Jackal fired his handgun into the sky to kick off the fight.
Rhino had a feeling this was going to be fast.
The only way the two men stood a chance would be if they worked together, and that didn’t happen. They split up, and Warthog decided to pick one of them off right away.
He threw his spear at the older fisherman, impaling him through the chest and pinning him like a bug to the wooden wall of the arena. It happened so fast, the crowd didn’t immediately react. He squirmed for several seconds before going limp.
Then came the shouts.
Warthog threw his arms up in the air, feeding off the excitement.
The second thief, seeing his only opportunity to dispatch Warthog while his spear was stuck in the wall, ran at him. He swung his dull blade, but the veteran gladiator ducked it easily.
The edge hit the bony skull crest with a loud crack.
The man staggered past Warthog, his balance off. He swung the blade backward, but Warthog was already on his feet and backing away. The swipe missed his arm by a good two feet, and the prisoner wobbled again.
Warthog used the opportunity to move forward and punch the man in the back, knocking him to the ground. But the scrappy fisherman managed to hold on to the sword and swiped again, nearly slicing Warthog’s boot.
The gladiator again backed away, letting the man get to his feet with the sword. He crouched in a defensive position and motioned for Warthog to advance. Perhaps he was more than a fisherman after all.
Most Cazadores knew how to handle a sword, but few had the skills of a veteran like Warthog. He moved forward and then, instead of attacking, kicked dirt into the thief’s face.
Though momentarily blinded, the man fought viciously, slicing the air. He got lucky on one stroke, slashing Warthog in the side as he moved in for the kill.
Warthog reached down, and his hand came back bloody.
The thief wiped the dirt from his eyes, looking as if he couldn’t believe he had actually drawn blood. A scream of excitement came from his mouth, and he raised the sword high above his head. Too high.
Warthog lunged forward and punched him in the throat, breaking his windpipe as the rusty blade arced downward. The sword crunched into the top of the mounted skull on Warthog’s head, where it stuck between two bony knots.
The thief slumped to the ground, holding his throat and choking. The arena went quiet, the sound echoing as Warthog stood watching the man struggle for a last few seconds of life.
Rhino looked over at Mallory, who clutched her younger son, Keith, against her breast, shielding his eyes from the violence. Rhett stood watching every move.
Jackal jumped back into the arena as Warthog pulled his spear from the first kill. The corpse slid down to the dirt, and a cleanup crew dragged the two bodies out.
“¡Qué divertido!” Jackal said into the megaphone. He repeated in English: “That was fun! But fear not, we have much more excitement to come. For tonight, we bring you a story of potential redemption.”
He walked in a circle and continued in Spanish. “Two days ago, Javier killed a sky engineer named DJ. Now he gets a chance to win his freedom!”
Another gate opened, and into the arena walked the husky shape of Javier. He had his thinning hair slicked back and wore a leather vest over his considerable belly.
X glanced over at Rhino.
Rhino nodded and went down a ladder to the dirt, where Jackal introduced him to the crowd. Not that he needed introducing, but he was surprised when the spectators did not give him the same applause they had given Warthog. Some even remained in their seats.
“They don’t like you,” Warthog said, laughing. He stood behind a gate, his hand still on his side where the fisherman had cut his flesh.
Rhino ignored him and twirled his spear. He stuck one end in the dirt and watched Javier walk out to meet him, holding an axe in one hand, a sword in the other.
Unlike the two fishermen, Javier knew how to fight. He had deployed on several missions to the wastes before being transferred to work as a mechanic. But he was still no match for Rhino.
He reached for his spear, gripping the shaft and preparing to pull it from the ground, when a voice shouted from the stands.
Rhino turned to see Colonel Carmela Moreto standing in her booth. Colonel Vargas was there with her, arms folded over his chest, bug eyes leering at Rhino.
Jackal gestured toward the two colonels.
“I invoke my privilege under the law of the Black Order of Octopus Lords!” she shouted in Spanish.
The crowd gasped, and Rhino clenched his jaw.
“I select Warthog to join Javier in the fight against Rhino!”
Vargas’s lips parted in a wicked grin that exposed his black teeth.
It was happening, Rhino realized. They were striking first.
X rose to his feet in his booth. He probably had no idea what was about to go down, but Rhino knew exactly what it meant. Being a former soldier in the Cazador army, Javier had more rights than the normal Cazador citizen, and if someone on the infamous Black Order of Octopus Lords wanted to save him from fighting, they could.
In this case, Carmela was granting him a partner in the fight, but Rhino had a feeling it was Colonel Vargas behind the orders. He was killing his rival the easy way.
But there was nothing easy about killing Rhino.
The gate clanked open, and Warthog walked out, laughing.
“You’re fucked, Small Dog!” he said.
Vargas picked up a weapon from the booth and tossed it down onto the dirt. Warthog picked up el Pulpo’s prized double-bitted axe.
“Let’s get this over with,” Rhino said.
Jackal fired the gun into the air, silencing the crowd.
When the echo faded, Warthog and Javier were already moving on Rhino. He grabbed his spear and backed away, wishing he had worn his armor. This fight had suddenly gone from simple to challenging.
Warthog advanced beside Javier, the two working together, just as Rhino had feared. If he had a shield, he would have been able to deflect the spear that Warthog launched through the air. Rhino jerked sideways and felt the missile whistle past his neck.
He jabbed with his own spear as far as he could reach, his hand on the very butt of the shaft. The blade darted toward Javier’s chest, but the husky mechanic deflected the blow with his sword.
Rhino spun, swiping the spear in a wide arc to keep Warthog back. It worked, and Rhino then turned to Javier, who approached defensively.
A raucous vroom sounded as Discovery lifted off from the rooftop, though no one but Rhino gave it a glance. They all were riveted on the fighting.
He thrust the spear at Javier, and again Javier parried the blow with his sword, this time nearly knocking the spear from Rhino’s grasp.
Warthog attacked from the left, slashing with el Pulpo’s axe.
The blade slashed Rhino on the shoulder, opening a gash that made him cry out in agony. He jumped backward to avoid a second blow. Then he turned and ran to get some distance.
“Don’t run, coward!” Warthog shouted.
Rhino gritted his teeth, halted, and turned, twirling the shaft of his spear at the prowling opponents, trying to anticipate their next move.
“Time to meet the Octopus Lords!” Warthog yelled.
“Time to lose the rest of your face!” Rhino shouted back.
Warthog charged, snorting out of his snout. But instead of striking, Rhino gave Warthog a taste of his own medicine by kicking the dirt up into his nostrils.
A muffled cry of pain and confusion followed. Rhino jabbed the spear at the blinded warrior’s leg, sinking the blade deep into his exposed calf. Blood welled out from the wound when he plucked it out.
Warthog let out an animal roar of agony.
Javier moved in, swinging his sword, and Rhino deflec
ted the blow with the steel shank of his spear. He pushed the smaller man backward, then threw a right hook that smashed into Javier’s cheek, breaking teeth and knocking him to the dirt.
With both men down, Rhino strode forward to finish them off.
The rumbling of the airship distracted him for a second as it climbed into the sky. He took a moment to glance up, wondering whether Sofia could see him in his moment of victory.
Warthog limped away, axe in hand, and Rhino took out his other leg with a slash to the Achilles tendon. He crashed onto his back, and the skull helmet rolled off his head.
Rhino kicked Javier in the gut, lifting him a good few inches off the ground. He rolled over after hitting the dirt. Spitting blood and gasping for air, he glanced up at Rhino, eyes pleading for mercy.
“Forget it, murdering shithead,” Rhino said.
He recalled his training and walked over to Warthog.
Take out the biggest threat first.
The gladiator was trying to crawl away.
“Tell the Octopus Lords hello for me,” Rhino said.
Warthog turned over, and Rhino made good on his earlier promise, swinging the spear low and parallel with the ground. The front of Warthog’s face, including the lips and what remained of his nose, slopped onto the dirt.
The crowd went wild, but Rhino saw at once that it wasn’t because of his kill. A boy was running across the arena. X jumped down from the booth to the dirt, but he was too far away.
It was Rhett, the elder son of the murdered sky engineer. He came running at Javier with a knife in his hand, screaming about his father.
“No!” Rhino shouted as Javier got to his knees and brought up his sword.
The boy leaped.
An anguished scream followed as X came running across the arena. Rhino got to Javier first and flicked the spear point under his jawline, slicing him from chin to ear.
X slid on his knees to where the boy lay crumpled with a foot of bloody steel jutting between his shoulders. He took two more breaths, gave a rattling gasp, and fell limp in the king’s arms.
X closed the staring eyes and looked up at Rhino.
“What have I done?” he moaned. “What have I done …?”
ELEVEN
The encrypted radio channel crackled with a message from Star Grazer. Les could make out snippets of General Santiago’s words, but not enough to string into anything meaningful. Not so much because it was in Spanish, which Les had gotten tolerably good at, but the warship was twenty thousand feet below them, and the electrical storm was chopping up their comms.
The Cazadores were nearing the first stop on their journey: a fuel depot that no sky person had ever seen. Known as Bloodline, it was one of two such hidden outposts.
Les glanced at the map on his monitor again to confirm that they were almost to the coastline of a country once named Venezuela.
“I always wondered where they got their oil,” he said.
Timothy had explained how, before the war, ITC scientists had developed a stabilizer to preserve both gasoline and diesel fuel indefinitely. The sky people had never needed gasoline to power their airships, which ran on nuclear fuel cells. Other than parts and medical supplies, the only other thing they needed was helium, to keep the ships in the air.
The Cazadores, by contrast, needed petroleum-based fuels for practically everything, including this mission. Since the depot was on the way, the ship had left port without refueling from the dwindling reserves back at home. Without stopping to refuel now, they wouldn’t have enough diesel to get to Rio de Janeiro and home again.
The Iron Reef was in the opposite direction, two hundred miles west of the Vanguard Islands, at a place called Belize.
Another message broke over the channel.
“Timothy, you get any of that?” Les asked.
“Some of it, sir,” he replied.
“Well, enlighten us.”
Eevi and Layla looked over from their stations.
“Sir, they are asking for our assistance,” Timothy said.
The speakers popped again with another message from Santiago. This time, Timothy was able to translate in real time.
“General Santiago said they sent an advance team,” the AI said, “but the outpost has been damaged severely. He’s worried there could be defectors or … something else.”
“Or maybe it could have been the hurricane,” Layla said.
“Highly unlikely,” Timothy replied.
“So what’s he want us to do?” Les asked.
“To lower Discovery and check it out from the sky—or send a team of divers.” Timothy’s voice caught slightly, as if he understood the perils implicit in such a request.
“Could be a trap,” Eevi said.
Les frowned at her cynicism.
“Let’s give them the benefit of the doubt,” Layla said. “If they wanted to kill us, they could shoot us out of the sky pretty easily with the ordnance they have.”
Les appreciated having Layla back on the bridge. She had always been a voice of reason, much as her mentor, Katrina DaVita, had been during her time as captain.
“Look, I think we all should be suspicious,” said Eevi. “My husband is one of the divers they want to go down there.” She paused and then added, “Has it occurred to you that they might want our ship?”
“Yes,” Les said. “It has, actually. If they could steal Discovery, they would have the upper hand in both numbers and firepower. But that isn’t going to happen.”
“No, it won’t, because you have me,” Timothy said, smiling.
Les would have smiled, too, but the airship shook viciously in a pocket of turbulence.
“Going to get rougher before it calms down,” Eevi said, checking her monitor. “This storm is growing, so I hope you aren’t seriously considering descending. What about sending Cricket?”
“The drone will never make it through the storm,” Layla said. “But maybe if we do descend, we could deploy it. Assuming Michael has finished his modifications. I know he’s been working on the thrusters.”
Les took a moment to consider his options. The hurricane had already pummeled Discovery during the first leg of the flight. And the threat of lightning made this storm even worse.
As if to emphasize the danger they were still in, thunder rattled the hull.
“Timothy, do you have a map in the database of this facility?” Les asked.
“Negative, sir,” Timothy replied. “All we have is an old map of the surrounding area, and the current readings from our sensors.”
“Pull them up on the main monitor.”
“One moment, sir.”
Les unbuckled his seat harness and walked over to the mounted wall screen. Eevi and Layla joined him there.
“No wonder General Santiago wants our help,” Eevi said. “It’s a red zone.”
“And they have a team that actually lives here full time?” Layla asked. “How could they survive?”
It wasn’t just radiation that had Les concerned. “Those toxicity levels are sky-high,” he said. “A minute without an air filter, and you’d be dead.”
“Definitely a hostile environment,” Timothy said.
Ten minutes later, another message broke over the open channel.
“General Santiago’s advance team has returned from reconnoitering the facility,” Timothy reported. “He said they can’t access the piers or the facility, and is again asking us to recon from the sky for a separate route.”
Les could tell right away that Eevi didn’t like the suggestion, and Layla didn’t seem too fond of it, either. But their preferences didn’t really matter. What mattered was that they do their part, because when they reached the main target, they would need every warrior they could get, and without fuel, Star Grazer wouldn’t make the journey home.
“Prepare t
o take us down, Timothy,” Les ordered. “I want to see what we’re dealing with before I commit to sending in Team Raptor or Cricket.”
Timothy nodded. “On it, sir.”
“Layla, ready the weapons. I want to be ready for any hostile contacts.”
“You got it, Captain.”
Les pulled the handset off the dash and opened a channel shipwide.
“This is Captain Mitchells. We’re heading to the surface, and things are going to get bumpy. Please report to your shelters or buckle in wherever you are.”
He returned to his chair, strapped in, and fingered his monitor to make sure their exterior shields were fully deployed.
All but one of the fifty panels flashed operational. As long as they didn’t take multiple lightning hits, the shield over that sector of the hull would hold.
“Execute, Timothy,” Les said. “Forty-five-degree down angle.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” the AI replied.
The bow slowly dipped, and the airship cut through the clouds, accelerating. Lightning arced across flight path. A strike hit but was absorbed by the shield.
Layla shot Les a concerned look.
“We’re fine, Lieutenant,” he said.
Halfway to the surface, the storm intensified, and Les almost choked on his words. The ship took multiple strikes, resulting in several alarms.
“We’ve sustained damage on the starboard side,” Layla reported. “Two shields are at ten percent. Another hit, and we could see some internal damage.”
Les clicked out of his harness and moved over to the controls. He grabbed them and slightly altered the angle of descent. Then he fired the six rear thrusters.
“Everyone, hold on,” he said.
Purple flames streaked from the boosters, propelling their descent. Les grabbed the armrests and gripped them tightly. As in diving, sometimes the best way through a storm was the fastest way.
The altitude monitor ticked down and their speed rocketed to one hundred miles per hour and increasing. Les finally backed off just below Discovery’s two-hundred-miles-per-hour maximum, not wanting to risk it if they should hit a major pocket of turbulence.
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