Allegiance

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  Michael, Edgar, and Alexander had linked up with Sofia, and they were right above the sinkhole, no doubt trying to devise a plan to get Arlo out of there before fifty Sirens tore him to shreds.

  “If only I could mount a missile to Cricket,” Les said.

  “Sir, that’s actually not a bad idea,” Eevi said. “What if we turn Cricket into a missile and slam it into the bottom of those nests? It could provide a distraction, at least.”

  “We also lose our only eye in the sky,” Layla said. “And you destroy Michael’s friend.”

  “Timothy, got any bright ideas?” Les asked.

  “I have been tinkering with one, Captain.” The AI walked over, scratching his perfect beard as if deep in thought. “Perhaps we could use the drone as a distraction, but not quite in the way that Eevi suggested.”

  Les moved closer to the main monitor. “Switch overlay to infrared,” he said.

  The screen imagery turned greenish, with red blotches scattered across it.

  “Zoom in.”

  Timothy tapped into Cricket’s cameras and magnified on the cluster of Siren nests. They formed a sort of honeycomb on the eastern and northern slope of the sinkhole.

  At the bottom of the ten-story pit, a group of larger Sirens slept amid a graveyard of bones and carcasses.

  Les walked up to the screen for a better look. Arlo was on the southeast side, almost directly above the sleeping beasts on the ground, backed against the wall and looking up at the other divers.

  “Switch back to Team Raptor,” Les said.

  The camera climbed to the top of the hole, where Michael and the other divers were crouched down, still not doing anything to get Arlo out of there.

  “Sir,” Eevi said, “I’ve got movement on the drone’s scanner.”

  “Where’s it coming from?” Les asked.

  “The bottom of that pit.”

  “Show me, Timothy,” Les said.

  The video feed returned to the sinkhole. In the mass of limp, slumbering bodies, several Sirens were stirring awake.

  “We’re running out of time,” Layla said. “We’ve got to do something.”

  “The ones on the ground all seem to be males,” Timothy said.

  “What’s your point?”

  “They can fly,” Timothy said. “What if we use the drone as a decoy and try luring them away from the sinkhole? That could give Arlo a chance to get away with Team Raptor.”

  “Or it wakes all the beasts and they swarm the divers,” Les said.

  He looked to Layla and then to Eevi. They both had loved ones on the surface, and he wanted them to weigh in.

  “It’s our best shot to save the kid,” Layla said.

  Eevi didn’t seem so sure, but she finally nodded.

  “Okay, do it, Timothy,” Les said. “And take us down to one thousand feet.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  The airship began lowering toward the ocean. Les returned to the captain’s chair to watch the screen.

  “If this doesn’t get their attention, I don’t know what will,” Timothy said.

  “If what doesn’t?” Les asked.

  Timothy smiled proudly. “I’m going to play some Led Zeppelin. I believe they are one of Xavier’s favorite old-world bands, right?”

  “If the defectors are hiding down there, they’ll hear it, too,” Les said. He thought on that for a moment. “Maybe that’s another upside to using Cricket as bait. If it draws out the defectors, we can take ’em out from the air.”

  “What about Team Raptor?” Layla said.

  Eevi rolled her chair toward Les, waiting to hear his response.

  “We won’t put them at risk, don’t worry,” he said. “They are my priority, but if we have a chance to kill the Sirens, and especially the defectors, I’m going to take it.”

  He nodded at Timothy. “Proceed.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen, may I present ‘Black Dog,’ by the one and only Led Zeppelin,” Timothy said. “I listened to these guys a few times in my day, back at the Hilltop Bastion.”

  His mood seemed to brighten at distant memories of his human past as the ancient song thumped over the speakers inside the bridge. Les checked the main screen footage from Cricket’s cameras, which were now focused at the bottom of the pit.

  The Sirens all seemed to jerk awake, their eyeless heads looking skyward. Dozens of the beasts stood, and then a flurry of motion filled the bottom of the pit as they took to the sky.

  “Oh, shit,” Timothy said. “Please pardon the expletive,” he added, and his hologram vanished.

  The feed moved as Cricket fired its thrusters away from the hole.

  “Good luck, Commander Everhart,” Les said under his breath.

  He looked over to Layla, who watched the screen with wide eyes, one hand on her tummy. This stress wasn’t what she needed, but he knew that she wouldn’t go and rest in her quarters even if he ordered it.

  The drone’s camera feed showed a skyline full of flying monsters. More beasts joined them from across the metropolis, taking to the air on leathery wings to pursue the drone.

  “Sir, should I find a place to land Cricket?” Timothy asked.

  “No,” Les said. “Full speed ahead to our location.”

  Both Layla and Eevi looked over, and Timothy’s hologram reemerged. This time, he was right in front of the captain’s chair.

  “Captain, you want me to draw them right to us?” asked the AI.

  “Yes,” Les replied. “Weapons hot, Lieutenant. I’m heading to the combat information center.”

  “On it, Captain,” Layla said.

  Les stood and walked across the bridge. “Timothy, you have the helm. If those Sirens make it past my gunfire, get us out of here.”

  “The Sirens are gaining, sir,” Timothy said.

  “How long until they’re within view?” Les asked.

  “Two minutes, sir.”

  “Can that tin can fly any faster?” Les asked. “I thought Michael souped up the thrusters.”

  “He did, but it still isn’t fast enough,” Timothy said. “I could shed some of the new armor, though; that might help.”

  Les thought on it for a moment. Losing the armor would leave the robot vulnerable. Then again, if it got hit by a round from the 20 mm Miniguns, no amount of armor would save it.

  “All right, lose the armor.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain,” Timothy replied.

  Les counted the seconds in his head as he dashed through the passageways. He made it to the launch bay within a minute and punched in his access code to open the hatch to the combat information center on the deck below.

  A ladder led him into the operations center, which looked a lot like a large cockpit of an old-world airplane. He pushed a button on the dashboard to open the hatch over the windshield. Lightning forked through the dark, scalloped clouds, but he didn’t see anything moving in the airship’s wake.

  “In position,” he said into his headset. “Timothy, use the turbofans to start backing us away, but hold as steady as possible.”

  The airship began to reverse.

  Les opened the hatches belowdecks to deploy the 20 mm Miniguns and then grabbed the controls. On the dashboard, a screen with crosshairs came online.

  Multiple webworks of lightning sizzled downward, capturing motion on the horizon. The bat-like images swarmed behind a blue light, chasing it out over the open water.

  Les moved the joysticks and lined up the targets with the two Miniguns.

  He had done this only in training, but he had scored high marks. It shouldn’t be that different in real life.

  I hope ...

  “Timothy, hit them with the lights,” Les said.

  Several beams shot out from the ship, lighting up the strange, rubbery skin of the flying abominations. Black
maws opened, and claws reached out toward Cricket as it led them on a merry chase toward the airship.

  Les squeezed the triggers on the joysticks. Green tracer fire lanced away from the ship, punching holes through mutant flesh. The beasts spun away or simply blew apart in the sky. But those that evaded the first spray of lead dived or tried to climb.

  Les went after them. Firing a hundred rounds per second from each weapon, he needed to conserve ammunition as best he could, and he had to be careful not to hit Cricket.

  Swooping away from the fountain of tracer fire, a squadron of the beasts formed a V, following a powerful leader.

  “Come on,” Les said, taking two more down with short bursts. He aimed one of the weapons at the flock coming toward the airship. This time, even the fastest fliers couldn’t avoid the spray. A one-second burst obliterated almost the entire V formation.

  Within minutes, only three Sirens were still in the sky. Two batted their wings for altitude but couldn’t outrun the bullets. The third turned away, flying back toward shore.

  The next burst missed, and he considered letting the creature live, to save ammo. It wasn’t a threat now, but it could always come back.

  “Timothy, target that last bogey with a sidewinder and fire on my mark,” Les said. He looked at the screen, and when the missile was red, he said, “Mark.”

  The projectile arced away from the airship and exploded on impact, blowing the Siren to hunks of meat that fell lazily through the air.

  Les leaned back in his chair, watching with satisfaction as Cricket returned to the launch bay, where the techs would intercept it and begin the decontamination protocol.

  “Timothy, run a scan for exhaust plumes,” Les said.

  “Already complete, sir. I’m not picking up anything on the surface.”

  Les was a little surprised to hear that, but also relieved.

  “How about our divers?” he asked.

  “The beacons appear to be on the move again, sir,” Timothy said. “All five of them are together now.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  “This is your strike team?” X muttered. He had just finished with the new divers and had taken Miles to the edge of the pier in the enclosed marina. Only one candle sconce was burning tonight, but the light was enough for X to see the two men on the old fishing boat.

  “Not the whole team,” Rhino said. “There’s one more.”

  “Oh, so you recruited a whopping three total?” X said. “Well, that changes everything!”

  Only one of the warriors standing in front of X could be considered a man at all. The other was just a kid. Felipe, son of Whale, stood with his muscular arms folded over his chest.

  To his right, a dark-skinned man with almost as many scars as X used a cane to prop himself up in the bobbing boat.

  “I thought this boy challenged you on Elysium,” X said.

  Rhino nodded. “This ‘boy’ lost.”

  “What makes you think you can trust him now?”

  “If Nick trusts him, so should you, Your Holiness,” said the guy with the cane.

  X reared back. “Holiness?”

  The man tapped his cane on the deck. “You are the king of these islands and, to some, a God. As for Nick, he has never let me down. If it weren’t for his bravery in battle, I would have lost the other two limbs and my head, too.”

  “You must be Mac,” X said.

  “My birth name was Bill, but I’ve gone by ‘Mac’ most of my life.” He reached out his hand to X in an old-world tradition. “Nice to meet you, King Xavier,” he said.

  X shook his hand. “You as well, but skip the ‘holiness’ crap. I’m about as holy as a Siren.”

  Mac’s grip was strong, and if Rhino was right, the old warrior had a few tricks in his quiver. But of all the Cazadores on the islands, this was the best Rhino could come up with? Maybe he was saving the best for last.

  “Nick killed twelve Sirens and then dragged me back to the boats that day,” Mac said. “I owe him my life, and he will always have my sword.”

  “All right, then,” X said, motioning for Miles to jump onto the boat. “Let’s go meet the third member of the reconstituted Barracudas.”

  “You sure you want to come?” Rhino asked. “Colonel Vargas will have spies on the water.”

  X pulled the hood over his head. “Then you’d better not get us spotted.”

  He had thought this through. This assassination had to be discreet, so they couldn’t use any militia soldiers. And he couldn’t trust any Cazador soldiers other than Rhino and whatever team he assembled. X had considered asking Ton and Victor to join the team, but he didn’t want to risk the life of anyone who had already suffered so much under the Cazadores. That left a very small pool of warriors Rhino could work with.

  So far, X wasn’t impressed.

  Rhino swung the lever to open the port door, and Mac steered out into the night. Storm clouds blotted out the stars and moon. Not a bad thing, X thought. The rain and lightning would keep most boats off the water while keeping theirs hidden from any spies who might be watching the tower.

  Rhino took over for Mac at the wheel, and X sat beside Felipe.

  “¿No hablas inglés?” X asked.

  “Español,” Felipe said.

  “I’ll translate if you have something to say,” Mac said.

  Felipe stared at X, but it wasn’t the same hate-filled gaze that X had seen on Elysium. Whatever Rhino had said to the kid worked.

  But X still didn’t trust him.

  “Tell him I appreciate him risking his neck,” X said.

  Mac told Felipe, who clacked his jagged teeth together.

  The radio in X’s pack buzzed. He had slipped away without telling Sloan where he was going, and didn’t really want to debate the issue, but he answered just in case it was about the mission to Rio de Janeiro.

  “This is X; go ahead,” he said.

  “X, this is Sloan. Where are you?”

  “Busy. Why? Somethin’ wrong?”

  “I’ve completed fortification of the Hive. Thought you might like to take a look.”

  “I will in a bit,” he said. “I’m not feeling so good after eating that pickled mullet earlier.”

  He could hear her snicker over the radio.

  “Going to be on the can for a while,” he lied.

  “Okay, sir.”

  X signed off, then grinned at Rhino and pointed at the capitol rig with its decommissioned airship. The engineers had finally added the top platform over the curved rooftop, and put a fence around the entire rectangular perimeter. Massive vertical steel beams held up mezzanine walkways on each level. Hatches had been cut into the hull, allowing residents to walk out onto balconies overlooking the water.

  “Take us that way,” he said.

  The boat swung around for a look. Enough lights were on inside the airship for them to make out two machine-gun emplacements and one cannon on the top level of the north side. The rectangular platform was supposed to be turned into a garden and rain catchment, but so far it looked like a military base.

  A launch bay in the decommissioned airship was open, and another cannon was inside, with two militia soldiers standing guard. The weapon suddenly angled toward their vessel as they curved around the rig.

  “Not too close,” said X.

  Rhino turned the boat back out into open water.

  “I bet Colonel Vargas has seen our preparations,” X said.

  “I’d count on that,” Mac replied.

  “Everyone is preparing for Horn’s return,” Rhino said. “Especially the Black Order of Octopus Lords. And we can use that to our advantage. Vargas won’t see this coming.”

  X reached down and rubbed Miles’s chest. The dog normally slept easily on boats, but tonight he seemed agitated. He let out a low whine.

  The journey
took them another hour, and it was just after midnight when they finally reached the ancient fishing boat Isaiah called home.

  The large vessel floated in the middle of nowhere, moored to an ancient tsunami sensor buoy. Tarps covered most of the deck, and a ladder of white rope clung like a cobweb to the mainmast with a crow’s nest at the top. It reminded X of pirate ships in books he had read as a kid.

  Reaching down, he stroked Miles again. “You’ve got to stay here, boy,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

  They pulled up on the port side of the fishing boat, and Felipe grabbed a rope.

  “Isaiah speaks English, but best to let me do the talking,” Rhino said.

  Felipe jumped onto the gunwale and practically ran up the rope netting on the hull. At the top, he vaulted over the rail and secured the mooring ropes.

  X was curious to see how Mac handled the netting, but he got up it surprisingly fast. Miles whined as X followed, but a quick hand gesture quieted him.

  Next came Rhino, with his spear and a torch. On the deck, he lit the oil-drenched wick, and the four men waited, scanning the shadows as he moved the torch back and forth. The boat rocked, the ancient wood and metal creaking.

  “Isaiah!” Mac called out. “You awake?”

  “Up here,” replied a gruff voice.

  X looked up to the crow’s nest, where someone had popped up with a drawn bow pointed at the men below.

  “Easy, brother,” Mac yelled up.

  “It’s just Mac and Rhino and a couple of friends,” Rhino said. He held up the torch so Isaiah could see their faces.

  The man in the crow’s nest swung his legs over the side and slid down the mast to the deck. He unslung the bow and renocked the arrow on the string.

  “Who are your amigos?” Isaiah asked.

  “This is all of us,” Rhino said.

  Lowering the bow, Isaiah approached slowly, squinting in the torchlight.

  “Ah, the new king?” he said.

  This man was old, older even than General Santiago, with his receding hair pulled back into a greasy ponytail. A butcher knife hung in a crude canvas sheath from his hip.