Captives

SIX

“All hands report to the trading post in one hour,” said the soothing voice of Ensign Ada Winslow over the comm system. “Lieutenant Les Mitchells will be making an announcement about the future of the airships.”

Les stood in front of the hatch to his quarters and gave his wife a kiss on the cheek. His daughter, Phyl, held a doll in her hands, listening to the repeating transmission with her head tilted as if she didn’t understand what the ensign was saying.

“Fu-ture?” she said slowly.

“The new home you keep hearing about,” Les said.

“You haven’t told us everything, have you?” Katherine asked. There was anger in her voice—something he hadn’t heard in a while. “You haven’t told us what happened to X or the others.”

“No, I haven’t,” he said. “I’m sorry, but I have… I had strict orders.”

Katherine narrowed her gaze. “You promised you wouldn’t leave Trey. You promised you would stay with him.”

She pulled away from his grip, giving him a moment to consider his words. When he was a young boy, his father had taught him never to make a promise he couldn’t keep, and this one Les wasn’t sure about.

Trey felt so far away…

He is far away.

They were practically a world apart, separated by a sea of electrical storms.

“Papa, I miss Trey,” Phyl said. “Commander Everhart said he’s on a mission and isn’t sure when he’ll be back.”

Les looked from his wife to his daughter, wishing he could take their pain away, but he was frightened his words would only add more emotional agony.

His father had also told him never to lie, especially to two of the three people he loved unconditionally.

“When I dived last week with Trey, we found another ship at Red Sphere,” Les said. “Not an airship. It’s an old naval warship from the United States of America. Captain DaVita is sailing it to the Metal Islands, to help save X, Mags, and Miles from the Cazadores, and to…”

Les stopped as Phyl tilted her head. Maybe she wasn’t old enough to hear the rest. It might just frighten her and make her worry about Trey.

But she deserved to know where her brother was going, and kids on the airship were resilient. They had been through more than any kid should.

“I’ve been tasked with putting together a fighting force to help Captain DaVita take the Metal Islands from the barbarians that live there. Trey is sailing to help on that mission.”

Katherine put a hand over her mouth and arched her brows. “You sent our son to war?”

He hated how it sounded, but the hard reality was that humanity had been at war for the past 260 years.

A war for survival.

“Yes,” Les said. “And if it comes down to it, I’ll be joining him in the fight.”

Katherine pulled Phyl close. “I… I don’t believe this! I don’t even know who you are right now!”

The stinging words took Les slightly by surprise. He wasn’t used to balancing orders with what he told his family, but by not telling Katherine from the beginning, he had now lost her trust.

He suddenly missed his days as a simple electrician, when all he had to worry about were hot tunnels and live wires.

“I’m sorry, Katherine, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I—”

She pulled back when he reached out for her. “I don’t care what you meant to do. You sent our son to war, Les.”

White noise crackled from the comm system, and the announcement from Ensign Winslow played again. Time was up, and he couldn’t dawdle any longer.

“I have to go,” he said. “I’m sorry. Please come to the trading post and listen to what I have to say.”

Katherine didn’t reply, and Les turned away so they wouldn’t see the tears welling in his eyes. Opening the hatch, he left without looking at his wife or daughter again.

The passages were filled with people leaving their quarters and jobs to head to the trading post. Everyone wanted to hear what he was about to tell them, except for Katherine.

He jostled through the crowds, hurrying to the one stop he had to make before the announcement. Sergeant Sloan was standing outside the militia headquarters on the Hive, her back to the bulkhead, arms folded across her black armor.

“’Bout time, LT,” she said.

“Sorry.”

Sloan led him through a hatch into the militia HQ, which consisted of several offices, a locker room, a small armory, and a conference room, all empty.

They continued through a hatch that connected to the launch bay on the Hive. Inside the room stood thirty-odd militia soldiers in black fatigues. Some of them still had on body armor and helmets from their patrols. Batons hung from their duty belts.

Les ran a hand through his frizz of red hair. Most of these guys were retired from other jobs and now worked on guarding restricted facilities. They weren’t seasoned warriors—hardly any of those were left. And there was no time to train people.

“This is everyone,” Sloan said. “I know it’s not much, but it’s what we have to work with from the militia. Everyone else is either dead or with the captain on that warship. I’ve only got forty-two people under my command, and at least ten need to stay on the ships, to keep order if and when we decide to attack the Metal Islands.”

Les tried to picture these people fighting the well-armed and well-trained Cazador soldiers that Timothy Pepper described in one of his last transmissions from the Sea Wolf.

In his mind’s eye, Les saw the barbarians slaughtering the militia soldiers along with anyone else they sent down there.

“What, exactly, are we fighting?” asked Jack, a sixty-year-old former electrician who had trained Les when he was younger.

Les turned and whispered, “You haven’t told them yet?”

Sloan shook her head. “Figured you’d want the honors.”

“All right,” Les said with a discreet sigh. “Follow me to the trading post. I’m going to explain everything there, and you can decide if you still want to fight with us.”

The group of militia soldiers followed Les out of the launch bay and into the crowded passages.

“Out of the way,” Sergeant Sloan said in her authoritative voice.

Fresh paint glistened on the bulkheads of the next passage—a scene of exotic animals drinking from a watering hole in a desert. Around the corner, another recent display of artwork had gone up on the overhead and bulkhead. Waves slapped the white beach of an island, and palm trees bent in the wind.

It was a dangerous image, Les realized. This was what most people would think of when they spoke of the Metal Islands. The flow of passengers moved through the colorful scene, but he knew the truth about the horrors they would find when they got to their destination.

The line continued around the next corner, where it bottlenecked in front of the trading post. Drifting scents from the food vendors mixed with body odor and the ever-present whiff from the nearest shit cans.

As Sergeant Sloan led the way into the room, Les tried to remember the last time he had seen the space this packed. All the vendor stalls had been moved back to the bulkheads. The tables normally reserved for eating were already occupied, and a small stage had been moved in front of them near the north bulkhead.

Les breathed in and out to quell his anxiety. He had never spoken in front of so many people. Layla and Michael were already on the stage, sitting in chairs next to a lectern. Ensigns Ada Winslow, Bronson White, and Dave Connor were standing behind them in their dress whites. A hologram glowed onto the stage and materialized into the form of Timothy Pepper.

“Hello, Lieutenant Mitchells,” he said.

“Welcome back, Pepper.”

Michael and Layla stood to greet Les as he stepped up onto the platform. He made his way right to the podium, stopping only to reach into his uniform and pull out his prepared notes.

Hundreds of people filed into the trading post, filling the space with conversations, sporadic coughs, and the cries of babies—the music of the Hive, the sounds of survival.

Les scanned the faces of the people he had spent his entire life with. He knew everyone by name, even the lower-deckers. But not everyone was here today. Missing were Katherine and Phyl. His heart broke at their absence, but he still had a job to do, a duty to these people.

Sergeant Sloan grabbed the microphone and tapped on the end, and a loud thunk, thunk erupted from the wall-mounted speakers across the space.

“Quiet, everyone,” she growled. Her rough voice silenced the crowd, and she handed the microphone to Les. “Good luck, Giraffe.”

More people squeezed into the room, and he waited for the final passengers. Sloan directed her people to fan out and hold security, and for that, Les was grateful. He had no idea how these people would receive his words—especially some of the less-stable folks who still weren’t happy about the living conditions. There was some history of violence from lower-deckers at public gatherings this big.

As the final stragglers walked into the trading post, Les took a moment to scan the faces. In the very front stood Cole Mintel, his sleeves rolled up to reveal a new tattoo of the tree of life—a tribute to his dead son, Rodger. His wife, Bernie, stood on his right, and on the left were two farmers, Moon Lao and her husband, John. Dom, the curly-headed owner of the Dragon noodles stall, and Marv, proprietor of the Wingman, had also gotten in at the front.

Families with kids sat at the tables. Les saw the orphan siblings Chloe and Daniel amid other children and parents with tattered clothing and holes in their shoes.

It was the same sight he had been accustomed to his entire life. Even the officers and those civilians who held some of the more desirable jobs as engineers and farmers looked ragged and downbeat, worried about the announcement.

And he was about to ask for volunteers to fight a war?

Recruiting new Hell Divers was one thing, but recruiting people for the express purpose of killing other human beings was another thing altogether.

The room quieted, and all eyes were on Les.

He cleared his throat as he unfolded the sheet of paper. Then he folded it and stuck it back in his pocket. What he was about to say, he had memorized.

“As you all know,” he said, “I’m Lieutenant Les Mitchells. Some of you may know me as Giraffe. I stand before you today as an officer and a citizen of the sky. For my entire life, I’ve lived among you, working by your side, raising my family as you raised yours, all in the hope that someday we could return to the surface. Until recently, I didn’t believe it could happen in my lifetime and figured that only our grandchildren’s children might be so lucky.”

He paused, squinting to see several more people squeeze into the room, hoping it was Katherine and Phyl. It wasn’t.

“As many of you may also know, Commander Xavier Rodriguez and Magnolia Katib have discovered a habitable place called the Metal Islands.”

The room buzzed with murmurs and side conversations, just as he had predicted. Les looked over to Sloan, who pulled out a baton, strode over, and slammed it against the side of the podium.

“Let Lieutenant Mitchells speak!” she yelled.

Another smack of the baton, and the passengers finally quieted.

“The Metal Islands are located off the Virgin Islands, an old-world chain inhabited by humans. But they are not actual islands. They are oil rigs, and they are controlled by a warrior society called the Cazadores. These people have captured the crew of the Sea Wolf.”

Les spoke faster before he could be interrupted again. “Captain DaVita is sailing there now in a naval warship, the USS Zion, which we found at another location…”

He let his words trail off as the trading post fell silent but for the sporadic coughs and a wailing baby. Les dreaded what he was about to say.

“Captain DaVita plans on offering the leader of the Cazadores a chance to give us our people back and let us share this habitable place with them, or suffer the consequences. But if they refuse this offer, we will be forced to go to war.”

“War?” someone shouted.

More voices broke out, and Sloan slapped her baton against her hand, ready to crack heads.

Les swallowed, then explained why he was really here. “I’ve been tasked with recruiting a fighting force to help us take the Metal Islands if diplomacy fails. I know what I’m asking. For those of you who volunteer, make no mistake, this will be a brutal fight, but this is also the chance we’ve all been waiting for, and I, for one, am prepared to die for this new home.”

Michael and Layla walked over to stand by his side.

“I’d like to say something,” Michael said.

Les handed him the microphone. Static crackled over the speakers.

“We dive so humanity survives, and now we’re asking you to fight under one banner to free our friends and to make the Metal Islands our home,” Michael said.

He gritted his teeth, clearly in pain.

Layla reached out, but Michael shook his head. “I’m not done.”

She pulled back, and he said, “No one has endured more pain and suffering over the years than X. After saving the Hive over a decade ago, he was left for dead by the tyrant Leon Jordan, even when Jordan knew he was down there, and forced to endure severe hardship on the poisoned surface for years and years. When we finally found X in Florida, he was a broken man. But he did not give up. He took to the seas, and he found the Metal Islands.”

Michael paused again. “In Florida, I thought we were rescuing him, but he was really rescuing us. Now we have a chance to actually rescue X. To thank him for his service and sacrifices. I know that fighting in a war is a terrifying thing, but I’ll be there on the front lines, and I hope some of you will join me.”

He handed the microphone back to Les. Les squinted to make out two more people who had slipped into the back of the room. His heart leaped when he saw that it was Katherine and Phyl. They stood near the open doors, keeping back as if they were afraid.

“Lieutenant,” Layla said.

“Thank you, Commander Everhart,” Les said, snapping out of it and grabbing the sides of the lectern. “For those of you who are willing and able, we will have a briefing in the launch bay after this, to talk about the fight ahead.”

Sloan motioned with her baton. “Step forward if you’re volunteering.”

At first, the entire room remained silent. The baby had even stopped crying. What felt like a minute passed before the first person stepped forward.

“These are the people who killed my boy?” said Cole Mintel.

Les nodded.

“I’m not much for fighting, but I can hold my own,” Cole said.

“I’m in,” said Marv. He grinned. “I’m getting sick of serving shine to all you drunks anyways.”

Several nervous chuckles followed. A few more people stepped over to join the two men. Hushed conversations came from all directions, and the crowd began to move. Within a few minutes, fifty people had clustered at the front of the room.

It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

Michael leaned over to Les as Sloan began organizing the group.

“I’ve got an idea, Lieutenant,” Michael said. “One that might not require so many of these people to put their lives on the line if we do go to war.”

Les gave him a searching look. “What do you mean?”

Michael motioned for Timothy.

“We go back to Red Sphere. Get more laser rifles and hack some of the defectors to help us take over the Metal Islands.”

Les scrutinized Michael’s face, looking for the joke, but the injured diver, who had lost a freaking arm at the facility, looked deadly serious.

“I’ll lead the mission,” Michael said. “Got some unfinished business there.”

“I need that damage assessment, Eevi,” Katrina said.

“Working on it, Captain.” The former militia detective sat at a station, tapping at her keyboard.

Katrina knew she was being demanding, but she was anxious, and the way to keep things moving was to keep on her people. She needed them as sharp as a sword edge. There was some good news, though. Jaideep was going to be okay. He had a concussion and wouldn’t be fighting anytime soon, but it beat a broken neck.

She tapped her monitor for a frontal view of the ocean. The water was deep here, assuming the readings were correct. But the island wasn’t far away, and until she was sure of her instruments, she couldn’t risk hitting a shoal.

The electrical storm continued to rage around them, scrambling all transmissions in or out. It was also messing with their equipment. Every life scan they had run on the island came back inconclusive.

“Jed, Sandy, have you figured out where we are yet?” Katrina asked.

The two teenagers looked up from the paper maps they had found stored in an officer’s quarters. Since GPS wasn’t working, Katrina had them try to figure things out the old-fashioned way.

“My best guess is, we’re somewhere between the Dominican Republic and Puerto Rico,” Jed said.

“If that’s the case, then how far are we from the Virgin Islands?” Katrina asked.

“Somewhere around a hundred miles,” Sandy said.

Not very far. And they were out of the worst of the storm. For now.

The rain kept coming down in sheets, hammering the shutters. Katrina had lowered one and leaned over to look out the cracked panel—the only panel to survive the rogue wave. All the rest had blown out, leaving dangerous shards in the standing water on deck.

“Okay, looks like we got it,” Eevi said, smiling in the glow of her monitor as she scanned the data. “The hull breach was limited to the bow—only two compartments flooded. Nothing serious, Captain.”

“Power levels?” Katrina asked.

Eevi checked her monitor and said, “The new fuel cell we brought from Deliverance is still at ninety-eight percent, engines functioning at optimal levels.”

“Good news,” Katrina said. “Eevi, you have the bridge. Jed, Sandy, keep trying to figure out where we are. I’m heading topside.”

The Hell Divers all went back to work.

A sharp sword, Katrina thought.

Katrina cautiously made her way through the broken glass and water to a ladder leading to the command center for flight operations. The rectangular windows gave her a view of the deck, the ocean, and the island.

She brought the binoculars up to her eyes and zoomed in, using the night vision to scan for hostiles. The bio scanners may not be working, but her eyes wouldn’t lie.

The island definitely had flora. Beyond the rocky beaches, mutant jungles the color of blood and bruises covered the terrain. Surely there was some sort of fauna out there, but so far, they hadn’t spotted anything.

Now that they had confirmed the ship was still seaworthy, she just had to wait until Sandy and Jed figured out which direction to sail.

Several more sweeps yielded nothing except for the stone foundation and walls of an old building along the shore. Vines had overtaken the walls and brought the roof down.

Farther down the beach, debris that looked like the remains of a ship caught her attention, and she zoomed in to find a barnacle-encrusted hull that could be as old as the Hive. Nothing she saw suggested recent human activity.

There were no Cazadores in this area.

She panned the binos over the Zion’s deck and spotted Alexander, working on the enclosed turret of the MK-65. Trey, with a rifle, was at the stern.

A voice called up from the ladder below.

“Captain, we’re getting a transmission,” Eevi said. “You better hear this.”

Katrina hurried down to the bridge, where the comm system crackled with static and a voice.

“Does anyone… copy?” said a familiar voice.

She picked up the receiver. “This is Captain DaVita. Who am I speaking to?”

“Timothy Pepper.”

Samson must have decided to bring him back on.

“Good to hear from you, Timothy. Where is Lieutenant Mitchells? I need to talk to him.”

“I’m not sure where he is, Captain.”

“What do you mean?”

“Captain, this is Timothy Pepper of the Sea Wolf.”

Katrina almost dropped the receiver.

“The Sea Wolf has been relocated under the capitol tower of the Metal Islands, where X, Mags, and Miles are being held captive,” Timothy said. “This is my fir—”

Static crackled over the system, drowning out his voice.

“Timothy,” she said. “Timothy, do you copy?”

“Yes, I’m here, Captain.”

“Listen, Timothy, do you know if X and the others are alive?”

“I’ve translated several conversations from my captors and can tell you that at this moment, X is definitely alive. Apparently, he just achieved a great victory in the Sky Arena.”

“Sky Arena?” Eevi said with brows arched.

Gunshots snapped her attention away from the station. Everyone on the bridge hurried over for a view out the remaining window, to the MK-65 turret, where Alexander fired his assault rifle. She could see his muzzle flashes and the glow of his battery unit, but not what he was firing at. And she couldn’t see Trey.

Eevi let out a scream and pointed at the sky, where a second blue glow seemed to be floating away.

Katrina brought her binoculars up and found the battery unit, attached to Trey, in the talons of a huge bird. A dozen others swooped toward the ship, and into the automatic fire from Alexander as he retreated.

For a second, Katrina stood in the flight-ops command center, watching in horror as the bird flapped away. She thought of Les, and the pain he would feel if she didn’t get his boy back.

Two seconds passed before she snapped to action.

“Grab your weapons!” she ordered. “We’re going after him!”