“More like super drunk,” Rodger grumbled.
Weaver snapped his fingers to shut them up and looked back to Magnolia. “I’ll bet a hundred.”
As he wedged the chips from his massive stack, Rodger wasn’t the only one drooling. Magnolia almost salivated at the thought of all those credits. She was preparing to push in the rest of her chips when the Hive jolted violently to starboard.
Andrew grabbed the table, but too late. It slid across the floor, and with it went the chips, cards, and four mugs with varying levels of shine.
“NO!” Magnolia shouted, watching in horror as her cards joined the mess on the floor. The first straight flush in her life, and she couldn’t even prove it now!
“What was that?” Ty asked.
Weaver scrambled over to the wall comm and punched the link. “This is Commander Weaver. What the hell is going on?”
Static crackled from the speakers. The ship lurched again, and a sound like a rifle shot rang out as lightning hit the hull. Magnolia joined Weaver at the comm.
“We’re headed right for a massive storm, Commander Weaver,” replied a voice from the wall-mounted speakers. “Report to the launch bay, ASAP.”
The lightbulb swayed toward Weaver as he squinted in Magnolia’s direction. She knew what the commander’s tell meant. The pile of cards on the floor wasn’t the worst thing that could happen today. If something had happened to the ship and they needed parts, there was a good chance she was about to end her hiatus from diving, in the worst possible conditions—right through the middle of an electrical storm.
* * * * *
“Where the hell did this storm come from?” Jordan shouted, though he already knew the answer. The weather sensors were 260 years old, like every other piece of equipment on the ship. Samson had run out of ways to repair them, which meant Jordan had a fraction of the time he needed to steer away from storms.
Jordan leaned into the spokes of the oak wheel to turn the bow away from the mountain of bulging clouds. A delta of lightning cut through the mass, branching out like veins from a throbbing heart.
“Ryan! Hunt!” he said. “How far out are we? I need a sitrep.”
Ensign Ryan, moving slowly because of a worsening spine condition, got up from his station and pushed his glasses higher on his freckled nose. “Checking the data now, sir, but this one seems very …”
Jordan could finish Ryan’s thought for him. The storms, especially over the Eastern Seaboard of North America, were unpredictable. No one could explain why, but he had a theory. Some of the largest old-world cities had been on the East Coast: New York, Washington, Boston. All had turned into poisoned craters during a war that happened so long ago, no one remembered who started it. Even now, over two and half centuries later, the air above those scorched cities remained volatile and chaotic.
The same went for those cities on the West Coast: wastelands such as Los Angeles, Portland, and Seattle. But other than Hades, the Midwest hadn’t been hit as hard during World War III. That was why the Hive and the ships before her had scavenged most of the known locations in the center of the continent. Jordan was now forced to search the more severely irradiated cities in the East for parts, fuel cells, and whatever else the Hell Divers could salvage.
Although he couldn’t see it, he knew they were above the ruins of one of those cities now—a place the archives called Charleston.
“We’re ten miles out from the nucleus of the storm,” Ryan announced.
Another brilliant web of lightning flashed across the main display. The resulting boom of thunder rattled the bulkheads of the command center.
The ship was already too close.
“Your orders, Captain?” Ryan said.
Jordan felt the spokes grow slippery beneath his sweating palms. He continued to scrutinize the skies as if they might give him an answer.
“Sir?” said another voice before Jordan could reply to the first question. Ensign Hunt stood a few feet away, hands clasped behind his broad back.
“I have an update for you, sir.”
“Can’t it wait until later?”
“It’s about that transmission from the Hilltop Bastion,” Hunt said.
Jordan glanced over his shoulder to make sure none of the other crew had heard. “Keep your voice down,” he said quietly.
Hunt took a step closer so that he stood right beside Jordan. “That signal you asked me to research is getting stronger, sir. I’m not sure how old it is, but I was able to identify the coordinates.”
“And?”
Hunt jerked his chin toward the screen. “We’re getting close.” He hesitated and then added in a harsh whisper, “What about that other transmission? If word ever gets out that he survived …”
Jordan shot him a stern look. He had been obliged to let Hunt in on some of the secrets aboard the Hive. Since he was communications officer, all transmissions from the surface filtered through him. Most were ancient recordings, playing on a loop. But if Hunt kept pushing, kept asking questions, Jordan would have no choice but to replace him.
Captain Ash had been too soft on security and information leaks, and look what had happened: an armed insurrection led by the lower-deckers. Six years ago, not long before Ash’s death, she had discovered that one of her own officers was hacking into the restricted archives. The officer, a middle-aged woman named Janet Gardner, had been searching for information about the war that devastated the planet. That knowledge was forbidden for good reasons. There were things the citizens of the Hive didn’t need to know. Things that would threaten their sheltered reality, like the truth about the surface and what dwelled in the darkness.
Ash had been too lenient with Officer Gardner. Jordan wouldn’t make the same mistake.
“Sir, there’s something else,” Hunt said.
“What is it?” Jordan asked.
“I think I know who’s been hacking into the archives.”
Jordan scanned for any sign of eavesdroppers. The bridge wasn’t the right place for this conversation, but he couldn’t just walk away from the storm. The only people watching were several kids, all apprentices training for careers as the next generation of officers.
He took one hand off the wheel to wave them back to work. They would learn their duty fast or be kicked to a less desirable apprenticeship.
As they scattered, Jordan cocked an eyebrow at Hunt. “Proceed.”
“It has to be Magnolia Katib, sir. She’s logged more hours in the archives than anyone else on the ship.”
Gritting his teeth, Jordan nodded and pivoted back to the view of the screen. Magnolia was a loose cannon, with no respect for the rules. He would deal with her soon.
On-screen, the storm appeared to have no end. The border of the clouds stretched at least fifty miles east to west—a solid wall of black cumulus and flashing electricity.
Ryan cleared his throat to remind Jordan that the clock was ticking.
“I’m thinking, Ensign. Rash decisions get people killed. Patience keeps us alive.”
“This could be it,” Hunt said, his eyes bright. “This could be what Captain Ash was looking for. Perhaps this is what she was trying to say before—”
Jordan cracked his neck from side to side, silencing the man. Only Jordan knew what Captain Ash had been looking for—and what she thought she had found before she died. Magnolia was just like her: always curious, always searching.
Curiosity got people killed.
“Sir, I’m just saying it’s worth checking out, don’t you think?” Hunt said.
Hunt was a decent officer, but like Ash, he was also an optimistic dreamer. When Jordan took over command, she had told him to use his heart first, then his mind. And for a few years, he had bought that advice. But now he knew, the best compass wasn’t in his chest. It was the one on the monitor to his right.
Math and science w
ere the only things that could save humankind, not some delusion of a promised land.
There was nothing down there but death and monsters.
He made his decision. He would not risk the integrity of the ship by going through the storm, and he would not waste lives by dropping a Hell Diver team to the surface.
“Direct all noncritical power to the rudders and turbofans,” Jordan ordered. He spun the wheel to the right, guiding the Hive away from the storm. The bulkheads groaned in protest.
Hunt looked as if he wanted to say something else, but he kept his mouth shut and returned to his station. That was good. Jordan didn’t want to make a scene in front of his crew. He continued turning the wheel, but the more he pushed, the more it seemed to resist him.
Digital telemetry scrolled across his personal monitor, followed by a message: Error 414. It took Jordan a moment to recall the error code, but as soon as he did, he shouted, “Ryan, get Samson on the horn! We’ve got a problem with the rudders!”
“On it, sir.”
“We’re nine miles out, Captain,” Hunt announced from the deck above.
The bow split through the southern edge of the storm, barreling northeast toward the towering monstrosity. Jordan tried to force the wheel, but it hardly budged. The turbofans allowed some movement, but without the rudders, they would veer into the storm.
The knot in his stomach tightened. There was no way the Hive would survive a trip through that. He couldn’t drop a team down there even if he wanted to. This was exactly why he had tried to avoid the East Coast.
Cursing, Jordan twisted the wheel with all his strength. A shudder went through the ship.
He checked his monitor again, taking in the information with a quick sweep. The bow was turning at a forty-five-degree angle, but the rudders were now completely jammed. The Hive was spearing straight toward the flashing purple beast.
Jordan caught a drift of Katrina’s herbal perfume, but he kept his gaze on the main display.
“Captain, I’m here,” she said.
“About time, Lieutenant. Things are about to get very—”
The Hive lurched again, throwing Jordan into the wheel. His shoulder hit one of the wooden spokes. He caught himself, but Katrina hit the floor.
“Katrina!”
She smiled back at him from one knee.
“I’m okay.”
“Go strap in,” he said.
“But—”
“That’s an order, Lieutenant.”
Red lights flashed over her path as she made her way to her seat. The emergency alarm screamed from the PA system. Ensign Ryan had tripped and fallen on his way to another station. Letting out a grunt of pain, he put his hand to his unnaturally curved lower spine. Two other officers helped him up, and Jordan went back to steering the ship.
He grabbed the spokes and put all his strength into turning the wheel, pushing against the resistance.
“Lieutenant, Tell Samson he’s going to be out of a job if he doesn’t fix my damn rudders!” he shouted at Katrina.
An empty threat, Jordan thought grimly. If Samson failed, no one would have a job.
Katrina was already talking into her headset, relaying his orders. Jordan’s eyes flitted back to the main display. He drowned out the chaos around him by drawing in steady breaths and exhaling through his nose. If the sky was the ocean, and the storm a rocky beach, then the Hive was racing toward the shoals faster than he could turn it away.
“Captain,” called a voice nearly lost in the alarms.
Jordan glanced behind him and caught Katrina’s gaze. Her sharp eyes told him things were about to get even worse.
“Samson says he can’t fix the rudders from inside the ship.”
Jordan closed his eyes in anticipation of what came next.
“We need to deploy a Hell Diver team to fix them,” Katrina said.
Jordan pushed harder on the wheel. The aluminum struts creaked ominously.
“On this bearing, the heart of the storm will hit us in less than forty-five minutes,” Hunt said.
Forty-five minutes. There was never enough time, but he had been in situations with less of it than he had now. Life in the sky was always coming down to the wire.
They were almost parallel with the storm now, but soon it wouldn’t matter. Jordan knew the ship as well as he knew his own body. Without the rudders, they were, as Ash used to say, dead in the air.
“Sir, Samson is asking for your orders,” Katrina said.
Jordan used his shoulder to wipe the sweat from his chin and then turned to his XO. “Direct full power to the turbofans—full reverse.”
He made himself breathe deeply before he gave his next order. Every time he ordered the Hell Divers deployed, it was a potential death sentence. Their ranks were already strained by the losses they had sustained this year, but they knew the risks. On the bright side, perhaps fate would take care of his little blue-haired security problem, and he wouldn’t have to take further action to deal with her.
“Send Michael and Layla topside,” he said. “They’re the best engineering divers we have left.” He hesitated before adding, “And someone find Magnolia. I want her on this mission.”
As his officers scrambled to carry out his orders, Jordan heaved a nervous sigh. Maybe one good thing could come of all this after all. He wasn’t proud of the things he had to do as captain of the last airship in the sky, but the guilt was a burden he could bear if it meant keeping the human race alive.
THREE
Layla’s hand brushed Michael’s, and their fingers interlaced.
“Got bad news,” Weaver said. “Samson sent a team into a tunnel connecting to the rudders from inside the ship, but the issue seems to be on the outside.”
“So they’re going to need us to fix it from …” Layla’s words trailed off, and Michael squeezed her hand.
“Afraid so,” Weaver said. He hurried toward the launch bay doors, leaving Michael and Layla alone.
Most of teams Apollo and Angel stood near the portholes of the launch bay. Lightning illuminated their uneasy faces as they awaited orders.
All eyes were on Michael and Layla as they suited up. He pulled his chest piece from his locker and slipped it over his head. After putting his arms through the slots, he rotated for Layla to fasten the clasps on either side. The single piece fit snugly over his synthetic suit, but it was lightweight enough that it didn’t weigh him down once his boots hit solid ground.
“We’re still on for dinner later, right?” he said, smiling at Layla.
“Y-yes, of course,” she said.
The hitch in her voice broke Michael’s heart. He wasn’t afraid to die if it meant saving the Hive, but the thought of losing her terrified him.
“Is there any chance,” he said quietly, “that if I ordered you stay here, you’d listen to me?”
Layla grinned. “Why would I ever start listening to you now?”
She leaned in until they were so close he could smell the mint on her breath.
“You sure you know what you’re doing?” she asked.
Michael nodded. Three years ago, he had fixed one of the ship’s rudders, but that had been in clear skies. He hoped this would be another easy fix—say, an open circuit—but he wouldn’t know until they were up there.
“Your turn,” Michael said. He gazed into Layla’s dark eyes. He was exactly her height now. When they were growing up, she had been a bit taller, but he caught up. He liked finally being on her level.
“What’s our plan?” she asked.
Michael had to smile at her use of “our.” Layla wasn’t just his lover; she was his best friend. She was his person and always had been.
“Diagnose the problem.” He cocked his chin at the coils of wire on the floor. “And fix it.”
“And don’t get fried,” she added with a hal
fhearted grin.
“Right,” he said. “Make a note: don’t get fried.”
Michael secured the clasps on the sides of her chest plate, trying not to think about what she looked like without the armor. Oh, well, the prospect of climbing on top of a moving airship during a storm was more effective than a cold shower. He fastened the plates around his legs and pulled his helmet from the top shelf of his locker, then traced a finger over the Team Raptor crest for good luck, before slipping the helmet over his head.
Layla handed him his battery unit. If the armor had a heart, it was the battery. He clicked it into the socket on his chest plate, and it warmed to life, spreading a bright red glow over the dull black armor.
“Well, look at that,” Layla said. “Did you modify your battery again?”
He nodded. “It’s got twice the power now. All I had to do was mess with the—”
Before he could finish, the double doors to the launch bay screeched open. Magnolia hurried inside the room, with Rodger and Andrew behind her. They all looked exhausted.
“Where’ve you guys been?” Michael said.
“Kicking Weaver’s ass at cards,” Magnolia said. “I was about to be rich!”
“ ‘About to’ being the operative phrase,” Rodger said. “I’ve almost been rich about as many times as I’ve almost died on dives.”
Ty and a couple of technicians carried bags of gear into the room. Weaver directed them away from the launch tubes and toward the control room. Then he jogged over to Michael.
“You almost ready, kid?”
God damn it, Michael thought. “Kid” was even worse than “Tin.” Weaver seemed determined to be everybody’s dad, but Michael wasn’t interested in yet another father figure.
“Yes,” he said stiffly.
Across the room, Magnolia was still ranting about the card game. “This is some horseshit!” she yelled. “I had a straight flush. You owe me two hundred credits, Weaver!”
“Save it for the rematch, princess,” Weaver said.
Michael just shook his head. Weaver didn’t call him that, at least.
Within minutes, the launch bay was full of personnel. Hell Divers, militia soldiers, technicians, and engineers from Samson’s staff fanned out to perform their assigned tasks.
Hell Divers II: Ghosts Page 4
