“That wasn’t convincing, Doc,” X said. “Remember, Miles isn’t going to be happy if you let me die.”
Huff put a hand to X’s forehead. “You may have your humor intact, but you’re running a high fever. We’ll start you on an antibiotic regimen and I’ll keep a close eye on both these wounds and the rest of you . . .” He dug into his bag and pulled out a bottle of pills that were worth their weight in gold because they never lost their potency. “Take these.”
“No painkillers,” X said. “I’ll rest right after the meeting, I promise.”
Sloan shook her head. “Sir, Samson and I can handle it on our own.”
“At least take these,” Huff said. He held out another bottle, but X recoiled at the sight. The doctor pushed them to him. “Just antibiotics.”
X grabbed the bottle of another type of medicine that didn’t spoil. Industrial Tech Corporation had found a way to preserve more than humans and animals. They had helped design the technology to keep medicines and motor fuels fresh.
It wasn’t nanotech gel, but it would help.
He swallowed a pill with water from his bedside table.
“I’ll be back later,” Huff said. “I really hope you change your mind about that meeting.”
“Thanks, Doc, but I’m going.”
Huff snorted, grabbed his bag, and stalked off.
X craned his neck at a much wider figure that took Huff’s place in the open doorway.
“Samson, why are you creeping out there in the hall?” X asked.
The chief engineer stepped in, and X focused his good eye on another person out in the passageway. A robed man waited in the shadows.
“Come in, Imulah,” X said.
The bearded man walked inside and joined Samson and Sloan around the bed. He clasped his hands behind his robe, and Samson again brought up a handkerchief to cover his mouth.
“What now?” X asked, sensing more bad news.
Imulah spoke first. “Since you aren’t coming to the council meeting, I thought I would let you—”
“I am coming,” X interrupted.
Imulah looked to Sloan.
“Don’t look at her,” X said. “Tell me what you’re here to say.”
Imulah scratched at his beard.
“Speak, man,” X said.
“King Xavier, now that General Rhino, General Santiago, and Colonel Vargas are dead, the military is in desperate need of a new leader. This is something that can’t be delayed, due to the current situation with the skinwalkers and defectors.”
“I say you promote Lieutenant Sloan to general and place her in charge of both the militia and the Cazadores,” Samson said.
“I would respectfully disagree with that suggestion,” Imulah said. “Colonel Moreto and Colonel Forge are next in line, and promoting an outsider over them would cause problems in the ranks.”
“I can handle problems,” Sloan said.
X glanced at the woman with the buzz cut. She was strong and a fierce fighter, but she didn’t have the experience fighting with the Cazadores that X had. It gave him a perspective that someone else didn’t have.
“This is a discussion for the council,” X said. “I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
Imulah nodded and backed away.
“Wait,” X said.
“Yes, King Xavier?” The scribe moved back to his bedside.
With Rhino dead, X didn’t have any ears or eyes among the Cazador ranks. Imulah was his only source besides Sloan, who had her own militia spies out on the rigs.
“What are you hearing among the soldiers about the skinwalkers and about what happened to General Santiago and his platoon at Rio de Janeiro?” X asked the scribe.
Imulah swallowed, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. Not a good sign. X tried to force his swollen eyelid open to look at the scribe, but he could see only a sliver out of that eye.
“Most of the soldiers are thrilled with the possibility of fighting the skinwalkers and killing Horn,” Imulah said, “but a few are not sure what to think.”
“What’s there to think about?” Sloan said. “Horn and the skinwalkers are murderers.”
“Demon men,” Samson added in a scratchy voice.
Imulah looked at them in turn. “That’s true, but Horn is also the heir to the throne, and some soldiers believe it’s all a lie.”
“What’s a lie?” X asked.
“They think the sky people killed General Santiago and sank Star Grazer . . . and the Lion, sir.”
X blinked away the stars that suddenly swarmed his vision. Beads of sweat dripped off his forehead, stinging his swollen eyelid. He tried to focus on the conversation, but the fever seemed to worsen by the second.
“King Xavier,” Sloan said.
X nodded and took in a deep breath. “This is exactly why I need to come to the council meeting,” he said. “Samson, get the video footage ready. Nothing like a dose of truth to sell it to these conspiracy theorists.”
The words came out so fast, X didn’t realize they were half a lie. The sky people were responsible for killing the Lion’s crew. And only a few people knew about what he had done with Ada Winslow.
Samson left the room, coughing again, with Imulah trailing behind. X reached out and asked Sloan to stay behind. The door shut, sealing them inside.
“Lieutenant, has anyone figured out Ada is missing yet?” he asked her.
“No, sir,” she said. “I believe Rhino was the only one who knew, but people are going to start asking.”
“I know.”
“What are you going to say?”
“I don’t know yet.” He groaned as he sat up straighter. “Just make sure our defenses are as tight as a tuna’s ass,” X said, borrowing from Rhino. Thinking of his friend again made his heart ache.
“Okay, sir,” Sloan said with a smirk. “Just make sure you don’t die, okay?”
X grinned back. “Don’t worry, I ain’t dying until the skinwalkers are dead and the defectors are permanently out of commission.”
TWO
Magnolia heaved up on the cocking rope to load the crossbow. It had been years since she’d used one of the archaic weapons, but it was too risky to fire a gun or one of the advanced laser rifles inside the airship.
Hell, arrows were risky, too, but she didn’t want to hunt the Siren with her blades alone, even though she had on dives. Fortunately, unlike the Hive, Discovery had no helium bladders for an errant shot to puncture.
“Shit,” she said.
Michael helped her, using his robotic hand to pull the string back over the latch.
Magnolia secured her helmet but flipped up the face shield. Michael did the same but gave Magnolia a worried glance.
“There’s just one of them, Tin,” she said.
“I know, Mags, but you’ve seen what a single Siren can do, and it’s not just Hell Divers on board.”
His words trailed off, and he focused on his weapon.
Magnolia felt stupid. Of course Michael was scared, but not for himself. He was terrified of losing his family. She had only Rodger to worry about, and he was locked safely away in the medical ward with Arlo, Edgar, and a militia soldier to protect them.
Sofia had also joined the divers in the medical ward, and Magnolia was glad for that. The young woman was a mess after learning of Rhino’s death back at the Vanguard Islands. Magnolia didn’t want her out here tracking down a Siren in her current state.
“Timothy, you got a twenty on this thing?” Michael said over the comm channel.
“Last known location was in compartment fourteen, where it tripped a sensor twenty-one minutes and thirteen seconds ago.”
“So it could be anywhere now?” Magnolia said. “Don’t you have cameras you can access?”
“Yes,” Timothy replied, “but so far, the creature has not crossed into any
areas where they are in use, and my scans aren’t detecting anything.”
The damn thing could be anywhere, and with so many passengers about the same size as the beast, infrared scans could give false negatives. Worse, the passengers were scattered among different shelters, the bridge, and the launch bay.
“Keep scanning, and make sure the shelters are sealed and protected,” Michael said. He wasn’t thrilled about it, but the two surviving Cazador soldiers from the mission had been dispatched to the bridge to guard Layla, Eevi, and the vital equipment while Timothy kept an eye on them.
Michael motioned for Magnolia to follow him into a well-lit passage. The emergency Klaxon blared all around her like a den of Sirens.
“Timothy, can’t you turn the damn sirens off?” she asked.
“If Captain Mitchells authorizes that, certainly,” Timothy replied.
“Do it,” said the captain’s voice on the open channel.
The shrill ringing died away as the two divers ran quietly down the passage.
“Mags, Michael, where are you?” Les asked.
“Just leaving the armory,” Michael said. “Heading toward an access hatch to compartment fourteen.”
“I already searched it. The beast isn’t there.”
“Shit,” Michael said.
“Exactly,” Les replied. “You two take the access hatch and search compartment ten, then eleven. I’ll work my way through thirteen and twelve. With luck, we can trap it.”
“Roger that, sir,” Michael said. “Good luck.”
“You too.”
Magnolia sprinted down the passage with Michael by her side. She was exhausted from the mission, but adrenaline fueled her, especially now that it had sunk in: there was a Siren on board.
But after what she had seen in Rio de Janeiro, she feared men more than monsters.
She ran faster, closing the distance between herself and Michael. He rounded the corner to an access hatch in the bulkhead. Unlatching the handle, he started inside, not giving her a chance to catch her breath.
“Going to have to use our helmet beams,” he said, flipping down his face shield. He bumped on the tactical light at the top of his helmet.
Michael went first, checking left and right with the beam. He nodded, and she followed him into a tunnel not much bigger than a crawl space.
There were few things she hated more than crawl spaces, unless it was a crawl space with monsters. And, damn it, why couldn’t she just get some rest?
“Timothy, bring up the schematics on our HUDs,” Michael said.
The red outline of an oval flickered into the translucent subscreen on her heads-up display. It was the first time she had ever seen what the guts of the ship looked like.
“You go left; I’ll go right,” Michael said. “We’ll meet at the hatch to compartment eleven. Timothy, mark that for us.”
A red dot came online, and she started moving down the left fork of the passage. The ceiling was just tall enough she could move at a crouch without bumping her helmet, and just wide enough that she could cradle the crossbow without scraping the bulkhead.
She checked her progress on her HUD. She seemed to be crawling along, barely moving.
The beam flitted across the metal bulkheads and overhead. It lit up a clump of something on the floor.
It didn’t take long for her to recognize it as feces, and not just any kind. The pink gunk was Siren shit. Shells from several large beetles protruded from the pile.
She was lucky she couldn’t smell anything while wearing her helmet.
Magnolia tried moving around it, but there was no way to do that without smearing it on her leg armor. She gagged as the pink slime streaked behind her.
“Gross, gross, gross,” she whispered.
Bumping on the comms, she reported the find to the other divers and militia soldiers.
“If it came that way, it could have made it to the lower compartments,” Les said. He cursed again over the line. “Everyone, head to compartment five. We’ll try and flank it.”
As Magnolia turned, her light captured something else in the passage. It was the bulkhead, or what remained of it.
Panels had been torn away, opening a jagged hole.
“Um,” she said. “Make that ‘um, shit.’ I think I know where it went.”
“Speak,” Michael said.
“It tore through the damn bulkhead in compartment ten,” she said. “Timothy, mark my location for the others.”
“Done,” replied the AI.
Magnolia moved on all fours to check the opening. Sharp edges of metal had been pulled back, and several wires stuck out.
“Yeah, this thing is definitely in the guts of the ship now,” she said.
Her heart skipped. Michael was right. This thing could do grave damage if it tore any critical wires.
“Can you get your light in there and see how bad the damage is?” Les asked.
“Can’t Timothy run a diagnostic?” she whispered. “I really don’t want to stick my head in there, Captain.”
“I’m not detecting any breaches in that compartment,” Timothy reported.
“Well, then your sensors are screwed up, because I’m looking right at one,” she replied.
“Timothy, is it possible this thing disabled your sensors?” Les asked. “Maybe that’s why you haven’t been able to pick it up on your scans.”
“Yes, but that would require an extremely cunning beast.”
“We’re talking about creatures that evolved to survive in the wastes,” Michael said. “It’s definitely possible.”
“Mags, check the opening,” Les said.
She scooted closer, training her crossbow on the doorway to hell. A few feet away now, she stopped to listen for any signs that the beast was still down there. All she heard was the hum of the nuclear-powered engines, and the gentle movement of air.
Holding in a breath, she sneaked a glance, angling her helmet downward.
The beam revealed debris-strewn compartments.
“I think we got a major problem,” she said. “A lot of wiring is shredded.”
A flash of pale skin writhed in the beam, and Magnolia jerked back, banging her helmet on a jagged piece of metal. The scrape prompted a screech below.
She scooted backward on her butt, keeping her crossbow on the ragged hole in her beam.
“Magnolia, do you copy?” Les said.
She didn’t reply, trying to keep her breath steady.
The screech echoed and faded away, but in its wake came another sound—a scratching that seemed to be getting louder.
Magnolia swallowed hard. She needed just one clean shot. If she got it, she would bury a bolt in this ugly bastard’s forehead.
The scratching stopped, but she could still hear something over the nuclear reactor and ventilation system.
She moved her finger to the side of the trigger.
Come on, you son of a bitch . . .
Black matte armor moved around the bend left of the torn bulkhead. She aimed the crossbow at head level for a Siren, then took her finger off the trigger. It was Michael.
He held up a hand to her, then moved to the bulkhead, took a look, and swore. He hurried over to her on his hands and feet.
“It’s gone,” he said. “We’ve got to hurry before it causes more damage.”
Magnolia turned around and started back the way they had come.
The comm link fired. “I think I know where it’s going,” Michael said.
“We’re listening,” Les replied.
“The nuclear reactor. That’s the biggest power source on the ship.”
“Damn, I bet you’re right,” Les said. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that earlier. Meet me in engineering.”
“Can you do a scan for life-forms in that compartment, Timot
hy?” Magnolia asked.
“One moment,” replied the AI.
Michael and Magnolia clambered back down the tunnel to the exit hatch. She got more Siren scat on her armor going back.
The speakers crackled in her helmet.
“I think we have another problem,” Timothy said. “The life scans in engineering are picking up two life-forms.”
“Do we have an engineer down there?” Les asked.
“No, sir,” replied the AI. “We don’t have anyone down there.”
* * * * *
The militia guards closed the shutters over the stained-glass windows in the council chambers, blocking the view of the sunny morning.
The wind rattled the metal as X eased himself onto the throne. He was starting to regret turning down the painkillers Dr. Huff had offered, but he couldn’t afford to dull his senses. Right now, the most important thing he could do was keep his wits.
Flouting the doctor’s orders could end up biting him on the ass, but it wasn’t the first time he had broken orders, and he needed to show his face and scotch any rumors about his health.
He also needed to set the record straight about the mission to Rio de Janeiro and about the ambush at the Purple Pearl—especially after Imulah’s report on the rumors spreading through the Cazador ranks. If the soldiers believed that his people had sunk Star Grazer, even Rhino’s sacrifice wouldn’t stop a war between the two societies. They had already gotten away with mass murder after Ada killed most of the Lion’s crew—something that Rhino and X had not seen eye to eye on.
Not having General Rhino made him feel vulnerable in a way he hadn’t in a long time. But he still had plenty of people here to protect him from enemies. Ton and Victor flanked the throne, both armed with spears and slung rifles. X looked at the former Cazador prisoners, but they kept their gaze forward, like statues.
So did Lieutenant Sloan, standing at the base of the stairs. She glanced over her shoulder to give X a frustrated glare. She didn’t seem to believe him when he said he had been sicker than this many times in the wastes.
He knew that Sloan and Dr. Huff were right. He should have stayed in bed to rest. The fever was rising, and the pain radiating from the inflamed wounds was hard to conceal. If the antibiotics didn’t kick in soon, he would be in trouble. He was doing everything in his power not to shake from the chills.
Hell Divers (Book 7): Warriors Page 3