Hell Divers

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  “Without your team, probably.” After letting her reply hang in the air for a moment, she said, “Lieutenant, show us Hades.”

  The map flickered, and the red zone appeared over the table. Jordan leaned closer to examine a nav flag in the middle of the transparent layers.

  “The fuel cells and other parts Samson has requested will be in one of the buildings outside the HQ.”

  Tony tapped a finger on the table. “We don’t know which one?”

  Jordan shook his head.

  Ash took over. “As you already know, Hades has the most severe conditions on the planet. The radiation and freezing temperatures make it, for lack of a better word, hell on earth. But this is it, gentlemen. Either we dive to Hades and bring back fuel cells and pressure valves, or we die. Pretty simple.”

  All the HDs nodded, even Cruise.

  “All right. What’s the plan, Captain?” X asked.

  “I’m breaking protocol. Instead of sending in one team, I’m sending in our remaining three. It’ll give us the best chance.”

  “When?” Cruise asked.

  “Tomorrow.”

  “I’d better get busy drinking and screwing, then,” Cruise replied. “Because it’ll be my last chance.”

  X started to get up and give Cruise the ass-chewing he had been saving all day, but Jordan spoke first.

  “There may be one other option,” he said. “I discovered another facility outside the borders of Hades. I checked right before the meeting, and it’s outside the electrical storm, too.”

  X sat forward.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t have time to tell you yet, Captain, but you were in engineering,” Jordan added.

  “Show me,” Ash said.

  Jordan keyed in a string of commands on the monitor in front of him, and the topographic map expanded over the table. He punched in another command that zoomed in on a hexagonal building.

  “This is an ITC factory on the outskirts of Hades. The Hive’s computers show they produced nuclear fuel cells and parts for the ship’s generators. The problem is, we don’t know if it still exists.”

  Ash leaned closer to the table, studying the building. “Do you think Captain Willis knew about this?”

  “I’m not sure,” Jordan replied. “It took some digging to find it. Even if he knew about it, he may have abandoned the idea. As I said, I’m not sure it’s even still there.”

  Ash unbuttoned the top of her uniform and massaged her neck. She glanced over at X. He knew what was coming. She was about to ask him a question he couldn’t answer.

  “X, do you think it’s worth the risk of exploring?”

  “Hard to say, Captain. I’ve made plenty of dives to facilities that turned out to be piles of rubble or craters in the ground.”

  “But this is an ITC facility,” Jordan said. “They were built to last. I think it’s worth checking out. We have forty-eight hours of backup power. We can attempt this dive with one team. If they fail, we still have time to dive into Hades with the other two.”

  Ash looked deep in thought. “There might end up being nothing down there, but it’s worth a shot. I’d rather risk one team outside the storm than send you all down to Hades.”

  “Agreed,” Cruise said. “Who you going to send?”

  He was testing the waters, but X already knew who Ash was going to send. He was the best diver she had, and Murph, Sam, and Magnolia were all still fresh. They were expendable. If he were in her shoes, he would do the same thing.

  “Raptor,” Ash said, staring at X. “They dive first thing tomorrow morning, once Samson stabilizes the ship.”

  X immediately thought of Tin. Any chance of sitting this one out and staying with the boy vanished with the critical news. He had promised Aaron to look after Tin, but Cruise was right about one thing: if the Hell Divers didn’t jump, the kid and everyone else was dead anyway.

  * * * * *

  Candlelight flickered through the open doors of the private mess hall. The light beckoned X and his team toward the sound of raised voices. Words and laughter blended together, tinged with both excitement and fear. The same as before every dive.

  X paused outside the entrance, studying the assault rifles the two Militia soldiers held. With the Hive on lockdown, Ash must have ordered the big guns out. The warm light glimmered off their mirrored visors as the faceless men acknowledged Team Raptor with slight nods.

  “Sounds like we’re late to dinner,” Murph said. He pulled his goggles down over his forehead and ran a hand through his fiery-red hair.

  “What the hell are they celebrating inside?” Magnolia asked. “Our impending deaths?”

  X sighed. “It’s tradition. You know that. The night before a dive, all of us get together. Drink. Eat. Some of us fu …”

  Magnolia chuckled at his slip as the team walked into the mess hall together. The soldiers sealed the doors behind them. Large candles burned on the two rows of tables, which were littered with empty mugs and plates. Teams Apollo and Angel had gotten a head start. The divers sat intermingled on the benches. They weren’t separate teams tonight. Tonight, they were the same.

  Tony and Cruise both stood unsteadily to greet X. They had a head start on him in more than just the food. Well beyond buzzed, they were fast moving toward falling-down drunk. And from the looks of it, so were half the other divers.

  “Glad you finally made it,” Cruise said. He stumbled slightly, beer sloshing out of his mug.

  Tony called out to Katrina, who was getting refills for her team. “A round for everyone on Raptor!”

  She grabbed three full mugs and a glass of ’shine. X watched her move across the room. A smile dimpled her flushed cheeks as she handed him the ’shine.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  Katrina winked and returned to her seat.

  When everyone had a drink, Tony said, “Well, what the hell is everybody waiting for? The fat lady’s already sung nekkid. So let’s toast.”

  “To what?” Magnolia asked.

  “To life,” Tony said.

  “And all those who lost theirs,” X said, raising his glass. He thought of Aaron, Will, Rodney, and all of the others as the ’shine burned a path from his throat to his belly.

  He found an empty seat and motioned for his team to join him. A feast awaited them. Bowls of steaming noodles. Plates packed high with squash, spinach, and tomatoes. There were even apples. For a moment, X recalled the hungry, pinched faces of the lower-deckers. None of them had ever eaten this well, not once in all their lives. Meanwhile, he and the other divers were treated to a feast like this one before every dive. It didn’t seem fair.

  “This seat taken?” Murph asked.

  X bit off the end of a carrot, relishing the sweetish crunch, and scooted over. Sam took a seat across the table, next to Magnolia. Her jaw moved as if she was holding back words; then her shoulders sagged.

  After a swig of ’shine, X told her, “Just say it.”

  Spreading both hands on the table before her, Magnolia said, “Okay. You all know I was sentenced to prison. Stealing, mostly. When Lieutenant Jordan gave me the choice, I thought anything would be better than rotting in a cell not much bigger than this table.”

  “This goin’ somewhere, kid?” X asked.

  “At first, it did occur to me that I had traded a prison sentence for a death sentence. Bad trade …” She paused to down the rest of her mug, then wiped her mouth on her sleeve. “Look, what I’m sayin’ is, I know I’ve been a real bitch. But the truth is, we all gotta die sooner or later. And if it’s gotta be sooner, well, I’ll be proud to have done one worthwhile thing with my life first.”

  X sat back in his chair, studying Magnolia thoughtfully.

  “I guess I just want to say sorry for the way I’ve acted,” she said. “I hope you don’t hate me.”

  X caught a glimpse of
Katrina, watching from her seat at the other table.

  “No need to apologize,” he said. “Just don’t fuck it up tomorrow, and we’re good.”

  Magnolia smiled and took another drink. “Shit, this is really good beer. Where they been hidin’ it? Makes me wonder what else we’ve missed out on.”

  “I often wonder that, too,” Murph said, banging his empty mug down on the table.

  Magnolia played nervously with a lock of purple hair. “Sometimes, I think about all the things we’ll never know about. Foods we’ll never taste, places we’ll never see. Things from the books, like waterfalls and forests.”

  “And Sirens,” Cruise called out from the other table, laughing.

  Magnolia scowled at him, then winked as she reached for another beer.

  “That’s why Captain Ash is looking for a new home,” Sam added, his face serious and stern. “So that someday, our children, and their children, will grow up with all the things Magnolia mentioned.”

  X set his empty glass down on the table and scratched his chin, considering his next words carefully. As a younger man, he, too, had longed to see the things Magnolia described. He knew better now, of course, and he also knew that grasping on to false hope was worse than facing reality head-on.

  “Every captain in the history of the ship has been looking for a new home,” X said. “But like I said yesterday, that shit doesn’t exist. Ninety-six dives, and I’ve never seen anything remotely habitable. Forests are dust and a few fallen snags. Waterfalls are cliffs of polished rock. The only life is mutant monstrosities like the Sirens.”

  “Nice buzz kill, boss,” said a musical feminine voice. He didn’t need to look up to see Katrina standing behind Sam.

  “Pull up a chair,” Magnolia said, patting the bench beside her.

  “Thanks,” Katrina replied. “You’ll have to forgive X. He can be a bit morbid—just one of his many charms.”

  “Doesn’t everyone deserve to know the truth?” X said, slurping down a forkful of noodles.

  “Right, because you’re the master of telling the truth,” said Katrina, a tinge of bitterness in her voice.

  X’s team looked from their leader to Katrina. After a moment, Magnolia broke the tension.

  “Most people don’t give all that much of a shit,” she said. “They only care about surviving. Another day, another handful of credits. They don’t worry about anything ’cept their next meal.”

  “You’re right,” Katrina said. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. We do what we do, so the rest of those poor bastards keep flying—and breathing—for another day.”

  Sam looked over at Murph. “Alright, I know why Magnolia became a diver, but how about you?”

  The engineer folded his hands. “I lost my wife to cancer, and my son to the flu, a little over four years ago.” He bowed his head. “I miss them every goddamn day. But I always wanted to see the surface—imagine how it must have been once. Figured I have nothing to lose.”

  X realized how little he still knew about the divers from the other teams.

  “Sorry to hear about your family, Murph,” he said. “I lost my wife about a year back.” He turned to Sam. “How about you? Why’d you saddle up to jump?”

  Sam didn’t look entirely sure he wanted to talk. After a moment, he said, “I joined the Militia a few years back, thinking it was the best way to protect the ship. After the food riots, I realized maybe I could make a difference some other way than cracking heads.”

  “I’m glad you picked diving,” X said. “And I’m glad all of you are on Raptor.”

  “Thanks,” Sam said. “Good to be here, sir.”

  X looked at his watch. It was after eight in the evening. He had lost track of time, and Tin was still with Layla’s family.

  “Sorry I got to duck out early,” he said, “but I got a kid to get home to.”

  Katrina’s eyes pleaded with him to reconsider. She arched her back ever so slightly, the swell of her breasts beneath the red jumpsuit reminding X of what he could have.

  Part of him wanted to take her up on the tacit offer. But the rest of him knew it was a bad idea. He had other responsibilities now. He hadn’t been much of a husband, and he never had the chance to be a father, but he’d be damned if he didn’t do right by Tin tonight.

  “I’ll see you all in the morning,” he said. “Get some rest. Tomorrow’s a big day.” He patted Murph on the shoulder and nodded at the rest of his team, smiling like a benevolent patriarch.

  Then he grabbed an apple and, cradling a bowl of noodles under his arm, left.

  He felt the stares from every diver burning his back. Two months ago, he would have stayed and drunk them all under the table. Now he was hurrying home to make sure his dead best friend’s kid ate a decent dinner.

  When he had the sudden, overwhelming gut feeling that this could be the last chance he ever had to take care of Tin, he started walking faster.

  * * * * *

  Commander Weaver tracked the high-pitched cries through the city street. They had dwindled into a lonely sound, cold and melancholy. As a kid in history class, he had once heard a recording of whales communicating. The sounds were similar, but those extinct giants of the former oceans were far different from the leathery horrors now hunting him on the ground.

  He stopped and rested, leaning against an ice-crusted streetlamp. A long screech, sounding as if an electronic oscillator had been possessed by demons, echoed through the city. Two more of the voices answered, but their lonesome cries died in the howling wind.

  Weaver holstered his revolver and unsheathed the tactical knife strapped to his thigh. He took a moment to get his bearings. Two skyscrapers leaned together overhead, their pointed tips creating a skewed arch. He felt unsafe just looking at it. It should have crashed down long ago.

  His stomach gurgled as he stood there. He hadn’t eaten in over a day. He took a sip from the straw inside his helmet and sucked mostly air. Idly he wondered which would kill him first: the Sirens or dehydration. He raised the tip of his knife to his visor and considered the ways he could use the weapon to end it all right now.

  But instead of opening an artery in his throat or wrist, he carefully chipped away the ice on his visor.

  The clear view of the world made everything seem bigger, the streets wider. He continued into the next intersection and took a right. The end of the street had collapsed and sloped down, disappearing into what looked like a tunnel. He checked his minimap and saw that the passage was supposed to lead under the next city block. If he was correct, it would come out somewhere near the Ares wreckage.

  Trotting over to the edge of the decline, he crouched and pulled out the binos.

  Perhaps he jounced down too suddenly, because the snowy crust beneath him broke away and sent him sliding on his back down the icy slope.

  He rolled left to avoid impaling himself on a black claw of rebar that jutted from a shattered concrete buttress. The binos flew from his hands as he hit a ramp of snow and went airborne before crashing down on a patch of icy concrete a moment later. His armor saved him from any broken bones, though the impact knocked the breath from his lungs. Sharp pain shot up his spine, and he flailed for something to grab on to as he continued his downward slide.

  At the bottom of the slope, icicles as tall as he was hung from the lip of the tunnel. Beyond that, he could see only the pitch blackness of the underground passage. He shot underneath the icicles and finally skidded to a halt.

  Groaning, he sat up and reached for his back. The armor had likely saved him from a broken tailbone or worse. After the pain subsided, he checked his suit for visible tears. It would be hard to find one in the darkness, but the digital telemetry in the HUD subscreen showed no punctures.

  He sat there for several minutes, listening to the whispering wind and taking in his surroundings. He was in the mouth of the dark tunnel, whose
frozen walls continued—on the map, at least—for another two hundred yards.

  He drew the revolver and took a few tentative steps into the darkness. The voice in his head told him to turn and find an alternative route to the Ares wreckage, but climbing back up the icy incline behind him was also a risk. By some miracle, he hadn’t ripped his suit, but it could happen easily enough if he slipped again.

  Weaver continued for several minutes until he reached the edge of the hole. He stomped the ground a few feet from the edge. It was solid—a concrete surface under the snow. Across the pit, the tunnel continued. He dropped to his belly and peered over the side. Listening, he heard only the faint sound of the wind hissing across the street above the incline.

  He shut off his night vision and reached for his headlamp to search for a way across. The beam revealed ancient pipework jutting from the walls. He trained the light around the hole but saw no path to the other side.

  Weaver cursed and pushed himself to his knees, knocking loose a chunk of rock. It skittered over the side and clanked to the bottom a few seconds later.

  The noise reverberated through the tunnel, where the only sound for centuries had been the howling wind outside. He stepped back from the hole and started retracing his steps. He would have to risk climbing back to the street after all.

  A screech froze him in midstride. Gun in hand, he worked his way back to the pit and trained the headlamp beam downward, steeling himself for what he might find.

  Deep below, Sirens were slowly crawling out of their bulb-shaped nests. Dozens of the monsters writhed and stretched, as if waking from a long slumber. They seemed oblivious to the beam of light playing over them, but when his boot scuffed the surface ever so softly, they began a frenzied squawking.

  The beasts darted for the walls, where they leaped and began scrambling up the sides. Weaver aimed his revolver at one of the leathery abominations and took a cautious step backward as the shrieks grew louder. He thought he was ready to fight and die, but seeing all those open maws, he felt a familiar sensation: primal fear. Shutting off his headlamp, he backed away from the hole, then turned to run.