, and Magnolia shoved the gate open and rushed out. She found X standing with several militia soldiers, looking out at the flotilla gathered below.

  “What in the wastes is happening?” she asked.

  Miles rushed over, tail wagging, clearly not worried about the boats or anything else.

  X leaned against the railing, and Magnolia relaxed a degree. His casual attitude told her this wasn’t some war party coming to kill them.

  “X, what are they doing?” she said.

  “Mourning.”

  Magnolia followed the deep voice to the hulking figure of General Rhino, standing in the shade of a fig tree and watching over his king.

  “So if that that’s not a war party, why the Klaxons?”

  X looked to Rhino for the answer.

  “The gods are angry from this tragedy at sea,” he said. “So many of our warriors have been lost all at once to the depths. We now must summon the Octopus Lords and ask their forgiveness.”

  Magnolia recalled the shell whistle that el Pulpo had worn around his neck. The Klaxon wasn’t a call to arms; it was to beckon the underwater beasts the Cazadores worshipped.

  “We must offer a sacrifice,” Rhino said. “If we don’t, the Octopus Lords will destroy everything we have built here, before any of us have a chance to.”

  Magnolia looked down at the spectacle on the water. The belief about the Octopus Lords turning against the humans if left unappeased was probably just superstition. But standing here in this miraculous paradise that was the Vanguard Islands, she wasn’t so sure.

  NINE

  Michael awoke to the clank of shutters. He reached over instinctively to Layla, but his hand touched empty sheets. He shot up, squinting at the sunshine streaming in through the open window. He had overslept.

  And where was Layla?

  He swung his legs over the bed and placed them on the cold tile floor. His Hell Diver jumpsuit, freshly pressed, hung on a hook from the bulkhead. On the breast, just over the white arrow symbol, was a note.

  Michael plucked it off and read it aloud. “Meet me at the fruit trees.”

  Relieved, he reached outside and latched the open shutters against the bulkhead. Two days after the loss of the Lion, the skies had finally cleared, but a thousand Cazadores were still out on the water, offering sacrifices and prayers.

  From what Michael had heard, the underwater beasts still had not surfaced to claim their offerings of animals and fish. So far, the Cazador leaders were not blaming Discovery for the loss of their warriors. They thought the airship had been coming to the warship’s aid.

  And it was not altogether a lie. Les had tried to save the Lion.

  Michael noticed another vessel on the horizon. Grabbing the binoculars from the windowsill, he zoomed in. It was Star Grazer.

  The Cazador warship, back from patrolling outside the barrier, would dock at the capitol rig for provisioning before the mission to Rio de Janeiro. He had seen the ship only once, but X had told him it was the one that captured him in Florida. If X could forgive the Cazadores for that, then so could Michael.

  He put the binoculars back on the windowsill. He was more worried about the Cazadores forgiving the sky people if they ever learned the truth about the Lion. Especially if he should be away when it happened.

  Leaving Layla here, even on the heavily defended capitol rig with X, had him on edge. And that reminded him that he didn’t want her off on her own.

  He threw on his Hell Diver suit and grabbed an orange from a bowl in the kitchen. Then he took the stairs up to the airship rooftop.

  With each step inside the enclosed stairwell, the guilt ate at him. Layla deserved a husband who would be around to help her raise their child—not a Hell Diver who was constantly risking his neck on missions.

  Since Trey’s death, Michael had thought a lot about his future. Over the past few days, he had been away from Layla almost every waking hour, working on Discovery and supervising new Hell Divers. Today, he would select the two rookies to join Team Raptor on the mission to Rio de Janeiro.

  And today he would be saying goodbye to Layla.

  At the top landing, he walked into the sunshine, searching in the glare for the soon-to-be mother of his child.

  Discovery hovered above the oil rig with the Sea Wolf already secured to her belly, nestled between the two rows of turbofans. The ship was low enough that Michael could hear the hum over the wind, but high enough that the drafts didn’t disrupt the tropical canopy on the roof.

  In a few hours, the crew would board it for the flight to the only known location of human survivors outside the Vanguard Islands.

  Michael crossed the little forest, tossing his orange rind into the compost bin. He spotted Layla at the far edge, carrying a basket brimming with tangerines.

  “Morning,” she said with that smile that always made him feel a little weak in the knees.

  “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

  She plucked another tangerine off a branch. “Because you need your sleep for the mission.”

  Layla gave him the elevator eye treatment, up and down.

  “Wow,” she said, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in an unwrinkled suit. Guess I’ve gotten pretty good at the laundry. Farming too, but I do miss diving.”

  “I’m glad you’re retired.”

  “Not quite,” she said. “There’s something I need to tell you, Michael.”

  He waited for it, heart skipping a beat for the second time this morning.

  “I’m coming with you,” she said, setting down the basket of fruit. “I won’t be diving, but I’m taking Ada’s spot on the bridge. Les asked me, and X agreed—well, technically, he said he agrees if you agree.”

  Michael massaged his forehead. In truth, he wasn’t a
ll that upset. The bridge on the airship was probably the safest place she could be.

  “Okay,” he said.

  “You’re not mad?”

  “Not at all.” Michael walked over and put his hand on her stomach. “I’m glad you and Bray are coming along. After what happened with the Lion, the ship might be safer than the islands.”

  “Good, because I was coming regardless.”

  “I have no doubt about that.”

  “There’s something else,” she said.

  “I’m listening.”

  She reached up and gave his ponytail a flick. “I think it’s maybe time to cut this off.”

  “No longer listening.”

  A grin broke across her dimpled cheeks. Something over his shoulder caught her eye.

  “Hey, Commander! When you finish picking fruit, we got some guns to check!”

  It was Arlo yelling. The young rookie diver was really starting to get on Michael’s nerves.

  “Kid is way too excited about those guns,” he said.

  Layla chuckled. “Like most boys. Better get over there. I’ll see you at the launch.”

  Michael kissed her and went over to the edge of the rooftop, where the new Hell Divers were starting to assemble. Veterans Magnolia, Alexander, and Edgar were already there with Cricket, who hovered above them, monitoring the deployment of weapons.

  Ton and Victor stood in their militia uniforms, guarding the weapons crate. Michael had a lot of respect for those two. Not only had they fought to take the Vanguard Islands, but they were also some of the hardest-working people around.

  “Hey, Victor,” Michael said, raising a hand. “How you doing, Ton?”

  “We are good, Commander,” Victor replied in near-perfect English. He gave a broken-toothed smile, and Ton made a noise with what was left of his tongue, and grinned.

  Arlo was smiling, too, looking as excited as a kid at the candy-jam shack on the Hive.

  “Attention!” Magnolia shouted. “Commander on deck.”

  “Good morning,” Michael said.

  She flicked a swatch of newly red hair out of her eyes.

  The divers all straightened, and Michael took a long look at the dozen-plus rookies. Only two of them would join Team Raptor, and it was a tough decision. They had already weeded one out—Ted was currently hosing down a deck strewn with fish guts.

  He scanned the first six quickly. None of them had stood out to him on the training mission.

  His eyes stopped on Lena. She looked eager, and she was talented in the sky, but she was shy and nervous. He had no idea how she would do on the perilous poisoned surface.

  Next were Hector and Alberto. The lean, muscular young men, both covered in tattoos, were trained fighters and had served on several missions to the wastes. But they weren’t great with the gear yet, and both had missed the boat landing on their training run in the darkness—partly due to not reading their HUDs properly.

  No, they needed more training on equipment and in the air before they could be trusted on a mission this important.

  Michael and Magnolia had met after the last training dive to discuss the greenhorns, focusing not just on the best divers, but on those who seemed mentally and emotionally fit in a combat situation. And as much as Michael didn’t want to admit it, the cocky kid with long curly locks and a handsome grin was the best man for the job.

  “Arlo,” Michael said. “Welcome to Team Raptor.”

  “Hell yes!” Arlo said, throwing up a fist in victory. “I fucking knew it!”

  Several other divers slapped him on the back as he lugged his gear over to the veterans. Edgar gave Arlo a nod, and Alexander did, as well.

  “Do I get to pick my gun now?” Arlo asked.

  Michael shook his head.

  “What about a nickname? I get one of those, right?”

  “I thought your nickname is Thunder,” Michael said.

  “Yeah, but that’s boring. I want something new. Something worthy of—”

  “So earn it,” Sofia said.

  Arlo frowned. “Hey, can’t be too eager, though, right?”

  “Eager beavers end up dead divers,” Magnolia said.

  Arlo’s smile vanished, and he dropped his duffel on the dirt. “I ain’t planning on dying, Katib. In fact, I plan on diving more times than King Xavier.”

  This got a laugh all around.

  “You ain’t even making it into that launch bay if you call me Katib again,” Magnolia said.

  Arlo stiffened like a board and threw up a salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Don’t make me regret picking you,” Michael said.

  The kid was, without a doubt, the best of the new boots, but he was also the cockiest. Though he wasn’t the first diver with an outsized ego. X, Magnolia, and many others had been unbearable assholes at one point or another in their careers.

  And there was nothing like diving to the toxic, mutant-infested surface to humble someone. If Michael had to guess, Arlo “Thunder” Wand would be an entirely new man if he made it back alive from the mission.

  Magnolia scanned the new divers one by one, then went back through the line before making her decision.

  “Sofia,” she said. “Welcome to the mission.”

  Sofia stepped out with her duffel, showing zero emotion. She wasn’t the best rookie in the sky, but she had already proved she could fight once she got to the surface, which made her the right fit for this mission.

  “All right, the rest of you will stay behind and will spend your time here on the capitol rig, training and keeping the peace,” Michael said. “For now, everyone pitches in and helps us get ready to lift off at o-nine-hundred hours.”

  He activated his wrist computer and ordered Timothy to lower the airship. Cricket chirped, holding out both arms to back the divers away from the landing zone.

  Discovery set down in the clearing between the Sky Arena and the tropical forest.

  Michael watched the legs extend and press down into the dirt. The shields that Samson had installed gave the ship’s exterior a scabby look, a bit like the outside of an old-world hand grenade. Discovery had saved his people from an uncertain fate, and now she was heading back out to keep his people and their new allies safe.

  As always, the bustle of mission prep gave him a little buzz of adrenaline. He had listened to the transmission from Rio de Janeiro a dozen times now, and the sooner they got Discovery into the air, the better their chances of saving what survivors remained.

  Morning became afternoon as Hell Divers and crew loaded the airship. Michael spent much of that time working on Cricket in the launch bay, improvising and installing some spare parts that Samson had somehow “happened to find.”

  Not only was the robot being fitted with two more arms, it was also getting additional armor and several new cameras. There wasn’t time to finish, though, and by midafternoon, Michael called it quits to help with the other divers.

  “Almost there, buddy,” he said to Cricket. “I’ll get you fully operational once we take off.”

  The robot chirped and followed him to the oil rig’s safety railing. Magnolia and Rodger were there looking down at the water, where Cazadores loaded Star Grazer with fresh supplies.

  By early evening, both groups had finished their work. Timothy confirmed that Discovery was ready to fly, all systems checking out.

  Michael tied the red bandanna with the Raptor logo around his head and put on his Hell Diver armor, clicking the red battery unit into its chest slot.

  Finally, he grabbed a blaster from the crate and holstered it on his thigh.

  The other divers chose their primary weapons, and Michael took one of the two laser rifles. Magnolia took the other, and Arlo selected an assault rifle with a new stock and barrel.

  “She’s beautiful,” Arlo said, kissing the barrel.

/>   “Careful where you point that,” Magnolia said. “Don’t want you to mess up that pretty smile.”

  Several divers laughed, then stopped at the sound of distant shouting.

  “Hear that?” Michael said to Magnolia.

  “Yeah, I do,” Magnolia said. “Must be coming from the deck of Star Grazer.”

  The shouts became more rhythmic, turning into what sounded like a chant.

  Michael and Magnolia walked over to see what was going on. Edgar and Alexander were already standing on the platform where X had held the ceremony decommissioning the Hive.

  The four veteran divers looked at the deck of the warship to see the most decorated veteran of all.

  “What the hell is X doing there?” Michael said.

  The other divers shook their heads. No one had been informed about their leader’s plans to board the warship.

  X climbed the access ladder onto Star Grazer with Rhino and a small team of militia soldiers. They made their way around fifty Cazador warriors standing in ranks before the stacked containers on the deck.

  All the soldiers wore thick armor and held gas masks and a primary weapon in their hands. Mechanics and deckhands were busy loading spearguns and feeding ammunition into the machine guns protected by armored turrets.

  The warriors tapped their spear butts against the steel deck as they chanted.

  “¡El General de la Muerte!” they yelled.

  “What are they saying?” Alexander asked.

  “‘The General of Death,’” Magnolia replied. She pointed at the observation platform overlooking the lower deck and frowned. “General Santiago, my favorite Cazador general, is leading them into battle.”

  The old warrior stood on the platform dressed in full Cazador armor with a bright-orange cloak draping his back.

  “And you’re going into battle with him, right?” Edgar asked.

  “Yeah,” Mags said, raising her laser rifle. “And if anyone tries anything, they’ll get a nice bolt to their pearls.”

  “So, who’s that?” Alexander asked.

  Michael squinted at a husky naked man being led up an access ladder from the piers below. Two Cazadores led him on a chain that connected to shackles around his ankles and hands.