Another tremor rippled through the Hive. Outside the portholes, a skein of lightning filled the sky in front of the ship. Michael flinched as it licked the outer hull. The raucous crack rose over the screech of emergency sirens and reverberated in his ears for several seconds.
Forcing his gaze away, Michael punched his wrist minicomputer. Digital telemetry appeared in the upper right corner of his heads-up display. He opened a private channel with a bump of his chin on the comm pad and turned back to his locker.
“Double-check your gear,” he said over the channel. He followed his own orders and did a quick inventory of what he would need up there, going over all the potential issues in his mind. He stuffed the coils of wire into the cargo pocket on his leg, checked his parachute and booster a final time, and grabbed his duty belt.
By the time he was done, Magnolia had finished gearing up and Layla was rechecking her booster.
Ty dropped two bags of climbing gear in front of them. “Three hundred feet of eight-kilonewton-test rope. Should get you to the rudders.”
Michael bent down and grabbed a handful of carabiners from one of the bags.
“Make sure you attach those to the hangers on the side of the ship every fifteen feet, and run the rope through it,” Ty said. “That way, if anybody slips or gets hit, you won’t go far.”
“We know, Ty,” Magnolia said, and Michael could almost see her eyes roll behind her visor. Her armor plates clicked together as she fidgeted.
Normally, Michael would have felt those same predive jitters, which brought with them the messy and addictive combination of adrenaline and fear, but this wasn’t a dive through the clouds. Climbing onto the side of the ship during a storm was, in some ways, even more dangerous, since they would spend more time exposed to the storm and the threat of lightning strikes.
Get your shit together, Michael. Focus. You’re not a kid anymore.
He summoned his most commanding voice and shouted, “Let’s move it! We’re working on borrowed time here.”
With everyone in the launch bay watching, he clicked on his duty belt and led Magnolia and Layla to the ladder. Bumping his chin pad a second time, he opened a line to engineering.
“Raptor One to Samson, do you copy?”
He waited a second while Samson secured the line.
“Copy that, Michael. Where are you?”
“On my way topside. Any idea what the problem is yet?”
There was a frustrating pause.
They stopped at the bottom of the ladder, and Magnolia uncoiled the rope. She handed one end to Layla, who looped it through three steel clips attached to the bottom of her chest armor, just above her navel, and tied it in a figure eight.
Michael accepted the line when she was finished, and did the same thing. He didn’t like the idea of being tethered to someone as unpredictable as Magnolia, but orders were orders. Captain Jordan wanted her up there with them, so he must think she would be useful on the mission.
Samson’s voice came over the line as Michael secured the rope. He took the coil of slack and clipped it on his belt.
“We’ve troubleshot all three rudders from the back end,” Samson said. “It’s an electrical problem. You’ll need to replace the wire and connect the rudders to a different grid.”
Michael grimaced as he grabbed the first rung of the ladder. Rewiring the rudders was a lot more complicated than closing an open circuit. Ten years ago, he had patched a gas bladder from inside it while men with guns tried to lead a mutiny against Captain Ash. If he could do that, this should be easy.
He was no longer a little boy called Tin. He was the commander of Team Raptor, and he would fix the rudders no matter what it took.
“Roger that, Samson. We’re on it.” Michael swung up onto the ladder.
The ship trembled again as he climbed toward the narrow tunnel above. The slack came out of the rope connecting him to the other divers. With each step, he kept three points of contact on the worn metal rungs. If he lost his grip, he would bring Layla and Magnolia with him.
As soon as he reached the hatch, a transmission crackled from the comms. “Raptor One, Captain Jordan. I want Magnolia taking point once you’re topside.”
Michael held on to the rungs and glanced down at Layla and Magnolia. No way in hell was he going to let Magnolia take the lead. She would probably see something shiny on the other side of the ship and get all three of them killed when she chased after it.
“You’re breaking up, Captain,” Michael said. “I didn’t catch your last.” Switching off the frequency with a bump of his chin, he opened the hatch that led outside.
* * * * *
Magnolia was the fastest and most agile diver aboard, but walking on top of the ship while surrounded by the biggest storm she had seen in years was daunting all the same.
She had been so-o-o-o close to winning back the credits she lost to Weaver two weeks ago. Now she was up here, tied to a couple of lovesick kids.
Ahead, Michael battled the fierce winds. The glow from his weird red battery unit guided them across the top of the ship. They were right on the edge of the swirling mass, getting pounded by sheets of wind-driven rain.
Magnolia swore.
“You okay back there?” Michael asked.
“Fine,” she lied.
Fearless, fast, and freaky. She liked Rodger’s addition to Weaver’s description of her. She did appreciate a man who could make her laugh. Hell, maybe if she survived this, she would share a mug of shine with Rodger and show him the true meaning of “freaky.”
Nah. He’s got to earn that.
She continued across the ship, ordering her priorities: fix the rudders, win those credits back, then decide whether to give Rodger a chance.
Ahead, Michael clipped a carabiner through the hole in a steel hanger and clipped the rope through the biner, then waved the team forward.
“Stay on the center line!” he shouted over the comm channel.
Magnolia could hardly hear him above the shrieking wind. Violent gusts slammed into the three divers as they worked their way aft.
Thunder boomed in the distance, like explosives going off in the center of the storm. A black fortress of clouds stretched across the horizon, blocking out the sun. If she hadn’t seen it before, she might have wondered whether the sun wasn’t just an invention from fairy tales.
Magnolia lowered her helmet and moved along the spine of the ship. The aluminum beam that ran along the top of the Hive was two and a half feet wide. To either side of the beam, the hull sloped away. Her boots had lug soles, but the surface was slick from the rain. A wrong step could send her sliding over the edge.
“Raptor One, you have thirty-five minutes to get us back online,” Hunt said over the comms.
Rain pummeled Magnolia’s armor. She wiped her visor clean, blinked, and focused on their destination. She could hardly feel any sense of motion beneath her, but she knew that the turbofans were whirring away under the ship’s belly, helping keep them aloft. Jordan was backing away from the storm, but it was expanding, and without the rudders, he couldn’t turn around.
Magnolia tightened her grip on the rope. The wind pushed against her, but she pushed back, fighting her way astern one step at a time. A spider web of lightning streaked across the sky, illuminating the scene.
Once, a long time ago, she had read in a book that there were more stars in the sky than grains of sand on the faraway beaches of Earth. The idea had made her feel small and lonely. She felt that way again now.
Magnolia tried not to think of herself as a tiny figure moving along the top of the vast metal ship. A slap of wind reminded her that she was not a kid anymore. She was a Hell Diver, and if she didn’t pay attention, she was going to end up as a very small and lonely splat on the ground four miles below.
“Almost there,” Michael yelled over the channel. He t
wisted slightly and clipped another carabiner to another hanger.
Magnolia still couldn’t see the rudders, but she could see the horizon of the drop-off that led to them. Michael clipped the rope into the biner, then clipped another bight of rope to the next hanger for backup, equalizing the tension between the two.
“I’ll go first,” he said. “We’re going to have to rappel down.”
A brilliant flash reflected off Layla’s mirrored visor. Magnolia didn’t need to see her features to know that the girl was scared. She had grabbed Michael’s hand and was holding on to it as if it were the only real thing in the world.
“Be careful,” she said. “I’ll kill you if you die.”
“I love you too,” he said.
They pressed their helmets together. Magnolia groaned. This was exactly why she didn’t have a boyfriend. Such cheesy, sentimental shit made her want to puke.
“Use a private channel,” she grumbled.
With his back to the storm, Michael bent his knees and kicked off, rappelling down the sheer wall of the stern. Layla stepped closer to watch, but Magnolia reached out and pulled her back.
“Careful, kiddo.” Magnolia winced as she said it. X had called her that, and she had hated it almost as much as being called “princess” by Weaver. Was she turning into one of those grumpy old Hell Divers who thought everyone under thirty was a kid?
“Okay, off rappel,” Michael said over the comms, letting them know he had disconnected from the rappel rope. “Layla, you’re next.”
Layla grabbed the slack rope, clipped it through her rappel device, and turned her helmet toward Magnolia. “See you down there, kiddo.”
Magnolia almost chuckled, but a thunderclap focused her. She turned to face the storm, determined but terrified. Brilliant arcs of electricity left behind blue tracers across her retinas. Blinking them away, she turned back to the edge. By the time she looked down, Layla was gone.
She waited for the all-clear from Layla, who would by then be with Michael, anchored to the stern ladder that ran past the access tunnel and its three protruding rudders.
After clipping in to the rappel line, Magnolia took in a deep breath and pushed off into the darkness.
FOUR
Jordan kept his sweaty hands on the wheel, and his eyes on the storm. Either the team he sent topside would fix the rudders and save the ship, or they would die up there in the storm. Either way, there was nothing he could do now but stay the course he had set.
“Sir?” It was Katrina’s voice.
Jordan looked over his shoulder at her. Commander Rick Weaver stood at the top of the bridge looking down, waiting for orders. He nodded at the Hell Divers and then glanced back to Katrina.
She unclipped her harness and staggered forward as another tremor hit the ship. Whatever she had to say, she didn’t want others to hear.
He gripped the wheel tighter and glanced at the monitor to his right. A countdown ticked on screen. They had just over thirty minutes to get the rudders back online before the storm swallowed the ship. The Hive might survive for a few hours in the electric soup, but the divers would not.
“Sir, I just got word that we’re picking up a transmission from the surface,” Katrina said.
Jordan felt his heart kick. Who had leaked that intel? His eyes swept the bridge and found Hunt. The ensign avoided Jordan’s gaze, answering his question. It was a reminder that he couldn’t trust anyone but himself and Katrina. It seemed Magnolia wasn’t the only person Jordan would have to deal with.
“What kind of transmission?” he asked calmly.
“An SOS, sir.”
Jordan had prepared for this moment for years, ever since they intercepted the first transmission from X, but it had come at the worst time. She would hate him for keeping this secret from her. She might even leave him. He could endure a lot, but not the thought of losing her. “Kat, I’m—”
“I think this one could be the real deal, sir,” she continued. “The Hilltop Bastion was an ITC bunker, one of the most advanced they ever built.”
Jordan held back a sigh of relief. Hunt hadn’t betrayed him after all. His secret about X was still safe. For now.
“Captain Ash marked the location as an area to explore if we ever made it this far east,” Katrina said eagerly. “If their SOS is still transmitting, then maybe someone’s still down there. I think—”
“Maria Ash is no longer captain, Lieutenant.”
Several officers on the bridge looked up from their monitors. Katrina stopped talking, her lips a tight line as she stared at him.
“We’re holding steady, sir,” Hunt said. “Should I shut off the alarms?”
Jordan checked the screen to his right. They were sailing on the edge of the storm now. Warning sensors continued to beep, and the emergency alarm still wailed, but for now they were in the clear.
“Shut off the alarms, but instruct all noncritical personal to stay in their shelters,” Jordan said, knowing that most of the citizens wouldn’t listen and would just go on with life.
The wail of the emergency siren waned, and a recorded voice transmitted over the public-address system. “All noncritical personal, please remain in your designated areas.”
Jordan used the moment of calm to scan the bridge. The entire room was spotless, from the white tile floor to the walls and the pod stations. His uniform, like those of his crew, was also white, continuing an age-old custom from the days when ships sailed on water instead of air. Unlike the rest of the ship, the bridge was lit with LEDs, although the lights were currently dim because of the energy curtailment.
Captain Ash had gone to great lengths to make sure this was a place of order amid the chaos. It was one tradition of hers that Jordan proudly carried on.
He breathed in air that smelled of bleach. As he turned back to the wheel, his eyes were drawn to the surface map displayed on one of the monitors. Where Ash had seen a new future, Jordan saw only a delusional fantasy. There was no hope for a new home on land. Their only hope for survival was in the sky, and right now it was riding on the work of three Hell Divers.
“Michael and his team are in position, sir,” Katrina said. “Should we prep a second team to scout for Hilltop Bastion?”
“No.” His voice was firm, and it drew a scowl from Katrina. “Once we fix the rudders and get clear of this storm, I’ll consider allocating resources to investigate this mysterious signal.”
“If you won’t do this, Leon, I’ll go down there myself,” she said, unclipping her harness and standing up.
Jordan’s eyes widened. She had always been feisty, but this was open insubordination.
“Sit down, Lieutenant,” he ordered.
She took a step forward, then another, her lips quivering. Jordan felt the gaze of every staff member on the bridge watching them.
“If there is something down there, we need to check it out. For the sake of our child …”
Jordan’s eyes flitted to her stomach and then to the faces of his crew. They had heard. And within the hour, everyone on the ship would know.
He shook his head in frustration. “There is absolutely no evidence of human life on the surface. Captain Ash risked the ship and every soul aboard in pursuit of a fairy tale. I’ve kept us alive by not making that same mistake.”
“We can’t live up here forever,” Katrina said.
“There is nothing down there, Lieutenant. But I’ll tell you what: if we find a way out of this storm, I’ll send a team down there to check those coordinates out, just to prove it to you.”
* * * * *
Rodger Mintel was convinced he was the only one of his kind. He had always felt in his bones that he was different. Most of his friends and even his fellow divers thought him a little odd. For one thing, he loved to build things out of wood. Oak, if he could get it. Most softer woods had crumbled over the years. He h
ad scavenged broken furniture from the Hive and even found whole planks on the surface during his dives. Once, trees had thrived on the planet below. Now they lived on in his creations.
He had just returned from the launch bay and was standing in the stall his family owned, looking at his creations: animals, figurines of people, and even a replica of the Hive. Most of the ship’s inhabitants couldn’t care less about his pieces, but he had a few customers who appreciated his art. Some of them even brought him furniture to fix from time to time. It wasn’t how the Mintel family made a living, but it did add some extra credits to their account.
“You gonna tell me what’s wrong, or just stand there?”
His father glanced up from the clock he was making in the workshop behind the stall, and took off his spectacles. The real family business had been passed on from generation to generation, but it would stop with his father. Someone else would have to become the ship’s clock and key maker. Rodger had opted to become an engineer, and then a Hell Diver.
“You know I can’t tell you anything, Pops. Besides, you’re supposed to be in the shelter with the rest of the noncritical staff.”
“Noncritical. Pish.” He laughed at the very idea. “I have clocks to finish. Without the sun, they’re the only way to know the real time.”
Another voice came from the back of their shop. “Cole, leave him alone. You know he can’t tell us anything.”
Both Rodger and his father turned to face Bernie, the matriarch of their little family. She walked into the workshop and set a wooden bowl of fruit down on Cole’s desk.
“You’re supposed to be in the shelter, too,” Rodger said.
“Oh, stop, Rodge. The Mintel family doesn’t cower.” She smiled and pointed at the apples. “Eat something. You’re as skinny as a pole.”
Rodger grinned back. “Thanks, Mom.”
He was one of the luckier citizens of the Hive: both his parents were still alive—although he wasn’t sure how much longer this would be true. They both were in their fifties, and the years had not been especially kind to them.
Hell Divers II: Ghosts Page 5
