Warriors

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  It would take only one crazed Cazador to convince the others that this wasn’t the case, and the rumors spreading through the rigs seemed to be doing just that.

  “He’s on his way to the Octopus Lords,” one militia soldier had overheard a Cazador saying at the trading-post rig.

  “King Xavier has lost his mind,” another Cazador had said at the rig where they worked on the warships.

  Les knew that if the rumors continued to spread and the troops rallied to finish off the king, they would start by hitting the capitol tower. Those weapons would also target their most valuable asset—Discovery.

  As captain, it was Les’s responsibility to make sure they didn’t get the chance, even if it meant leaving his family behind. At least, from the sky, he could protect them.

  He ran up the final stairwell, the sound of footsteps behind him. Layla had remained behind, but Rodger, Magnolia, Michael, and the greenhorn divers were following, all of them in their civilian clothing.

  Sergeant Wynn waited for them on the rooftop outside the Sky Arena with several of his troops. They handed out several assault rifles and magazines.

  “You might need these,” Wynn said. “Since we already unloaded most of the airship.”

  The divers took the assault rifles, and Les took a moment to survey the rooftop. The area was devoid of civilians, but a militia patrol marched within view under the moonlight.

  “What’s the status, Sergeant?” Les asked.

  “All our weapons are directed at the Cazador ships and boats,” Wynn said. “Both Renegade and Elysium have moved positions, and dozens of smaller vessels have taken to the water with Cazador sailors and soldiers.”

  “Holy wastes,” Magnolia breathed.

  “Who is guarding the borders and watching for the machines or skinwalkers?” Les asked.

  Wynn spat in the dirt. “We have vessels out there watching for hostiles, but not nearly enough.”

  “What about Colonel Forge? Do we know where he is?”

  “My scouts have reported he is on the warship Shadow,” Wynn replied, “and the company loyal to him has not joined Moreto yet. Forge is patrolling the border, watching for the skinwalkers, as directed by King Xavier in the last council meeting.”

  “We need to get in the sky,” Les said. He started running toward Discovery. “Protect the capitol tower, Sergeant,” he said over his shoulder.

  The divers followed him at a run all the way across the rooftop. Machine-­gun nests pointed out over the railings. The militia had even installed a mobile missile launcher.

  Also, the thirty-millimeter cannons taken off old-world warships were now mounted in strategic locations. They were the same cannons the Cazadores had fired at Discovery and the Hive during the battle for the Vanguard Islands.

  Les swallowed hard at the thought of going back to war. This had to stop, and with X disabled, he had to be the one to stop it.

  A voice called out from under the airship. Engineers, technicians, and mechanics were still at work, with Alfred and Samson supervising the repairs.

  “Got another turbofan up and running,” Samson called out. “But we still have only three of the six thrusters operational.”

  “We’ll deal with the thrusters later,” Les said. “Get back inside the tower unless you’re coming with.”

  “I’ll come,” he grunted.

  Alfred and his team of technicians also joined them.

  They stopped at the side entrance to the airship. To Les’s surprise, Eevi was waiting at the ramp, wearing her white uniform and standing stiffly at attention.

  “Captain, I hear you need a flight crew,” she said.

  “You heard right.”

  “Permission to come aboard.”

  “Permission granted, Ensign,” he said. “Glad to have you back.”

  Two militia soldiers opened the hatch and let them inside.

  The passageway to the bridge took the team past the sealed interior launch-bay doors. Passengers rescued from Rio de Janeiro were still quarantined inside, and Les slowed to check on them.

  Most of them sat or lay on their bunks, but several stood at the door, looking out. A girl the age of his Phyl smiled and raised a hand at Les. He tried to smile and waved back at her, then pushed onward.

  “Michael, take the divers to loading dock two,” Les said. “Samson, Eevi, with me.”

  Michael peeled off at the next intersection with the divers. Two more militia soldiers stood guard outside the bridge. They used the keypad to open the doors.

  Overhead lights clicked on as Les stepped inside the empty space. “Fire her up, Timothy,” he commanded. “We’re taking off.”

  The AI appeared in the center of the bridge, the glow washing over the stations.

  “I was hoping you’d say that, sir,” said Timothy. “I’ve had plenty of time to watch the events unfolding outside, and frankly, I don’t like what I’m seeing with the cameras.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  Les took the captain’s chair, and Samson and Eevi sat at the stations to get them operational. With Layla staying behind, he must rely on the two of them and Timothy to get them in the air and keep them there.

  “Path is clear for liftoff,” Timothy said. “Turning on turbofans and retracting legs.”

  The deck rumbled, and the bulkheads vibrated with a distant whining sound.

  Several warning sensors rang out, but Les ignored them, keeping his attention on the monitor to his right. The working turbofans activated at a low speed, lifting the airship slowly off the surface.

  “Steady as she goes, Timothy,” Les said.

  “Aye, aye, Captain.”

  The speakers crackled with a message from the combat operations center.

  “Weapons systems are online,” Samson said. “What’s left of them, that is.”

  “Timothy, how many missiles do we have?” Les asked.

  “Twenty of the smaller Sidewinders, eight Hellcats, and three cruise missiles, plus twenty-one bombs,” Timothy said. “That’s the good news. The bad news is, we’re almost out of twenty-millimeter ammo.”

  “We won’t be needing it tonight,” Les said.

  The airship rumbled as it continued to rise off the rooftop. They were even more vulnerable now that they had risen into the sky. Being grounded had at least provided some cover from the Cazador warships.

  “Eevi, I want you to identify and then target every single Cazador vessel out there with our Sidewinders and Hellcats,” Les ordered.

  “Define ‘every single Cazador vessel,’ ” she replied, visibly taken aback.

  “The warships all the way down to the fishing boats.” Les turned toward her. “Anything bigger than a WaveRunner or a dinghy.”

  “Roger that, sir.”

  Les tapped his screen again, opening the hatches over the bow windows. The Sirens and the bats had done a number on them. Cracks webbed across the glass, but at least they were clean of blood, giving a clear view of the dazzling star-filled sky.

  He swung his monitor away on the stand and got up from his chair. Through a section of unbroken glass, he studied the water below. He had no problem identifying both Elysium and Renegade.

  “Eevi, are they targeting us?” Les asked.

  “Not yet, sir.”

  “Send out an alert to hold on to something, then fire the thrusters and get us out of range ASAP.”

  Les strapped into his chair as a message to hold on went out in English, Portuguese, and Spanish. The short wait was agonizing, and he braced to take enemy fire. This wasn’t his first time to face the possibility of being blown from the sky, but he hadn’t expected it to happen here at home.

  The enemy fire never came, and the bank of boosters finally fired, propelling the airship into the sky.

  Les had to give X time to heal by keeping the
Cazadores away from the capitol tower. The king had gambled and lost, leaving himself even more exposed to assassination attempts.

  Now it was on the Hell Divers in the lower compartment, the militia on the rooftop, and the few trusted Cazador allies like Colonel Forge to protect them—assuming that Forge was indeed an ally.

  “Ten thousand feet and climbing,” Timothy said. “Life-support systems at seventy percent.”

  “Thrusters are holding, but I’m diverting power from the turbofans,” Samson said.

  “I’ve got weapons locked on every vessel in range,” Timothy said.

  Les was fully prepared to give the order to send them to their Octopus Lords. But the thought reminded him of something Ada Winslow would have said. He thought of his former XO as the airship climbed.

  Sloan was telling people she had killed herself, but Les knew the truth. He wondered where she was now, whether she was even still alive out there.

  She had been right all along. The Cazadores would try to kill King Xavier.

  But that still didn’t absolve her of her sins. She had disobeyed orders and committed mass murder and deserved punishment for putting everyone at risk. Still, Les felt conflicted in a way he hadn’t before. He pushed the thoughts aside.

  “We’re almost out of range of their weapons,” Timothy said. “Should be clear in thirty seconds.”

  Les began to relax. If the Cazadores were going to fire, they would have already. But that didn’t mean they weren’t planning something.

  “All clear,” Timothy said.

  “Good, you have the bridge,” Les said. “Let me know ASAP if anything happens on the surface.”

  Samson coughed into his handkerchief and then stood up at his station.

  “Where are you going, sir?” he asked in a scratchy voice.

  “To brief the Hell Divers on what Pedro told us about the defectors.”

  Eevi also stood. “I’d like to hear this, too.”

  “And I,” Samson said.

  “I can handle the bridge, sir,” Timothy said.

  Les realized that they both needed to know. He jerked his chin for them to follow, and together they left the bridge.

  “It’s good to be back at work,” Eevi said. “Keeps my mind off Alexander.”

  “That’s how it’s been for me after losing Trey,” he said.

  They walked the rest of the way in silence, aside from Samson’s sporadic coughing. When they got to compartment two in the lower decks, all the divers were in their armor and preparing their gear for a dive.

  “We’re out of enemy firing range,” Les said. “So everybody can relax for now. Timothy’s got the Cazador vessels on the surface locked on, just in case.”

  The divers circled around, more relaxed now.

  “I’ve got something to tell you that’s classified,” Les said. “Something I learned from Pedro.”

  “The leader of the refugees?” Sofia asked.

  “Right. Timothy, bring up the recording of my conversation with Pedro and feed it through the monitor in compartment two.”

  The divers huddled around the wall-mounted monitor. A video of Les talking to Pedro inside the launch bay came on the screen.

  Wearing a space suit to avoid exposing the refugees to germs, Les had Timothy with him to translate their conversation.

  “Turn up the volume,” Les said.

  “Pedro, I want to be very clear, we’re here to help you,” Les said in the feed. “We’re going to bring your people to a place where the sun shines and the water is clear. A place without monsters and the machines we call defectors.”

  The bunker survivor revealed very little emotion throughout their conversation.

  “But this place we call home isn’t safe from the machines, and I need to understand better what you know,” Les said.

  Pedro raised a bushy brow. He finally spoke, and the conversation continued to feed through the monitor in compartment two.

  “The machines have a base—a place that humanity tried to destroy during the war many, many years ago. Unlike most of the major cities, Rio de Janeiro survived the nukes, but the machines forced my ancestors underground months after.”

  “The machines came to the city to hunt survivors?”

  “Yes,” Pedro said. “My ancestors joined a coalition of other surviving South American countries to fight them many, many moons ago, and we launched an offensive to their base in East Africa.”

  Even now, watching the video on-screen, Les got the chills.

  “It was believed that they could shut down the machines if they destroyed the ITC hub facility,” Pedro said. “The offensive did destroy many of the machines, but in the end, it failed, killing every man and woman who set out to destroy them.”

  “And afterward?” Les asked.

  Pedro looked at the floor in the video. Then he glanced back up. “We hid like everyone else out there, and we never came out until you and those monster men found us.”

  * * * * *

  Ada hid under a lab station. She had never experienced fear like this—so paralyzing, she couldn’t move anything but her trembling lips.

  The station was in the back of the pitch-dark lab. For the past eight hours, she had hunkered down with her legs pulled up to her chest, like the skeletal remains of the scientist she had discovered. Praying that the creatures prowling the passages wouldn’t get in.

  But at some point, she would have to face them. She couldn’t bring herself to move from under the lab station. No matter how much she wanted to be like X, she couldn’t summon the courage.

  He would never have gotten on this ship. He would have stuck to his plan and kept rowing until he couldn’t row anymore. The risk wasn’t worth the simple rope and tools she had scavenged, or the brief respite from the choppy water.

  As she sat there cursing her stupidity, she suddenly realized she hadn’t heard the beasts for a while.

  In fact, she wasn’t sure when she had heard them last.

  This is your chance, girl. Time to move your ass.

  She reached up and turned on her helmet lamp, praying for it to work. The beam lit up one of the exploded glass chambers across the room.

  Careful not to make a sound, she scooted out from under the lab station. Then she pushed herself up and started back toward the hatch she had entered.

  Crossing the lab gave her time to look at the broken vats. Skirts of glass shards lay on the deck where the chambers had shattered. From the looks of it, whatever was inside had broken out.

  But what?

  She had spent so much time hiding, she hadn’t been able to explore this lab. Now wasn’t the time to start, though.

  Her lamp showed a path to the hatch. She kept it aimed ahead, trying to ignore the brown stains on the overhead and the deck. It was hard to ignore, just outside the beam of her light, what looked like a ripped garbage bag made of skin.

  She froze, keeping her head forward.

  The edges of the white glow illuminated the rust-colored pile, but she didn’t need the full beam to recognize human remains.

  No, you don’t need to look.

  She couldn’t help herself, though, and the beam roved to the pile of bones. Moving the light away, she kept walking, alternating glances between the hatch and the deck. The last thing she wanted to do was step on glass.

  Halfway across the lab, she spotted something on the bulkhead to the right—something she had missed on the way in. Another room lay beyond the shattered glass wall. Inside, a row of empty cages sat against another bulkhead.

  Again powerless to resist, she angled her light at the room. Most of the cages were open, but several had closed gates. The bars of several were pulled apart, as if the animal inside had bent them back to escape.

  She returned to the vats.

  Whatever animals the lab technic
ians had kept in this space had broken out.

  But how?

  It doesn’t matter. They’re here.

  Ada pressed on, not stopping until she got to the hatch. She slung her rifle, grabbed the handle, and listened for the beasts outside.

  Hearing nothing, she pulled up the bar, flinching at the clicking noise. She pulled her rifle out again, heart pounding.

  No more screeches echoed through the ship. Once she had her breathing under control, she strode into the passage with her rifle barrel pointed to the right.

  The beam revealed no contacts that way, but she did see the vegetation. Seeing nothing to her left, she went that way, back through the engine room.

  A few minutes later, she was heading up the same dark ladder she had unwisely descended. The next level up, the remains of plants she had chopped littered the floor. But they looked different somehow.

  Drawing closer, she saw why.

  Something had eaten them.

  The ends of several vines were frayed like a gnawed rope, and purple goo wept from puncture wounds in the thicker limbs. Her light confirmed teethmarks.

  But if these beasts fed on the flora, why hadn’t she seen that earlier?

  Perhaps these vines were like a farm they hadn’t yet harvested, and her cutting through them had prompted a feeding. Tamping down the panic, she hurried through the half-eaten mess.

  One of the vines reached up as she stepped over it, snagging her ankle. She kicked out of it and took off at a wary jog.

  She reached the passage where she had to crawl under the broken overhead and support beams. To avoid any unnecessary clanking, she put everything hanging off her belt into the backpack.

  Her lamp flickered as she approached the sharp debris.

  No, no, no!

  She shook it, and when the beam came on again, she wasted no time. Crawling under the crossbeams would take a few minutes if she was fast but going fast could compromise her suit. She wiggled under the beams and collapsed bulkheads, keeping low, rifle in her right hand.

  Halfway through, she spotted the end of the low passage. From there, it was a short hike back up to the weather deck and her boat.