Michael raised his rifle. “Everyone on alert. We’ve got company.”
* * * * *
Les Mitchells bent down to clear the low bulkhead over his daughter’s bunk. It wasn’t the first overhead his skull had gone to war with, and he had the scars to prove it. The worst was from getting knocked unconscious by a pipe when he was a gangly six-foot-nine teenager. Since then, ducking had become part of his daily routine.
“Daddy?” Phyl whispered as he leaned down. She opened her eyes and let out a moan, rolling over in her bunk to look at Les.
“Hey, sweetie, I’m sorry if I woke you. I was just going to give you a kiss goodbye.”
“What time is it?”
“Five in the morning,” he said, kissing her on the forehead. “Go back to sleep.”
“Are you going to work?”
“Yes, but I’ll be back tonight and I’ll bring you a treat.”
“What kind of a treat?” Phyl said, trying to sit up.
Les brushed her long brown hair from her face. “It’s a surprise.”
“Okay, Daddy.”
He kissed her again on the forehead, his heart hurting at the thought of her in pain. She had no idea he had joined the Hell Divers. She thought he was heading to his old job as an electrician.
A cough rang out, filling the small quarters. Katherine, his wife, broke into a fit, her lungs crackling with fluid.
Les pulled the sheets back up to Phyl’s chin. She was tall already, and at only seven years old, she had a long way to go.
“I’ll see you later, baby girl,” Les said. Ducking down, he walked across the room and sat in the chair by his wife’s bed. There was a glass of water on the bedside table, and he handed it to her. She drained half of it as she gradually regained her breath.
“Looking good, Les.” She coughed with a hand over her mouth. “I like the uniform.”
Les looked down at his red coveralls and smiled. He held out his arms to show how the sleeves came halfway up his forearms. Then he raised a leg to show off his ankles.
Katherine smiled and took another drink of water. She was a petite woman with blue eyes, dirty-blond hair, and a contagious smile. Les was the towering gentle Giraffe, who had charmed her when they were just kids. Back then he had fallen for her hard, and his love never wavered over their fifteen years of marriage. In his eyes, she was and always would be the most beautiful woman on the Hive, even though the illness had robbed her of her youth and vitality.
Katherine brought her hand up and coughed into her sleeve again, holding his gaze in the candlelight.
“You’re going to be okay,” he said. “We’re going to get you medicine, and we’re going to get Trey out of the brig. I promise.”
“None of that will matter if you’re dead,” Katherine said. She lowered her voice so Phyl couldn’t hear. “We can’t go on without you.”
“You have to trust me.” Les looked away, guilt setting in. He still hadn’t told her they were planning on diving tomorrow. “Jordan promised me medicine. Once you’re well again, you can go back to work. If something happens to me, you can at least take care of the kids.”
“Stop it,” Katherine said, reaching out but stopping just short of touching him. “You can’t leave us. I won’t let you.”
He smiled at that. She was still strong—even now, despite being thin, sick, and exhausted. Her eyes softened, and she pulled her hand back.
“Daddy, will you read me that story about trains?” Phyl asked.
“In a minute, baby.” Les kept his focus on Katherine. He hated to see the love of his life suffering. It also made him even more determined to learn the ins and outs of diving, so he could stay with his family. Nothing, not even a bolt of lightning or a swarm of Sirens, could yank him from this world.
“How many dives do you have to do before they help us?” Katherine whispered.
“Daddy, I have the book.” Phyl held up a blue hardcover with the picture of a train on the cover. The images had always disturbed Les. What kind of person drew a human face on a train?
“Be right there,” he said, turning back to his wife.
“How many dives?” she repeated.
“I’m honestly not sure, but they’re all green-zone dives, so don’t worry. We’re not going through any storms or into any radiation zones.”
“How many divers do they have?”
“There are five of us for now.”
“That’s it?”
He nodded and glanced at the ground.
“I know that look,” she said. “What are you keeping from me?”
“I think this will be a long-term gig, sweetie. I don’t think it’s something I just get to retire from. You know how it works.”
A tear fell from her eye, and she wiped it away, trying to be strong. Les wanted more than anything to lean in and kiss her, but he couldn’t risk getting sick. If he caught her respiratory infection, then they would starve. And he couldn’t lie to her. She deserved to know the truth.
“Tomorrow, I dive so our family survives.”
EIGHT
After nearly a week in the brig, Jordan decided it was finally time to go talk to Katrina. He hoped she’d had enough time to rethink her betrayal, but he had his doubts. She had always been a stubborn woman.
“Hunt, you have the bridge for the next two hours,” Jordan said. He pushed at the armrests and rose from the captain’s chair that over a dozen men and women had held before his tenure. They had helped preserve the human race for over 250 years in this old, rusted tub of an airship.
He would not let them down. He refused to be the final captain of the Hive.
Jordan felt a renewed sense of purpose as he walked up the stairs. Officers in their white uniforms were working intently at their pod stations, avoiding his gaze by remaining focused on their holo screens. Ensigns Lore and Del Toro, his new personal bodyguards and errand boys, were waiting for him outside the hatch.
“Where’s Sergeant Jenkins?” Jordan asked.
“In the launch bay with the new divers,” Lore replied.
“Tell him to meet me at the brig.”
“Yes sir.” Lore set off down a connecting corridor while Del Toro and Jordan walked toward the brig. Just ahead, several workers in green coveralls were scrubbing away the painting of the ocean. Their wire brushes scraped off the blue paint, exposing the dark metal skin of the Hive.
Around the next corner, more workers were sanding the graffiti off a bulkhead. Two groups of technicians in yellow coveralls had already removed the hatches from half the portholes. The scrap would be put to good use, bolted to the areas where radiation leaked through in the lower decks. Other pieces would go belowdecks to the junkyard, where they would wait to be reused or recycled. Nothing on the Hive, from plastic bottles to broken lightbulbs, went to waste.
He walked past the trading post, where the dinner crowd were bartering their goods. Jordan caught a whiff of freshly baked bread, and his stomach growled. He briefly considered getting a loaf for Katrina but decided against it. He didn’t have time to stop.
But the next corridor was blocked by a sea of people, and he was forced to slow. Del Toro saw the crowd gathered outside the entrance to the farm and immediately reached for his baton. It wasn’t unusual to have people loitering here, but for once they weren’t shouting about food.
“Stop!” a man yelled.
“You can’t take that down!” shouted another.
Militiamen had already gathered with their batons and crossbows. The sight of the weapons didn’t seem to deter the crowd.
“Why didn’t I hear about this?” Jordan asked Del Toro.
“Not sure, sir. Let me find out what’s going on.”
Jordan put a finger up to his earpiece. “Lieutenant Hunt, do you copy? This is Captain Jordan.”
“Copy, sir.”
“We have a situation outside the farm. Why wasn’t I informed?”
After a slight pause, a static crackled in Jordan’s ear.
“Sir, I wasn’t aware of the situation, but it looks like the militia has deployed a unit to take care of it. They are sending a second unit to the lower decks just in case there’s trouble there, too.”
“I want this taken care of quickly and quietly,” Jordan said. He cursed when he saw more passengers join the crowd watching the workers scrub away the paintings outside the farm.
Jordan motioned with his head down the opposite corridor. “Let’s go, Del Toro.”
A shout stopped them. “Captain Jordan!”
Jordan turned as Cole and Bernie Mintel led a small group of people down the hallway. They all wore tattered clothing, and he could smell them from where he stood.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Bernie asked. She brushed her long gray hair over her shoulder while Cole rolled back his sleeves, revealing muscular forearms and a clock tattoo.
“Sorry, but I’m quite busy, Mr. and Mrs. Mintel,” Jordan replied. “Please check with your representative to learn about the renovations.” He turned away, but Cole called out after him again.
“Renovations? You’re taking down our heritage! This is history!”
Del Toro struck the end of his baton against his palm, the metal making a loud smack against the leather glove. “Back off, Cole,” said the ensign.
Jordan dipped his head politely as if they had just had a pleasant conversation, and continued down the next corridor. He had known that the plan to take down the art wouldn’t be popular, but he was surprised to see the fury in the eyes of Cole and the others. Still, he would not be deterred. Like many of his plans, the current operation was geared toward long-term change, and in the end, people would look back and agree with him. Their resistance was the burden every leader had to endure when making unpopular decisions.
They made it to the brig a few minutes later. Sergeant Jenkins was waiting outside the hatch with Ensign Lore.
“Sergeant, you’re neglecting your duties,” Jordan said.
“Sir?”
“There was nearly a riot outside the farm. You should have been there.”
Jenkins pulled at his collar anxiously. “I’m doing my best, sir, but you also tasked me with making sure the new Hell Divers are trained properly.”
“Do better,” Jordan said, moving through the open hatch into the brig.
Behind the metal desk stood Lauren Sloan, a mean-looking woman with a buzz-cut head and a lazy eye. She never said much to Jordan, but that damned eye seemed to follow his every movement. He couldn’t tell whether she wanted to sleep with him or stick a knife in his heart.
“I’m here to see prisoner nineteen,” Jordan said. It felt a little odd using a number for a human being, especially for the woman carrying his child, but the ship survived by a system of rules and protocols, and he wasn’t going to break any of them for Katrina unless she swore loyalty.
A wall-mounted speaker beeped as Sloan let them in. The hatch leading to the cells clicked open, and Jordan stepped inside. Sloan and Jenkins followed him into the dim-lit passage. Metal trays sat outside the cells, all of them licked clean by the prisoners—except one, halfway down the hall.
As he walked toward it, a banging sound made him flinch. He looked to his right to see one of the most infamous criminals on the ship. Raphael Eddie—brother of Travis Eddie, the man who had unsuccessfully tried to lead a mutiny a decade earlier—was staring out at him through the small glass window.
“Morning, Captain!” Raphael said, rearing his head back to let out a crazed laugh.
“Shut up,” Sloan said. She walked over to the hatch and closed the aluminum shutter over the window.
“Remind me why we waste resources keeping him alive,” Jordan said.
“His brother had a lot of supporters from the lower decks,” Jenkins said. “Killing him would cause a riot. His sentence is up in a year, anyway.”
“If he survives that long,” Jordan said.
Jenkins nodded reluctantly at Jordan’s subtle order. It was a good test. If Raphael should pass away in his cell, Jordan would know that the sergeant was still loyal enough to keep around. It would take only a drop of poison to make the death look natural. He trusted Jenkins to figure it out.
The prisoners watched in silence as Jordan walked down the passage. They knew their place. One of them, a teenage boy named Trey Mitchells, even saluted.
At least Les’ kid knew something about respect, although Jordan had heard the young man was close to Michael Everhart. That made him wonder; maybe the salute was just a facade.
Jordan stopped outside the cell of Ty Parker, the technician who had once worked with many of the great Hell Divers. Parker sat on his bunk looking down at the floor, head in his hands. That was good. The traitor should be thinking about what he had done. If not for his unique skill set, Jordan would already have jettisoned him from one of the air locks, but he needed Ty to continue working—under militia supervision, of course.
Ty glanced up, but Jordan moved on to the cell with the full tray of slop sitting on the floor in front of it.
“She’s been refusing food, sir,” Sloan said.
“For how long?” Jordan asked.
“Two days.”
Jordan bent down and picked up the tray of reeking slush. The prisoners were given a combination of old stew and bugs grown on the farm to help with the crops. Most people didn’t realize it, but bugs were a healthy part of the ecosystem and high in protein.
Sloan unlocked the hatch and opened it for Jordan. After taking in a discreet last breath of fresh air, he walked in and nodded for the guard to seal them inside.
“You’re not eating,” Jordan said.
Katrina sat cross-legged on the floor, her back to him, braided hair falling over her shoulder.
“I lost my appetite,” she said without turning. “Did you come to kill me?”
Jordan sat on her bunk and placed the tray on the floor beside it.
“No, I came to tell you I love you.”
A snort was her reply.
“And I know that deep down, you love me, too, Katrina.”
The single overhead light cast a glow on the letters and numbers carved into the metal bulkhead above the bed. Jordan couldn’t help but wonder how many prisoners this cell had housed over the history of the ship. He waited anxiously for her to say something, anything. But when she didn’t, he decided to try a different approach.
“You have to eat,” he urged. “If not for you, for the baby.”
She snorted again, and Jordan stiffened. Katrina had always been stubborn, but this was crazy. She wasn’t thinking clearly.
“I’m also here to make you an offer,” he said. “An offer to reinstate your position as XO. All you have to do is promise you won’t speak of what happened at the Hilltop Bastion. You don’t have to love me, but you do have to eat. That’s not negotiable.”
Katrina picked up the tray and slammed it against the wall, smearing the slop all over the bulkhead. Some of the splatter landed on his face.
Jordan stood and wiped it away.
“You just don’t get it, Katrina. X and the other divers are dead. They betrayed me, and they betrayed the Hive!” His voice grew louder. “You may not want to see it, and you don’t have to like it, but I won’t let you kill our baby out of spite.”
Katrina whirled to face him. “Not our baby, Leon. You lost your right to the child the moment you killed everyone I cared about.”
Jordan stood his ground. “You’d better be careful with your next words, Katrina,” he said, lips quivering and heart pounding. “I came here to offer you a way out of this. To give you a second chance.”
Before she could reply, he added, “I’m working on a proje
ct that will cleanse the ship and refocus its people on the right priorities.”
She narrowed her gaze at him, crow’s-feet crinkling around her eyes. “Cleanse?” she said.
Jordan raised his wristwatch and nodded. “In a few minutes, a riot team will raid the library to seize all materials about the Old World. Crews are working around the clock to remove the paintings, graffiti, and sketches from the bulkheads. In a few hours, the ship will be purged of the past to pave the way for the future. What doesn’t get reused will get sent back to the surface.”
Katrina’s jaw dropped. “Do you even hear yourself? People will mutiny. They won’t accept this.”
“I’ve already ordered Professor Lana to revise the curriculum. From here on out, our focus will be on teaching survival, not history.”
Katrina dropped her hand to her belly and closed her eyes for a moment.
“Join me, Katrina. We’ll save this ship together.”
Her eyelids opened, and she slowly shook her head.
“I’ll never join you, Leon. You’re insane. You can’t just erase the past. All these years, it’s the one thing that has given us hope. If we forget where we came from, the future will be lost to us forever.”
“We’ll see about that,” Jordan said. “Or maybe not. It depends on how well you behave after you give birth to our child.”
* * * * *
Michael stood at the edge of the open door, looking down at the swamp. Deliverance skimmed the surface of the turbid water as he searched for a new landing zone. The temperature here was a chilly forty degrees, and the radiation level was in the yellow zone. Lightning speared the horizon, and the resulting thunder clapped loud enough to shake the metal bulkheads.
“I don’t like this, Tin,” Layla said.
Michael didn’t bother telling her not to use his nickname. He had a dozen things on his mind, none of them pleasant. Multiple heat signatures were coming from the swamp, indicating that more than one beast lived under the water. And Timothy’s meltdown had rattled Michael to the core. There were a lot of ways the mission could end in failure, and he was beginning to wonder whether he had made the right decision.
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