“I’m only fifty-nine percent operational,” Timothy said, “but I should be one hundred percent within the hour and will have accessed the thousands of new files on the mainframe.”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. What’s the last communication you had with your counterpart on the Sea Wolf?”
“One moment while I scan for the transmissions.”
Michael led them toward the Combat Information Center belowdecks, taking the staircase down to where he and Layla had their “date” a week ago. The click of his boots on the rungs reminded him of the final message from X.
By the time you hear this, we will likely be dead. But when you do come, prepare to face a brutal enemy—worse than the Sirens. Avenge Miles. Avenge Magnolia, and promise me that when you make this humanity’s future, you won’t resort to barbarism like the Cazadores. I dived so humanity would survive. I dived for this place. I love you, Tin. Be good, fight hard, and remember what you told me: Accept your past without regrets. Handle your present with confidence. Face your future without fear. I’ll always be here for you in spirit, kid.
The message sent a chill of pride and dread through Michael. By the time they got down to the dashboard of computer equipment, Timothy had finished his scan.
“The last transmission we received from my counterpart was from three days ago,” he said. “Shall I play it for you?”
Michael nodded.
“This is Timothy Pepper of the Sea Wolf. I’m running on backup power and will be going idle soon. My vessel has been captured by the Cazadores and is being taken to a tower that appears to be the capitol of the Metal Islands. I have not heard from X or Magnolia for thirty-six hours now and suspect they are either captured or dead …”
Michael sat down and slumped in the chair.
“I’ve listened to the Cazadores on board for any information on their fate, but so far they have spoken only of a warrior who will not die. I’ve tried tapping into the radio transmissions, but there are very few. These people seem to communicate purely by word of mouth.”
There was a pause. Then, “The mechanics working on the ship continue to speak of a man from the sky—the same man that they say cannot die.”
“X!” Michael said. “It’s got to be X.”
The hologram of Timothy Pepper on Deliverance scratched his beard. “That would be a logical assumption, Commander.”
“Is that the last transmission?” Michael asked.
A nod from Timothy.
“Damn.” Michael had hoped Timothy might be able to access something that Les and the other officers on the bridge couldn’t.
He pulled out his key card and swiped it across the monitor, bringing the computer online.
“I need you to do some research for me,” Michael said. “I need you to dig up every file you can find on the AI defectors and Red Sphere.”
“One moment, sir.” Timothy’s hologram flickered in and out as he worked, and Michael used the opportunity to open the hatches covering the portholes. Storm clouds churned outside Deliverance—the same dispiriting sight he was used to seeing. But it was the view of the Hive that gave him the chills.
Or perhaps that was from the pain firing up his shoulder and neck and into his temple. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
When he opened his eyes again, he saw hundreds of porthole windows covered by salvaged hatches on the side of the Hive. People had already painted most of them with fluffy clouds and blue skies. But a few hadn’t been replaced.
Several portholes glowed from interior lamps and lights, providing a view inside the quarters where families dwelled on the upper decks. He was too far away to recognize any of them, but something about seeing the people inside their homes made him feel at home. He had been fighting to save this place his entire adult life.
Now he had a chance to create a new home—a home where the sun shone. Part of him still didn’t believe it, but the Metal Islands were real, and Michael knew that they couldn’t take the paradise from the Cazadores with the airships, a naval warship, the Hell Divers, and the militia soldiers. They needed something else, something that would involve a major risk. But if he could pull this off, it had the potential to change everything.
“I’ve finished my scan and have recovered one hundred two files received from the Sea Wolf about Red Sphere and the defectors, otherwise known as model DEF-Nine,” Timothy said. “What would you like to know?”
“I want to see their internal makeup and their programming.”
“Let me pull those up. But, Commander, if I may, why are you asking this?”
Michael paused, recalling a memory of playing with a vacuum robot in his old quarters when X had come home with a bag of noodles, not long after his father perished on a dive.
“When I was a kid, while the other kids were playing with games, I played with robots,” Michael said. “Building them, taking them apart.”
“With all due respect, Commander, DEF-Nine units, or what you call defectors, aren’t cleaning machines. They are killing machines.”
“And like anything designed by humans, they will have a weakness or a glitch. Even you have them, Timothy.”
“Touché, sir.”
Michael twisted around in his seat and said, “I just have to find it, and if I’m right, then maybe, just maybe, I can find a way to control them.”
SIX
“All hands report to the trading post in one hour,” said the soothing voice of Ensign Ada Winslow over the comm system. “Lieutenant Les Mitchells will be making an announcement about the future of the airships.”
Les stood in front of the hatch to his quarters and gave his wife a kiss on the cheek. His daughter, Phyl, held a doll in her hands, listening to the repeating transmission with her head tilted head as if she didn’t understand what the ensign was saying.
“Fu-ture?” she said slowly.
“The new home you keep hearing about,” Les said.
“You haven’t told us everything, have you?” Katherine asked. There was anger in her voice—something he hadn’t heard in a while. “You haven’t told us what happened to X or the others.”
“No, I haven’t,” he said. “I’m sorry, but I have … I had strict orders.”
Katherine narrowed her gaze. “You promised you wouldn’t leave Trey. You promised you would stay with him.”
She pulled away from his grip, giving him a moment to consider his words. When he was a young boy, his father had taught him never to make a promise he couldn’t keep, and this one Les wasn’t sure about.
Trey felt so far away …
He is far away.
They were practically a world apart, separated by a sea of electrical storms.
“Papa, I miss Trey,” Phyl said. “Commander Everhart said he’s on a mission and isn’t sure when he’ll be back.”
Les looked from his wife to his daughter, wishing he could take their pain away, but he was frightened his words would only add more emotional agony.
His father had also told him never to lie, especially to two of the three people he loved unconditionally.
“When I dived last week with Trey, we found another ship at Red Sphere,” Les said. “Not an airship. It’s an old naval warship from the United States of America. Captain DaVita is sailing it to the Metal Islands, to help save X, Mags, and Miles from the Cazadores, and to …”
Les stopped as Phyl tilted her head. Maybe she wasn’t old enough to hear the rest. It might just frighten her and make her worry about Trey.
But she deserved to know where her brother was going, and kids on the airship were resilient. They had been through more than any kid should.
“I’ve been tasked with putting together a fighting force to help Captain DaVita take the Metal Islands from the barbarians that live there. Trey is sailing to help on that mission.”
Katherine put a hand over her mouth and arched her brows. “You sent our son to war?”
He hated how it sounded, but the hard reality was that humanity had been at war for the past 260 years.
A war for survival.
“Yes,” Les said. “And if it comes down to it, I’ll be joining him in the fight.”
Katherine pulled Phyl close. “I … I don’t believe this! I don’t even know who you are right now!”
The stinging words took Les slightly by surprise. He wasn’t used to balancing orders with what he told his family, but by not telling Katherine from the beginning, he had now lost her trust.
He suddenly missed his days as a simple electrician, when all he had to worry about were hot tunnels and live wires.
“I’m sorry, Katherine, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I—”
She pulled back when he reached out for her. “I don’t care what you meant to do. You sent our son to war, Les.”
White noise crackled from the comm system, and the announcement from Ensign Winslow played again. Time was up, and he couldn’t dawdle any longer.
“I have to go,” he said. “I’m sorry. Please come to the trading post and listen to what I have to say.”
Katherine didn’t reply, and Les turned away so they wouldn’t see the tears welling in his eyes. Opening the hatch, he left without looking at his wife or daughter again.
The passages were filled with people leaving their quarters and jobs to head to the trading post. Everyone wanted to hear what he was about to tell them, except for Katherine.
He jostled through the crowds, hurrying to the one stop he had to make before the announcement. Sergeant Sloan was standing outside the militia headquarters on the Hive, her back to the bulkhead, arms folded across her black armor.
“’Bout time, LT,” she said.
“Sorry.”
Sloan led him through a hatch into the militia HQ, which consisted of several offices, a locker room, a small armory, and a conference room, all empty.
They continued through a hatch that connected to the launch bay on the Hive. Inside the room stood thirty-odd militia soldiers in black fatigues. Some of them still had on body armor and helmets from their patrols. Batons hung from their duty belts.
Les ran a hand through his frizz of red hair. Most of these guys were retired from other jobs and now worked on guarding restricted facilities. They weren’t seasoned warriors—hardly any of those were left. And there was no time to train people.
“This is everyone,” Sloan said. “I know it’s not much, but it’s what we have to work with from the militia. Everyone else is either dead or with the captain on that warship. I’ve only got forty-two people under my command, and at least ten need to stay on the ships, to keep order if and when we decide to attack the Metal Islands.”
Les tried to picture these people fighting the well-armed and well-trained Cazador soldiers that Timothy Pepper described in one of his last transmissions from the Sea Wolf.
In his mind’s eye, Les saw the barbarians slaughtering the militia soldiers along with anyone else they sent down there.
“What, exactly, are we fighting?” asked Jack, a sixty-year-old former electrician who had trained Les when he was younger.
Les turned and whispered, “You haven’t told them yet?”
Sloan shook her head. “Figured you’d want the honors.”
“All right,” Les said with a discreet sigh. “Follow me to the trading post. I’m going to explain everything there, and you can decide if you still want to fight with us.”
The group of militia soldiers followed Les out of the launch bay and into the crowded passages.
“Out of the way,” Sergeant Sloan said in her authoritative voice.
Fresh paint glistened on the bulkheads of the next passage—a scene of exotic animals drinking from a watering hole in a desert. Around the corner, another recent display of artwork had gone up on the overhead and bulkhead. Waves slapped the white beach of an island, and palm trees bent in the wind.
It was a dangerous image, Les realized. This was what most people would think of when they spoke of the Metal Islands. The flow of passengers moved through the colorful scene, but he knew the truth about the horrors they would find when they got to their destination.
The line continued around the next corner, where it bottlenecked in front of the trading post. Drifting scents from the food vendors mixed with body odor and the ever-present whiff from the nearest shit cans.
As Sergeant Sloan led the way into the room, Les tried to remember the last time he had seen the space this packed. All the vendor stalls had been moved back to the bulkheads. The tables normally reserved for eating were already occupied, and a small stage had been moved in front of them near the north bulkhead.
Les breathed in and out to quell his anxiety. He had never spoken in front of so many people. Layla and Michael were already on the stage, sitting in chairs next to a lectern. Ensigns Ada Winslow, Bronson White, and Dave Connor were standing behind them in their dress whites. A hologram glowed onto the stage and materialized into the form of Timothy Pepper.
“Hello, Lieutenant Mitchells,” he said.
“Welcome back, Pepper.”
Michael and Layla stood to greet Les as he stepped up onto the platform. He made his way right to the podium, stopping only to reach into his uniform and pull out his prepared notes.
Hundreds of people filed into the trading post, filling the space with conversations, sporadic coughs, and the cries of babies—the music of the Hive, the sounds of survival.
Les scanned the faces of the people he had spent his entire life with. He knew everyone by name, even the lower-deckers. But not everyone was here today. Missing were Katherine and Phyl. His heart broke at their absence, but he still had a job to do, a duty to these people.
Sergeant Sloan grabbed the microphone and tapped on the end, and a loud thunk, thunk erupted from the wall-mounted speakers across the space.
“Quiet, everyone,” she growled. Her rough voice silenced the crowd, and she handed the microphone to Les. “Good luck, Giraffe.”
More people squeezed into the room, and he waited for the final passengers. Sloan directed her people to fan out and hold security, and for that, Les was grateful. He had no idea how these people would receive his words—especially some of the less-stable folks who still weren’t happy about the living conditions. There was some history of violence from lower-deckers at public gatherings this big.
As the final stragglers walked into the trading post, Les took a moment to scan the faces. In the very front stood Cole Mintel, his sleeves rolled up to reveal a new tattoo of the tree of life—a tribute to his dead son, Rodger. His wife, Bernie, stood on his right, and on the left were two farmers, Moon Lao and her husband, John. Dom, the curly-headed owner of the Dragon noodles stall, and Marv, proprietor of the Wingman, had also gotten in at the front.
Families with kids sat at the tables. Les saw the orphan siblings Chloe and Daniel amid other children and parents with tattered clothing and holes in their shoes.
It was the same sight he had been accustomed to his entire life. Even the officers and those civilians who held some of the more desirable jobs as engineers and farmers looked ragged and downbeat, worried about the announcement.
And he was about to ask for volunteers to fight a war?
Recruiting new Hell Divers was one thing, but recruiting people for the express purpose of killing other human beings was another thing altogether.
The room quieted, and all eyes were on Les.
He cleared his throat as he unfolded the sheet of paper. Then he folded it and stuck it back in his pocket. What he was about to say, he had memorized.
“As you all know,” he said, “I’m Lieutenant Les Mitchells. Some of you may know me as Giraffe. I stand before you today as an officer and a citizen of the
sky. For my entire life, I’ve lived among you, working by your side, raising my family as you raised yours, all in the hope that someday we could return to the surface. Until recently, I didn’t believe it could happen in my lifetime and figured that only our grandchildren’s children might be so lucky.”
He paused, squinting to see several more people squeeze into the room, hoping it was Katherine and Phyl. It wasn’t.
“As many of you may also know, Commander Xavier Rodriguez and Magnolia Katib have discovered a habitable place called the Metal Islands.”
The room buzzed with murmurs and side conversations, just as he had predicted. Les looked over to Sloan, who pulled out a baton, strode over, and slammed it against the side of the podium.
“Let Lieutenant Mitchells speak!” she yelled.
Another smack of the baton, and the passengers finally quieted.
“The Metal Islands are located off the Virgin Islands, an old-world chain inhabited by humans. But they are not actual islands. They are oil rigs, and they are controlled by a warrior society called the Cazadores. These people have captured the crew of the Sea Wolf.”
Les spoke faster before he could be interrupted again. “Captain DaVita is sailing there now in a naval warship, the USS Zion, which we found at another location …”
He let his words trail off as the trading post fell silent but for the sporadic coughs and a wailing baby. Les dreaded what he was about to say.
“Captain DaVita plans on offering the leader of the Cazadores a chance to give us our people back and let us share this habitable place with them, or suffer the consequences. But if they refuse this offer, we will be forced to go to war.”
“War?” someone shouted.
More voices broke out, and Sloan slapped her baton against her hand, ready to crack heads.
Les swallowed, then explained why he was really here. “I’ve been tasked with recruiting a fighting force to help us take the Metal Islands if diplomacy fails. I know what I’m asking. For those of you who volunteer, make no mistake, this will be a brutal fight, but this is also the chance we’ve all been waiting for, and I, for one, am prepared to die for this new home.”
Hell Divers V: Captives Page 7